The French Army infantry was driven back once more, but their battle line was steadily shrinking.
"Do you see that?! Victory is almost ours! The French are retreating! The brothers from Turin are about to join us!"
"Get back there! Kill those bastards!"
Cavaignac raged atop the hillside, while the staff officers around him had all gone pale with fright.
"Marshal, the enemy is closing in. We should withdraw first."
"Impossible! Absolutely not! Hurry and organize a counterattack! Do you hear me?! Counterattack!"
As Cavaignac watched the battle line fall back, bloodshot veins bulged in his eyes. Yet the staff officers wanted to remove him from the battlefield. The French Army had already fallen into a disadvantageous position; if this continued, they might all perish here.
Meanwhile, Garibaldi wanted to seize this chance to crush the French Army in one stroke, because he knew perfectly well what his mission was. The true decisive battle would still have to be fought between the Austrian Empire and the French.
To find this sliver of opportunity in a situation that had been all but doomed, and to seize it, was already proof that heaven had greatly favored Garibaldi.
Yet the absolute gap in strength was not so easily bridged. Another army suddenly appeared in the distance.
Garibaldi raised his telescope, and his eyes filled with despair.
French Army reinforcements had arrived. There was something tragic about it: Garibaldi and the Turin defenders had exhausted every trick they had just to barely force the French Army before them into a desperate corner.
Yet this had only been the French Army's vanguard.
More French troops appeared over the distant horizon like a swarm of locusts. At the sight, Garibaldi and the Kingdom of Sardinia's commander issued the same order at the same time.
"Retreat! Quickly!"