

The smoke of the Napoleonic Wars had already dissipated, but the Vienna System, which had once brought peace to Europe, was already riddled with holes. Beneath the seemingly tranquil surface of peace lay the swirling vortex of an era, the calm before the storm. The air was filled with the mist of evaporating sweat, and choking black smoke made it difficult to breathe. At an elegant dining table, a group of soldiers and fat men in suits were jostling one another, feasting upon the grand banquet known as the world. Van Gogh's self-portrait hung on the wall, and waltzes lingered in the ears. Suddenly, the music turned into a march, and the scene shifted to the battlefield. Soldiers marched in neat, rhythmic columns toward machine guns and barbed wire. A shell struck the ground, and after the smoke cleared, countless cavalrymen charged toward the artillery positions. Accompanied by a massive roar, a wooden airplane flew low across the ground before pulling up sharply, piercing through the clouds into a burst of radiant light.
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