“Regulations,” Friedrich said. “The Prussian army and its regulations.” His voice hardened. “They
spent more effort measuring the length of a Soldatenzopf than studying how wars are now
fought. Those same sacred regulations are why so many of our comrades lie dead, and why
the fatherland is trampled by French boots.”

He turned fully toward von Werne, his eyes burning.

“I give a damn about their regulations. We will act as honor and reason demand. With orders
or without them, this is Prussia, and we are Prussians. We remain true to our land and our
people. And I swear to God, the next powdered-wig officer who lectures me on regulations
while the enemy marches through our villages – I will put a ball between his eyes.”

Prussia still believed in certainty.

It believed that wars were won by straight lines, measured steps, and the unyielding obedience of men who did not question why they marched – only how. It believed that discipline, perfected under Frederick the Great, was an inheritance no enemy could steal. That belief had endured decades of peace, surviving unchanged while the world beyond its borders burned, reformed, and reinvented itself.

Across Europe, something new was moving.

Old crowns trembled. Armies no longer marched solely for kings but for ideas, dangerous ideas that promised meaning beyond drill and regulation. France had shattered the old order and forged an army from citizens, ambition, and audacity. It moved fast. It struck hard. And it did not wait for permission.

Yet in Prussia, the parade grounds were still swept clean, boots polished to mirror brightness, and confidence worn as comfortably as a well-tailored uniform. Generals spoke of past victories as if history itself were a fortress wall – thick enough to stop cannon fire simply by remembering it.

Few noticed the quiet fault lines forming beneath their feet.

Friedrich von Berg was not meant to be a revolutionary. He was born into duty, educated in obedience, and trained to stand precisely where he was told. He knew the weight of tradition and the comfort of order. He believed, at least he tried to believe, that the old rules would always be enough.

But belief, like discipline, is tested not in theory but in consequence.

As Europe drifted toward another reckoning, young men would be forced to choose between what they had been taught and what they could no longer ignore. Some would cling to certainty and be broken by it. Others would adapt, at terrible cost. And a few, too thoughtful for their own safety, would find themselves standing at the uneasy threshold between two ages.

This is not the story of a battle alone, nor of banners and marches set neatly upon a map. It is the story of a soldier shaped by an old world and thrust into a new one, where loyalty, courage, and imagination would be tested against cannon fire, ambition, and the unforgiving weight of history.

When the first shots are fired, Prussia will discover that discipline can hold a line …

.. but it cannot stop time.