January 12th, 1693 – Mont Verdain, Corse
The sun had barely risen when a sentry atop Mont Verdain's eastern wall spotted movement on the horizon. A long, dark line of soldiers, wagons, and artillery pieces crawled across the plains below. Drums echoed faintly, accompanied by the steady march of boots and the rattle of iron wheels. The main force of the Republic had arrived.
Captain Vallier stood next to Prince Bruno on the wall, his spyglass trained on the advancing enemy. He could make out infantry battalions supported by cavalry detachments and heavy artillery teams positioning themselves near the ridge.
"They're wasting no time," Vallier remarked, lowering the spyglass. "Artillery teams are moving into range. They'll try to weaken the walls before sending in the infantry."
Bruno nodded, his gaze unwavering. "They'll find that we're not as easy to break as they think. How are our sharpshooters positioned?"
