"A man does not have himself killed for a halfpence a day or for a petty distinction. You must speak to the soul in order to electrify him.

- Napoleon Bonaparte.

...

...

Agnes couldn't help but suppress a yawn as she walked through the dim streets of La Rochelle. The sun was beginning to rise, but she and Napoleon had been working throughout the night, until she had left to get some rest. He had still been in there, puzzling over maps when she left.

She opened the door to the office, and stopped. Bonaparte was still there, in the exact same chair, and even in the same exact pose. About the only thing that seemed to have actually changed within the few hours she was sleeping were the bigger piles of paper and a cup of steaming coffee that was beside him. There was also a strange black pointed… thing on the desk as well.

"Good morning, captain. Where is General De Poitiers anyway?"

Napoleon did not even look up while giving his greeting. Agnes was frankly flabbergasted at everything in front of her.

"Do you not sleep?"

"Don't be silly. I rested for three hours on the voyage here. What would I need sleep for, with an invasion coming?"

Agnes chose to ignore the insanity of the statement he had just uttered, and sat down on the other side of his desk. She still couldn't take her eyes off of the black thing.

"What is that?"

Napoleon finally looked up, and observed what Agnes's eyes were pointing at.

"It's a hat. Found it in a shop during the night. I wore a hat just like it in my military campaigns back in Europe. It's nice to see something like it here. Anyways, De Poitiers"

The captain paused at those words. She didn't know of Europe, but Henrietta had told her. Agnes knew that the man in front of him was from a completely different world, and he was ostensibly the familiar and servant of the youngest daughter of the Valliere family. However, even though he should have been affected by the runes which were supposed to make him think of his master's priority above all, he had never shown a hint of deference towards Louise or really anyone. She decided that at this stage of the war she needed to make something clear.

"De Poitiers is with Henrietta. He seems to still be sulking over last night. But I need to ask you something incredibly important, Bonaparte. What are you fighting for?"

Napoleon stopped writing in response. He then slowly set his pen on the desk and looked directly at Agnes.

"Her Majesty trusts you for some reason. I can understand why to some degree, because it's clear you know what you're talking about with military affairs, and she really doesn't. But it's not just you who's at stake; it's her authority as well."

Agnes had worried to some degree about confronting Bonaparte like this, but the odds were too high. He needed to know everything that was at stake here.

"You may be some genius at military games, but you're still not part of the Tristanian military. I don't care that she gave you a small command, even if it has someone as useful as Martin. If it wasn't for the fact that her Majesty trusts you, De Poitiers and the General Staff would tell you to shut up if they were in a good mood, and would do worse things to you and your master if they weren't. The only reason this plan is being executed at all is because her Majesty herself is the one ordering it on your advice. Officially, it's her plan, not yours.

If the enemy wins this battle and secures their objective, we're all doomed, which means that pretty much everything is riding on you. So I'll go ahead and tell you this right now. If you mess up, or are working for ends which will hurt her Majesty, I will kill you with my own hands. I swear it on my honor."

Napoleon gave no outer reaction, and continued to look at her. Then he spoke.

"You think I'm working for Albion. You're worried that this plan of mine is an incredible trap, one which will ensure that Albion wins the war. You believe this because you know I'm not from Tristain, and thus shouldn't have a reason to care which side wins. Am I right?"

"Are you saying I'm wrong?"

"Yes. I'm not going into some long speech about how much I love Tristain or anything like that, because I frankly don't care about Tristain. I'll just observe that I have no reason to work with Albion. If you want to know why, let's just say it's revenge, among a whole slew of other problems."

Now Agnes was really confused. This man said he wasn't from this world until he was summoned, yet he possessed a grudge against Albion? It made no sense whatsoever, but Napoleon didn't give her a chance to respond.

"Either way, let us get down to other business. The artillery should be in position by tomorrow?"

"Yes, but I'm not finished. I need to know. Are you sure this plan will work?"

"No."

He noticed Agnes's shocked expression before continuing.

"Frankly, you should be more concerned if I had said 'yes'. It would have meant that there was something I had overlooked, and that's the worst thing a commander can do while he prepares. I can think of three ways in which my plan could be countered, but the biggest threat is Albion's Dragon Knights."

"You fear the Dragon Knights more than the threat of the Lexington?"

"Easily. The Lexington is a problem, but not a serious one.

He noted Agnes's stunned expression but said nothing. He finished writing something, and then got up from his seat and grabbed his greatcoat.

