《I Reincarnated as a Prince Who Revolutionized the Kingdom》


 Chapter 1 The Beginning of an End

    In Washington D.C. January 2025, United States of America.


    A convoy composed of four Black Escalades were driving down the road as it headed towards the White House.


    In one of those SUVs was a man in a tailored suit, looking out of the window as he watched the scenery pass by.


    "ETA to the White House is five minutes, Mr. Secretary," said his Chief of Staff.


    Ethan simply nodded, his eyes fixed on the window. He remained silent throughout the trip as he preferred being quiet and avoiding unnecessary talk with his staff. For him, it wasn''t efficient. He''d only talk to them if there are important matters that needed to be discussed.


    The Chief of Staff knew that all too well, because he conducted his research before becoming his Chief of Staff after his predecessor retired due to old age.


    Ethan Cross, a thirty-six-year-old single man, born into a middle-class family in Massachusetts. He demonstrated brilliance from an early age. By the time he was 18, he had already earned a full scholarship to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT), where he pursued a degree in Mechanical Engineering. While at MIT, Ethan''s intellect and drive quickly set him apart. At just 20, he designed a prototype of a highly efficient thermoelectric generator capable of converting waste heat into usable electricity at unprecedented levels of efficiency. This invention won him the prestigious Lemelson-MIT Student Prize, and his work was featured in leading scientific journals.


    By 22, Ethan had completed his Master''s degree, focusing on sustainable energy systems, and followed it with a PhD in Advanced Manufacturing by the age of 25. During his doctoral studies, he invented a modular robotic system for automated factory lines, dramatically improving efficiency and reducing operational costs for manufacturers globally.


    After completing his PhD, Ethan founded CrossTech Innovations, a company that specialized in green technology and advanced robotics. By 27, he had developed a self-healing material for infrastructure, earning him international acclaim and lucrative contracts with the Department of Transportation and private engineering firms.


    At 30, Ethan''s breakthroughs in renewable energy storage and transmission systems led to the widespread adoption of his patented high-density batteries, which became a cornerstone of the renewable energy revolution in the United States. Dubbed the "King of Technology," he had earned global recognition for his unparalleled contributions to engineering and science.


    Despite his achievements, Ethan grew increasingly frustrated with the slow adoption of advanced technologies due to bureaucratic inertia. Determined to make a difference, he entered politics at 32, running for Congress in his home district in Massachusetts. His campaign focused on the intersection of technology, policy, and public welfare. With a grassroots approach and a clear vision, Ethan won the election by a landslide.


    As a congressman, Ethan introduced and championed several transformative bills. His "Clean Grid Act," which allocated federal funding to modernize the nation''s power grid with renewable energy integration, passed with bipartisan support and led to a 30% reduction in greenhouse gas emissions within five years. He also spearheaded the "Automation Workforce Transition Program," which provided training and resources to workers displaced by automation, ensuring that technological progress didn''t leave anyone behind.


    At 35, Ethan was elected to the U.S. Senate, becoming one of the youngest senators in modern history. His tenure was marked by impressive legislative accomplishments, including the "Advanced Infrastructure Resilience Act," which prioritized the modernization and protection of critical infrastructure against natural disasters and cyberattacks. This legislation allocated billions in federal funding for the development of smart infrastructure systems, incorporating real-time monitoring, adaptive response technologies, and robust disaster recovery protocols.


    Ethan''s ability to bridge the gap between technological innovation and effective governance earned him respect across the political spectrum. His pragmatic approach and relentless drive caught the attention of the President, who nominated him for the role of Secretary of Energy.


    At 36, Ethan Cross was confirmed as Secretary of Energy, becoming the youngest person ever to hold the position. In this role, he launched the "American Energy Renaissance Initiative," which accelerated the adoption of renewable energy technologies, advanced nuclear reactors, and carbon capture systems. Under his leadership, the United States achieved energy independence while leading the global fight against climate change.


    All in all, he was good on paper, and everyone working for him was pleased and honored to be a part of his team.


    As the Chief of Staff was about to ask a question, Ethan suddenly shouted.


    "Truck!"


    Ethan''s sudden shout startled everyone in the vehicle. His Chief of Staff turned to look, only to see what Ethan had already noticed¡ªa large truck barreling down the intersecting road at an impossibly high speed. It was heading straight for their convoy.


    The driver of the Escalade slammed on the brakes and attempted to swerve, but it was too late. The truck, seemingly out of control, crashed directly into Ethan''s side of the vehicle with a deafening impact.


    The world blurred into chaos as metal crumpled and glass shattered. Ethan''s body was jolted violently against the door. The force of the collision was so immense that it left no chance for survival.


    Instantly, darkness enveloped him.


    ***


    "So this is what death looked like huh?" Ethan mumbled, and his words seemed to echo in the dark space. He couldn''t see anything, not even his body.


    It felt like it was just his mind in all of the vastness of space. He was not a firm believer of religion where when you die, you either would go down to hell or up in heaven. And he confirmed it just right now, that those didn''t exist. It turned out it was true.


    However, he doesn''t like the idea of being contained in this space for possibly forever.


    As he remembered, there is always a light at the end of the tunnel. So Ethan strained his senses, searching for any sign of light in the overwhelming darkness. Seconds stretched into minutes, and the silence pressed down on him like an infinite weight. He clung to the faint hope that something, anything, would change.


    And then, it happened. A pinprick of light appeared in the distance, faint and barely noticeable at first, but growing brighter and larger with every passing second. Instinctively, Ethan moved¡ªor rather, willed himself¡ªtoward it. The light seemed to pull him forward, and the surrounding darkness began to peel away.


    The light enveloped Ethan, and he felt an odd sensation, like his consciousness was being compressed and then expanded all at once. His thoughts blurred as the brightness consumed him, and when it faded, he found himself lying on a bed.


    Ethan Cross blinked, his vision adjusting to the dim light of an unfamiliar room. The ceiling above him was vaulted, with wooden beams crisscrossing in an intricate design. The scent of salt and seaweed wafted in through a partially open window, where the gentle murmur of waves could be heard. He wasn''t in a hospital, nor was he surrounded by the sterile beeping of medical equipment.


    Instead, he was in a spacious yet rustic chamber, furnished with ornate but slightly worn furniture. A large, wooden wardrobe stood against one wall, and a faded rug covered the stone floor. The bed he was lying on was enormous, draped in silk sheets that felt luxurious against his skin.


    Confusion swept over him. He instinctively glanced down at his hands and froze. They weren''t his hands. These were softer, paler, and... younger. He scrambled out of bed, his legs wobbly beneath him, and staggered toward a nearby mirror.


    The face staring back at him was not his own.


    "What the¡ª" he muttered, his voice catching in his throat. His reflection showed a young man, perhaps no older than twenty, with striking blond hair, delicate features, and piercing blue eyes.


    As panic began to set in, his head throbbed, and suddenly, memories that weren''t his flooded his mind.


    He was Prince Bruno de Elysea, the youngest son of King Aldred of the Elysea Kingdom. A notorious troublemaker, Bruno was infamous for his ineptitude in everything he touched¡ªpolitics, swordsmanship, diplomacy, and even court etiquette. The court gossiped about his scandals endlessly, from botched royal decrees to public embarrassments. His father, frustrated and exasperated, had sent him to govern the remote island of Corse, hoping the responsibility would shape him into something resembling a competent heir.


    But Corse was no paradise. The island was isolated, its people disillusioned, and its economy stagnant. Bruno had been here for months, achieving nothing of note. His mere presence was seen as a punishment by the locals, who regarded him with disdain.


    And to add, he wasn''t sent alone to this island. They brought with him advisors that would help him govern the island, and they were the only ones keeping the island running as Bruno delegated the task to them.


    Suddenly¡ªthere was a knock on the door.


    "Your Highness, are you awake?"


    The voice seemed to belong to a middle-aged man, and surprisingly, he recognized the voice. It came from his Chief Advisor, Antoine Leclerc.


    Ethan composed himself and then spoke in a composed manner. "I am awake, come in."


    The door creaked as it opened and then Antoine stepped in. His guess was correct, he was a middle-aged man with greying hair. He was wearing a suit that is similar to what was used in the French aristocracy in the 19th century, the usual tailcoat, waistcoat, breeches, and cravat.


    "Your Highness, good morning. I hope you are doing well," Antoine said formally.


    "Good morning," Ethan replied in a usual manner. He doesn''t know how the Prince would react in this scenario but he was sure that this was a proper one when receiving someone.


    "Your Highness, as you know, our island was recently bought from a foreign country, and most of the locals are still loyal to their former ruler. Yesterday in the evening, they ambushed one of our garrisons in the south, killed a lot of our soldiers and took our rifles, gunpowers, even cannons. My fellow council members believe that they are going to mount an offensive soon and it will be dangerous for us to stay here."


    Ethan analyzed what Antoine had just said and then cross-referenced them to his memory. He was right. The Kingdom of Elysea had bought the island of Corse from the country of Genova because the Kingdom of Genova couldn''t maintain holding it and it offers a strategic advantage as it sits in the middle of the Ligurian Sea.. But the actual reason was that there were revolutionaries in the island that wanted to be independent from the Genovan rule.


    After all, Corse was an island, and the Kingdom of Genova was a maritime country located on the mainland continent. It''s 138 nautical miles away from the Genovan mainland, making it difficult for them to maintain control and supply lines.


    The people of Corse didn''t see the Elysean government as liberators¡ªthey viewed them as another colonial power, no different from Genova.


    The revolutionaries were well-organized and fiercely loyal to their cause, fueled by years of neglect and a desire for self-rule. Which made Antoine''s report all the more troubling. The ambush meant the revolutionaries were becoming more audacious. If they had acquired Elysean cannons and rifles, they were preparing for something larger than sporadic skirmishes.


    Ethan realized how troubling his position is: if the revolutionaries succeeded in pushing Elysea out, it would not only humiliate the Kingdom of Elysea but also himself. If he were to fail in quelling a rebellion, that would possibly be the end of his legitimacy as a member of the royal family. And he wouldn''t want that.


    This was his second life, and he wanted to live longer. He was still unsatisfied with his previous life. He wanted to build a family and retire. He couldn''t do that if he died in this world, and there is no guarantee that he''d be reborn.


    The only way for him to solve this is to fight.


    "Antoine. How many soldiers do we currently have on the island?" Sear?h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Antoine looked hesitant. "Your Highness, we have approximately two hundred soldiers stationed here, most of whom are inexperienced. Many were reassigned here as punishment for insubordination or incompetence in other posts. Morale is... poor."


    Ethan nodded grimly. That explained a lot. Sending undisciplined or disgraced soldiers to a volatile region was a recipe for disaster.


