"What... exactly is going on here?"

Watching the swarming retreating Russian Imperial forces running toward him, the officer, who was originally responsible for conveying General Solylov’s next orders, felt an overwhelming sense of absurdity. From the moment he reported to General Solylov until now, only half an hour had passed, which meant that their four and a half regiments plus an artillery legion on the left wing were completely defeated by the Sardinian army in just half an hour.

Impossible... it definitely wasn’t Sardinia...

The officer shook his head repeatedly. He couldn’t believe Sardinia was capable of this. If the Kingdom of Sardinia truly had such capability, they wouldn’t have been confined to the trenches.

After a few seconds, the officer thought of other possibilities again. He remembered that earlier, General Solylov mentioned that the five elite regiments of the Russian Empire deployed on Inkman Mountain hadn’t defeated them but were instead routed by the French Army.

Could it be that France used all their forces to reinforce the left wing!

The more the officer thought, the more he believed that this was the only reasonable explanation. After all, losing to the French Empire wasn’t considered too disgraceful, as they had been losing to the French Empire since the start of the Crimean Peninsula War, so losing one or two more times didn’t matter much.

However, losing to the Kingdom of Sardinia was a grave matter.

Therefore, the mounted officer quickly intercepted a group of fleeing Imperial soldiers with his flintlock pistol, demanding to know what had happened on the left wing of Inkman Mountain.

The Russian soldiers, stopped by the officer, shook their heads dejectedly and replied, "Sir, I don’t know what happened either!"

Hearing the soldier’s response, the officer had a puzzled expression on his face: "Then why are you running?"

The Russian soldiers hesitated for a few seconds, then cautiously replied to the officer, "I saw the people in front all running back, so I just followed!"

"The people in front... together..." The officer quickly realized that this might be a case of a small-scale collapse leading to a widespread military disaster.

Understanding the cause of the military disaster, the next task was to quickly find the location of the Brigadier General.

Subsequently, the officer asked the fleeing soldiers if they knew the position of the Brigadier General.

The soldiers shook their heads, indicating that their unit stayed at the rear and had absolutely no knowledge of the situation on the front lines, and this escape was just blindly following the main force.

After explaining, the soldiers cautiously inquired if they could leave.

The officer, mounted on horseback, looked at the wave-like swarm of fleeing soldiers and sighed.

At this point, pursuing the responsibility of one or two fleeing soldiers had no meaning and would instead trigger the soldiers’ stress response, possibly causing further chaos.

If things went wrong, he might get executed on the spot by the deserters. The soldiers eager to escape here didn’t care whether he was an officer or a general, so the current priority was to find the Brigadier General!

"Go! Go!" The officer waved to dismiss the soldiers and added, "After leaving, make sure to rejoin your respective units! Be sure not to wander, or your situation will be dire!"

"Yes! Yes!" The soldiers outwardly nodded and bowed to the officer, seeming to agree with his judgment, but in reality, they were unwilling to return to the army to toil.

He had heard that the French Army in Sevastopol would give surrendering Russian soldiers preferential treatment, at least ensuring they could eat to their fill daily. Compared to following the Tsar and going hungry most of the time, surrendering to France seemed preferable.

After parting with the soldiers, the officer continued journeying forward on his horse, but after questioning several people without getting answers, he shifted his focus to those with the same rank as himself.

Ultimately, he obtained information from a major.

It turned out that not long after he left for headquarters, a French Army unit swiftly charged from one side of the Imperial Army, and the unprepared Russian troops were quickly confounded by the sudden French assault.

At the same time, the Brigadier General leading the offensive and his adjutant were also killed by the French forces.

The Colonel succeeding the Brigadier General didn’t have time to issue orders and was similarly killed by the French Army.

Having successively lost several commanders, the Russian Imperial troops no longer had the ability to organize an offensive against the Sardinian positions. Witnessing this situation, the Sardinian troops in the trenches, following Marshal La Malamor’s orders, launched an attack on the Russian troops under cover of artillery.

With the combined efforts of the French and Sardinian forces, the frontline units of the Russian Imperial Army were quickly routed.

A local collapse, driven by panic-induced emotions, rapidly escalated into a complete rout. Having just shown some reassuring progress and received praise from Solylov, they quickly devolved into this current scene.

"Alas! A rout is like a landslide!" The retreating Major sighed and played the role of a Monday morning quarterback: "Actually, this time not too many French troops were reinforcing; we could have completely defeated them! But instead of defeating them, we were the ones chased around!"

With the sound of gunfire coming from behind, the defeated Major’s face changed dramatically. He hastily said to his comrade on horseback, "You better run too! The Sardinians are almost upon us!"

