Grande Armée in Another World: The Eagle and the Queen

Chapter 35 - A Blood-Soaked Victory

The sun has set.

Countless bonfires illuminated the grasslands. The victorious French soldiers gathered together, sharing the joy of having survived the day with bread and wine among their comrades. To boast of the glory of victory, they have grown a bit too tired.

The Coronation Hill where Cloumille was once bestowed the crown of Tallgrassland by his father the king is now filled with countless corpses and wounded men who continue to groan. They were stained red and black. People from neighboring villages and merchants accompanying the army stripped the pitiful ones of their armor, jewelry, rings, and even shoes and clothes. None of these were needed by the dead anymore.

The attendants of knights who have not returned search the faces of the dead for their lord's visage as they walk. Around the bonfires, beasts lured by the scent of fresh blood likely lurk, drooling, in the darkness.

Graves are also being dug to bury the dead. The work is assigned to common soldiers from Axeland who have become prisoners. Once they finished digging holes of sufficient depth, they were told they may return to their respective homes. Of course, their weapons were confiscated.

Even among the prisoners, the treatment of noble knights is different. They were provided with fine tents, and after negotiations for ransom among the nobles of Tallgrassland who had fought fiercely during the day, there were not a few who converse amiably after the negotiations were concluded. Having fought valiantly and fulfilled their duty, they commended each other for their bravery.

"I'm glad you survived your first battle," said Vigo, an old soldier with a beard, as he handed a warm bean soup to Wafcarel, a young hand cannoneer, who was sitting down. She took the bowl and drank the thinly seasoned soup.

"Maybe it's thanks to the charm you put on me before the battle," said Jacques, a young soldier, as he also received the soup and skillfully scooped up the beans with a spoon.

"Earth spirits are very kind spirits... Nice gear, isn't it?" Wafcarel inquired.

"This? My old man gave it to me before he went off to war. Said he inherited it from his old man."

"That's nice."

"Yeah."

"Is it always like this in battles?"

"No, this time was especially tough. It's usually easier... with fewer casualties."

"Huh..."

"Before I got the soup, I heard that half of our unit had gone. Seems like other units are in a similar situation. If we have six thousand left when we line up tomorrow, we'll be lucky."

"Disappeared? Not dead?"

"A lot died too. But it's normal for most to run away. We French soldiers, even if we wanted to run, there's nowhere to run in a place like this. But those recruited in this world are different. They probably know the terrain and have homes to go back to... Desertion by French soldiers was common in Italy. When we went into mountain paths where the lookout officers couldn't find us, usually two or three would disappear."

"I see..."

"Well, for now, let's eat."

"What's going to happen after this?" Wafcarel asked.

"If we're lucky, we'll fall back to the rear and rest."

"And if we're unlucky?" Jacques interjected.

"We'll sleep with these corpses and relentlessly pursue the enemy at dawn. That's the Supreme Commander's usual routine," Vigo answered.

"Ugh..."

. . .

In the rear headquarters, Chief of Staff Berthier and his subordinates, having received reports from each unit, were compiling the numbers to report to the Supreme Commander, flipping through documents and jotting down figures here and there.