    "And the revolutionaries? Do we have an estimate of their numbers?"


    "We believe their forces range between three to four hundred men, though they lack formal training and heavy weaponry¡ªat least until now. With the cannons and rifles they''ve stolen, their advantage grows."


    "What''s the state of our supply lines? Food, ammunition, reinforcements?"


    "Our supplies are limited. The nearest Elysean port is over a hundred miles away, and bad weather often delays shipments. As for reinforcements... I fear the court in Elysea sees this island as a low priority. So there''s not much to expect from them."


    Ethan clicked his tongue after hearing that. He was really in a tight spot. Then¡ªan idea came up.


    "What about our navy?"


    "We have a two ship-of-the-line ship at the Port of Loretto," Antoine replied.


    Ethan smiled. "Good, I want you to assemble the officers at three o''clock in the afternoon, preferably those who have fought the rebel army, the captain of those two ships, and the rest of the advisors."


    Antoine was taken aback from the prince''s words. He didn''t expect that the prince would be so hands-on in this matter. He anticipated that the prince would immediately evacuate the island and give it to the rebels but he was wrong. It seemed that the prince had turned over a new life, but this change was still unexpected.


    "As you wish, Your Highness¡­"

 Chapter 2 Taking Control

    The only good thing that he had found ever since he transmigrated was that there''s a watch that tells time. For Ethan, it was a convenient tool as it helped him organize his agenda ahead of time.


    And speaking of time, he transmigrated at approximately 9 a.m in the year CE 1689. Yes, they do have calendars here and it was also convenient that it follows the Gregorian calendar.


    Fifteen minutes after Antoine left his bedroom, Ethan went to the prince''s study room where he found a treasure trove of information. First thing he picked up was a long rolled parchment. He untied the string that held it together and carefully unrolled it across the desk. To his surprise, it was a world map. Ethan''s eyes scanned the parchment intently, his sharp mind quickly identifying the continents, oceans, and geographical features. They were strikingly similar to the map of Earth he remembered from his previous life. However, the names of countries, kingdoms, and cities were entirely different.


    Elysea was located in what he recognized as Western Europe, occupying much of the region where France would have been. The nearby Kingdom of Genova aligned with Italy, and to the north were vast lands under the Kingdom of Albion, which bore a striking resemblance to the United Kingdom. Across the oceans were other familiar but renamed continents: vast lands resembling the Americas, dense forests in regions akin to Africa, and mountainous ranges in territories that mirrored Asia.


    The realization that the geography was the same but the history and names were different sent a shiver down Ethan''s spine. This isn''t Earth, but it''s eerily close.


    This world, while backward in terms of technology, followed many of the same patterns he had studied in history books. Wars over resources, territorial expansion, and the slow but inevitable march toward industrialization. The books he found on the shelves further confirmed this. The era was firmly Renaissance¡ªadvances in the arts, rudimentary sciences, and the slow decline of feudal systems were all evident.


    But one book, in particular, caught his eye. Titled The Principles of Natural Sciences, it was authored by someone named Leopold Venslar. Ethan opened it and read the contents.


    The pages were filled with basic but budding ideas about chemistry, mechanics, and astronomy. Concepts like the conservation of energy and rudimentary schematics for early steam engines were scribbled alongside elegant illustrations.


    "This era is on the cusp of industrialization," Ethan muttered to himself, flipping through the pages. "If this Venslar is publishing theories like these, then someone will eventually take the next step."


    The thought sent a thrill through him. "What if I took that step first?"


    He had a knowledge of modern science, he could definitely make an efficient steam engine, introduce the basic oxygen process method which would mass-produce steel, and even create basic electricity generators using Faraday''s principles. These advancements could catapult the world into the industrial age centuries ahead of its natural course. But the implications were enormous.


    But then he paused, his thoughts turning cautious. Wouldn''t that attract the wrong kind of attention?


    Bringing technological advances to a world entrenched in monarchies, religious authorities, and conservative nobles could destabilize everything. Innovators like him could be seen as threats. Jealous rivals could sabotage his work. Worse, opposing factions might target him directly.


    So what he needed to do was to gain political power, that way he''d be able to enact changes without much opposition. Sure, granted he was a royal prince but given the history of Prince Bruno, his position was precarious at best. His reputation as a failure made it unlikely that anyone would take him seriously, and any moves he made could easily be dismissed or undermined by those in power. To gain the leverage he needed, Ethan would have to rebuild Prince Bruno''s reputation¡ªand fast. S§×ar?h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    And the only way for him to do that was to start quelling the rebellion in the Corse island, bring stability after, and then improve the way of life of the people. In his mind, a plan was already forming.


    ***


    At three o''clock, Ethan entered the council chamber to find the officers, ship captains, and advisors assembled. The atmosphere was tense; many of them were clearly skeptical, their expressions ranging from bored to mildly hostile. Ethan knew they expected the same bumbling behavior that had defined Prince Bruno.


    Instead, Ethan projected confidence. "Thank you all for coming. I won''t waste your time with platitudes. Let''s get straight to business."


    He unrolled the map of Corse on the table and began marking key points. "As for our latest intelligence report, the rebels are on the other island Sardinia. All the rebel forces moved into that island the moment we claimed Corse. There is a fort called Cervo that they used in which all of the rebel forces are staying. I believe that if we siege that fort, we will defeat the rebel forces. Does anyone concur?"


    Not a single one protested as it was the right intelligence. They knew that rebels were gathering their forces in the Fort of Cervo, and it was their staging point when they were raiding the island of Corse.


    Antoine hesitated and spoke. "Your Highness, while a direct assault on Fort Cervo might cripple the rebellion, it is a fortified position. The rebels have cannons, stolen weapons, and the advantage of high ground. An ill-prepared siege could result in significant casualties¡ªor worse, outright failure."


    "Not when we have the right strategy we won''t," Ethan winked confidently. "The strategy is that we raise the number of forces, ideally about 1,000. We train them and ship them to the island of Sardinia where they are going to mount a siege to the fort in a wide-arc formation. That way, we will have the fort completely surrounded as what''s behind the fort is the sea, where the two ships of the line will be positioned and bombard the fort."


    The military officers studied the plan the prince had proposed and it was reasonably sound.


    "But how are we going to raise the number of our troops? I only told you earlier, Your Highness, that we only have 200 and the government in Sanctum won''t send more."


    "It''s simple, we hire locals. They are an Elysian now the moment we bought the island from the Genova," Ethan answered.


    "What about the weapons?" Antoine added.


    "We are going to build them," Ethan answered again.


    Antoine folded his arms and gave Ethan a skeptical look. "Your Highness, this is something you can''t simply decide on a whim. Forgive me, but the task of building weapons, training locals, and executing a siege is not as simple as saying it aloud. The resources, logistics, and time required for such an endeavor¡ª"


    "Antoine, I understand your concerns, and I appreciate your dedication to pointing out potential challenges. But let me remind you, I''m the one giving orders here. If you believe my plan is flawed, you''re welcome to offer constructive alternatives. If not, I suggest you focus on making this plan succeed."


    Antoine''s mouth tightened."With all due respect, Your Highness, this abrupt change in demeanor is... uncharacteristic. Until now, you have¡ª"


    "Been a failure," Ethan finished bluntly. "A prince unworthy of the title, correct?"


    Antoine flinched, not expecting Ethan to acknowledge it so directly. The other officers in the room shifted uncomfortably.


    Ethan leaned forward, his piercing gaze locking onto Antoine. "I''m not blind to my reputation. I have been a disgrace, an embarrassment to the crown, and a liability to this kingdom. But I am no longer that man. If you believe I''m unfit to lead, then say so outright, and I''ll relieve you of your duties. Otherwise, follow my lead. This rebellion won''t wait for us to argue."


    Antoine hesitated, clearly torn between his ingrained impressions of Prince Bruno and the commanding presence now before him. Finally, he sighed and bowed his head slightly.


    "As you wish, Your Highness. I will see to it that your orders are carried out."


    "Good," Ethan said, his tone softening but still firm. "Then let''s discuss the specifics. First, recruiting locals. The people of Corse have been treated as second-class since we came here. If we offer fair wages and treat them with respect, they''ll fight for us. I''ll personally draft an announcement to address their concerns and inspire loyalty."


    He turned to one of the officers. "Captain¡­what''s your name?"


    "Duval sir, Captain Duval," he replied.


    "Captain Duval, I want you to oversee the recruitment process. Can you do that?"


    "Of course, Your Highness," Duval replied.


    Ethan continued, addressing Antoine directly. "As for the weapons, we have blacksmiths and craftsmen here on Corse. I want them organized as I will have a task for them. Who can volunteer to do this part?"


    "Me, Your Highness," one of the advisors raised his hand.


    "Ah you¡­Mr. Brent. Very well, you handle it."


    "That will be all for now. As for you Antoine, I need to speak with you in private, come to my office after this," Ethan ordered.


    "Uhm¡­yes¡­Your Highness."

 Chapter 3 Asserting Dominance

    After concluding the meeting, Ethan¡ªor rather Bruno, was in his office at this estate. He tidied up his room, making sure that everything looked pleasing to anyone''s eyes. After all, most of the future meetings with important figures would be held in this room.


    Not long after, there was a knock on the door.


    "Your Highness, this is Antoine, may I enter?"


    Bruno quickly sat behind the table and prepared himself with the encounter.


    "Come in," Bruno permitted.


    Seconds after, Antoine opened the door and stepped inside. He walked toward the front of the table, and kneeled before him.


    "Your Highness, you ordered me to come visit you after the meeting. Here I am, what is that you wish to discuss with me."


    "Nothing, I just want us to have a personal discussion," Ethan revealed.


    Hearing that, Antoine looked up to meet the prince in the eye but¡ª.


    "When did I told you to raise your head?" Bruno asked sharply.


    Antoine''s eyes widened slightly in shock. He did notice that Prince Bruno''s personality has taken a 180 degree turn, but not to this extent. Nevertheless, he quickly lowered his gaze and spoke.


    "I apologize for my impertinence, Your Highness. I meant no disrespect when I looked upon you," Antoine said.


    Ethan¡ªor rather Bruno, was pleased to hear that from Antoine. In order for him to effectively rule this realm, Ethan knew he needed to establish authority. Respect was essential, but authority was paramount. If he wanted to implement reforms, crush the rebellion, and gain the support of his subjects, it had to start with his inner circle recognizing his authority. Antoine was the first test.


    "You''ve served this estate and this position longer than I have, Antoine," Bruno began and continued. "Tell me, what do you think of me? Speak honestly. I won''t punish you for your candor."


