I'm the King of Curry at Hogwarts

Chapter 174 Eat Some Strawberries

The French prepared their artillery with eighty cannons, instead of the originally planned twenty-four twelve-pound cannons. However, its power was not as terrifying as Napoleon had hoped.

Meowlington followed his old method, having his infantry lie in ambush behind the hilltop. Most of the French shells dug into the rain-soaked soil on the front slope and caused no damage.

As is well known, artillery in that era primarily used solid shot, and its destructive power generally relied on ricochets to cause damage, meaning that the shells would bounce off the ground and cause multiple hits.

Of course, for a shell to ricochet, the ground needs to be hard enough, otherwise it will get stuck in the mud. In addition, the angle of incidence must be as small as possible so that it can bounce. To ensure the angle of incidence, cannons at that time generally used direct-fire cannons, which were also called cannons.

In weather like this after the rain, it's almost impossible for artillery shells to cause the kind of damage Napoleon expected.

What's the situation now? A second ago, when the artillery fire started, the British units all shrank back in fright. After the shells hit the ground and there was no further reaction, they realized after a while that the French artillery was all bark and no bite.

What's there to be afraid of? A big orange cat on the scouting side happily peeked out to see what was going on, only to have its ear pierced by a flying rock from a cannonball.

He screamed in pain, but it was no use; what could he do when he was so stubborn?

With some time still to go before Napoleon launched his formal attack, British soldiers, under orders, pulled out enamel mugs tucked into their field backpacks. Quartermasters or bored officers then distributed the mugs, and each soldier received a large gulp of gin.

Enameled mugs were a privilege reserved for elite units like the Imperial Guard. The calico cat regiment that Louis had encountered earlier could only use large mugs meant for eating to hold their liquor.

"Guys, let's drink—if you can handle it, drink it up," the officers shouted as they walked through the ranks.

Upon reaching the 72nd Regiment where the calico cat resided, the officer, seeing the cat holding a string of beads and praying, stood before him with a bottle of liquor and asked, "Jack?"

"No, thank you, sir," Jack said politely.

The officer didn't say anything, but reached out his cat paw to rub his head and continued walking to the side.

After the officer left, a two-tone cat beside him nudged him with its elbow while holding his large food bowl: "Have some gin, Jack, this is His Majesty the King's greeting."

As she spoke, she added, "Remember to remind me to thank him next time we go to the palace."

Jack didn't answer, but asked absentmindedly, "Lawrence, you said... there will be a lot of them?"

Lawrence took a sip of his drink, letting out a sharp "Ah!" from the pungent taste. After a moment's pause, he answered Jack's question: "I don't have X-ray vision, Jack. How would I know what's going on the other side of the mountain? Why don't you go ask them? Just say, 'Hey, damn Frenchmen, how many of you came?' See if they'll answer you..."

"In the end, you're just unlucky. You ran into Napoleon in your first war, haha..." Lawrence patted Jack's head when he saw that Jack didn't speak. "Forget it, don't think about it. Even if there are 100,000 people on the other side of the mountain, you can't persuade them to go back just by praying. If prayer worked, I don't think we would have formed any anti-French alliance."

Jack finally turned to his talkative friend and asked curiously, "Aren't you scared?"

"Nothing can scare me except standing next to a weirdo friend, my dear Jack," Lawrence replied with a hint of sarcasm.

As if to truly dispel fear, he picked up his large rice bowl and gulped down a mouthful of wine.

He even poured the liquor that belonged to Jack into his own rice bowl.

"I'd better drink it all, lest the Frenchmen snatch it away later..." Lawrence reasoned, finishing the rest of the wine in one gulp.

Accompanied by the officer's shout of "72nd Regiment, advance!", Jack and Lawrence quickly put away their belongings, picked up their rifles from the side, and joined the marching ranks.

Beside the makeshift command post, Meowlington mounted his horse, looked around, and shouted, "Yubridge, where's Yubridge?"

"Here you are, sir." A silver tabby hurriedly emerged from the tent; he had just gone to relieve himself.

