What a soldier! The army is full of brave men, but Michel Ney is truly the bravest of the brave!

Marshal Ney was not the last man out of Falmart, as he had originally intended. Within minutes of the Imperial Guard's passage through the Gate, news had been passed through the column of Captain Duclos's discoveries. The Emperor himself was fighting the collective might of a new coalition. A great battle at Leipzig. Ney was needed at the front.

"Situation," Ney demanded when he arrived at the hastily assembled command post. General Courbet had already taken stock, and he'd set up operations in an old church with a tower overlooking the battlefield.

Courbet nodded at him and traced his finger along a scrap of paper. It wasn't a proper map but a rough estimation of locations that had been quickly drawn to represent Leipzig and the surrounding area. "The Emperor has arranged his forces in what amounts to a ring around Leipzig. Most of the Grande Armée is south of the city. The Austrians and Russians are also mostly in the south and are stradling either side of the Pleisse River. There's some activity to the west, but it's too far for us to see, probably more Austrians. There's also fighting in the north that we can't see, the main Prussian force perhaps."

Colonel Feraud strode in over the rotted doors of the church. His uniform was a mess, and he'd clearly just been riding. "Schwarzenberg is leading the Austrians," Feraud spat. "I caught one of his couriers. Fucking traitor must have turned on us in Russia."

Ney looked over to the colonel. "Schwarzenberg? Not the Archduke Charles?"

Feraud shrugged. "As far as I can tell, Charles doesn't even have a command. The boy I caught says that Blücher's attacking from the north with his Prussians while Bennigsen and Schwarzenberg have the south. Worse, Bernadotte will be marching from the north with Swedish troops to reinforce Blücher's push."

Ney sighed. "So Bernadotte has decided to betray the Emperor after all?" He shook his head. "None of that matters to us. Where are we in relation to all this?"

Courbet cleared his throat and pointed at a tiny dot on his map. "As far as I can tell, we're somewhere in the woods just north of Rödgen. That places us into Schwarzenberg's rear, in the ground between his battleline and his reserve. Fortunately, I don't think we've been spotted yet."

Feraud stepped over and glanced at the map. "There are at least two French corps advancing here," he said, tapping a spot in the south on the east bank of the Pleisse River. "I saw the Young Guard moving with them. There's also maybe two hundred cannons blasting at the Russian positions opposite them. I'm betting this is the Emperor's main thrust."

"And we're in the perfect position to crush the Russians from the rear," Ney observed, tracing his finger along the map. "How many men do we have through the Gate as of now?"

"Half of the regulars," Courbet replied. "All the grenadiers and the Imperial Guard, of course. Also all of the cavalry. Artillery should be coming up next then the rest of the regulars. After that the auxiliaries. We'll be all through in two hours."

"Enough to support the Emperor's-"

A lieutenant, someone's aide, came clambering down the church's bell tower shouting, "Sir! Sir!" He ran to Ney and gave a hasty salute. "Sir! French cavalry is preparing to charge the Russians. I saw Marshal Murat at their head, sir!"

Ney looked over. "You're certain it was Murat?"

The lieutenant nodded. "No one else wears a uniform like his, sir."

Ney found himself grinning like a wolf. "Then let's support him, shall we?"


Jacques could feel yesterday's battle in his bones. The fatigue and soreness seeped through every muscle. Every wound stung with a fury. His feet hurt. His shoulders ached. There wasn't any part of his body that hadn't been tested over and over again.

And that was only yesterday's battle.

Today, Jacques pushed his battered muscles to trudge through mud. Whereas Sadera had clear skies and firm ground, Germany was dreary with clouds and full of mud that threatened to suck away boots with every step. Jacques pushed and pushed, forcing himself to endure more pain.

The men around him did the same. His men. The same who'd slogged with him through Falmart. The Ninth Company. The Imperial Guard.

To the sound of drums, Jacques led the Ninth Company past the outskirts of a dense forest. The Ninth Company was at the head of a battalion column made up of the same grenadiers who'd fought under Jacques the previous day. They were the vanguard for the rest of Ney's army which was being rushed through the Gate by General Rousseau and rapidly assembled to reinforce them. They were advancing on what was believed to be the rear of the Coalition's southern army. Somewhere ahead, further than Jacques could see, Marshal Murat was leading the Emperor's main thrust against the Coalition.

