Franz did not entrust the campaign against Moldavia to Albrecht. After all, the latter was not suited to this sort of thing.
Albrecht was a relatively upright and honorable soldier, and Franz sincerely admired this uncle of his.
Besides, sending Albrecht in would have been rather like using a cannon to kill a mosquito. Moldavia claimed to have four armies, but its actual strength amounted to only four regiments. Their equipment was exceedingly outdated, and their training was a complete mess.
As the Austrian troops swept through Moldavia, their losses were negligible.
In truth, there was not much fighting at all. Franz had been planning this war for a long time, and he had planted informants and agents throughout Moldavia.
Most of those Moldavian troops were makeshift rabble. Their loyalty to Grigore Alexandru Ghica and their so-called belief in Greater Romania were not enough to make them surrender their lives.
Even when Moldavian troops wished to resist, they would end up like the Grand Prince's Guard outside the capital of Iași.
The marching speed of the Austrian Empire's army utterly surpassed the Moldavians' imagination. Before Grigore's guards had retaken the palace, Austrian troops were already at the city gates.
"Lay down your weapons and surrender! Your duty is done—go home! Do not make meaningless sacrifices any longer!"
Grigore emerged from the palace and shouted at his guards. Milyakov's rebel army held the advantageous terrain, leaving the Grand Prince's Guard with no choice but to pile up corpses with their lives.
Milyakov was also a ruthless man. He had long ago stockpiled a large quantity of gunpowder inside the palace. If necessary, he would blow everyone into the sky.
Milyakov had no objection to Grigore's words. After all, he did not wish to continue this meaningless slaughter either.
"Listen to the