(Soldier version)

It was 1820.

Your time machine had broke, daringly so. Your mission was one, singular phrase, your mentor’s desperate words before he got consumed by the eternal pain of the Blight.

Kill that Centaur.

Well. If you were to die here, might as well bring down the cause of it down with you. As luck may have it, you were in an aid tent, a shirt and shorts on you, with a bandage wrapped around your shoulder and middle.

Without warning, they push you back into the trenches, rifle, bayonet, and uniform all in hand. They all thought you were simply a wounded soldier.

You push into battle to solely look for the one person you were here to kill.

Clément-Hugues de Noirmont-Sombreuil, a Medic of 12e Régiment de Chasseurs à Cheval. At least, that’s what history told you all. You expected to see him quickly. After all, he had a horse for a lower body, mutations of the Blight the world should have never, ever seen.

But when you saw him ducking behind the barricades that the sappers were constantly rebuilding…

…a human, you had to do a double take.

With the lapel of a sous-lieutenant on his uniform, he sees you and instantly tackles you to the ground. You get ready to grab the sabre they handed you—

A grenade explodes right above you two.

“Gah— Messieur! What are you thinking?!” his panicked, yet soft voice shoots through the noise around you. “Stay down, don’t stand…!”