After speaking, the defeated Major took to his heels, not wanting to stage a countercharge against the Sardinian and French forces at all.

The officer, unable to find the Brigadier General, had no choice but to turn his horse around and head down the mountain.

On the other hand, Troche, leading this regiment of troops in support, had a victorious meeting with La Malamor.

The transitioned-from-defeat-to-victory La Malamor excitedly shook Major General Troche’s hand and said, "Thank you for your support! If it weren’t for your timely assistance, I really wouldn’t have known what to do... You truly are a brave and skillful General!"

Major General Troche, equally, smiled at La Malamor, seemingly having long forgotten the words spoken on Inkman Mountain. He said with modesty written all over his face, "Marshal, you overpraise! The French Empire and the Sardinian Kingdom have always been supportive allies! Moreover, I do not believe that the mere Russian Army can defeat your army!"

"You flatter us!" La Malamor responded with a bitter smile, knowing full well his own situation. While the Sardinian Kingdom’s army was on par with the Great Powers like England and France in terms of marching and formations, they were simply not on the same level in terms of quality, quantity, and spirit.

Take Sardinia’s elite Hunter Battalion, for example. Sure, they surpassed the Russian Imperial Army in shooting, but when it came to a true contest of will, they lagged significantly.

This is what led to the Hunter Battalion’s initial victory followed by defeat, not to mention their inability to swiftly organize an effective counterattack after bombardment.

If it weren’t for the French Artillery Corps stationed with them rapidly using quickfire to block the Russian Imperial Army’s attack, they might not have lasted until the French Army’s arrival. In hindsight, it was rather embarrassing.

La Malamor then asked Major General Troche what they should do next.

Major General Troche suggested that while the France and Sardinia armies continue to pursue the retreating soldiers, they should also send someone to Sevastopol and Fedorovskaya Ridge to seek help.

"Marshal, do you want to leave the troops at the bottom of the mountain?" Major General Troche asked La Malamor.

"Certainly!" La Malamor responded without hesitation.

"Then send someone to the nearby Joya River!" Troche instructed La Malamor. "I guess they have built pontoon bridges near the Joya River. If we can destroy those bridges, we are confident of annihilating them completely!"

"Alright, I’ll get on it!" Marshal La Malamor’s eyes lit up, and he quickly replied to Brigadier General Troche.

Brigadier General Troche shook his head and said to Marshal La Malamor, "Wait a bit longer! There are nearly 50,000 troops at the bottom of the mountain, and together we don’t add up to their number (20,000 from the Third Division, 10,000 from Sardinia), we still need some assistance!"

"Alright, I’ll follow your lead!" La Malamor nodded in agreement with Brigadier General Troche.

...

The message from Inkman Mountain crossed the Shipwreck Valley and reached the South Shore of Sevastopol, which was also on high alert at this time, with French soldiers standing on every street.

Upon arrival at the Expeditionary Army Headquarters, the messenger was immediately received by the Commander-in-Chief of the Expeditionary Army, Jerome Bonaparte. Jerome Bonaparte inquired about the situation on Inkman Mountain and whether it could still be held.

The messenger reported the situation on Inkman Mountain and the Russian Army’s attack on the mountain.

"Very good!" Jerome Bonaparte nodded, commending, "Please convey to the troops on Inkman Mountain that they are commendable! France will be proud of them!"

"Yes, Your Majesty!" the messenger responded respectfully, then conveyed Troche’s estimation of the Russian Army’s numbers attacking Inkman Mountain: "Your Majesty, Major General Troche says the Russian Imperial Army deployed near Inkman exceeds 50,000!"

"50,000!" Jerome Bonaparte picked up his pen and circled the quarry valley below Inkman Mountain, "50,000 (Inkman Mountain), 40,000 (North Shore of Sevastopol Joya River), 30,000 (Yevpatoria), total 120,000. So there are still well over a hundred thousand Russian troops left unused... What could their target be?"

The messenger, silent for a moment, shared his own thoughts: "I speculate the target of the Russian Empire might be the South Shore of Sevastopol! Only by defeating us can they take this city!"

"Then why didn’t they dispatch troops to the Fedorovskaya Ridge! Attacking Inkman Mountain from the Voronov Path to the outskirts of the South Shore is better!" Jerome Bonaparte retorted.

The messenger opened his mouth, not knowing what to say!

"I don’t get it, what’s Gorchakov doing? Does he even want to win!" Jerome Bonaparte scratched his head, then tossed his pen on the table, subtly issuing a dismissal.