"I'll be heading to deal with the men. Do you have the information on the amount of men Albion is sending yet?"

"We've received final word from our spies. Albion has taken Tarbes, and is continuing to fortify the area. We'll guess that they will probably send around thirty-five thousand soldiers against Tarbes in about five days."

"What?"

Napoleon stopped at those words.

"Thirty-five thousand men? And that's not even including the amount of men needed to actually protect Tarbes, correct? And it doesn't include their ships, either?"

"That is correct."

The Emperor stood there for several minutes, tapping his fingers, in response to Agnes's words. It appeared that he was running calculations. Was he beginning to worry about how well his plan would work against that many men?

That guess was rudely proven wrong when Napoleon let out a snort of laughter. At first it was small, and then began expanding without any forewarning.

"If it's that many, then there really will not be a problem."

Agnes continued to stand there, waiting as Napoleon finished laughing at her report. Even as he finished, he still smiled at her, though it was that cruel smile that she had seen from him quite a few times now.

"This removes one of the three concerns. We will probably not be able to get more than twenty thousand over that time stretch, meaning we'll have twenty thousand soldiers against over thirty five thousand men and half of the Albion Air Fleet. This is going to be an amazing victory."

He finished putting on his coat and as Agnes began to wonder about Bonaparte's sanity, he grabbed the strange hat, left the office and walked on into a chilly morning.

…

Two hour later, Napoleon stood in front of his new command, all 50 soldiers whom were standing at attention outside. The fact that he had a command at all was a start, but there were serious concerns, both for himself and their army.

The first problems were simply the means of organization. Tristania basically possessed two armies. The first, the Royal Army, ostensibly owed their loyalty to the king. The reality is that they were a bunch of mercenaries, whose only loyalty consisted towards their next paycheck. The second was the Marquis Army, which were soldiers which the nobles collected. This group was closer to a mob, as a collection of nobles with their own separate forces and their own wishes for personal glory meant that cohesion and organization would be basically impossible. Napoleon was completely stunned upon realizing that a monarch as charismatic and as popular as Henrietta had never even thought about assembling a coterie of soldiers whose loyalty above all would be directly to her or Tristain. The soldiers whom Agnes selected were all members of the Royal Army, as it would have been too much of a political hassle to select soldiers from the Marquis Army and deal with the complaints of the noblemen whose soldiers were being removed from his command.

Mercenaries are dangerous weapons, as Napoleon well knew. They are soldiers whose only loyalty consists in creating as much war and chaos as possible, as they don't get paid during eras of peace. Furthermore, soldiers who fight for gold are arguably the worst kind of men, as they have no interest in dying during combat as they would no longer be able to enjoy their pay. Despite these serious, he preferred having them to the soldiers of the Marquis Army, as they could be reeducated without noble interference.

The second problem consisted of equipment. Agnes had selected melee soldiers for the night attack, and nearly all of the men carried halberds and swords, a combination which Napoleon found incredibly obsolete. Martin, a wind mage, and another person who was a water mage were the only mages in the lot. They both declared themselves to be non-nobles, being younger sons of the nobility whom had no real hope of inheriting their father's lands. Still, Napoleon planned to equip and train everyone else in the use of the musket, and had already talked to the quartermaster about procurement. He would also need to find a blacksmith as apparently these men knew nothing about bayonets at this point.

"Very well, soldiers. I am Captain Napoleon Bonaparte. I was introduced to you over the course of that mission a few nights ago, when you conducted yourselves with bravery in Tarbes. I expect each and every one of you to comport yourselves with that same courage and honor that I saw on that night. Glory and victory will belong to every one of you men.

In exchange, however, there are things which must now be understood. You are no longer mercenaries."

A shocked rumbling moved through the crowd as Napoleon continued.

"You are now soldiers of the Tristanian Guards. Not the Royal Army, not the Marquis, the Guards. You are a new force which answers to three people. Me, Henrietta, and Brimir. You will be paid as long as you continue to serve, and I will promise that having served long enough, Tristain will reward you with riches greater than any mercenary. But you will no longer be permitted to leave for the time being. Anyone who leaves this post or this company will be considered a deserter and will be punished as one.

This is your one and only chance right here. If you move past here, and out of the courtyard, you may go on, fight for your precious gold, and you can forget to even pretend that you possess a semblance of honor among yourselves."

"Hold on a second here!"

One man moved forward ahead of the crowd and stared at Napoleon. He was of stocky build and appeared to be in his thirties, his halberd arrogantly hoisted on his shoulder.