Everything was being placed on this. Ney's army was no longer fighting for itself. It was now merely a single part of a much larger organism. All they could do now was support Marshal Murat and put their faith in the Emperor.

The Ninth Company swept forward.

On their right was a mass of trees. To their left was a shallow ridgeline. They marched between the two obstacles, obscured from the Coalition but also blind themselves. Colonel Feraud covered their left flank, hugging the ridgeline and occasionally peaking over the top. It was their efforts that kept Jacques's force from getting lost.

They marched for some time. It was an odd feeling being part of a battle yet also entirely unseen. The usual nerves that nipped at Jacques before a battle didn't seem to go away as they usually did once things were in motion. He kept expecting to see his foes at every turn.

Despite their obscurity, Jacques could hear the battle startlingly well. There was a massive battery of guns somewhere to their left, and it loosed a rippling barrage that made the air appear to rumble with cannonfire. Distant volleys of musketry sounded off in constant intervals. If Jacques closed his eyes, he could imagine where the lines were meeting based purely off of their volleys. The Coalition right must have engaged first, because there was considerably more shooting in that direction while the left seemed to be lagging behind. Directly ahead was the sound of horses.

"The captain's asleep!" Astier called out, followed by a burst of laughter. "You see that? This isn't nothing. He's so bored he's taking a nap!"

Jacques flushed and opened his eyes to the grins of everyone around him.

Vidal gave him a wink and said, "Of course he's bored. There aren't any monsters here!"

More laughter. Some of the hussars covering their left looked over with tilted heads. Jacques just waved at them.

Minutes later, the Ninth Company moved past a copse of trees, and the battlefield suddenly opened up before them. Directly ahead, thousands of Russian and Prussian cavalrymen stood dismounted by their horses, clearly held in reserve. Beyond them, Jacques could see French fusiliers storming a village defended bitterly by Russian infantry. Clouds of smoke went up as both sides fired on each other. Far to the left, Marshal Murat's cavalry crashed into a Russian division, scattering it in a storm of smoke and steel then thundering onward. They surged towards a giant battery of Russian guns, located at the top of the ridge, while a group of Austrian, Russian, and Prussian officers watched from their own position closer to the Ninth Company.

Jacques took it all in with one breath. Then there was a distant shout in Russian, and the Russo-Prussian cavalrymen looked back to see the Ninth Company emerging behind them.

The Prussian squadrons were the first to react, followed by the Russians. They began to wheel around so that they were facing Jacques, even as Jacques's grenadiers also emerged from the trees to join the Ninth Company.

"Battalion square!" Jacques roared at his drummers. A steady beat rang out, and the companies of Jacques's column rushed to form the walls of a square.

Ahead someone cried, "Gott mit uns!" and the Prussians began to trot towards them. The Russians were quick to follow.

It was a race against time. Cavalry trying to break a square of infantry was insane, but if they could reach Jacques's men before the square was fully formed, they'd pry it apart from the back and slaughter everyone inside. They weren't fighting Saderans or Elbans anymore. Whoever was in charge on the other side would know how this played out.

The Ninth Company held its ground while one of the grenadier companies took its place next to it. Behind, two companies ran to either side, forming up at a right angle to the Ninth Company so that they made a hollow square of men while the final two companies turned to form the rear of the square.

Prussian cavalry rapidly accelerated, moving from a trot to a canter and then finally a gallop. Their formation extended itself as it went, with squadrons on the flanks moving to surround the French square while others went toward Colonel Feraud's cavalrymen on the left.

Jacques spared a glance back and saw the last of his grenadiers make it to their spots in the square. He let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

"Fire by rank!" Jacques announced to his men. It was quickly echoed by officers throughout the square.

The Prussians were still a hundred yards from them, and they'd lost the race. But it was too late for them to turn back now. They continued forward like a tidal wave of horses.

"First rank, present!"

Jacques counted to five. With each second, the cavalrymen came dramatically closer. The very ground trembled from the impetus of thousands of charging horses. At five, Jacques could see the panic on the face of the leading squadron's captain.

"Fire!"

The horses at the front were swept away by a shower of lead. One reared, standing on its back legs, before finally collapsing backwards and crushing its rider. The rest flowed forward like rain down a gutter, avoiding the front face of the square and riding past the sides, unable to stop their charge but also unwilling to ride into a forest of bayonets.

