I'm the King of Curry at Hogwarts

Chapter 176 The Destruction of the Empire

Meowlington gripped the brim of his hat with one hand, his expression focused intently on the battlefield, his lips moving slightly.

The current situation on the battlefield is not very clear. Fortunately, Ney's attack seems to be carried out by cavalry alone, and no infantry coordination has been found.

This secretly relieved him.

"General Lambert requests reinforcements!" the adjutant behind him shouted.

Without turning his head, Meowlington, still gripping the brim of his hat, replied loudly, "I can only offer my best wishes to General Lambert!"

Good heavens, so they really gave General Lambert all the support except for help?

It's estimated that General Lambert is now on the battlefield greeting the Duke of Meowlington's entire family of sisters.

At 6 p.m., French Marshal Ney finally led his remaining troops in a retreat, and the French army captured La Hailles-Saint-Trés farm, which was heavily defended by the British. This was a strategic location, and both sides firmly believed that whoever controlled the farm would achieve final victory.

Behind the French lines, Napoleon learned of the good news through his adjutant's report. He excitedly said to Marshal Soult, "Soult, immediately write a letter to Paris and tell them... Look at the time!"

At this point, Napoleon realized that he didn't even know what time it was.

Marshal Soult took out his pocket watch, carefully checked it, and replied, "About six o'clock, Your Majesty."

A fierce wind howled, whipping up clouds of dust and even blowing Napoleon's hat to the ground. He shielded his eyes with his hand and shouted, "Tell them we crushed Meowlington's troops at six points!"

"And," he added, "we won the battle, no, tell them we won the war, meow!"

On the other side of the British lines, the Duke of Meowlington's adjutant also saw the battle through his binoculars. He reported with a hint of sadness, "Your Excellency! The French have captured La Hailles-Saint-Tréschaft, and the tricolor flag has been raised!"

Duke Meowlington lowered his paw with a slight tremor, his lips moved slightly, but he said nothing.

"The farm has fallen, Your Excellency. We can't stop them," the adjutant warned. Even though he knew Duke Meowlington was in a bad mood, he still had to report it. After all, the decision was his to make—whether to continue fighting or retreat was entirely up to the commander-in-chief.

With a melancholy look in his azure eyes, Meowlington said to a general beside him wearing a tall bearskin hat, "It looks like, Ebridge, we are losing this battle."

Ebridge remained silent, unsure what to say to comfort his marshal. After a long pause, Meowlington murmured a long sigh, seemingly in prayer: "God, please give me one more night... or give me Blücher..."

Catherine, who was not far away, asked in a low voice, "Are we retreating? Could it be... that the timeline has changed?"

"No." Louis confidently squeezed Catherine's shoulder. "Don't worry, it's not over yet."

On the French lines, Napoleon gazed at the distant battlefield, a struggle raging within him.

Now, all we need to do is send the old guard forward, and then we can take Brussels straight away, meow.

After much hesitation, he finally made up his mind and ordered the old guard to prepare for battle.

The Old Guard is the most elite unit in the entire Meowland. Most of its members are battle-hardened soldiers who have participated in at least twenty major battles, served in the military for at least twenty years, and have an average height of 1.85 meters. They are dressed in magnificent uniforms and equipped with excellent weapons. The rows of soldiers are all strong, brave and outstanding. The veteran company is full of soldiers who are missing limbs, and some of them are even slashed like zebras by bayonets.

This unit possesses extremely high morale and organization. Through long-term high-intensity training and experience escaping from numerous actual battles, they have developed a spirit of "never admitting defeat." Their indomitable spirit is as grand as the "Long live the Emperor" shouted during a charge.

The vanguard carried an exquisite and magnificent banner embroidered with the places where they had fought: Marengo, Ulm, Austerlitz, Jena, Elau, Friedland, Esslin, Wagram, Smolensk, Moscow River, Vienna, Berlin, Madrid, and Moscow.

This is not only their glory, but these battles have also made them famous.

Napoleon wanted to advance with the Old Guard, but was forced to retreat due to strong pleas from the generals.