    Antoine hesitated. He was torn between his instincts to protect himself and his duty to answer the prince truthfully. Finally, he decided to tread carefully.


    "Your Highness, you have always been... a man of charm and potential, though I fear that potential has not been realized. Your recent actions today suggest a... change, one that I hope is genuine and lasting."


    Bruno smirked slightly. The diplomatic response was expected, but it also reflected Antoine''s doubt. "Fair enough. And what would you say if I told you that everything you thought about me before was true¡ªbut from now on, I will show you the leader this island needs?"


    Antoine''s eyes flickered with confusion but quickly returned to their subservient downcast position.


    "I would say, Your Highness, that actions speak louder than words. If you prove yourself, I will gladly follow you."


    Bruno leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk and clasping his hands together.


    "Good¡­then how about another question? What would you follow first? My orders or the king''s orders?"


    Antoine hesitated for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. He had served the Elysean crown for many years, navigating the treacherous waters of court politics and royal mandates. He knew this question was a trap¡ªno matter how he answered, it carried risks.


    Finally, he responded carefully, "Your Highness, with respect to the hierarchy of authority, I would have to prioritize the King''s orders, as he is the supreme ruler of our land. However, I am also bound to follow your commands as you are the appointed governor of this island."


    Bruno''s eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward slightly. "Wrong answer, Antoine."


    Antoine''s head snapped up in surprise before he quickly lowered his gaze again, realizing the weight of his misstep. "Your Highness, I meant no¡ª"


    "Enough," Bruno interrupted firmly. "Let me make this perfectly clear, Antoine. The King may sit on his throne in Elysea, far removed from the realities of this island, but I am the one who stands at the helm here. I know the situation firsthand¡ªthe rebellion, the people''s grievances, the resources we have at our disposal. Any order from the mainland is made without credible understanding of what we face."


    Antoine''s lips tightened, but he remained silent as Ethan continued.


    "You were sent here to assist me in governing Corse, not to act as a messenger boy for the court. If you place the King''s hypothetical orders above my direct commands in this region, you undermine not only me but the stability of this entire operation. Is that clear?"


    Antoine bowed his head even lower, his voice subdued but steady. "Crystal clear, Your Highness. I apologize for my earlier response. I will follow your orders without hesitation."


    "Good." Bruno''s tone softened, but the intensity in his eyes remained. "Understand this, Antoine. If we are to succeed, I need loyalty, not lip service. If you ever find yourself questioning my authority again, I expect you to voice it here, in private, where we can resolve it. But in public, my word is law. Do you understand?"


    "Yes, Your Highness," Antoine said, his voice more resolute now. "Your orders will take precedence."


    Bruno leaned back in his chair, satisfied. "Very well. You may rise."


    Antoine stood, his posture straight but his expression guarded.


    "Now, let''s set aside our personal discussion and let''s talk about the domain of Corse. You have heard of my plan earlier right? My plan to raise troops? It''s going to cost money implementing it due to us having to pay wages on the new recruits. What is the current situation of this island''s coffers?"


    Antoine hesitated before answering, his expression grim. "Your Highness, the coffers are in bad shape. We are running low on funds."


    Bruno''s eyes narrowed. "Why is it low? Is it due to mismanagement of funds, corruption, or something else?"


    Antoine sighed deeply, as if the weight of the island''s problems rested on his shoulders. "Your Highness, the issue is not corruption¡ªat least not entirely. It''s that this domain is inherently poor. There''s very little economic activity on the island. Agriculture is meager due to the rocky terrain, trade is minimal because of our isolated position, and what little wealth is generated is unevenly distributed. Simply put, there''s not much money circulating in Corse."


    Bruno''s sharp mind went into overdrive. "That doesn''t explain the entire picture, Antoine. How many people live on this island?"


    "Approximately 25,000, Your Highness," Antoine replied cautiously.


    "And how many of them are paying taxes?"


    Antoine hesitated, clearly reluctant to answer. "About 35 percent, Your Highness."


    Bruno''s brow furrowed. "And the other 65 percent?" Sear?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "They are members of the nobility," Antoine explained, his tone defensive. "As per the agreements made during the transition of power, they are exempt from taxes. It was a concession made to ensure the nobles would not revolt against the new Elysean leadership and to keep them¡ªand their servants¡ªloyal."


    Bruno''s expression darkened. "So, let me summarize. The majority of the wealth on this island is concentrated in the hands of the nobility, yet they pay nothing. Meanwhile, the poorest¡ªthose who are struggling to survive¡ªare burdened with high taxes?"


    Antoine nodded reluctantly. "Yes, Your Highness. The nobles hold the land, the resources, and control over their serfs. The high taxes on the commoners were seen as the only way to sustain the administration and military presence here."


    Bruno leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he considered the situation. "Antoine, this arrangement is unsustainable. If we want to raise funds and stabilize this island, we must tax the nobility."


    Antoine''s eyes widened in alarm. "Your Highness, I must caution you. Attempting to tax the nobility would be seen as a direct affront to their privileges. It could incite rebellion among them, and if they rebel, they could rally their servants and destabilize the entire region."


    "I understand the risks. But consider this: without funds, we cannot raise an army, pay wages, or ensure the island''s security. If we allow the status quo to continue, we''ll lose Corse to the rebellion, and the nobles will lose everything anyway. The time for half-measures is over."


    Antoine hesitated but finally asked, "And if the nobles refuse to comply with a tax decree?"


    Bruno smiled. "Then by law, I have the authority to confiscate their properties and redistribute them to the Crown. Let them complain to the King if they wish. I''ll justify it as a wartime necessity to secure the island. Besides, nobles are far less likely to rebel if they know I''m willing to strip them of everything."


    Antoine looked uneasy but acknowledged the logic. "It''s a bold move, Your Highness. But what if they appeal to the King directly?"


    "Did you just forget what we talked about earlier?" Bruno reminded him sternly. "I am the ruler of this domain, not the king who was in the mainland."


    "I did not forget, but Your Highness, you must know that we are still on a plan of exterminating the rebels. If we anger the nobles of this island, then there is a possibility of them joining the rebels."


    "Then in that case, they will become enemies of the state. Their betrayal would justify even harsher measures. I am not na?ve, Antoine. I know that walking this path invites risk, but inaction invites defeat. Corse cannot remain stagnant under the weight of greed and privilege."


    Antoine''s face paled at Bruno''s unrelenting tone, but he said nothing. The prince''s transformation was undeniable. This was no longer the bumbling and inept Bruno de Elysea; this was someone with a clear vision and an iron will.


    "Antoine, the nobility may hold power, but their power is not absolute. They rely on the Crown for legitimacy, on their lands for income, and on their servants for survival. If they oppose this decree, we will expose their greed to the people. Public sentiment, properly guided, can be a weapon as powerful as any sword. The peasants already bear the weight of taxation. If they see the nobles resisting a fair system, resentment will turn into anger. That anger will isolate the nobles."


    Antoine hesitated but nodded slowly. "You''re proposing a gamble, Your Highness. If the nobles comply, we secure funds and stability. If they resist, we risk unrest, but you seem prepared to face that."


    "It''s a gamble that I will confidently win," Bruno smirked. "Later tonight, I will draft the decree. We will implement it tomorrow, along with other decrees that will stimulate growth in this god forsaken island."

 Chapter 4 Reactions

    A day later.


    Bruno, seated at the head of the table, idly tapped a fork against his plate as he awaited breakfast. When the servants brought out his meal, he was pleasantly surprised. The plate held a perfectly fried egg, its edges crisp and golden, paired with a generous serving of mashed potatoes seasoned with herbs.


    He took a cautious bite, expecting blandness, but was instead greeted with a surprisingly rich and satisfying flavor.


    "Not bad at all," he muttered under his breath. For an era devoid of modern culinary techniques, the taste exceeded his expectations.


    After finishing his meal, Bruno thanked the servants¡ªa gesture that left them momentarily stunned before they hurriedly bowed and retreated. He made his way to his office, where a daunting stack of papers awaited him on the desk. Each sheet represented a piece of the reforms he had drafted the night before.


    Bruno sat down and reviewed the documents one final time, ensuring the language was both clear and firm. These decrees would not only reform the island but also test the limits of his authority. The reforms touched on taxation, infrastructure, trade, and public welfare¡ªmeasures that, if successful, could transform Corse from a backwater into a thriving hub.


    As he was engrossed in his review, a knock echoed from the heavy oak door.


    "Enter," Bruno commanded without looking up.


    Antoine stepped in, bowing respectfully before standing at attention. "Good morning, Your Highness."


    Bruno gestured for him to come closer and pointed to the stack of papers. "Antoine, these are the decrees I have drafted. They detail the tax reforms and policies we discussed yesterday, as well as several additional measures I believe are necessary for the betterment of this island."


    Antoine stepped forward and hesitantly took the stack of papers. He flipped through the first few pages, his expression growing more apprehensive with each one.


    "Your Highness, these are... ambitious. May I ask what your expectations are for their implementation?"


    Bruno leaned back in his chair, his sharp gaze meeting Antoine''s. "I expect them to be implemented in full. I understand that there will be resistance, particularly from the nobility. If that happens, I want to be informed immediately. I will deal with them personally."


    "Personally, Your Highness?" Antoine repeated.


    Bruno smirked. "Yes, Antoine. The nobles must learn that I am not here to indulge their sense of entitlement. If they refuse to comply, they will face the consequences. Their wealth, their estates¡ªeverything they hold dear¡ªis contingent on the Crown''s favor. Remind them of that if necessary."


    Antoine hesitated before nodding. "As you wish, Your Highness. I will ensure these decrees reach the appropriate parties and begin the process of enforcement. But... may I ask, what if the commoners misunderstand the reforms and fear further burdens?"


    Bruno''s smirk softened into a thoughtful expression. "A fair question. I''ve prepared an announcement to be read in every town square. It emphasizes that these reforms are designed to relieve the commoners'' burdens by ensuring a more equitable distribution of taxes. It also outlines plans for infrastructure projects that will create jobs and improve their quality of life."


    Antoine nodded, seemingly reassured. "I understand, Your Highness. I will oversee this personally and report back to you with updates."


    Bruno simply nodded in satisfaction and watched Antoine left his office.


    With that, it was a waiting game. He''d expect that there''d be response within a week, so let''s give them that.


    ***


    A week later, Bruno sat at his desk, flipping through reports of the reforms being disseminated across Corse. The initial feedback from the commoners had been cautiously optimistic. The promise of reduced taxes and infrastructure improvements had kindled a flicker of hope among them, though many remained skeptical of the nobility''s compliance. Bruno was keenly aware that the true challenge lay not with the peasants but with the aristocracy.