Two volleys quickly followed, one from the left and another from the right, as the sides of the square erupted with fire. Dozens fell instantly. The air became shrouded in a cloud of acrid smoke.

A fourth volley ripped through the cavalrymen who'd made it to the rear. But even as they fell, those at the front swelled onward in their unending tide.

"Second rank, present!" Jacques demanded, and in the same breath he shouted, "Fire!"

A sporadic volley went off across the front face. It wasn't as clean as the first, and that was Jacques's fault for rushing his orders. Men fired jerking the trigger, or they fired too slowly, or fired without even picking a target. But, it was impossible to miss in these conditions and dozens more Prussian cavalrymen tumbled from their mounts.

Somewhere far to the left, Colonel Feraud's cavalrymen counter charged the Prussian squadrons extending toward them. They broke the Prussians on impact with the weight of their numbers. Then they surged forward, wheeled, and turned the Prussian flank.

Three more volleys tore into the Prussian cavalrymen, and officers tried to pull their squadrons away from the square.

But like a hammer, Feraud's Franco-Saderan horsemen smashed into the sides of the Prussians fleeing from the square and into the arriving Russians, who had made the mistake of following their allies. Feraud drove the Coalition cavalry before him. They fled, unable to stop his momentum, onto the waiting anvil that was Jacques's square.

Horses were bayoneted, and unlucky riders were finished off on the ground. Trapped between two forces, the cavalrymen broke. Cohesion fell apart. Individual riders fled.

The Coalition cavalry raced away from Jacques's force. Even the Russians, who had barely been engaged, took to their heels. Colonel Feraud immediately stood in his saddle, swiveled his head, and then took off in pursuit with a wave of his saber.

Jacques had a moment to observe while his battalion reformed its column. Marshal Murat was still thundering forward, though his progress had slowed considerably in the thick mud. Meanwhile the Russian infantry, no longer guarded by their reserve cavalry and now threatened by Jacques's force to their rear, were pulling back from the village they had defended while tirailleurs of the Young Guard drove them out at bayonet point.

Behind Jacques, a regiment of Marshal Ney's regulars was coming up to reinforce his vanguard. They had Colonel Delon's artillery with them too, with teams of horses dragging the heavy guns through mud.

As far as he could tell, there was nothing between Jacques and the Young Guard. He had broken the Coalition line by driving back their cavalry reserve and menacing their rear. If he acted now, he could link up with the Emperor's forces and alert him of their presence.

But something struck Jacques at that moment.

There was a cluster of Austrian, Russian, and Prussian officers standing on the ridge just east of the main Russian battery being attacked by Marshal Murat. Jacques was tempted to dismiss them as staff officers observing the field, unimportant and replaceable. But even from this distance, he could see they were accompanied by tall men in dark green uniforms. Very tall men.

Russian Lifeguards.

Jacques couldn't be certain. He wasn't good enough to pick out the details of different uniforms. But if he was right, then whoever was there had to be important. Guard infantry didn't waste its time protecting staff officers.

He made his decision.

"You have command of the battalion," Jacques informed the captain of the grenadier company next to the Ninth Company. "I'm going to detach my men to investigate that ridge. Try to reach the Young Guard in the meantime. We should be getting reinforcements shortly."

The grenadier captain didn't say a word, but his disapproval was evident through his steely eyed glare. He gave a curt nod and saluted. Jacques took that as his sign to leave and returned to the Ninth Company. Behind him, the grenadier began shouting orders.

"What's the plan, captain?" Astier asked when Jacques led them away from the rest of the column. He looked around, squinting. "I don't suppose we're going to turn the Russian flank by ourselves?"

Jacques shook his head. "I want those officers over there. They look important."

"Damn," Vidal chuckled, "I was hoping for one last insane plan."

The Ninth Company went forward at a rapid pace. The Coalition officers seemed more focused on Marshal Murat's cavalry charge than Jacques, but he didn't want to risk them getting away. The Ninth Company climbed the ridge as fast as they could. Men were panting by the time they reached the top.

And then it was a straight shot to the officers. From his vantage point on the ridge, Jacques could see practically the whole battlefield as he trotted forward. To his right was mostly as expected, the Emperor's army pushing against Coalition defenses. But to his left, was the Austrian reserve, now finally visible over the ridge.

