December 21th, 1799

"My dear, my beloved.

I no longer write to you from the capital of Harmania, but from Islovak. After nearly a week of walking, we've reached the border of our homeland. Each day that passes I'm closer to you, and that makes me unbelievably happy.

Although I must be honest in my asseverations, our return is proving to be a harder, tougher, and sadder journey than we had expected.

The cold has taken the lives of 3.000 of our best men. Hypothermia and frostbite are our current ruthless enemy. I've seen blackened fingers break apart from pale hands like pieces of biscuit. I've seen men sit down to take a brief rest, and never stand up again. I've seen decomposing bodies protruding from the snow, frozen and unmovable. I've watched some of our soldiers lose their minds under the chilly weather, and break from the line in a desperate attempt to find shelter in the countryside. They never returned. Who knows if they're alive or dead by now.

At least we have enough food to survive. Sure, each meal is stale, salty, and has the consistency of sawed wood, but at least it's something. The portions are small, though. And our stomachs are half-full all day long, which is horrible. I never thought I'd be so desperate for a warm and recently prepared meal in all my life. Not even after my father's death, I ate so poorly. Please, cook me something delicious once I'm back. Anything hearty, with abundant meat will do.

As to our clothes... well, our coats are made of thick wool, and our boots of cowhide leather, but given the lengths of our walks, and the brutality of each fight we've worn our uniforms in, they are now shabby, full of holes and of badly sown patches of mismatched fabric. The cold sneaks in from everywhere.

Like my men, I've let my beard and hair grow freely, in an attempt to keep warm. I've wrapped my hands with pieces of torn linen, and used my standard army blanket as a cape during the day. But it's useless. This icy weather is unbeatable.

We sing to keep our minds occupied. We gather around small fires to keep warm. We walk, and walk, and walk, until our feet are numb.

I've given my horse away to the medics. One of theirs died suddenly —probably because of the cold— and a wagon full of wounded men stopped moving forward. I took notice of it, turned around, and offered them my own stallion to keep that wagon going. This means I've walked from Patolovsk to Islovak on foot. But I don't regret it, at all. If I can bring at least one more man home, back to their families, my sore muscles are a blessing.

This said, my sickness has gotten worse, and my coughs are beginning to hurt my throat. But I still can move and breathe, so I'll survive.

Besides, these months of sacrifice were worth it in the end.

Harmania is finally free.

Justine Neckel apparently wrote a letter the Ruhmnian emperor, Ferdinand the second, demanding the independence of the Harmanians and the immediate retreat of all of his troops from the territory, while we were leaving the capital. The emperor agreed, since Athrasis is currently being attacked by the Karranites, and he needs to concentrate all of his troops there.

So, as of yesterday, Harmania is a free country. And soon, will become a new republic.

But, until then, the other two legions that fought in the campaign for their liberty —Infensus and Cruentus— are to stay here, protecting the newborn nation from their old oppressors. They'll build their own base in the capital, once spring arrives.

And as to us, the Castigatio legion... We don't have any plans of ever coming back here. At least not to fight. We've had enough of battles and death. We need to rest, not only our bodies, but our minds and spirit.

I'm running out of ink, so I shall end my letter here. I'll see you soon. And until then, yearn for me as much as I yearn for you.

- Yours truly, Francis Forestier."

-----------------