March 07th, 1798

Before they had a chance to head further south and reach Montpierre —where the Duke and general Bautzen had taken over the castle—, a new type of enemy entered their field of vision, on the foggy morning of their fifth day in Marsan.

Judging by the black and red colors of their uniform, and the big scarlet eagles on their flags and banners, it was easy to determine who they were: soldiers of the Ruhm empire.

This was the first time since the explosion in Anjou that Francis had seen that damned symbol. He still remembered how he'd found out about the death of his old King, and about how the neighboring empire had declared war on them for his execution, soon after.

But honestly, he had been so concentrated on fighting the local royalists that he had completely forgotten about the fact that the Ruhmnians were, in fact, ready to fight against his newly formed country. A stupid mistake on his part, but oh well, it was done.

—Alright, captain... I'll need you on top of a horse today —Laupin suddenly appeared by his side, as he stared at the approaching troops from the citadel's parapet.

—So I'll be squadron leader once again?

—No, you're still my captain. But you will be working as a hussar during this battle. Verdi is too new on the job to fight against the Ruhmnians alone. He'll need your expertise beside him.

—Should I change my uniform then?

—No time for that —the commander shook his head, as the first enemy cannonballs began to explode against the walls of the citadel—. Go grab your horse, your saber, and meet your old squadron by the eastern gates... Captain Laurens will exit by the western. Me and my men will attack the center, then pretend to retreat and uphold fire, letting the Ruhmnians advance forwards a little. We need them fully out of the woods. Once they are close enough to our walls, our cannons will open fire again, mowing down their lines for good, covering the air with smoke. This will allow both of you to make an attack to their flanks in a pincer movement, and for our infantry to strike them right in their heart, and pin them in place. We do expect a counter attack by their own cavalry, but Luckner said he'll take care of it. And I trust him.

—Got it.

—If you can, take care of commander Arquette and his men, since the first charge of the battle is theirs. I'll send a cadet to warn you when it's time to leave the citadel's walls and surprise our foes. Until then, wait for my orders.

—Alright.

—Good luck, Francis.

—Good luck to you too, commander.

They shook hands. Laupin, still visibly affected by the death of the Bishop, held his palm longer than he usually did, and gave him a tiny grieving smile before moving away. The captain knew it was his way of saying "please, be careful", and he appreciated the gesture even more for it.

After that, Francis ran to get his horse and his saber. Once mounted, he trotted to the eastern gate and was at last reunited with his fellow riders. It was then when he found out that his old squadron of hussars had been merged with another leaderless one, of Cuirassiers, in a strange looking, amalgamated battalion. Which technically meant that now he wasn't only an infantry captain, but a cavalry captain as well.

If gaining more experience is what he wanted when he switched branches, he definitely was getting what he asked for.

—What's with the clothes, chief? —Roger Verdi, the rider he'd put in charge of his squadron while he was away serving under Laupin, asked with a big smile.

—Didn't you hear, Rog? He's not chief anymore! He's a captain! —another man, by the name of Frederick, smirked too.

—Oh, got promoted, did ya? Congrats then, cap!

—It's good to see you too, boys —Francis shook his head, at last in a good mood—. And yes, I did get promoted.

—Are ya' changing to the soiled boots branch once and for all?

"Soiled boots" was how the cavalrymen of the revolutionary army nicknamed their fellow infantrymen.

—Judging by the colors of his clothes, he for sure is! —another hussar answered from the back.

—No, not yet... Sorry to burst your bubble —Francis defended himself—. I'm not a soiled boot yet... I still have this battle to win beside the bunch of you. So we'll ride together one last time.

—And what are we waiting for? Why can't we attack those foreign bastards already?

—It's Commander Laupin's orders. He told me he'll send a cadet here to warn us when it's time to go. We'll attack the Ruhmnians in a pincer movement, heading east. Our main priority is breaking the left lines of fusiliers and grenadiers, but we also have to protect commander Arquette from taking any major hits from the Ruhmnian front lines.

—We should split our forces then —Verdi replied, and Francis nodded—. Half of us attack the bastards, the other half looks out for the commander.

—I agree. And since you've become the new squadron leader while I was gone, you should take care of protecting the commander with the help of the guys... In the meanwhile, I'll take these orphaned Cuirassiers over here... —Francis gestured to the newcomers—. To break the enemy lines.

—Of course, you get to have all the fun.

—Roger, look at them. They have body armor on. The chances of shrapnel and ricochets hitting them is lessened by that fact. Besides, their horses are in better conditions than ours... They'll be better used in the offensive, then in the defensive side of things...

—I know monsieur, you don't have to explain yourself. I'm just playing with ya'.

Before Francis could open his mouth and say anything back, a teenage boy dressed in skimpy clothes came running in their direction. The captain recognized him quickly; it was one of the kids that washed their uniforms in the cleaning tents.

—Monsieur! Commander Laupin has given you the order to go!

—Alright. Thanks boy —he nodded and looked at Verdi again—. It's time... —taking a deep breath in, Francis straightened his back and shouted:— Cuirassiers! As you've heard, you respond to me! I will lead the charge! Whatever I do, so do you! Do not split away from me! Keep our line straight and steady! Let's kill those invading Ruhmnian scumbags and send their chopped off heads as consolation prizes for their crying mothers! —a macabre laughter echoed around the captain—. Hussars! Follow squadron leader Verdi's command! If something goes wrong, we'll regroup near these gates! —the door that led to the outsides of Marsan was opened as he finished talking. With a tired and worrisome expression on his face, he pulled out his saber from the scabbard, pointed it up and exclaimed:— LET'S GO! FOR THE GLORY OF THE REPUBLIC!

—HURRAH!

Since time was of the essence, they had to charge at maximum speed. Using the thick smoke of the gunpowder as a protective curtain, they raced towards their enemy, blindly. As Francis was the one leading the attack, he ran into the infantry lines first. The first kill of the day was his.

He'd never forget the way his saber cut through the throat of that poor soldier. He might have imagined the sound of that man choking on his own blood, because the deafening noise of the battle for sure wouldn't have allowed him to actually hear it, but that was a sound he'd never forget either.

From then on, things just got worse.