In truth, Franz didn't like this useless socializing at all. Besides, he had every right and every reason to refuse.
But Franz wasn't about to play the villain. Even with his hands stained with blood, he still had to put on a friendly, approachable face.
To the Allied commanders, the French Army's actions made no sense. They were waiting for the French to retreat so they could pursue and cut them down.
But the French not only failed to retreat—they launched an all-out assault.
This stunned nearly the entire Allied command, with one exception: Franz.
He knew full well that the French were ardent devotees of offensive tactics. This would continue until World War I, when the French would shed their last drop of blood at Verdun.
Franz could understand why the nobles of the various states were panicking, but why were these Austrian generals in such a flap too?
"What are you panicking about?"
Franz finally couldn't hold back the question.
But the answer he got left him even more speechless.
"Archduke Franz, your safety comes first. We're only two kilometers from the battlefield."
Even after years of courtly training in this life, Franz couldn't help kicking the damn fool of a general in front of him so hard he went flying.
In truth, as heir to the throne, Franz usually paid close attention to his appearance and bearing. Even on the battlefield, his uniform was highly distinctive.
It wasn't that Franz liked it that way. It was simply that appearances really mattered.
Duke Zhou spitting out his food to receive visitors, Cao Cao welcoming guests barefoot, Wang Jinglue discussing the Way while picking lice, Wang Jinggong's unkempt appearance—these were all "sincere" and free-spirited. Yet people only delighted in recounting their stories after they had died.
Franz couldn't wait