    As expected, Antoine arrived with a report in hand, his face etched with worry. He entered the room and bowed deeply before approaching the desk.


    "Your Highness," Antoine began with a tense tone.


    "I bring news regarding the nobles'' reaction to your reforms."


    Bruno set the papers aside and leaned back in his chair. "Speak freely, Antoine. I assume they didn''t take kindly to being asked to part with their privileges."


    Antoine hesitated, then began, "Your assumption is correct, Your Highness. The nobles find the reforms... outrageous. Many have outright refused to comply. Some have even branded the decrees as ''illegal'' and claim you are overstepping your authority as governor of Corse."


    Bruno''s expression remained neutral, though his eyes gleamed with a calculated sharpness. "And what, precisely, are their grievances?"


    Antoine unfolded the report, scanning its contents before responding. "Their primary complaints center on the taxation decree. They argue that exempting the nobility from taxes has been a long-standing tradition and that your reforms threaten the social order. Some have even begun rallying support among their peers, claiming that your policies will destabilize the island."


    Bruno raised an eyebrow. "Rallying support? Do you mean they are conspiring against me?"


    "Not openly, Your Highness," Antoine clarified. "But I fear that if their dissatisfaction is allowed to fester, it could escalate into organized opposition."


    Bruno tapped a finger on the desk, his mind racing through the potential scenarios. "And what of the commoners? How have they reacted to the nobles'' defiance?"


    Antoine''s expression shifted slightly. "Interestingly, Your Highness, the commoners seem to be growing increasingly vocal in their support of the reforms. Word has spread that you intend to alleviate their burdens, and many see the nobles'' resistance as proof of their greed. There is talk of demonstrations in some villages, with peasants gathering to express their approval of your policies."


    A faint smirk crossed Bruno''s lips. "So, the nobles are losing the people''s favor. Good. That will make it easier to isolate them if it comes to that."


    Antoine looked uneasy. "Your Highness, while the commoners'' support is promising, I must caution you against relying solely on their sentiment. The nobles still control vast resources, including armed retainers. If they choose to escalate this into a direct confrontation, we may find ourselves outnumbered."


    "Hmm," Bruno stroked his chin as he contemplated.


    "Your Highness, what are you planning?"


    "I want you to arrange something for me, Antoine. A formal event, I want you to invite all the nobles. And give me every paper about them, records and documentation and such."


    "I can do that, but why?" Antoine asked.


    "You''ll see." S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 5 The Conviction

    The date was CE September 5th, 1689. It''s been eight days since he had reincarnated in this world.


    And from the last eight days, he was starting to miss the convenience of the modern world.


    When he was on break, he would usually browse the internet using his phone. He would watch documentaries, movies, funny videos, et cetera to entertain himself. But in this world, instead of smartphones, they have books. Although it''s not that bad, he found it painfully slow compared to the instant access to information he was accustomed to. Books required time and effort to read, and they offered limited scope compared to the vast repository of knowledge he once had at his fingertips.


    Bruno leaned back in his chair, staring at the stack of leather-bound volumes on his desk. Some were historical records of Corse, others were treatises on governance and economics. He had gone through several over the past week, forcing himself to adapt to this slower pace of research. sea??h th§× N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "It''s like living in a world with dial-up internet," he muttered to himself, shaking his head.


    Nevertheless, he was making progress in the governance of Corse. Even though the reforms aren''t being received fairly by the nobles, he had a high hope of turning them to his side. After all, he has plans for them. But he''d expect it will happen in two to three weeks as his massive request can''t be procured by Antoine within the week.


    A soft knock interrupted his thoughts.


    "Enter," Bruno called out.


    The door creaked open, and Antoine stepped in, bowing respectfully as always.


    "Your Highness, about your order of recruiting the locals and the blacksmiths, and the craftsmen."


    Bruno raised his brows, he certainly remembered ordering Antoine about that.


    "Yes?"


    "They have answered your call, Your Highness. They are in the city square of Loretto as we speak."


    Bruno''s brows rose slightly in surprise as he processed Antoine''s words.


    "They''re waiting now? At this moment?" Bruno asked, his tone carrying a hint of disbelief.


    "Yes, Your Highness. They await your presence in the city square," Antoine confirmed, his tone respectful but slightly urgent.


    Bruno pushed back his chair and stood abruptly. "Why didn''t you inform me sooner?"


    Antoine hesitated. "I thought you would prefer to review the preparations beforehand, but it seems they''ve arrived earlier than expected."


    Bruno sighed, quickly moving toward the coat stand by the door. He hastily grabbed his overcoat, shrugging it on while speaking.


    "No matter. I''ll meet them immediately. These are the first steps toward rebuilding Corse, and I won''t let them think I''m disinterested."


    Antoine nodded, clearly relieved at Bruno''s decisiveness. "Shall I arrange your escort, Your Highness?"


    Bruno waved a hand dismissively as he adjusted his coat. "No need for formality. Just ensure the guards are present for order. I''ll speak to the recruits first, then address the blacksmiths and craftsmen."


    "As you wish, Your Highness," Antoine said, bowing before stepping aside to let Bruno pass.


    ***


    Fifteen minutes later. Bruno was inside the horse-drawn carriage. He looked out the window and saw the gathered recruits in the city square of Loretto. Fortunately, the city square was large enough to accommodate their numbers.


    He smiled at the sight, and was delighted. He has a potential of 1000 recruits, and if successfully integrated into the Corse''s armed forces, his forces would increase 500 percent.


    Still, he had doubts about the recruits. After all, they are locals, and their loyalty


    might waver if they believed the nobility or the rebellion could offer them more. Bruno was acutely aware of human nature¡ªloyalty often hinged on practical concerns rather than ideals. Security, sustenance, and the promise of a better future could turn even the most skeptical into steadfast supporters.


    As the carriage came to a stop, Bruno adjusted his coat, and before he could get out. Antoine spoke.


    "Your Highness. On the platform, you''ll meet the General of the Army of Corse. His name is Berthold."


    "Berthold? I didn''t see him in the meeting a week ago," Bruno glanced over his shoulder, looking at Antoine.


    "That was because he was sick, Your Highness. Now he is well, and will be able to see you," Antoine said.


    Bruno nodded. "Very well. I''ll see him."


    Bruno stepped out of the carriage, his boots clicking against the cobblestones as he adjusted his coat. The murmurs of the recruits intensified, their gazes fixed on him.


    It was clear that for many of them, this was their first glimpse of the governor of Corse. Bruno''s sharp, commanding presence, combined with his youthful yet regal appearance, seemed to make an impression.


    The recruits, a mix of young men and seasoned workers, stood in uneven rows. Their expressions ranged from hopeful to cautious, but all eyes were drawn to the figure descending the steps of the carriage. Behind them, soldiers of Elysea stood at attention, their polished armor and disciplined stance creating an imposing backdrop.


    Bruno''s gaze shifted to the platform at the center of the square, where a man stood waiting. Berthold, the General of the Army of Corse, was a broad-shouldered man in his forties, with sharp features and graying hair that framed his face. His posture was upright and commanding, but as Bruno approached, Berthold bowed deeply.


    "Your Highness," Berthold greeted, his voice resonant and respectful. "It is an honor to finally meet you."


    Bruno offered a slight nod, taking in the man''s demeanor. "Berthold, I trust you''ve been informed of the reforms and our plans to bolster the defense of this island?"


    "Yes, Your Highness," Berthold replied. "I have been briefed by Antoine, and I am prepared to lend my full support to your efforts. The recruits are assembled. They await your words."


    After that, Berthold excused himself and gave the floor to Bruno, who scanned the sea of faces before him. For a moment, there was silence, and after that moment, Bruno spoke.


    "Good day. I am Prince Bruno de Elysea, son of King Aldred of the Kingdom of Elysea," Bruno introduced himself first and continued. "For many of you, there are questions as to why a foreign prince is ruling over your land? The reason is simple and I think all of you know that answer."


    When the recruits heard the last part of Bruno''s words, they were reactions, gritting their teeth, clenching their fist, et cetera.


    Bruno allowed the murmurs and visible frustration in the crowd to simmer for a moment before raising a hand to silence them.


    "Yes, you know why you are here. You know why your former ruler sold you to Elysea," he said, his tone taking on an edge of empathy. "The Kingdom of Genova abandoned you. They saw this island not as a home but as a burden. They took your labor, your resources, and your loyalty, and in the end, they discarded you to save themselves."


    The crowd''s gritted teeth and clenched fists tightened, but this time, the anger wasn''t directed at Bruno. It was aimed at the injustice they had endured.


    "But hear me now," Bruno continued, his voice rising with conviction, "that is not how the Kingdom of Elysea will treat you. From this moment forward, you are no longer forgotten or neglected. You are not Genovese anymore. You are Elysean. And as Elyseans, you will be treated with the respect and dignity that comes with it."


    Some in the crowd exchanged skeptical glances, while others looked intrigued. Bruno took a step forward, his tone softening but still commanding attention.


    "I won''t lie to you," he said. "There are those who refuse to accept this change. Rebels from the other island threaten your way of life. They do not fight for you¡ªthey fight for their own ambitions, and they will not stop until they have thrown this island into chaos. But I tell you this: Corse is part of Elysea. That is the law, and that is the reality. This island will not bow to those who seek to destroy it."


    The recruits stood in silence, their gazes fixed on Bruno as he continued.


    "I cannot protect this island alone," he said. "I need your help. You are here because you''ve been given a choice¡ªa choice to stand for something greater than yourselves. To defend your families, your homes, and your future. If you join the army, you will not be thrown into battle as expendable pawns. You will be trained, equipped, and treated as equals to any soldier of Elysea."


    Bruno''s voice carried a promise, one that he knew would resonate with those struggling to survive. "You are promised fair wages and benefits if you join. That promise will be honored. You will not go hungry. Your families will not be abandoned. Serve with loyalty, and you will be rewarded with security and opportunity."


    He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle over the crowd. Then, with a determined look, he declared.


    "This is your island. This is your home. Together, we will defend it. Together, we will rebuild it. Together, we will create a future that the Kingdom of Genova never gave you."


    The crowd remained quiet for a moment, processing his words. Then, slowly but steadily, murmurs of approval began to ripple through the recruits. A few nodded, their skepticism giving way to cautious optimism. Others looked to their peers, seeking confirmation of their own resolve.


    And one of them¡ªsuddenly did the unexpected.


    "Long live Prince Bruno de Elysea!"


    The shout came from a young man standing near the front of the crowd. His declaration echoed across the square, and for a moment, silence followed as everyone processed the words. Then, as if ignited by his courage, others began to join in.


    "Long live the Prince!"


    "Long live the Prince!"