"Tell your darlings it's time to attack... drive those Frenchmen who are pushing forward back, meow," Meowlington commanded.

The "babies" refers to the Scottish Grey Dragon Riders under U.Bridge's command, in a joking manner.

Yubridge quickly saluted and said yes, pulling up his trousers as he ran.

When the order was given, the brigade commander, William Poncenby, was smoking snuff with his adjutant.

"Try this, it's really strong, meow." Pang Senbi took out a delicate little box containing snuff, and seeing his adjutant carefully take out a whole bunch, he couldn't help but scold him with a pained expression, "Oh dear, you can't waste any more, this is the last of the stock, meow."

Upon receiving the order to attack, he drew his saber from his silver-grey cat-paw and slung it over his shoulder, turning back to shout, "Now! Scottish Grey Dragon Riders, it's time!"

Upon hearing his superior's order, the bugler looked up, raised his horn, and began to play the bugle.

Upon hearing the bugle call, the Scottish cavalrymen drew their sabers in unison and slung them over their shoulders.

While the Scottish cavalry attacked, Louise and Chromie were observing the battlefield situation inside the command post. Because the command post was reinforced with protective magic, they weren't worried about any damage from the artillery fire.

From the aerial view, the cavalrymen wearing tall bearskin hats advanced with short strides, gradually accelerating. From a distance, they looked like waves of black, red, and gray, their speed increasing as the galloping horses kicked up thick clouds of dust, rushing headlong towards the artillery positions of the French vanguard.

Shells rained down on them from time to time, raising plumes of smoke, but the Scottish cavalrymen remained fearless and continued their charge toward their target.

Napoleon, who was standing next to the French command post, also noticed the charging cavalry. He looked ahead, seemingly talking to himself.

"Those people riding gray horses look pretty scary, meow."

"They are the noblest of all the cavalry in Europe, but the worst in command," said Soult beside him.

"Perhaps, perhaps," Napoleon repeated noncommittally twice, then added, "Where are my Polish lancers? Order them to attack and show these Englishmen what we're made of!"

Upon receiving their orders, the Polish lancers, accompanied by the resounding bugle calls, raised their lances in unison and began to march swiftly toward the Scottish mixed cavalry brigade.

From his vantage point, Yubridge spotted the conspicuous lancers and was now kicking himself. He shouldn't have sent the grey cavalry to attack the enemy artillery positions so early; now, this had turned the area into the Waterloo Heights.

But he hadn't considered what to do if he didn't send this wave, as it was already threatening the artillery positions of the Meowlington army.

"Blow the retreat horn!" Yubridge immediately ordered the bugler beside him.

The bugler did as he was told, but the battlefield was too noisy and the Scottish Grey Horsemen were too engrossed in the fighting to hear his bugle call.

Meowlington was annoyed by the noise; the bugler was playing so loudly that his ears were starting to hurt. He reached out a paw to clean his ears and almost yelled, "Stop playing your useless bugle!"

He was also somewhat influenced by personal emotions, and he clearly regretted sending out the gray cavalry.

This made matters worse for the allied forces, who were already at a disadvantage in terms of cavalry numbers.

The bugler put down his bugle and looked at Meowlington with a pitiful expression, not understanding what he had done to offend the Marshal.

Meowlington knew his behavior was inappropriate and not gentlemanly at all, so he quickly apologized, "Oh, I'm sorry, I was just worried you might hurt yourself."

The artillery fire intensified, with shells constantly crashing to the ground, kicking up clouds of mud. The battlefield situation was so tense that everyone was focused on the Scottish cavalry's situation and their own safety that no one noticed the shells that had landed near the tent near Meowlington and then mysteriously disappeared.

It's also possible that Ye Ziyan's Muggle-blocking spell caused no one to pay attention, and Meowlington seemed to have forgotten about Louis and the others.

"Any traces of the Eternal Dragon?" Louis glanced at Chromie, who was staring blankly into space.

"No, it seems they've given up on this area." Chromie shook her head. She had been searching the largest area she could scan, but to no avail.

