March 1st, 1800

Unsurprisingly, Santonnes fell. As did most of the other towns and cities that the royalists had managed to cling to. The war against them was nearly at the end. Drownings, burnings, fusillades, cannonades, hangings, beheadings... The number of ways these people were murdered were various.

And the carnage was...

Lord. It was too much.

Francis was tired of seeing people die. Laupin was tired of seeing people die. Both wanted to go home and spend time with their wives, with little Laura, and with their friends. But no. They had to stay in the south. Seeing cities be swallowed by fire, underneath dark, starless skies, and entire neighborhoods be wiped out from the face of existence by their forces.

It was a strange feeling, and they still couldn't reconcile with it. They missed home, but once they were there, the generals found themselves missing... this.

Destruction. Death. Desolation. Hunger. Pain. Suffering. Misery.

Violence.

They missed violence, above all.

So, while they wanted to go... They also wanted to stay. It was a weird, nasty dilemma.

But alas, they had no choice on the matter. If duty called, they answered. If the army let them go, they'd pack their things and leave. It was that simple. Follow orders blindly, never question a thing.

Right now, for example, they were headed to Auprax. Obermann had told them to travel north, to restock their provisions, rest their feet, wash their faces and repair their guns. The northern corps were also in need of backup against a few royalist groups, so their arrival was of relative importance.

Despite this, the trip itself should have been an easy one to make, and yet... Destiny surprised them again, with more losses.

General Bautzen, the elusive royalist general which had somehow survived the hell raised by the republicans, was back.

His troops came out of nowhere.

One minute, Francis and Laupin were marching peacefully near the city of Les Oiseaux, along with their men, and on the other, they were being ambushed by their enemies from behind.

The defendants of the monarchy were hiding in the woods nearby, waiting for the right moment to attack, and at last, it came.

Funnily enough, the only thing Francis thought about when comparing their numbers against the royalists, was his newfound family. Laura, Noelle, Little Laura, Camille, the other Laupins, Achille...

He thought of his friends too. Of Charlie, and Séverin, and Jacques, and Pierre...

Of everyone he loved, and he wished to protect...

Nothing else. When Death looked at him in the eye, all of his rage and need for revenge left him. Love and concern stayed.

So, he made a choice. A tough choice, taken because of his desperation and his need to save them all from more tragedies, pain and sorrow.

He told Camille to flee, and before the man could refuse to do so, he grabbed his sword and ran away with his horse.

Most of his older soldiers were part of his first battalion, led by captain Ernest Fanton. So Francis gave them orders to follow him, and charged straight up to the enemy lines, as the major general escaped the ambush with the rest of his men.

To be fair, Laupin tried to stay and aid him. But Santerre and Arquette convinced him that there was nothing he could do for Francis, and insisted that their soldiers were far too tired, underfed and badly equipped to deal with a massive battle right now.

And because of this, they came up with a plan. Instead of moving to Auprax, they would go to Villene, and request urgent help from the armed forces there.

Whilst they galloped away, however, Francis and his horse were shot down after breaking through the first enemy line. He became trapped under the dead animal, and although he tried to free himself from it, the weight of the mud, the pain on his side, the fact that he couldn't really see from his left eye anymore... It all caught up with him. And he didn't have the strength to keep pushing forward anymore.

So, he gave up.

He just... gave up.

The battle kept going all around him. He heard screams, saw people die, witnessed a thousand agonizing men beg their foes for mercy... And the percussion of the cannons, the muskets and the swords... It slowly drove him mad.

This was something that he'd never forget, not even in the afterlife.

Because it made him understand, fully, what war really was: Nothing more than a chilling symphony of wrath and blood.

How many days did he spend crushed underneath his stallion? How many bodies did he count, as he saw them fall? How many royalist soldiers passed him by, and thought he was already dead? How many hours did he think about Laura, and the love he had for her, and felt the pain of knowing that he had failed to deliver his promise to always return to her side, to always fight for her honor, to always survive for her, and her alone?

Fever took a hold of him. And, as the nights came and went, he shivered, and cried, and moaned.

He lived until he thought he was dead, and slept until a sharp, stabbing pain on his side woke him up to the fact that he still wasn't.

He breathed, aimlessly.

He did not want to go but what other choice did he have? What hopes there were, of him surviving this?

Francis truthfully believed that he was lost.

Until, on the third day...