    The chants grew louder, spreading through the crowd like wildfire. Bruno stood still, his hands clasped behind his back, letting the wave of approval wash over him. He didn''t smile, but a flicker of satisfaction crossed his face.


    This was what he needed¡ªnot blind devotion but the first seeds of loyalty. Loyalty born not from fear or obligation but from hope and a shared sense of purpose.


    Bruno then stepped back, and stood next to Berthold. "I''ll leave you with the process of recruitment."


    "Consider it done, Your Highness. And it was a beautiful speech," Berthold commented.


    Bruno scoffed inwardly. Now the recruits are secured, the problem now is arming them up. They don''t have surplus weapons and ammunition to equip every single recruit. But of course, he already had that covered.


    It''s time to meet the blacksmiths and the craftsmen.

 Chapter 6 Meeting the Blacksmiths

    Bruno stepped off the platform and left the recruits to Berthold. He walked over to Antoine who bowed as soon as he neared him.


    "Your Highness. That was a good speech. I must admit, it was moving," Antoine commented.


    "Don''t flatter me Antoine. All I did was a simple speech. Now, I want to meet the blacksmiths and the craftsmen."


    "They are in a different venue, Your Highness," Antoine said.


    "Where are they?" Bruno asked.


    "They are in the Artisan Guild Hall near the southern edge of Loretto, Your Highness," Antoine replied promptly. "I took the liberty of preparing a carriage for you."


    "Good. Let''s not waste any time," Bruno said, brushing past Antoine toward the waiting carriage.


    Antoine followed closely, signaling the guards to maintain formation. Bruno climbed into the carriage, and Antoine joined him inside, seating himself opposite the prince. The coachman snapped the reins, and the carriage rolled forward, the cobblestone streets of Loretto passing by in a blur.


    Ten minutes later, the carriage pulled to a stop in front of a modest but well-maintained building. The Artisan Guild Hall was constructed of sturdy timber and stone, its facade decorated with carved symbols representing various trades. A small group of guards stood outside, their presence ensuring order.


    Bruno stepped out of the carriage, his boots crunching against the gravel path. Antoine led the way to the entrance, where a guild representative greeted them with a nervous bow.


    "Your Highness, it is an honor to have you here. The craftsmen and blacksmiths are assembled inside," the representative said, gesturing toward the hall.


    Bruno nodded and entered. The interior was a large, open space with high ceilings and wooden beams. Several rows of tables were set up, and around them stood men and women of varying ages, At the far end of the hall, a forge crackled with low flames, its heat radiating into the room.


    As Bruno strode to the center, the murmurs of conversation faded. He glanced around, noting the calloused hands and work-worn attire of the people before him. These were skilled artisans, the backbone of Corse''s economy and, potentially, its military.


    "Good day," Bruno began. "I am Prince Bruno de Elysea, governor of Corse. I have come to speak with you about a matter that concerns the future of this island¡ªand your role in it."


    The room remained silent, the craftsmen and blacksmiths listening intently.


    "As you are aware, Corse faces threats both internal and external. Rebellion festers in the shadows, and those who seek to destabilize our home grow bolder by the day. To secure our future, we must prepare¡ªthis includes arming and equipping our forces. Now, raise your hand to those who have experience on making a gun, specifically, this gun¡­"


    Bruno beckoned of the soldiers standing watch nearby to hand over his musket. He took the musket handed to him by one of the guards. It was a rifle musket, eerily similar to the M1777 Charleville musket he remembered studying during his previous life. He examined the weapon, his fingers running over the smooth wood and polished metal. Despite its old design, it was still an effective weapon for the time.


    "Excellent," he said. "Now, let me ask another question. Are any of you familiar with the concept of improving this design? Perhaps making it more reliable, faster to load, or more accurate?"


    A few hesitant murmurs spread through the crowd, but only a couple of hands remained raised. Bruno took note of their faces.


    "Good," he said, lowering the musket and handing it back to the soldier. "But the weapon I just showed you, has some problems. Reloading takes too long, especially in battle. Soldiers must carefully pour powder, ram a ball, and prime the pan. It is a process that leaves them vulnerable. Imagine a weapon that eliminates this cumbersome process¡ªa weapon with cartridges that ignite instantly using a percussion cap."


    Most of the craftsmen looked at each other, intrigued by the concept. A blacksmith in his fifties with a thick beard stepped forward.


    "May I speak, Your Highness?" Sear?h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Yes you may," Matthew permitted.


    "Your Highness, what is a percussion cap?"


    "A good question. The percussion cap is a small, metal container¡ªusually made of copper or brass¡ªthat holds a chemical compound called fulminate of mercury. When struck by a hammer, it creates a spark that ignites the gunpowder inside the cartridge. This system replaces the flintlock, which is less reliable and slower to use."


    The blacksmith stroked his beard thoughtfully. "And this would eliminate the need to prime the pan?"


    Bruno nodded. "Exactly. It simplifies the loading process, allowing a soldier to fire more quickly and under harsher conditions, like rain or high humidity."


    "How are we going to make that?" he followed with another question.


    "I have a design here with me, drawn on paper," Bruno pulled a neatly rolled piece of paper from his coat and handed it to the blacksmith. The man carefully unrolled it, revealing a detailed sketch of a percussion cap system. The design included annotations outlining the materials required, the dimensions of the cap, and the modifications needed for existing muskets to accommodate the new firing mechanism.


    The blacksmith''s eyes narrowed as he studied the drawing. "This is... intricate," he said, tracing his finger along the sketch. "We''ll need precise tools for this, and access to certain materials we don''t usually work with¡ªcopper, for instance."


    Bruno nodded, expecting the concern. "I''ve already considered that. My Chief of Staff will ensure you have the necessary resources, including copper, mercury, and any additional tools you might need. Also, not only we are going to change the firing mechanism, we are going to need to build at least 1000 rifles."


    Bruno paused to let his words sink in. The room was silent except for the occasional crackle of the forge in the background. The craftsmen exchanged uncertain glances, but a glimmer of determination began to show in their eyes.


    One of the younger blacksmiths, a wiry man with soot-streaked hands, stepped forward.


    "Your Highness, building 1,000 rifles from scratch, especially with this new mechanism, will take time. We can certainly adapt the existing muskets first to use the percussion cap system, but creating new ones... it''s an ambitious goal."


    "I understand the enormity of the task," Bruno replied, his tone firm yet encouraging. "That is why we will work in phases. First, modify the existing muskets to use the percussion caps. This will give our soldiers an immediate advantage. Then, we will begin production of entirely new rifles based on an improved design.


    The older blacksmith who had first spoken nodded thoughtfully. "That approach makes sense, Your Highness. Modifying the muskets will be faster, and it''ll give us time to perfect the new design."


    "I appreciate your enthusiasm. Now that that''s settled, let''s discuss the potential problem we might face. We may have new rifles in the future but it''s useless without gunpowder. Good thing, I have an idea in mind."

 Chapter 7 The New Process for Creating Gunpowder

    Bruno''s gaze swept across the room, observing the craftsmen and blacksmiths exchanging uncertain glances. Finally, after a long pause, a single hand hesitantly rose from the back of the room.


    It belonged to a wiry man in his late thirties, his face weathered and marked by soot and faint scars. His sharp eyes stood out against his otherwise unassuming appearance. The room quieted as all eyes turned toward him.


    "You, step forward."


    The man wove through the crowd carefully. When he reached the front, he bowed deeply.


    "Your Highness, I am Elias Moreau, a practitioner of alchemy."


    Bruno raised an eyebrow. "And what exactly is your experience in this field, Elias?"


    Elias straightened his posture. "Your Highness, I studied alchemy under Master Gregor in the city of Bellavance for nearly a decade. My focus was primarily on metallurgy, potion-making, and explosives. Since returning to Corse, I''ve used my skills for practical purposes¡ªtreating ailments, crafting specialized alloys, and, occasionally, creating small quantities of gunpowder for local hunters."


    Bruno nodded, impressed by the man''s credentials. "Then you are precisely the person I was hoping to find."


    The room murmured softly at the prince''s words, but Bruno raised a hand to silence them. "Elias, I would like to speak with you privately. Follow me."


    Elias bowed again. "As you command, Your Highness."


    Bruno turned to Antoine, who was standing nearby. "Antoine, ensure the craftsmen and blacksmiths are given further instructions regarding the rifle modifications and production timelines. I will rejoin you shortly."


    Antoine nodded. "Understood, Your Highness."


    Bruno gestured for Elias to follow him as he moved toward a side room, away from the crowd. The room was modest, furnished with a sturdy table and a few chairs. Bruno closed the door behind them, ensuring their conversation would remain private.


    "Please, have a seat," Bruno said, gesturing to one of the chairs as he took his own.


    Elias complied, sitting with a mix of deference and curiosity. "How may I serve you, Your Highness?"


    "I want you to answer this question of mine," Bruno said as he took his seat. "How do you create gunpowder?"


    Bruno asked the question in hopes of identifying the method the people used in this world. If it''s the same as his previous world in history, then everything would be easy from here on out. But if it''s different, he''ll adapt accordingly.


    "Your Highness, gunpowder is made by mixing three things¡ªsaltpeter, sulfur, and charcoal. Saltpeter is the most important; it''s what makes the mixture burn quickly. Sulfur helps it catch fire easier, and charcoal is what burns to make the explosion. The amounts have to be just right, or it won''t work well."


    Bruno nodded, appreciating the simplicity of the explanation. It aligned with what he already knew, though he noted the practical focus of Elias''s experience rather than a theoretical understanding.


    "And where do you get these materials?" Bruno asked again.


    "Saltpeter is the hardest to find," Elias admitted. "Here in Corse, we get it from manure¡ªanimal waste. It takes time to collect and refine. Sulfur comes from rocky deposits, mostly near old volcanoes. There isn''t a lot of it, but we can find enough if we dig. Charcoal''s easy¡ªmade from burning hardwood in the right way, and there''s plenty of that near Loretto."


    Bruno''s mind raced as he considered the challenges. Saltpeter production would be slow, but scaling it up was possible. Sulfur might require mining operations, and charcoal was already a straightforward process. S§×arch* The N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    But there is a way to simplify things. The Haber-Bosch process had revolutionized the production of nitrogen-based compounds in his previous life. Though it wouldn''t be possible to replicate the exact process in this era, the fundamental idea could serve as a foundation for improving saltpeter production.


    He turned his attention back to Elias, leaning forward slightly. "Elias, the method you described¡ªusing manure to extract saltpeter¡ªis effective but slow. What if I told you there''s a way to produce it faster and in larger quantities, bypassing the need to wait for natural deposits to form?"


    Elias blinked, intrigued but skeptical. "Faster? Your Highness, how would that be possible?"


