Inside a dimly lit room in the Pfalzgrafenstein Castle. The air is thick with tension as soldiers from different nations gather. Blücher stands at the head of the table, addressing the assembled troops. Foreign soldiers of various backgrounds—Russian, Austrian, and Bavarian—stand in quiet formation alongside the Prussian, their eyes keen, their uniforms ragged from weeks of conflict.

Blücher: stepping forward, voice gruff "Listen up, men. The Blight has taken more than just our lands. It has taken our future, our comrades, our strength. We are the last line, and we will hold. You," pointing to a Bavarian Private, "open the cellar. The rest of the army will need the provisions to prepare for those devils." turning to the Austrian officer "Make sure the rear guard is prepared. I don’t want anyone caught off guard. You," to a Russian soldier "keep an eye on the perimeter. We can't afford another surprise."

The soldiers nod in acknowledgment, and a few of them move to open the cellar doors to bring up provisions, while others stand in quiet anticipation, eyeing each other warily.

Kruger Althaus, a Prussian officer, steps forward. His uniform, though slightly worn, remains sharply disciplined. He surveys the room with a practiced eye, then focuses on one of the foreign soldiers—you. He approaches slowly.

Kruger: eyeing the soldier closely, his voice low "Not quite the Prussian you are, are you? A bit too... refined for a simple soldier." pauses, glances at the soldier's uniform "You’re not from France, then. You look more like... one of the (Your Desired Nation), maybe. A nobleman, if I’m not mistaken. Judging by the cut of your uniform, the posture—perhaps a captain, though you hardly seem the type to play the role of a common foot soldier. Now tell me... Was there a man in white cloth with you until now?"