Jean-Baptiste Bertrand gave no fucks about the salvation of France. He didn't care that the rightful king had been brutally murdered either, in fact, if he let himself get skewered and roasted like a pig he deserved what he got. The war, however, was good business for him. For his entirely family as well, but especially for him. Usually, it took the sons of minor nobles several years to raise their standing in the military high enough to actually get some benefits, but with the bloody mess that was currently destroying the country, he'd seen himself well rewarded in no time, and why wouldn't he, he was quite good at putting down a rabble.

He was, of course, rather displeased that one such as him would be paired with commoners, even if they proved useful, but desperate times called for desperate measures, he supposed. Why else would the nobility ally itself with those that sought to overthrow them not long ago? Whatever the case, Jean-Baptiste would play along. When the time was right, he covered himself head to toe in the worn out, inconspicuous guise of an old soldier, one that had fallen on hard times like many others. It was a particularly effective disguise, common enough to not attract any attention and it kept away undesirables, as few dared bother a potentially volatile man at arms, and so dressed he departed towards the meeting point.