    Bruno hesitated, simplifying his explanation to avoid overwhelming the alchemist. "In my studies, I learned of a method where nitrogen is extracted from the air itself and converted into compounds like saltpeter. The air around us is filled with nitrogen¡ªit''s abundant. The trick lies in finding a way to bond it with other elements to create something usable."


    Elias frowned, visibly trying to grasp the concept. "Drawing nitrogen from the air?"


    "That''s correct," Bruno affirmed, leaning slightly forward. "In essence, the process involves taking nitrogen from the air and combining it with hydrogen to produce ammonia, which can then be further processed into compounds like saltpeter."


    Elias nodded slowly, his interest clearly piqued. "And how would this work, Your Highness? What are the steps?"


    Bruno decided to keep the explanation simple, focusing on the practical elements that could be adapted with the resources available. "First, nitrogen must be captured from the air. This is achieved by compressing air in a controlled environment. At high pressure and temperature, the nitrogen can be made to react with hydrogen."


    "Hydrogen?" Elias asked, furrowing his brow.


    "Hydrogen can be obtained from water," Bruno explained. "By separating water into its components using heat or other methods, you can isolate hydrogen. Once you have both nitrogen and hydrogen, they are brought together in a reaction chamber. Under high heat and pressure, with the aid of a catalyst¡ªtypically iron¡ªthey bond to form ammonia."


    Elias leaned back, absorbing the information. "This ammonia¡­ you say it can be turned into saltpeter?"


    "Exactly," Bruno confirmed. "Ammonia can be processed into nitric acid, and from there, it can react with certain compounds to create saltpeter. This eliminates the need to rely solely on manure or natural deposits, allowing production to scale up significantly."


    Elias remained silent for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "This sounds revolutionary, Your Highness. But such high temperatures and pressures¡ªare they achievable with the tools we have?"


    "We will create the tools. In fact, I have the blueprint for it. And I want you to lead a team that will make the tools and equipment needed for such a process. I have here the detailed step-by-step on how to create it. Can you do it?"


    "I will try, Your Highness," Elias replied with a tone of uncertainty.


    "I will ask again, can you do it?" Bruno repeated his question.


    "I can do it, Your Highness," Elias replied, this time with conviction.


    Bruno leaned back in his chair, a faint smile on his face. "Good. That''s the conviction I need."

 Chapter 8 Sense of Progress

    The date was CE September 19th, 1689. The skies over Loretto were heavy with clouds, casting a gray pall over the bustling city. Bruno stood on the balcony of the governor''s estate, his gaze fixed on the training grounds below.


    The newly recruited soldiers, a mix of locals and Elysean officers, moved in coordinated drills. The clatter of wooden practice rifles and the bark of commands echoed through the air. Bruno observed them closely, noting the progress in their discipline and formation. While their movements were still rough, there was an undeniable improvement compared to two weeks prior.


    Antoine approached from behind, his boots clicking softly against the stone floor. "Your Highness, the integration appears to be progressing well. The locals are adapting faster than expected."


    Bruno nodded, his expression thoughtful. "It''s a good start, but there''s still work to be done. Many of them lack the confidence and precision of seasoned soldiers. They''ll need time."


    Antoine hesitated before speaking again. "Shall I arrange for an inspection of their drills, Your Highness?"


    "Not yet," Bruno replied. "Let Berthold continue his training regimen without interference. I''ll observe from here for now."


    Antoine inclined his head. "As you wish, Your Highness."


    Bruno''s attention shifted to the far side of the grounds, where blacksmiths and craftsmen were hard at work modifying the existing muskets. Smoke billowed from makeshift forges, and the rhythmic clang of hammers filled the air. Despite the challenges, progress was steady.


    "Any updates on the rifle modifications?" Bruno asked, not turning from his vantage point.


    Antoine unfolded a piece of parchment. "The craftsmen have successfully converted two hundred muskets to the percussion cap system. They''re on track to complete the remaining modifications within the next three weeks. Production of the new rifles will begin shortly thereafter."


    Bruno allowed a faint smile to cross his lips. "Good."


    Later that afternoon, Bruno visited the outskirts of Loretto, where the Haber-Bosch equipment was being constructed. The site was a hive of activity, with workers hauling materials and assembling the massive structures under Elias Moreau''s supervision.


    The framework of the reaction chamber stood tall, its iron supports gleaming in the dim light. Nearby, blacksmiths and alchemists collaborated to craft the high-pressure valves and fittings required for the process. Crates of raw materials¡ªiron, copper, and other metals¡ªwere stacked neatly to one side, ready for use.


    Elias approached Bruno, wiping sweat from his brow. "Your Highness, I wasn''t expecting you today."


    Bruno surveyed the progress, his expression neutral but his tone encouraging. "I wanted to see how things are coming along. You''ve made significant progress."


    Elias nodded, a hint of pride in his voice. "The foundation is complete, and we''ve started assembling the reaction chamber. The catalyst preparation is underway, but it''s delicate work. The iron must be refined and shaped precisely."


    "What about the compressors?" Bruno asked, gesturing to a partially assembled structure nearby.


    "They''re the most challenging part," Elias admitted. "Creating a device capable of maintaining the necessary pressure is no small task. But with the blacksmiths'' expertise, we''re making headway. Of course, it''s all thanks to your knowledge, Your Highness. I didn''t expect science to progress by leaps and bounds in the capital."


    Bruno placed a hand on his shoulder, and squeezed it gently. He couldn''t tell the truth that he was from the modern world, so he nodded in acknowledgement.


    "And the materials? Do you have everything you need?" he added.


    "For now, yes," Elias replied. "The supplies from the mines near Loretto have been sufficient. But if production scales up, we''ll need to secure additional sources."


    "Very well. Tell me if you need anything, I''ll provide it as soon as possible," Bruno assured him.


    ***


    Two days later, September 21st. Antoine entered Bruno''s study, carrying a hefty stack of documents bound together with twine. His face bore the telltale signs of long nights and early mornings¡ªdark circles under his eyes and a slight slump in his usually upright posture. Still, he maintained his characteristic composure, bowing respectfully as he approached Bruno''s desk.


    "Your Highness," Antoine began, placing the documents on the desk. "These are the compiled records of all the noble families currently residing in Corse. As per your request, I''ve included their lineages, estates, wealth assessments, record complaints from the peasants, and political alignments."


    Bruno glanced at the stack, his eyebrows raising slightly. "That''s¡­ more than I expected," he admitted. He reached for the top document and opened it, scanning the contents. "How long did this take you?"


    "Several days," Antoine replied evenly. "It required cross-referencing records from the local archives with information provided by the noble families themselves. Some were less cooperative than others."


    Bruno looked up, his expression softening. "Antoine, you''ve been working tirelessly. Between managing the recruits, coordinating with the craftsmen, and now this¡­ I''ve overburdened you." sea??h th§× N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Antoine waved a hand dismissively. "It''s my duty, Your Highness. Ensuring the success of your endeavors is a responsibility I take pride in."


    "Even so, you''re not made of iron," Bruno said, leaning back in his chair. "You should take some time to rest."


    Antoine allowed a faint smile. "Rest will come, Your Highness, but not before we''ve secured Corse''s stability. Besides, I find purpose in my work. It''s satisfying to see progress being made."


    Bruno smiled, appreciating his dedication.


    "What do you plan on this, Your Highness?"


    "Before we get into that, let me ask you something¡ªdo you think these nobles hate me for the reforms I''ve implemented?"


    Antoine hesitated, carefully choosing his words. "Hate is a strong term, Your Highness, but there is undeniable resentment among them. Your reforms threaten their traditional privileges, their way of life. Many see you as an outsider imposing foreign ideas upon their land."


    Bruno nodded slowly, absorbing the answer. "So, they do hate me."


    "Yes," Antoine admitted. "To varying degrees, but the sentiment is there."


    Bruno tapped his fingers on the desk, his expression unreadable. "And yet, they remain quiet. They grumble, but they''ve taken no overt action against me."


    "Not yet," Antoine clarified. "But that could change. Resentment has a way of festering, especially when left unaddressed."


    Bruno sat forward, his gaze sharpening. "How long will it take to organize a formal gathering with these nobles?"


    Antoine straightened, already prepared with an answer. "Given the logistics of summoning them, arranging accommodations, and preparing the venue, it will take at least another week, possibly two. I''ll ensure it''s done within that timeframe."


    "Good," Bruno said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Make it happen. Send out invitations under the pretense of fostering dialogue and unity. Frame it as an opportunity for them to voice their concerns."


    Antoine raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "You''re planning to address their grievances directly?"


    Bruno chuckled lightly. "Something like that."


    "And your actual plan, Your Highness?" Antoine pressed, his curiosity evident. "How do you intend to handle them?"


    Bruno leaned back, his gaze drifting toward the window as if considering the distant horizon. "I intend to turn them to my side."


    Antoine tilted his head slightly. "And how will you achieve that when all of them hate you?"


    "Just watch," Bruno smirked.

 Chapter 9 The Nobles Gathering

    September 25th, 1689.


    Inside the grand estate of House Vallier, one of the most prominent noble families in Corse, a gathering of influential landowners and aristocrats convened in secrecy. The room was filled with the scent of burning candles and aged wood, the dim lighting casting long shadows over the tense faces of the attendees.


    Lord Vallier, a man in his fifties with sharp features and a commanding presence, stood at the head of the long oak table.


    "This cannot continue," Vallier began, his tone laced with frustration. "This so-called governor has imposed reforms that strip us of our privileges and diminish our influence. What are we if not the guardians of Corse''s traditions?"


    A murmur of agreement rippled through the room.


    Count Duval, a stout man with a ruddy complexion, leaned forward, his fist pounding lightly on the table. "He''s treating us like peasants! Taxing our lands, restricting our authority over our own estates, and now this¡­ nonsense about arming the locals. Locals, mind you, who should be working our fields, not training with rifles."


    Lady Genevieve, a shrewd and calculating figure, raised an eyebrow. "And yet, none of us have acted. Words will do nothing to stop him."


    "Then what do you propose?" Vallier asked, his eyes narrowing. "Do we march against the Elysean army stationed here? Or perhaps align ourselves with the rebels who lurk in the shadows?"


    The room fell silent for a moment as the weight of the suggestion hung in the air. Some nobles shifted uncomfortably in their chairs, while others exchanged knowing glances.


    A younger noble, Lord Renard, spoke hesitantly. "Joining the rebels¡­ is it truly wise? If this rebellion fails, any association with them would mark us as traitors to the Elysean crown. Our titles, our lands¡ªeverything would be forfeit."