The reserve had thousands of fresh Austrian infantry, all marching toward the battlefield. At their head were Austrian cuirassiers and Russian Guard cavalry. They were a long way off, at least half an hour away, but Jacques felt his stomach tighten. If they caught the Ninth Company on this ridge, they'd sweep it away without a second thought.

"Come on," Jacques urged. "We can't be here when they arrive. Double time!"

Tired men pumped their legs' and pushed forward. The entire company lurched forward with sudden new speed.

Someone in the Lifeguards noticed them and gave a shout. Their contingent began to form a line to oppose Jacques while an aide took off on a horse. It was inevitable given the circumstances. They'd already been lucky enough.

Several Austrian aides began urging their officers onto horses, but the Ninth Company was moving quickly, and in their rush to flee someone spooked the horses. The beasts went running, forcing the aides to chase them down and leaving the officers stuck on foot.

The Russian Lifeguards advanced on the Ninth Company. It was hopeless; they were a bodyguard not a battlefield formation, and they only had two dozen men to oppose Jacques's near hundred.

But they were brave, so they advanced.

At eighty yards, their officer shouted a halt, dressed their line, and gave the order to fire.

Ten men dropped from the Ninth Company's frontage, six in the first rank and four in the second. One of them was next to Jacques, and warm, sticky blood sprayed the side of his face. Men who had survived magic and monsters were cut down by simple musketry.

It had been a long time since he'd experienced this kind of war. The horrific and brutal slugging matches between lines of muskets. But Jacques certainly hadn't forgotten it.

At fifty yards, Jacques ordered the company to halt. He didn't bother dressing their ranks; they were messy from rapid marching but he couldn't afford to lose time. All three ranks of muskets came down at once. With a slash of Jacques's sword, the company's front exploded into a cloud of smoke.

The Lifeguards didn't scream. They died in silent defiance, annihilated by the Ninth Company's volley. Not a man survived.

"With me!" Jacques roared, and he sprinted toward the cluster of panicked officers, sword in one hand and pistol in the other.

He didn't look back to see if his men followed him. He knew they were there; they always were.

The officers fled, of course. Their horses were still being collected, so they ran on foot, and it became one massive race. Jacques's tired men against officers used to riding everywhere they went.

"Stop!" Jacques heaved as he ran. He struggled to point his pistol at their cluster. "Stop or I'll shoot!"

The officers ignored him, or perhaps they simply didn't hear his threat. Jacques doubted he could hit them from this distance anyway.

He cursed as he exhaled. But Jacques had been through far worse, and he kept running. Some of his men were faster than he was, and they appeared in his periphery, sprinting forward with a much heavier kit than he was carrying.

The officers ran across the ridge, clearly trying to make it to the nearest Russian position, their main battery a few hundred yards away. Try as they might, Jacques's men simply couldn't catch up with them. The officers were too fresh, and Jacques might have underestimated their physical condition when he'd started running after them. Sooner or later, he would have to pull back to avoid being trapped by Russian reserves.

But then a steel clad horseman swept through the Russian battery ahead of the officers and cut down two artillerymen with his sword. A second later, hundreds more French cuirassiers followed him through. They had been hidden moments before by the slope of the ridge, but now they overwhelmed the battery in a tide of steel and flesh.

The French cavalry circled, cutting apart the Russian cannon crews. Their horses snarled and kicked. Russian gunners tried to flee but were hacked to the ground as they ran. And from the midst of the French cuirassiers, a man in a resplendent white and gold uniform rode forward with a riding crop held raised above him.

The Coalition officers halted in their tracks. They turned, disbelief clear on their faces, and looked from Jacques's tired company to the mass of French horsemen.

One of the officers, a Russian with a dark green uniform and gold epaulettes, drew his small sword and stuck it in the ground. "They have us," he said in German.

Jacques slowed his run to halt before the officers. He took a moment to breathe deep heavy breaths while his men caught up with him.

"I am Captain…" Jacques tried to get out his words between breaths, "Jacques Duclos… and I demand… your surrender… on behalf of Marshal Ney."

The officers blinked at him, and Jacques realized he'd spoken to them in Saderan. He repeated himself, this time in German and with better control of his breathing.

"Marshal Ney?" one of the Austrians questioned. "Ney is dead."

