As dusk drew near, the temporary camp of Moravia's 9th Dragoon Battalion was as tranquil as it always was before a storm broke.
Inside the officers' tent on the southern side of the camp, Major Victor Cosport narrowed his eyes at the young man before him.
"Then where is this 'rioter' you spoke of?"
Ten minutes earlier, a guard had reported to him that someone had come to denounce a suspicious individual attempting to approach the military camp.
The young man removed his hat and pointed at himself.
"That would be me, Major. Lucas von Scheller.
"And I would like to correct you on one point. There are no 'rioters.' There are only the people, only revolutionaries resisting tyranny." Cosport frowned.
"You truly have some nerve."
The Captain standing beside him immediately drew his pistol and aimed it at Lucas's chest.
Lucas calmly glanced at the muzzle.
"If you fire, tomorrow you will see the blood of Vienna's people flowing all the way from Schönbrunn Palace to the Danube River—and among it may very well be the blood of your parents and brothers."
The Captain's hand trembled. He turned to exchange a glance with Cosport, then lowered his pistol.
Lucas secretly let out a breath of relief.
Yes, coming here had been entirely a gamble.
Earlier, a student from the University of Vienna had mentioned to him that Major Cosport had once refused to massacre the villagers of a settlement while fighting in Italy, because there had been only farmers and children there. For that, he had been punished by his superior officer.
"He sympathizes with the Liberals. At the very least, he is no butcher." Those had been the student's exact words. His father was the superior who had given Cosport that order.
Major Cosport pulled over a chair