At this moment, Duke Meowlington was washing his face, and only after being repeatedly urged by Ebridge did he finally make a decision.

"I'm giving up my left wing."

"Your Excellency?" Ebridge asked incredulously.

"I want all the rest of you here, right here!" Meowlington commanded decisively, his fur trembling with each movement.

After saying that, he bent down, scooped up a handful of water, splashed it on his face, and then stood up and ordered, "Get them here! Every brigade, every battalion, every soldier, come here!"

After saying that, he patted Ebridge's arm: "Go, allocate every single cannon to them."

"Yes!" Ebridge turned and ran to relay the order.

After he left, Meowlington was wiping his face with a towel when a general wearing a bearskin hat rode up behind him. His right hand was wrapped in a thin bandage, probably because the cat had suffered a minor injury to its paw.

"I've lost half my men! Meowlington!" he yelled irritably, then softened his tone when Meowlington turned around: "But they're still holding on!"

"If Marshal Blücher doesn't come soon, they'll break every bone in my body!" Meowlington handed a towel to the person next to him and made a dry joke.

"The general knew he couldn't push the commander-in-chief too far, so he quickly stretched out his cat paw, which revealed several strings of edamame beans: 'Delicious beans, meowlington.'"

"If there's any field in this world I know absolutely nothing about, it's farming," he replied abruptly, taking the two beans.

At this moment, the British troops suddenly became restless and agitated.

"What's wrong? Why are you in such a panic?" Meowlington asked, frowning.

"Your Excellency Marshal, listen!" Lawrence reminded him nervously.

He listened intently, and the beans in his hand fell to the ground with a thud.

"It's the Old Guard! The Old Guard!" Soldiers in the unit who had fought against the Old Guard lost their courage almost instantly, and began to whisper among themselves. An uneasy atmosphere spread rapidly throughout the army.

No one believed their own forces could stand up to the Old Guard head-on, unless a miracle occurred.

Not far away, the disciplined Old Guard marched toward the British positions at St. Jean Hill, accompanied by their signature march, "Victory Belongs to Us."

Meowlington muttered impatiently, "Marshal Blücher, where the hell are you...?"

Just as he was getting anxious and gritting his teeth, a black-clad army suddenly appeared in the woods in the distance.

"Look over there, Your Excellency!" Louis knew that Blücher should have appeared by now, and in order to salvage Meowlington's mood, he patted the latter on the shoulder and pointed to the woods in the distance to remind him.

I handed him a pair of binoculars.

Now that they were closer, Meowlington was finally able to see the color of the other person's clothes clearly.

"It's black...it's black! Oh my god, it's Marshal Blücher! I love him to death!" Meowlington shouted excitedly, "Cheer up, our reinforcements have arrived! Marshal Blücher has come with his troops!"

The previously somber atmosphere in the troops was instantly swept away. Only a miracle could allow them to contend with the old guard? Look, here comes the miracle!

In stark contrast to the jubilant atmosphere on the British positions, the French positions were eerily silent.

A galloping horse came galloping in, shouting, "Your Majesty! The Prussians are in the woods! Blücher has appeared in the woods!"

Napoleon paused for a moment, then muttered to himself in anguish, "I made a mistake; I should have burned Berlin down!"

Back in his tent, he sat wearily in a chair and muttered, "Well, well, we still have hope. As long as Grouchy launches an attack, everything will be alright..."

"My Majesty..." Soult stammered, "Grushi, Grouchy, he..."

Napoleon looked up at Soult, only to find the latter with his mouth agape, unable to utter a single word.

"Grush said he couldn't bring his troops over; there simply wasn't enough time," General Duval added quickly.

Napoleon paused for a moment, then shakily reached out and removed his hat, saying in a low voice, "Those whose names are called, stay: Soult, Duval, Drouot, and Compronnax."

Once everyone had left the tent, Napoleon suddenly erupted, shouting, "That was my order! It was the order for Grouchy to come to our aid! Who does he think he is! How dare he defy my orders?"