Jacques was trying to think of an answer when the thunder of hooves announced the arrival of a dozen French cuirassiers. The man in the resplendent uniform reigned in his horse next to Jacques.

He pointed his riding crop directly at Jacques's chest. "Where the fuck did you come from, captain?" He asked without even a hint of malice. "Has the Young Guard pushed further than me?"

Jacques knew the man by his uniform. "Marshal Murat, sir," he said while saluting, "I am part of the advanced guard of the Third Corps. Marshal Ney is marching on the Coalition rear with his entire force."

Marshal Murat was distracted, looking at the Coalition officers Jacques had captured, but his head perked up at the mention of Marshal Ney. He looked back to Jacques and snarled, "Don't fuck with me, captain. Ney's dead, and his corpse is still frozen in Russia. Where are you actually from?"

"Sir," Jacques began to protest, "I swear to you-"

"Schwarzenberg you rat!" Marshal Murat suddenly exclaimed. He walked his horse over to one of the Austrian officers. Then his head darted between three of the other officers: the Russian with gold epaulettes, a Prussian, and another Austrian. Marshal Murat bowed in his saddle. "Your majesties," he said with an air of mockery.

"Sir, I must insist," Jacques said, trying again. "Marshal Ney is-"

"Who the fuck are you?" Marshal Murat interrupted. "You come out of nowhere and somehow capture the whole Coalition command…" He narrowed his eyes. "Do you even know who you've got here?"

Jacques could only shake his head dumbly.

The Marshal let out a deep belly laugh, bending in his saddle. When he finished, he pointed with his riding crop. "That right there is Frederick William, King of Prussia. Then we have the two emperors: Alexander of Russia and Francis of Austria." He jerked his head at another Austrian. "And finally that little weasel right there is Schwarzenberg, commander-in-chief of Coalition forces in Germany."

Jacques tried to think of a response and found that he could think of nothing. He stared at the men who he'd thought were mere officers.

"You may have just won the war, captain," Marshal Murat continued. He stood in his stirrups and looked out to the distant Coalition reserve, now no longer so distant. "Look, my boys are tired, and that's Russian Guard cavalry coming this way. I'm going to pull back and take these prisoners to the Emperor. You ought to get out of here as well. The battle's over anyway so no point in dying now." He swiveled his head back to Jacques. "I think you're a loon, but if Ney's really coming this way then the Emperor will want to see him. At the very least get whatever forces you have behind the Coalition to rejoin the main army. Then we're all golden, you understand?"

Jacques saluted. "Understood, sir."

Marshal Murat turned his horse while his cuirassiers began forcing the Coalition monarchs into their saddles. He looked back just as they were ready to leave and asked, "Oh, and what's your name, captain?"

"Jacques Duclos," Jacques replied.

"Duclos," Marshal Murat repeated. He winked. "I'll be sure to tell the Emperor!"

Then he was off with his horde of cuirassiers, and Jacques was left on the ridge with the Ninth Company. Coalition cavalry were getting closer, but they still had time to pull away. They just had to move fast.

"Were those really monarchs?" Vidal asked, still looking at the leaving cuirassiers. "Did we just do that?"

Astier rubbed the sweat from his brow. "Just when I thought our luck was running out."

Vidal shook her head. "Well that's something. What do we do now? We'll never top that."

Jacques glanced at Vidal. "Now?" he asked lightly. "Now we need to get the hell out of here before those horsemen eat us alive."

Astier squinted as he looked at the distant cavalry. "There's always something more," he sighed.

"Ever wish you weren't a soldier?" Vidal asked.

Astier perked up. "Not once."

"Time to run," Jacques called, the same call he'd used in Italica.

Men groaned.

Because it truly never ended.


By the time the sun was setting over Germany, the Battle of Leipzig had come to a close. News of the capture of the Coalition leadership had spread through the battlefield gradually. With so many thousands of men stretched across miles and miles of countryside, it was only natural that the word would be slow. But one by one, Coalition commanders realized that orders weren't arriving from their headquarters, and the disastrous news spread.

In the south, Bennigsen seized command of the Austrian forces and, with the help of General Barclay, ordered a general withdrawal to regroup his Russian and Austrian contingents away from the French. Thousands of fresh troops streamed away from the battlefield without even having seen the enemy. Many lamented that they could have beaten the French if only they'd kept pressing.