"Who the heck do you think you are, old man? I am Owen Foucard, the finest soldier in all of Helgekinia! You come in here with your fancy uniform and think you can boss us around and get stuck serving this army that's going to lose anyways? Shut up and know your place, old man. Go back to headquarters and let the real men fight."

There was a murmur of approval as the men decided to see what Napoleon would do. Foucard was a head taller than the new officer and of stockier build. They expected the captain to back down. Instead, Napoleon drew his cavalry saber and held it in his right hand.

"Is that a challenge, Owen? Tell me, do you think you can beat an old man?"

The mercenary drew back, both from Napoleon using his first name and from the fact that the new captain did not shrink down. He was used to overpowering his captain and letting his superiors do their thing while he did his. Agnes was the only one he had ever seriously listened to, but that was out of respect to her skill. This blowhard was clearly different.

"Fine then, you arrogant old man, I accept your challenge!"

Swinging down the halberd, Foucard roared a battle cry and charged. At first Napoleon did nothing, the saber limply hanging down by his side.

Then he switched it into his left hand, and the Gandalfr runes activated. Even as he felt the power flowing through his body, Bonaparte did not use the blade on the mercenary. Easily dodging the first halberd swing, he slammed the hilt into Foucard's chest, causing the mercenary to double over and wheeze for a second. Napoleon then quickly swung over and slammed his left elbow into his opponent's neck, with the two blows causing the mercenary to fall on his knees. Foucard quickly made to rise up, only to feel the saber's blade on the back of his neck. He had been defeated. As the sting of humiliation moved through him, he initially made a tremor of movement and then stood still. There was only one remedy for attacking a superior officer and failing at it.

"I have lost. Kill me for my dereliction."

His statement was calm now, different from the roaring, charging mercenary. But Napoleon did not move the sword.

"What are you talking about? You are clearly someone who is willing to fight, and with skill. And you are willing to accept defeat. That is courage as well."

Napoleon moved the saber, and after a moment of surprise, Foucard slowly struggled to his feet while still holding his halberd. But then Napoleon hit him across the face with the flat of the blade, leaving a welt across Foucard's cheek.

"That is the mark of one whom will serve in the 1st Guards. You are worthy of being here."

With a slow movement and with more than a hint of wonder, Foucard moved towards the ranks. Napoleon sheathed his sword and moved in front of the company.

"I will say it again. Your days of mercenaries are over. But you will obtain glory and riches for all eternity, and at the end of your lives you will look back on these days as the finest of your lives, not as degrading moments where you earned a few miserly gold coins! Anyone who believes I am wrong, or lying, he may go past me, and find another company which will be more befitting of his needs! And anyone who thinks he can challenge me, he may do so! A man foolish enough to strike again will not earn the mercy which I granted Owen!"

There was a silence which followed. Yet to the surprise of even Napoleon, not a single man moved. From the perspectives of these men, the new Captain in front of them was perhaps completely insane. All their lives they had fought for gold and money, all fearing combat like the cowards they had in the deepest recesses of their hearts feared themselves to be. But now before them stood a new officer, one whom did not just boss them around or timidly accept that they would not listen to him. This man stood before them, offering them a new direction and opportunity, promising them that they would fulfill their wildest dreams. To someone who offered them something that grandiose, they normally would not believe it and would have laughed in his face. But they knew somehow that this man was different. And so none of them moved a single step.

"Our first moment will be tonight. We will do whatever we can to harass the Albion forces. Check your equipment, get some rest. Tonight we will move out. I will see you then."

Napoleon left past the entrance and the mercenaries still did not move. It was only when he left that they began to whisper among themselves with tones of disbelief and awe. Foucard also stood there as the troops gave him not a small amount of mockery for his blustering and defeat.

…

The next three days passed quickly. Agnes's reports had proven to be correct. It appeared that since they had conceded the Tarbes area, the Albion forces were taking no chances that their invasion of La Rochelle would go wrong. They had deployed a massive amount of soldiers in the area, but as a result they couldn't wait longer. Tarbes simply wasn't large enough to get enough supply trains going to feed and equip thirty-five thousand soldiers, and thus they had moved even before they were properly organized. Apparently, the commander of the Albion forces had also forbidden them to pillage from the land as well, which also exacerbated their supply problems.