"So we're just going to wait here?" Louis was getting a little impatient. The battlefield wasn't a place for just anyone; the feeling of lives being lost every moment made the atmosphere extremely oppressive.

The only two dragons in the entire tent who remained calm were Chromie and Christa. The former, as the Guardian of Time, was used to such life-and-death scenes, while the latter was simply carefree.

Louis was alright, and Catherine was only a little pale, but Ye Ziyan couldn't accept the scene and returned to her original timeline first.

Come to think of it, this is how a normal person should react. After all, none of us are bloodthirsty monsters. It's really a bit outrageous for someone as carefree as Christa.

"Little deer." Catherine's voice was somber as she placed her long, slender hand on Louis's shoulder.

Louis patted her slender waist without saying a word, and then the French army made a new move.

Oh, it's a French army unit patrolling the outskirts, not at Waterloo, but about 20 kilometers away.

It was Grouchy, whom Mikoro had mentioned earlier.

There are many different versions of the story throughout history, especially in the works of novelist Stefan Zweig, which seem to place all the blame on Grouchy. But who is right and who is wrong is not necessarily clear. At least, it was Napoleon's order for Grouchy to search for Blücher outside.

He is now riding a tall horse, holding a basket in his arms, picking strawberries from it to eat.

It looked quite fresh, and he seemed to enjoy eating it.

A dull cannon shot rang out. Grouchy placed the basket on his saddle, looked around, and asked, "Where are they firing? Where are they firing?"

"It's in the direction of Mont Saint-Jean, Your Excellency," Gérard replied, standing beside him.

Grouchy paused for a moment, thought for a second, and then replied with a nonchalant "Oh."

"Sir, it seems there's intense fighting in the direction of Mont Saint-Jean. Should we...?" Gérard asked anxiously, judging from the sound of cannon fire that there must be some major activity going on there.

His beloved emperor did not seem to have such a strong advantage against the allied forces.

"I know you're in a hurry, but please don't rush, my general." Grouchy picked up the strawberry basket again and started popping strawberries into his mouth.

Gérard's face immediately darkened, his two cat teeth bared: "For God's sake, the cannons are calling us! March towards the direction from which the cannons are coming! We have a third of our forces with us; our duty is..."

Grouchy's face instantly darkened. He tilted his head and interrupted Gérard in an unfriendly tone: "I don't need you to teach me what our duties are, General. The instructions I received from the Emperor are clear: keep my sword in the line of fire for Blücher."

Gérard was truly getting impatient. Grouchy's nonchalant attitude made him question the man's current status. He retorted irritably, even spitting on Grouchy's strawberry: "If you're not prepared to march towards the sound of gunfire, then I'll go!"

"Splitting my army? Hmph... Meowland's laws would sentence me to hanging." Grouchy remained unmoved, still calmly eating his strawberries.

"You..." Gérard was so choked up that he couldn't say a word. He could only point at Grouchy with trembling hands, and after a long while, he finally put his head down in dejection.

(You will become a sinner against Meowlancy, Grouchy...)

Unable to change the coach's mind, Gerard could only sigh and silently pray for the emperor and Meow Lance.

……

While Grouchy remained unmoved, Duke Merrington and Napoleon simultaneously spotted a force of about five or six thousand men marching towards the main battlefield of Waterloo in the distance.

"Rabe Duval!" Napoleon shouted.

Duval stepped forward, and Napoleon handed him his binoculars, pointing them in the direction of the unknown troops he had spotted: "What's moving there?"

"I saw some troops marching in columns over there, about five or six thousand men..." General Duval replied.

"He's right," Soult added from behind.

Telescopes of that era weren't particularly effective; at a distance, it was truly impossible to see anything clearly. Napoleon, unsure whose troops they were, could only ask the generals beside him, "Whose troops are they? Ours, or Prussia's?"

"This..." The generals looked at each other, unable to make out the uniforms of the troops at this distance, and for a moment they didn't know how to answer.

(End of this chapter)