I am the Crown Prince of France

The Moroccan Black Guard was well-disciplined. Under the officers' commands, their line formation swiftly pivoted to face the approaching French reinforcements.

Nearly a thousand black soldiers, formed into four ranks, charged directly at the French troops under the blare of horns.

Ney stood at the very front of his infantry, drawing his sword and pointing it at the mass of dark-skinned soldiers across from them. He shouted:

"Don't be afraid! They're just slaves who were captured and don't even know how to fight! If you shoot like we practiced, they'll run away quickly!"

Despite his words, it was clear from the Moroccan soldiers' orderly formation that they were well-trained and posed a serious threat.

The Moroccans quickly closed the distance to less than 80 paces, causing some of Ney's soldiers to panic and fire prematurely.

Fortunately, the panic didn't spread. When the enemy was about 60 paces away, Ney swung his sword with force:

"Fire!"

Over 200 Charleville Model 1763 flintlock muskets erupted in a ragged volley, momentarily halting the Moroccans' advance, but they quickly resumed their charge.

At the same time, the larger Moroccan force began to envelop Ney's men, closing in from both flanks to encircle them.

"Don't be afraid!" Ney stood his ground at the front, braving enemy fire as he loudly encouraged his men. "Keep steady hands and reload quickly. Our reinforcements will be here soon, and these slaves won't harm you!"

The 200 soldiers under Ney's command, who were just farmers not long ago, took heart as they saw their officer standing fearlessly. Guided by the drumbeat, they engaged in a volley exchange with the Moroccan Guard at a distance of about 40 paces.

Bullets whizzed past Ney's ears, followed by the anguished cries of the wounded behind him. Glancing back, he saw at least 20 men hit, their bodies torn by musket balls, writhing on the ground like fish out of water.

The soldiers nearby, spattered with blood and gore, stood frozen in shock. Some, overwhelmed by fear, began to inch backward.

"Hold your ground!" Ney picked up a fallen soldier's musket and began reloading it, shouting as he did so. "Remember the oaths you took when you joined. Hold out for just half an hour more, and you'll return home covered in glory! Your families and neighbors will be proud, and your stories will be told for generations!

"And it all starts with reloading your muskets! Now move, damn it, move!"

He then turned to the roughly 300 Tunisian soldiers on the flank:

"You've rested long enough, haven't you? Fire on my command!"

Ney quickly loaded his musket, aiming at the oncoming dark faces. Inspired by his example, the French soldiers shakily began pouring powder into their barrels, while the Tunisians lifted their muskets again.

"Aim—"

"Fire!"

Ney shouted and pulled the trigger.

The ragged volley followed, and the Moroccans, almost upon them, were caught off guard by the organized volley, causing nearly 30 to fall. The soldiers flanking the dead instinctively turned away, trying to avoid the bullets.

"Good job! You did it!" Ney's voice was hoarse, but he continued to shout with all his might, "Reload, don't stop!"

There was no wind on the battlefield, and the thick smoke from the gunfire obscured the French soldiers' view. But this actually kept them from being too frightened. As long as Commander Ney was with them, they felt the situation wasn't too dire.

The Tunisian soldiers beside them also began firing sporadically, and under this renewed assault, the Moroccans started to retreat.

Hearing the enemy retreating, the remaining French and Tunisians, many of whom had been terrified to the point of wetting themselves, let out a cheer of relief.

Just as Ney was about to relax, he heard faint "bang, bang" sounds from the flanks, causing his pupils to contract in fear.

The Moroccans were closing in from both sides.

They had barely managed to hold off the frontal assault, but if attacked from the sides, their formation would collapse instantly.

Ney closed his eyes and made the sign of the cross over his chest, considering which side to counterattack. Retreating wasn't an option; at this close range, turning their backs to the enemy would be suicide. A fierce attack on one side might at least buy them some time.

He wondered if his soldiers could reposition their lines in time...

Despite his thoughts, not a single idea of surrender crossed his mind. He had grown up listening to his father, a veteran of the Seven Years' War, talk about the horrors of cowardice and surrender. Ney had always believed he was someone who would fight the enemy until the very last moment.

Ney ran back and forth, loudly ordering his officers to have their men turn to face north.

However, after just over ten minutes, he heard the chaotic shouts of Arabic behind him.

Looking back at his soldiers, who were still clumped together in disorder, and the even worse state of the Tunisians, Ney felt a chill in his heart. He hadn't expected his first real battle command to also be his last...

Just as he was about to charge the Moroccans in a final, desperate bid, the sound of hoofbeats came from the south.

"Is that the enemy cavalry?"

He smiled, shaking his head as he drew his sword, pointing it toward the smoke:

"Come on, I'm not afraid of you!"

After a moment, however, the Moroccan attack seemed to slow down, followed by faint gunfire from behind their lines.

Ney didn't know what was happening, but he seized the opportunity to frantically urge his soldiers to reform ranks.

As the smoke finally cleared, he quickly stood on horseback, raising his telescope to look south. He saw a cavalry unit in white uniforms harassing the enemy's rear, forcing the Moroccans to tighten their formation for defense.

"It's those nobles!"

For the first time in his life, Ney didn't find the nobles so detestable. He turned excitedly to his men:

"Our reinforcements have arrived! Victory is ours!"

Shanelle spurred his horse, "Flying Bolt," racing past the Moroccan lines and firing his musket at the dark-skinned enemy soldiers.

At a distance of over 80 paces, the short musket had little killing power, but its loud report frightened the enemy.

As the 150 noble cavalrymen galloped away and regrouped, the Moroccans, thrown into confusion by the sudden attack, quickly decided to retreat.

Moreau ordered his men to link up with their comrades and soon found Ney among them.

He rode up gracefully, tipped his hat, and smiled:

"Lieutenant, it seems you were surrounded by the enemy. Fortunately, I arrived just in time with my men to save you. So, what do you think? Impressive, right?"

(End of Chapter)

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