There was also the matter of the raids. Agnes, as she had continued to watch him, wondered if Bonaparte ever slept. During the day, his residency had more or less become the headquarters of the defense of Tristain, as De Poitiers was still fuming over his plan and Henrietta's refusal of his plan to use Louise. Napoleon had also taken time out of every day to go and talk to Louise and Henrietta, both of whom continued to wait within their residency. He even had helped some ordinary people escape from the city and head east through the mountains, and when Agnes had asked him why, he observed that they were his friends. And all of that was only during the day. At night he went out with the troops that were under his command and conducted raids. There was no fighting within them – the men took out sentries, burned wagons, and fled whenever any group of Albion forces arrived wherever they struck. But it was a tool of harassment, and Agnes also couldn't help but wonder how he had managed in the first place to get these mercenaries to accept doing such menial tasks.

Henrietta these days was mostly preoccupied with the Germanian situation, even if it had gone largely as Napoleon had predicted. The Germanian Emperor, the man who she was supposed to wed, had told Henrietta that until the Diet, the representation of the nobles in their country, came to a decision, they wouldn't be able to act. While he promised that Germania would strike soon, Henrietta figured that he wasn't to be trusted at this point. He would likely wait until both Albion and Tristain were exhausted, and then move in himself as a "protector".

Now as she opened the doors of the palace where her master was residing, ready to give a daily report to her Majesty as well. However, Napoleon was there as well standing across from Henrietta who was on a makeshift throne. And it was apparent that the princess was furious.

"I thought you said you didn't need Louise for this plan."

"I don't. I need Louise as a safeguard, a reserve, as a way of ensuring the removal of another way which Albion can use to counter this plan."

"The superiority of their Air Fleet, then?"

Napoleon sighed at her remark before looking down at yet another map.

"I'll be honest, Princess. After going over everything, you will not win this war without Louise."

Her eyes flashed at what Napoleon had declared.

"What? I thought you were going to destroy their Army!"

"Oh, I can do that. We'll destroy their invasion, and cause them to leave Tristain alone. But then what? The only way you can win the war is to attack Albion itself, and you're not capable of doing that unless the Air fleet is destroyed. Given the quality and quantity of their ships, Louise is the only one who can do that. Without her, even when this army is destroyed, they'll just use the Air fleet to harass your country until you can no longer resist, even if they don't invade. And not even Germania could help you against that.

I have no intention of using Louise for fighting the Albion Army itself like De Poitiers did. She will stay back. But she will be necessary as a counter to their Air Fleet. That, I swear, would be the only time I would even want her to enter the battlefield."

Henrietta trembled at his words. Once again, she was confronted between the logic of his words and the pangs in her heart.

"I'm going to wreck this country. And now you want me to send my best friend into battle. Tell me, Napoleon. Did you have to make these sacrifices again and again as a ruler?"

There was a long silence towards Henrietta's words. It was then Agnes noticed a presence behind her. Louise had snuck in, but it appeared that neither of the rulers had noticed. Napoleon gave no reaction to Louise, as he slowly began to respond to the princess in front of him.

"There was once a foolish young man who wanted to rule all of Europe and leave a legacy for himself. He was a general, but did not command anything of great value. One day, at a social event, he met a widow, whose husband had been taken through the past years of turmoil. She was older than him, and already had two children. But she was refined, and beautiful. The young man fell in love with her, true passionate love which he had never felt before. A year later, the two of them married. It was because of the influence of his wife that he was able to get his first command and begin his path of conquest.

The years passed by. The man conquered most of the world and became an Emperor, crowning his wife in front of the whole word to see. He commissioned a great painting of that moment, wanting that moment to be shown to the world for all eternity. But even as he still loved her, he was an Emperor, and thus needed an heir. But his wife could not bear him a son. So even if he wanted to be with her and loved her, the dictates of being an Emperor said otherwise. The two divorced, and he re-married with a younger man, the daughter of another sovereign. The two did have a child; a son whom it was planned would someday be the next ruler of Europe.

A ruler must sacrifice something in order to rule. We are something greater than human beings after all, and it is our duty to figure out who must sacrifice and suffer. That is what we must do."

Henrietta looked down at his words, but at that moment Louise stumbled through. She looked at the two of them for a second. Then, she moved to Henrietta and hugged her. The Princess stiffened up, and then looked at her best friend as Louise spoke.

"Your Majesty. You don't have to be alone. I will be with you, and will help you. That's why I came to this room, because I wanted to tell you I'm willing to fight. If you say that I'm needed, I will do so. If you want me to destroy all of Albion with my power, I'll do so, Princess. This is my promise."