    "And if we do nothing?" Duval countered, his voice rising. "Do you truly believe this prince will stop at his reforms? No. He seeks to dismantle the very foundation of our authority. He''ll leave us as figureheads, powerless and irrelevant."


    "I''m not suggesting we align with the rebels," Genevieve interjected. "But perhaps¡­ we let them weaken the prince''s position. If his forces are stretched thin, we may have an opportunity to negotiate from a position of strength."


    "Negotiate?" Duval sneered. "With a man who refuses to acknowledge our rightful place? You''re a fool if you think he''ll listen."


    Another voice cut through the argument¡ªa calm tone from Baron Lavigne, a middle-aged noble.


    "We must tread carefully. An outright rebellion will bring nothing but ruin. If we act too boldly, the crown itself will intervene, and we''ll face the wrath of Elysea."


    Vallier nodded slowly, acknowledging Lavigne''s point. "Then what do you suggest, Baron?"


    "We wait," Lavigne replied. "We observe the prince''s moves and gauge his strength. For now, we maintain our neutrality. If his reforms falter, we''ll have our chance to assert ourselves."


    "That''s cowardice," Duval spat. "We''re allowing him to consolidate power while we sit idle."


    "It''s strategy," Lavigne shot back, his tone unyielding. "Charging blindly into conflict will only hasten our downfall."


    At the far end of the table, a previously silent figure stirred. Marquis Adrien.


    "What if we played both sides?"


    The room turned to him, curious and wary.


    Adrien continued. "We support the prince outwardly, attending his gatherings, complying with his reforms¡­ but we keep channels open with the rebels. That way, whichever side prevails, we ensure our survival."


    "Deceitful," Vallier muttered, though he didn''t dismiss the idea outright.


    "Practical," Adrien corrected. "The prince is no fool. He''ll know we resent him, but if we appear cooperative, we can buy ourselves time."


    "And what of those who refuse to take a side?" Renard asked, glancing around the room. "There are those among us who are content to let the prince rule, so long as he doesn''t threaten their immediate interests."


    "Cowards," Duval growled.


    "Or survivors," Lavigne countered. "Not everyone is willing to risk everything. And also, I assumed that you all received a letter of invitation to His Highness''s estate?"


    The room fell silent as Baron Lavigne''s question hung in the air. One by one, the nobles exchanged wary glances.


    "Yes, I received it," Count Duval admitted begrudgingly, tossing the parchment onto the table as if it offended him. "Arrived this morning. An invitation to a formal gathering, as if we''re expected to fawn over his reforms like loyal subjects."


    Marquis Adrien smirked, leaning back in his chair. "I received mine as well. Charming wording, isn''t it? A chance for dialogue and unity, he says. How very diplomatic of him."


    Lady Genevieve''s fingers tapped lightly against the polished wood of the table. "Diplomatic, or calculated? He''s not summoning us out of goodwill. The question is, what does he intend to achieve by bringing us together?"


    "Isn''t it obvious?" Duval growled. "It''s a trap. He means to corner us, coerce us into supporting his reforms. Perhaps even to humiliate us publicly. The man is consolidating his power, and this gathering is just another move in his game."


    "Not everyone is so convinced," Renard interjected cautiously. "It could simply be a gesture of goodwill¡ªa way to familiarize himself with the local aristocracy and extend an olive branch. The Elysean crown wouldn''t allow him to act recklessly, not while their reputation is on the line."


    Duval scoffed. "Naive. He doesn''t need to act recklessly when he can undermine us with a smile and a toast. The reforms aren''t even fully implemented yet because we''ve managed to block them. This gathering is his way of breaking through that barrier."


    "Or," Adrien said smoothly, "it''s an opportunity. If we attend, we can gauge his intentions more clearly. We''ll have the advantage of observing him directly, perhaps even swaying him toward compromises."


    "Compromises?" Duval''s voice rose, his face reddening. "You think this boy will compromise? He''s already shown us he has no respect for our traditions. He''ll smile and nod while tightening the noose around our necks."


    Lady Genevieve raised a hand, silencing the rising tension. "Enough. Speculation won''t get us anywhere. The fact remains: this invitation places us in a precarious position. Refusing it outright would be seen as an act of defiance, perhaps even treasonous. But attending could leave us vulnerable to his manipulations."


    Baron Lavigne, who had been quietly observing the debate, finally spoke. "Then we must tread carefully. Those who attend should do so with measured words and guarded intentions. The prince is no fool, but neither are we. If he seeks to force our hand, we''ll present a united front and refuse to bow. However, if there is room for negotiation¡­"


    "Negotiate?" Duval cut in sharply. "We have nothing to negotiate. We should remain firm in our opposition."


    Genevieve sighed, her patience wearing thin. "Firm opposition will mean little if the crown intervenes. We cannot act in isolation, nor can we afford to appear disloyal to Elysea."


    Renard nodded. "She''s right. If we overplay our hand, we risk losing everything. Attending the gathering is not an act of submission¡ªit''s a strategic move. We gather information, we listen, and we decide our next steps from a position of knowledge."


    Adrien''s smirk widened. "Finally, a voice of reason. And while we''re gathering information, we should also plant seeds of doubt in the prince''s mind. Subtle suggestions, carefully placed. Make him question the loyalty of his officers, the stability of his reforms. Keep him on the defensive."


    Duval''s glare swept across the room, but even he seemed to sense the futility of outright refusal. With a begrudging grunt, he relented. "Fine. But mark my words¡ªthis prince isn''t to be underestimated. If he thinks he can outmaneuver us, he''ll find we''re not so easily swayed."


    Vallier, who had remained silent for much of the discussion, finally spoke. "Then it''s settled. We''ll attend the gathering, but we''ll do so on our terms. No declarations, no alliances¡ªonly observation. And if the prince attempts to coerce us, we''ll make it clear that Corse is not his to rule unchallenged."


    The nobles nodded in agreement, and the meeting concluded. One by one, the nobles filed out, and those who remained are the nobles who strongly opposed the prince.


    "We cannot simply wait and watch, as some of the others suggest. This governor intends to strip us of everything we''ve built. Sitting idly by will only hasten our demise," Count Duval said, breaking the silence.


    Lord Vallier, still seated at the head of the table, nodded. "I agree. The prince''s so-called reforms are designed to dismantle our authority. We need leverage¡ªsomething that forces him to reconsider his position or brings him to his knees."


    "And leverage," Lady Genevieve added, her sharp gaze flicking between the others, "does not come from compliance or negotiation. It comes from strength." Sear?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Marquis Adrien leaned forward, a sly smile playing at his lips. "Strength¡­ or alliances. The rebels remain active, despite the Elysean forces stationed here. Their numbers grow with each passing month. Desperation is a powerful motivator, and the prince''s reforms have only fueled their anger."


    "You''re suggesting we align with common rabble?" Duval spat, his disdain palpable.


    "Not align," Adrien corrected smoothly. "Use them. The rebels are a tool¡ªone we can wield to weaken the prince''s position. Let them disrupt his plans, stretch his forces thin. When the time comes, we''ll strike decisively."


    Baron Lavigne, who had remained quiet thus far, finally spoke. "This conversation, since earlier, is dangerously treading into treason, I will not take part in anything. I will take my leave."

 Chapter 10 Start of Confrontation

    September 27th, 1689


    Marquis Adrien reclined in the plush interior of his horse-drawn carriage, the rhythmic clatter of hooves on the cobblestone road soothing in its familiarity. His wife, Camille, sat opposite him, her hands delicately folded on her lap, while their daughter, Sophie, leaned against her mother, gazing absentmindedly out the window. The family had embarked on this journey to Count Duval''s estate, a meeting that Adrien deemed vital in coordinating their efforts against the prince''s increasingly oppressive rule.


    The carriage rocked gently as it traversed the uneven path leading through the countryside. Camille glanced at Adrien, her expression tinged with unease.


    "Adrien, are you certain this meeting is wise?" she asked softly.


    He smirked, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored coat. "Wise or not, it is necessary. Duval may lack tact, but his influence among the nobility is undeniable. If we are to counter the prince, we need his support."


    Camille sighed, clearly unconvinced but unwilling to press the matter further.


    The carriage slowed suddenly, the steady rhythm of the horses interrupted by the sharp call of the driver.


    "Whoa! Whoa there!" the coachman shouted.


    Adrien frowned, leaning forward. "What''s the matter now?"


    The carriage came to a complete stop. Curious, Adrien slid open the window, expecting to see a fallen tree or some other mundane obstacle. Instead, his eyes widened in disbelief.


    Elysean soldiers surrounded the carriage, muskets raised and trained on him.


    "What is the meaning of this?" Adrien demanded with an indignant tone. "Do you realize who I am? This is a noble''s carriage, not some criminal''s wagon!"


    One of the soldiers, a tall man with a grim face and a captain''s insignia, stepped forward.


    "Marquis Adrien, by order of His Highness, Prince Bruno de Elysea, you are to step out of the carriage immediately. Your compliance is not a request."


    Adrien''s jaw tightened, his anger simmering. "You dare point weapons at my family and me? This is an outrage! I will not take orders from a mere soldier. Lower your muskets at once, or I will see to it that you''re all court-martialed for this blatant act of disrespect!"


    The captain''s expression did not waver. "Step out of the carriage, Marquis. Now."


    Adrien''s lips curled into a sneer. "Do you think you can intimidate me? I will do no such thing."


    The captain motioned with his hand, and two soldiers moved forward. Adrien barely had time to register the movement before the door was yanked open.


    "Unhand me, you insolent¡ª!" Adrien''s protest was cut short as one of the soldiers grabbed him by the arm and dragged him out of the carriage.


    He struggled, his polished boots scraping against the ground as he tried to wrench free. "You fools! Do you know who you''re laying hands on?"


    The soldiers didn''t respond. One of them raised the stock of his musket and drove it into Adrien''s stomach with a dull thud. The blow forced the air from his lungs, and he collapsed to his knees, gasping.


    "Adrien!" Camille cried, leaning out of the carriage.


    "Stay where you are, madam," the captain ordered coldly.


    Ignoring her cries, the soldiers opened the carriage door fully and pulled Camille and Sophie out. Camille resisted, but her strength was no match for the soldiers. Sophie clung to her mother, tears streaming down her face as she was forced away from the safety of the carriage.


    "Let go of them!" Adrien rasped, his voice hoarse with pain. He tried to rise, but another soldier shoved him back down, pinning him in place.


    The captain approached, standing over Adrien with a disdainful look. "Marquis Adrien, you are under investigation for activities deemed treasonous against the Elysean Crown. You will be escorted to Loretto for questioning. Any further resistance will be met with force."


