War court and knee pillows, the Austrian Mandate of Heaven
Let someone else go to war, you, lucky Austria, go and get married! What the God of War can give you, the God of Love can give you.
The smoke of the Napoleonic Wars has lifted, and the Vienna system, which once brought peace to Europe, is in shambles.
Beneath the seemingly unwavering surface of peace lies the undercurrent of the whirlpool of the times, the tranquility before the storm.
The air is filled with a sweaty mist, the choking black smoke makes it difficult to breathe, and on the elegant dining table, a group of soldiers and fat men in suits are pushing and shoving, feasting on the feast called the world, Van Gogh's self-portrait hangs on the wall, and the waltz of the Strauss father and son lingers in his ears.
Suddenly, the music changed to a march, and the scene shifted to the battlefield, where the soldiers marched in a neat line towards the machine-gun barbed wire.
A shell fell to the ground, and after the smoke passed, countless cavalry rushed to the position where the artillery was located. Accompanied by a loud noise, a steam tank was constantly spraying tongues of fire.
A wooden plane flew close to the ground, dropped the bomb and then pulled up sharply, breaking through the clouds and shining brightly.