In the north, Blücher was the last Coalition commander to hear of the monarchs' capture, and he paid for it dearly. For the whole day, he'd been battling an outnumbered and outgunned blocking force, pushing toward Leipzig and the northern flank of the French main army. But the French forces were commanded by the brilliant Marshal Davout, and his force had mounted a spirited defense, forcing Blücher to pay in blood for every Saxon village his Prussians stormed.

When Bennigsen withdrew in the south, everything changed. The Emperor of the French, Napoleon Bonaparte, went into action with a flurry of orders which were promptly interpreted and distributed by his chief of staff, Marshal Berthier. Napoleon shifted his focus, from Bennigsen to Blücher. Orders went out, and men began to march.

The Second Corps and Eighth Corps swung north under the command of Prince Poniatowski. To their far right, the Old Guard was committed and went north to the sound drums. Dragoons of the Guard Cavalry supported their flank. The Fifth Corps moved behind to reinforce. Napoleon himself shifted his headquarters further north.

Blücher was struck just as his Prussian hussars were routing Marshal Marmont's Sixth Corps from Möckern. A sudden influx of Poniatowski's Polish infantry stopped the Prussians before the village of Gohlis. Then the Old Guard appeared on their flank and, like a hammer through glass, smashed Blücher's tired men.

The arrival of French reinforcements broke the willpower of Blücher's Prussians. His men began to withdraw, but it turned into a rout when General Letort's dragoons charged through their rearguard. Worse, Blücher's Russian contingent was suddenly set upon by a counterattack by Marshal Davout which, with reinforcements courtesy of the Fifth Corps, shattered their center and routed them just as their Prussian comrades had been.

The Army of Silesia was then ravaged by the French pursuit, losing thousands as men were run down and captured or killed. Attempts to reorganize were foiled by the pressing French infantry. They were only saved when darkness forced French forces to retire for the night.

By then, news had reached Blücher that his king was in French captivity, and the war was effectively lost. He marched his men through the night to Bernadotte's converging force and informed the Swedish Crown Prince of what had occurred.

By the morning, Napoleon was the unquestioned winner of Leipzig. He had gambled his empire in one final battle and emerged as he always had: victorious.

Already, envoys had been sent to Bennigsen, Blücher, and Bernadotte to negotiate peace terms in Napoleon's favor. With three Coalition monarchs in French captivity, the negotiations were a forgone conclusion. Only Britain would continue to resist, as they alway did.

For Marshal Ney, the morning after the battle was spent insisting that he was really himself. The day prior, he'd joined his forces with French forces in the south. His men were too tired to have participated in the race north to face Blücher, so they'd guarded the south in case Bennigsen chose to return to the battle. He'd reunited with some old comrades, many of whom were in disbelief at his sudden appearance, then he had a courier deliver a written report of his experience in Falmart to Marshal Berthier so that it could be read to the Emperor when he was available.

There were many more old comrades to greet when Ney woke in the morning. Everyone had believed he'd perished in Russia, and it didn't help that the truth of what had happened was so outlandish. Many had to see him in person to believe that he was really back.

He told his story over breakfast in a house packed to the brim with friends and acquaintances. Some didn't believe him, and there was no longer any evidence of the Gate itself to prove his story. It had disappeared as darkness fell.

At lunch, Ney invited an auxiliary to his table in order to quell the naysayers. The man's foreign language and general amazement at the new world he found himself in was enough to convince most of them of Ney's story.

Some of the more scientifically inclined officers immediately went to Ney's camp to interview his Saderan and Elban soldiers. Others began to talk to Ney's French officers and soldiers about what they'd gone through. They wanted their experiences to be published immediately.

But Ney wasn't there for any of that. Instead, after lunch, he was informed by an aide that the Emperor wished to speak with him personally.

So Ney rode north to Leipzig where the Emperor was residing. He gave his horse to a staff officer and entered a lavish mansion where an army of junior officers and attendants swarmed through the hallways. One of Berthier's men directed him to the main dining room.

There, the Emperor stood by a fireplace with a paper in his hand. Scattered across the dining table were stacks of reports. Staff officers sat around the table, sorting through various papers and making notations. Marshal Berthier was at the head, also reading through reports.

"Your majesty," Ney greeted, offering a bow.

