Chapter 459: A Perfect Completion
"Your Highness, there are no signs of enemy forces around the Bóbr River," Berthier reported, tipping his hat to Joseph.
"Good, let's continue to speed up the march," Joseph nodded, holding up a few sheets of paper. "A letter from Marshal Laessig himself, praising and thanking the 2nd Company of the 3rd Hussars, along with a reward of 5,000 florins."
Berthier smiled, "If it weren't for their timely cover, Marshal Laessig's command post might have been overtaken by Prussian cavalry. The young men of the 2nd Hussars were indeed very brave—four of them received medals. Especially that young Lieutenant Joachim Murat, who's earned his second Silver Fleur-de-lis Medal within six months."
Murat had taken down three enemy soldiers, captured a Prussian major, and led his team in escorting Marshal Laessig to safety, almost earning himself a Gold Fleur-de-lis Medal.
"He's truly an outstanding cavalryman!" Joseph expressed surprise, though he wasn't actually shocked. After all, this was Murat—the man who, in history, became Napoleon's cavalry commander, famously leading a charge of over 10,000 cavalrymen in the Battle of Eylau, breaking through the Russian center and destroying dozens of artillery battalions, securing victory. Such talent could never go unnoticed.
Joseph turned to Berthier and said, "I think we should promote Lieutenant Murat ahead of time."
"Yes, Your Highness. In fact, the General Staff has also recommended promoting him directly to Captain."
As they spoke, a messenger arrived and handed a report to Berthier. "General, this is the latest update from Breslau."
Berthier quickly read the report and excitedly turned to Joseph, "Your Highness, Marshal Laessig's forces have reached the Breslau fortress and are preparing to attack. And just as you predicted, the Prussian main force is moving to reinforce Breslau."
Joseph breathed a sigh of relief. After so many twists and turns, things were finally falling into place—no major shift in the balance of military power between Prussia and Austria. Once Duke Brunswick reached Breslau, they would likely be locked in a standoff near the fortress. Meanwhile, Joseph's forces would arrive at Liegnitz in three days. Although Brunswick had left nearly 10,000 men to defend the city, Joseph was bringing the bulk of the Guard Corps with him.
Since its formation, the Guard Corps had rarely fought battles where they held the numerical advantage, so there should be no surprises in the siege. Once Liegnitz was handed over to Marshal Laessig, Joseph's mission would be complete.
With Liegnitz lost, Wilhelm II wouldn't let it go, and Austria, having fought so hard to reclaim a province in Silesia, wouldn't back down either. Both sides would continue to build up their forces and clash along the Breslau line, while France could use the time to develop quietly—and even sell supplies to the war-torn German states.
Ah, for the future of France, Joseph thought, it seems I must let the Holy Roman Empire suffer a bit more.
...
Duke Brunswick frowned at the gloomy sky, shouting at his soldiers to hurry up. That old fox Laessig had the nerve to rush toward Breslau with insufficient supplies, completely disrupting his plans. The Breslau fortress had far too few defenders; even after hastily gathering nearby militia, there were only about 9,000 men. The fortress might fall to the Austrians if they weren't careful.
"God, please don't let it rain," he muttered, looking up at the clouds again. Just then, the sound of frantic hooves approached. Turning, he saw a messenger covered in mud rushing toward him with a grim expression.
"Your Grace, Liegnitz—"
"The enemy is attacking Liegnitz?" Brunswick interrupted.
The messenger nodded. "Yes, Your Grace. General August sent me; the enemy's vanguard was already on the outskirts when I left."
Brunswick roared in anger, "What on earth is August doing?!"
Two days ago, Liegnitz's messengers had reported no sign of enemy activity. Now, in less than 48 hours, the city was already under attack! His face darkened as he looked down at his saddle. Just two weeks ago, he had been full of confidence, breaking through the Austrian lines and preparing to end the Silesian campaign and return to Potsdam. Now, all he could think about was how to explain himself to the king...
...
Vienna.
In the luxurious "Red Boots" salon, a young woman, her face painted in the latest noble fashion, wrapped her arms around Basel's neck, gazing seductively at him. "Mr. Miller, if you're having trouble... 'rising to the occasion,' I have some mummy powder here. It's a bit pricey, but it works wonders..."
As she spoke, her hand moved toward his crotch.
"Please, step aside!" Basel slapped her hand away and immediately pressed his ear to the keyhole.
The dedicated courtesan tried again, unbuttoning her bodice. "Sir, you can do anything you want with me..."
Basel suddenly felt his legs aching and pulled her to the door. "Then do me a favor. Keep an eye on the room down the hall—the one with the Hera statue outside. If you see anything unusual, let me know right away."
"Uh, sure..." The courtesan reluctantly bent down to peer through the keyhole.
Basel picked up the small violin meant for entertainment and silently played it. Soon, the courtesan grumbled, "Are you interested in Miss Phini? Then why did you hire me..."
Phini was the courtesan currently entertaining a client in the room across the hall.
"No," Basel replied calmly. "I'm interested in the man."
"Oh..." The courtesan's eyes lit up with gossip. "So, you're here to catch a cheater?"
"Something like that. Just keep watching."
"Alright, sir. I'll help you deal with that heartbreaker!"
An hour later, the courtesan, rubbing her sore back, suddenly whispered urgently, "Mr. Miller, the door—it's opening!"
A cold glint flashed in Basel's eyes. He set the violin aside, grabbed his bag from the coat rack, and pushed the courtesan aside as he exited the room.
Baron Walter, still engrossed in flirting with Miss Phini, noticed a shadow and turned to see a man in his mid-thirties glaring at him with pure hatred.
"Who are you? What do you want—"
Before he could finish, the man pulled a pistol from his bag and aimed it at Walter's chest, cutting off his words.
Basel, in a voice only they could hear, whispered, "You devil, don't think you can torment Camellia just because the French Prince isn't here. Go confess to God!"
With that, he pulled the trigger, and the flint struck with a sharp click.
(End of Chapter)
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