"So this is how it got to this point! The entire command system was just fooling me! All these generals piled together are nothing but monkeys, worthless, vicious rotten fish!"

"Your Majesty, I cannot tolerate these soldiers who shed their blood for you..." General Duval spoke at a speed comparable to a singer of Nikolai clapper talk, rapid yet clear.

"Just a bunch of rotten fish and shrimp! Traitors and scum!" Napoleon roared.

"Your Majesty, your words are far too harsh!"

"These guys are no generals, they're a menace to the entire Meowland nation! It's infuriating!"

Napoleon slammed his gloves on the table.

"The reason they call themselves generals and marshals is simply because they've accumulated enough years in military academy, wielded blades, and all they've learned is how to eat their fill and fatten themselves up! For years, all you've done is drag me down, meow!"

That's true. Putting aside others, just take Neymar alone; he's had countless lucky breaks.

Ney, instead of obeying Napoleon's orders to expand the gains at La Haye Sainte-Trésor, led eight battalions of the Imperial Guard to attack the British main force where Meowlington was located.

Compared to this, even the Water Spirits Highlands seem like pure white lotuses.

"I should have dragged these traitors out and killed them one by one eight hundred years ago! Like Justinian, meow!"

Indeed, Justinian was ruthless. He beheaded Belisarius, such a great and ever-victorious general, just like Liu Yilong beheading Tan Daoji.

After roaring for a while, Napoleon was exhausted. He sat down, pounding his chest, and muttered, "What a genius I am! I've always relied on myself, yet I've conquered the entire European continent..."

Leaving aside Napoleon, who was still raging in his command post, Blücher's troops at the edge of the woods had already poured out and formed neat ranks.

While Blücher's other merits were not particularly outstanding, one aspect of him stood out remarkably.

That is, this person always manages to appear in the right place at crucial moments.

"Raise the black flag high, children! No mercy! No prisoners!" Blücher, the black cat, spoke with a resolute expression, his pale beard bobbing as he spoke: "I will shoot anyone who shows mercy to the enemy!"

He took off his hat and shouted, "Forward!"

Accompanied by rhythmic drumbeats and marching music, the Prussian army marched swiftly forward.

As they approached the French army, Blücher knew that Meowlington wouldn't hold out much longer. He took off his hat, threw it to the ground, and shouted, "Charge! Charge! My children!"

The Prussian skeleton cavalry received orders and began to accelerate and charge at full speed, like a sharp knife, thrusting straight into the flank of the Old Guard.

Meowlington also spotted the Prussian cavalry charging forward, and excitedly shouted to his soldiers hidden in the grass on the hillside, "Now! Stand up! Prepare for battle!"

The hail of bullets from the side caught the old guard off guard. But they were, after all, the old guard, and they continued to advance with resolute steps.

"It's Grouchy! They're here!" someone shouted excitedly upon hearing the sound of cavalry hooves.

Immediately someone shouted, "No, it's Blücher! It's all over! The Prussians are coming!"

The Old Guard began to hesitate, and fierce artillery fire began to hit them head-on. Coupled with the charge of the Prussian cavalry, even the Iron Army could not withstand such a pincer attack, and they gradually began to show signs of collapse.

Ney shouted angrily, "Have I really reached the point where I have to fight alone?! Charge with me! Are you even French?! Stand with me!"

"The Prussians are coming, Your Excellency!" a guardsman shouted.

The battlefield was so chaotic that few people noticed Ney's actions. The Prussian cavalry, with their tall horses and topped caps embroidered with skulls, charged through the crowd. With the support of British artillery fire, the Old Guard had been scattered beyond recognition.

Ney grabbed a group of soldiers and shouted, "Don't you recognize me? I'm Ney! Marshal of Meurancy! Hold on for another hour, and we'll defeat them! Are you still the Imperial Guard?!"

The last sentence completely restored the glory of the old guard, and they began to gather around Ney to fight against the two-pronged attack from the Prussians and the British.