Napoleon turned to face Ney. He looked tired. His eyes had heavy bags under them and betrayed the immense stress he was under. But he smiled when he saw Ney.

"After so long, you have finally returned to me," Napoleon remarked.

Ney rose from his bow. "I have, your majesty."

Napoleon gestured with the paper he had in his hand. "Is this real?" he asked. "This land of fairytales? Did you truly march through a different world?"

"It is, your majesty. Every word."

The Emperor looked into the fireplace for a long moment, deep in thought. Then he crossed the distance between them suddenly. In one motion, Napoleon embraced Ney.

"Then Michel Ney, you are truly the bravest of the brave."


Three years ago, I decided to put my love of Napoleonic history to the test and write my contribution to the already impressive Gate fandom. Now I can say with great satisfaction that I am done. No eternal hiatus, no giving up mid-way through, no unrealized potential. This story is finished in its entirety.

Really, the credit should go to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed, or favorited this story. Without all of you, I would never have finished this. I wouldn't even have written half of what I've written if it wasn't for the ever-present love this story has received. Everyone of you deserves credit for ensuring that this story was completed.

Some readers may not be satisfied with this ending. I know that many would love if I continued the story into Napoleonic Europe and focused on an alternate Napoleonic Wars. However, fundamentally this story is a Gate fanfiction, and that is all I ever intended it to be. I do not have the skill or knowledge to depict the Napoleonic Wars as a whole. I apologize if this is disappointing, but I cannot do it. If anyone does feel that they have this ability then by all means go ahead. I give you full permission to use the characters I have created and the plots I developed to continue this story. Just message me so that I can read it when it comes out.

But regardless, that's all. I could spend hours detailing all of the different references I made in this chapter to the real Battle of Leipzig, but at the end of the day that's not helpful. Instead I will leave you all with a few references I used while writing this story for if you wish to explore the Napoleonic era further.

The Campaigns of Napoleon by David G. Chandler. A detailed overview of the entirety of Napoleon Bonaparte's military career. While not perfect and obviously somewhat dated now, this book is a fantastic place to start for anyone interested in reading up on Napoleonic warfare. It is, however, exclusively military focused. There is little mention of his civic reforms or personal life.

Napoleon: A Life by Andrew Roberts. An incredible biography of Napoleon. I wholeheartedly recommend it to anyone looking to understand the man himself.

The Art of War by Antoine-Henri Jomini. A guide to Napoleonic and early 19th-century warfare written by the aide to Marshal Ney. Jomini has been a crucial help to the creation of this story as it is his theory that I drew upon when writing my depiction of Napoleonic warfare. If you've read Clausewitz, you may be interested in reading the work of his rival. Though I will say that Jomini is more practical and less theoretical than Clausewitz which means his works are less applicable to a modern day context than Clausewitz's.

Napoleon's Infantry Handbook by Terry Crowdy. A comprehensive guide to the individual infantryman in Napoleonic service. This is a book that I picked up a little way into writing this story, and the difference in accuracy and detail this book made on my writing is very noticeable. From uniforms to firing orders, Crowdy covers everything you would need to accurately depict a French infantryman during the Napoleonic Wars. The Jacques Duclos I wrote would not have been possible without this book.

Marshal Ney: The Bravest of the Brave by Andrew Hilliard Atteridge. A biography of Michel Ney himself. Also a book I picked up having partially written this story. I only wish that I could have read this before starting this story. My early characterization of Ney would have been more accurate.

Napoleonic Wars 1805-09: March of the Eagles, Napoleonic Wars 1809-14: Downfall, Napoleon's Marshals, and Napoleon in Italy by Epic History TV. The best videos on Youtube about the Napoleonic era. I cannot applaud Epic History TV enough for making the Napoleonic Wars more accessible to a wider audience through their videos. Their content is intense, hard hitting, and most of all entertaining. While the videos should not be confused as being 100% accurate historical works, and they do prioritize story telling over historical analysis, I believe that their videos are crucial for inspiring interest in the Napoleonic Wars. Their video on Napoleon's Marshals was the reason for this story's creation, so I owe them a debt of gratitude for inspiring my personal interest.

So that's that. I might decide to write some new stories (which will undoubtably be shorter than this one), but for the time being this is all I have to offer. Thank you everyone for reading. It has been a wonderful journey.