The wand in her pocket crackled with power, and those sparks made it clear to everyone. Louise was ready to use the Void again.

Henrietta sniffled slightly, and then her face grew stern. It was the proper face of a just and fair monarch.

"Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Vallière. You will head north, and prepare for the opening stages of the advance. May Brimir protect you, my friend."

With a last squeeze, the two parted, and then Louise left the room. Napoleon looked towards Agnes and nodded. The last obstacle had been cleared for the operation.

"It'll begin in 24 hours. Albion will have quite a surprise waiting for them."

…

Sir Johnston, the commander of the Albion Army, sighed as he rode at its head and looked up at the night sky. It had been four days since the second invasion of Tarbes had begun, and things had really not gone according to plan.

Tarbes simply wasn't capable of feeding his men, and a lot of his soldiers were going without food even as they marched. The problem was so bad that Johnston had seriously considered removing the penalty on taking food from the villagers, and he probably would do it eventually, even as his personal morals were repulsed at even thinking of such an action. Even if it was a war, they were still men. It would not do for soldiers to act in such an uncivilized or unrefined manner, and they had to take care to act like gentlemen as they prepared for battle.

This was all the more so since Tristain seemed to have thrown aside any such moral compunctions. Johnston couldn't blame them completely as they were defending their homes. But the Tristanian forces were refusing to behave like proper soldiers. Even as they hid in the defenses of La Rochelle, they sent men out at night. And not just to probe and scout, which was acceptable behavior. They attacked the camps, and they did it without the slightest bit of honor. Sentries would have their throats slit, horses and cattle would be butchered and left to rot, and supply wagons were being burned. When Albion forces came to do battle with these raiders, they fled back to the city. It was an intolerable way of making war. He had thought that as the Princess was commanding the defense, that she would avoid such barbaric tactics, but what could you expect from a monarch? They were all the same anyways.

There was also the matter with Bowood and his Air Fleet. Bowood had nominal control over the entire invasion, even as Johnston remained the head of the Army. But while Bowood had talked about how essential the Fleet was to this invasion, Johnston had scoffed. Fleets served to transport infantry and to house the Dragon Knights which could attack the ground as well. Aside from that, real glory lay in the Army, which was in the end the military branch which captured and held land. Bowood had told him to march slowly and move in conjunction with the Air Force, but Johnston would do no such thing. After the troops had landed, when they moved, he pressed them hard, as he wanted to take the city himself without their help. You couldn't trust a man like Bowood who barely hid his distaste for Reconquista anyways. He was probably a traitor who had informed the Tristanians of his plans. It would take a real believer in the cause like himself to bring victory.

There was no doubt he still remained confident, even as the problems with obtaining food continued to grow every day. He still had managed to procure a force which massively outnumbered the Tristainian men, especially since for some reason they had let their men have Tarbes. That had been something he had never understood, and he had wasted some time making defenses in preparation for an attack. But now his troops were rapidly advancing, and they would take the city of La Rochelle. The war would be over, and he would get proper glory where he served it.

He smiled as he saw a scout ride back. He had sent him to examine the Tristanian defenses, and no doubt he had good information. But his smile dropped as he saw the condition the scout was in. His horse was in a full gallop, and the scout was clearly panicked. Upon seeing Johnston, he wheeled his horse, and the two rode alongside one another.

"S-sir, sir, I-I…"

The man was clearly incapable of speaking properly, and Johnston wondered what had happened. He then noticed that the scouts' uniform had been blacked, as something was covering it. It took him some time to realize what it was.

"Is… that soot?"

Those words seemed to jolt the scout as he finally spoke.

"Sir, yes it is! They've burned La Rochelle down to the ground!"

"WHAT?"

"The Tristanian troops are moving out! Sir, I don't know the extent of the damage, or where they're going, but yes, they're burning it!"

Johnston nearly stopped the horse in shock. What the hell was the matter with Tristain? They were conducting raids, they didn't fight in the battlefield, and now they burned their cities? This was a disgusting and improper way of warfare. Still, if they didn't move now…

The commander turned towards a nearby aide, whom was also completely shocked by what he heard.

"On the double! The troops need to move faster!"

"Sir, they're already on the double."

"Then double that! I want the soldiers to charge all the away to La Rochelle!"

Johnston kicked the flanks of his horse, and he charged at the head of his Army. So what if they had burned it? If they took La Rochelle, the war was theirs! He would thank their Princess once she was successfully captured!