On the French lines, someone shouted, "The Old Guard has been routed!"

Napoleon turned his head in disbelief, never imagining that the old guard he had always placed so much hope in would one day fail.

He slumped to the ground, his gaze gradually hardening into determination.

Napoleon drew his sword from his waist and walked forward with a resolute expression.

"What are you doing, Your Majesty!" Surte exclaimed in alarm and rushed over to ask.

"I want to be with my guards!" Napoleon replied.

Soult quickly ordered his generals to disarm Napoleon and, ignoring his struggles, lifted him backward.

"Let me go! I am the emperor of the Miaolanxi Empire! I should be with my soldiers! If I am to die, I want to die on the battlefield, alongside my soldiers! Let me go!" He struggled in vain, but the generals around him showed no intention of letting him go.

And so, Napoleon was carried away from the battlefield by his generals.

On the slopes of Mont Saint-Jean, seeing that the situation was under control, a relaxed Meowlington smiled and joked with Ebridge beside him, "Ebridge, if I had ever seen 30,000 people running forward together before, I might have been scared to death."

"Push the entire front forward!" he commanded.

"Which way, Your Grace?" Ebridge asked, bewildered.

Meowlington gave Ebridge a look as if she were an idiot, then chuckled and pointed to the retreating figures of the British soldiers charging ahead: "Of course, they're going straight forward, without a doubt."

The joyful atmosphere was contagious, and the entire British high command was beaming with smiles.

Standing behind them were Louis and his three companions. Catherine seemed to be in a good mood, perhaps because of their victory, or perhaps because she had adapted to the brutal battlefield.

She looked at Louis: "The war is about to end, isn't it? I really didn't expect the Prussians to arrive so timely. You know, I just thought we were going to lose..."

"The battlefield is ever-changing; until the very last moment, no one knows which side will ultimately emerge victorious." Louis put his arm around her shoulder and looked down at Chromie. "Is that all?"

"Just one last step," Chromie replied in a low voice.

The battle on the battlefield was gradually coming to an end, and the roar of artillery fire drove the remaining French soldiers together.

"Form a square and hold your ground!" Ney shouted from the center, and the old guard obeyed, the last two hundred or so men forming the final hollow square.

People kept falling to the ground under the British guns, and gradually, the old guards ran out of their last bit of ammunition.

Looking at the horrific scene before him, the adjutant on horseback sighed in a low voice, "We are committing a massacre, Your Highness."

"I pray to God..." Meowlington looked ahead with sorrowful eyes: "—This is the last battle I will command..."

British cavalry converged from all sides, completely surrounding the Old Guard regiment like an iron barrel. Once everything was ready, the adjutant, carrying a white flag, rode slowly to the French troops and shouted, "Brave Frenchmen! You have done all you could, Your Grace, the Duke of Mearlington begs for your lives. Do you agree to surrender?"

The old guard soldiers were all wounded and bruised. The long battle had left them exhausted. Some even had to lean their rifles on the ground to support themselves. Others were helping each other up. But no one showed any weakness. They looked at the adjutant who was trying to persuade them to surrender with resolute expressions, without showing the slightest sign of weakness.

Then, the remaining soldiers erupted in a deafening roar.

"The old guard would rather die than surrender!"

Catherine suddenly tightened her grip on Louis's arm, and when Louis turned around, he saw her nervous, pretty face.

"Oh, no—" She tried to stop Meowlington, but then dejectedly lowered her hand.

The predetermined ending cannot be changed.

Miaolingdun paused for a moment, raised his hand, hesitated for a second, and then waved it forward.

The cavalrymen, having received their orders, dispersed, revealing cannons loaded with grapeshot, aimed at the French phalanx.

"Fire!"

The cannons roared in unison, deafeningly loud, and thick smoke enveloped the area where the French troops had been assembled. When the smoke cleared, there was no one left standing; they had all fallen into pools of blood.

Louis also heard the system's voice in his ear.

"*Mission complete..."

Louis was startled. "I don't remember accepting a mission!"

(End of this chapter)