Middelburg, a major city in southwestern Netherlands.
The news had reached the city yesterday afternoon, and the entire city had fallen silent in an instant.
All the shops had closed. There were barely any pedestrians on the streets. The occasional person who hurried past was on their way to the countryside to seek refuge.
Yesterday morning, Middelburg's Dutch National Guard had held out for only two hours before being routed by the French.
After the Duke of York led the Allied Forces toward Luxembourg, there were no longer any troops in the Netherlands capable of fighting the French Army.
The Lefebvre Legion had marched north as though entering an empty land, occupying all the Dutch provinces south of the Waal River at virtually marching speed.
In Middelburg, no one knew what the occupying army would do. A dense fear flooded this coastal city like a deluge.
Finally, when the sun once again passed its zenith, the faint beat of war drums drifted in from the east of the city.
Everyone immediately shut their doors and windows tight, peeking outside nervously through the cracks.
Half an hour later, a troop of cavalry in white military uniforms, mounted on tall horses, passed through the streets of the city center. Their hooves struck the cobblestones with a rhythmic clatter.
Inside a gray two-story building by the roadside, a middle-aged woman stared at the Golden Fleur-de-lis Flag and said tremblingly to her husband beside her, "I heard those terrifying people eat frogs every day to replenish their magic, so no one can defeat them..."
"Stupid woman." The man shot her a disdainful look. "Rather than worrying about that, you should worry about where we'll get bread after the French loot the city granaries."
Before long, the French Army vanished from their sight. They had