    Adrien glared up at him, his pride refusing to yield even in the face of humiliation. "This is an outrage," he spat. "You''ll regret this, all of you. When the nobility hears of this, they''ll¡ª"


    A sharp kick to his ribs silenced him. The world blurred around him as pain flared in his side.


    "Secure them," the captain ordered.


    Ropes were brought out, and Adrien''s hands were bound behind his back. Camille and Sophie were similarly restrained, though the soldiers were gentler with them, seemingly hesitant to harm the women.


    Adrien''s vision began to dim, his strength failing as the pain and humiliation took their toll. The last thing he heard before losing consciousness was Sophie''s sobs and Camille''s frantic pleas.


    ***


    Marquis Adrien groaned softly as he regained consciousness, his head pounding and his body aching from the rough handling he had endured. Darkness surrounded him, and for a moment, panic set in. He tried to move but found his hands and feet tightly bound with coarse rope. His mouth was gagged, the taste of rough fabric bitter on his tongue.


    The air was thick and unpleasant, reeking of damp earth and sweat. As his senses adjusted, he realized that a cloth was wrapped over his head, completely obscuring his vision. His breathing quickened, and the ropes dug painfully into his skin as he instinctively tried to free himself.


    Footsteps echoed faintly, growing louder with each passing second. Adrien''s heart raced, the sound bringing with it a wave of dread. The footsteps stopped just in front of him, and for a moment, there was only silence. Then, without warning, the cloth over his head was yanked off.


    Blinking rapidly, Adrien''s eyes adjusted to the dim light of the room. His surroundings were stark and unwelcoming¡ªstone walls, a single flickering lantern hanging overhead, and a sturdy wooden table positioned a few feet away. But it wasn''t the room that caught his attention.


    Standing before him, arms crossed and gaze sharp, was none other than Prince Bruno de Elysea.


    The marquis''s breath hitched. For the first time, the sheer magnitude of his predicament dawned on him. This was no mere arrest¡ªthis was a confrontation he had never anticipated.


    The prince''s expression was unreadable, his piercing eyes fixed on Adrien.


    Adrien was the first to break the silence, his voice hoarse but defiant. "Where is my family? What have you done with them?"


    Bruno tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Your family is safe¡­ for now."


    "For now?" Adrien growled, his anger momentarily overshadowing his fear. "How dare you¡ª"


    The prince''s raised hand silenced him instantly. "I wouldn''t finish that sentence if I were you, Marquis," Bruno said coldly. "Your family''s safety depends entirely on your cooperation."


    Adrien''s jaw tightened, his pride warring with his growing sense of dread. "What do you want from me?"


    Bruno stepped closer, his boots clicking against the stone floor. He stopped just short of Adrien, looming over the bound noble. "Answers," he said simply. "And your cooperation. Fail to give me either, and the consequences will extend far beyond this room."


    Adrien glared at him.


    "You think you can intimidate me?" he spat. "I am a marquis of Corse. My bloodline¡ª"


    "Your bloodline means nothing," Bruno interrupted sharply, his voice cutting through Adrien''s protests like a blade. "You stand accused of treason, and your title will not shield you from the consequences of your actions."


    "Treason? With what evidence?"


    "Well, you have been very vocal about the reforms I am implementing, and you even hosted a banquet with your fellow nobles."


    "I hosted a banquet, yes," Adrien said carefully. "A gathering among peers is hardly treason. Since when is discussing the plight of our estates a crime?"


    Bruno''s gaze hardened, and he leaned forward slightly, his presence looming. Sear?h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "You misunderstand, Marquis. Your gatherings are not the issue. It is the intent behind them. You''re not simply lamenting the plight of your estates; you''re conspiring to undermine the authority of this administration. That, Marquis, is treason."


    Adrien''s jaw clenched, his mind scrambling for a way to rebut without incriminating himself further.


    "Conspiracy? That''s a bold accusation, Your Highness, and one that requires proof."


    Bruno''s smirk returned, faint but menacing.


    "Proof?" He gestured toward the table, where a thick folder of parchment sat. "I have documents, Marquis¡ªletters exchanged with Count Duval, messages intercepted between your trusted stewards and known rebel sympathizers. I took an interest in you the moment I read your file. It''s a good thing to know your enemy."


    Adrien''s confidence faltered, his eyes flicking to the folder. He forced a scoff, masking his unease.


    "Letters can be forged. Accusations can be fabricated. You''re grasping at straws, Prince Bruno."


    Bruno chuckled, a sound devoid of humor. "Perhaps. Or perhaps I am merely holding back the evidence that would convict you in the eyes of the Elysean Crown. You should hope, Marquis, that I remain merciful. Because, if I lose my patience, you won''t even get a trial and the worst possible scenario could happen to your family. It''s your choice. Now, shall we get started?"

 Chapter 11 Interrogation

    Marquis Adrien caved in with a nod.


    "Good," Bruno smiled coldly. "We will begin with your accomplices. I am sure that you are not the only one who shares resentment and then suggests that you go against your government, right? I want their names."


    Adrien''s face hardened, the brief flicker of defeat from earlier replaced by a steely resolve. He pressed his lips together, his silence speaking louder than any words could. His eyes bore into Bruno, defiance clear in his posture despite his bound state.


    Bruno raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. He began to pace slowly in front of Adrien, his boots clicking against the cold stone floor with each deliberate step.


    "Silent treatment, is it?" Bruno asked. He stopped and turned to face Adrien directly. "Do you think this will earn you some kind of moral victory? Or are you under the illusion that your silence will protect the others?"


    Adrien''s jaw tightened, his breathing steady but tense. He refused to answer, his gaze unwavering.


    Bruno let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as if dealing with a petulant child. "You nobles are all the same," he said, his voice laced with disdain. "So quick to demand respect and loyalty from those beneath you, yet so eager to conspire against your own sovereign when it suits your whims."


    When Adrien remained mute, Bruno leaned in closer, his eyes narrowing. "Tell me, Marquis, do you love your family?"


    Adrien''s eyes flickered for a fraction of a second, betraying the crack in his fa?ade. It was enough for Bruno to see.


    Bruno smiled faintly, but it was a smile devoid of warmth. "Your wife, Camille. A refined woman, elegant in her demeanor. And Sophie¡­ your daughter. So young, so innocent." He paused, letting the words sink in. "I imagine you would do anything to keep them safe. Am I wrong?"


    Adrien''s silence stretched for a moment longer, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. His eyes darted to the floor, then back to Bruno. For the first time, there was a glimmer of fear in his expression¡ªa fear that gnawed at the edges of his pride. Sear?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I''ll ask again," Bruno said, his voice soft but unyielding. "Do you love your family?"


    Adrien swallowed hard, his throat dry. The image of Camille and Sophie, terrified and at the mercy of Elysean soldiers, flashed in his mind.


    "I¡­" His voice cracked, but he quickly steeled himself, forcing a facade of defiance. "You wouldn''t dare harm them. It would turn the nobility against you."


    Bruno tilted his head, his expression coldly amused. "Oh, Marquis, you misunderstand me. I have no desire to harm them. In fact, their safety is entirely in your hands. Their fate is tied to your cooperation¡ªor lack thereof."


    Adrien''s breathing quickened, and his mind raced. He knew he was cornered, and the fear that had crept onto his face now spread through his entire being. For all his bluster, he was a man who cherished his family above all else, and the thought of their suffering crushed his resistance.


    Bruno leaned back, giving Adrien a moment to absorb his predicament. "So, I''ll ask one last time," he said firmly. "Who are your accomplices? I want their names."


    "You promise that if I tell you who my accomplice is, you will let me and my family go?" Adrien asked, his voice strained, barely above a whisper.


    "You have my word. Cooperate, abide by the reforms, and live as a loyal citizen of the Kingdom of Elysea. Your family will remain unharmed, and you will be allowed to return to them."


    Adrien hesitated, doubt clouding his face. His lips pressed together in a thin line, and his breathing was shallow, uneven. He wanted to believe the prince''s assurances, but the nagging thought of betrayal lingered. Could Bruno, a man who had orchestrated his capture and humiliation, truly be trusted?


    Bruno observed the Marquis closely, the flicker of doubt not lost on him. He stepped forward and spoke to him.


    "Adrien," he said, using the Marquis''s first name for the first time. "You''re not the first noble to find themselves at a crossroads, and you won''t be the last. But make no mistake¡ªyour actions now will determine the future of your family. You can cling to your pride and gamble with their safety, or you can choose to protect them. The choice is yours."


    The weight of Bruno''s words settled heavily on Adrien''s chest. He glanced up at the prince, his own expression a mixture of fear and loathing. Every fiber of his being rebelled against surrendering to the man before him, but the image of his family suffering for his stubbornness was too much to bear.


    He exhaled shakily.


    "Count Duval," he said, the name falling from his lips like a stone. "He¡­ he has been the most vocal. He believes you will not stop until every noble in Corse is stripped of their power."


    "And the others?"


    Adrien hesitated again, his mind racing. He had crossed a line now¡ªthere was no going back. "Baron Vallier. Lady Genevieve. They were at the center of it, discussing ways to¡­ weaken your position."


    Bruno nodded, his expression betraying no emotion. "Good," he said simply. "Continue."


    Adrien shifted uncomfortably, shame washing over him with every word. "Marquis Adrien Lavigne, though he has kept his involvement quiet. He''s¡­ cautious. And Renard¡ªLord Renard, but he''s hesitant. I don''t know how far he''s willing to go."


    Bruno remained silent for a moment, his piercing gaze fixed on Adrien as he processed the information. Finally, he nodded again and stepped back.


    "You''ve done the right thing, Adrien," he said calmly. "Your cooperation will ensure the safety of your family. But remember this¡ªif you think to deceive me, if you withhold any part of the truth, I will know. And should that happen, there will be no place for mercy."


    Adrien nodded weakly. "I''ve told you everything I know. So, you are going to start arresting them now?"


    Bruno shook his head. "Arrest them? No, that is no fun. I have plans for them."


    "What is it?"


    "You will see when you attend the banquet that I will host soon."

 Chapter 12 The Banquet

    October 13th, 1689. At Prince Bruno''s estate in Loretto.


    The day has arrived for the banquet Bruno had long intended. Lines of exquisite carriages, each adorned with the family crests of Corse''s most influential nobles, clattered to a halt at the grand entrance of the estate.


    Antoine stood at the entrance, offering polite nods and warm greetings as the nobles disembarked. His demeanor was welcoming, though his sharp eyes betrayed a readiness to act at the slightest sign of trouble. Behind him, a line of servants stood ready to guide the guests inside.


    "Lord Vallier, welcome," Antoine said smoothly as the older noble descended from his carriage.


    "Antoine," Vallier replied curtly, his tone cool. "It seems His Highness has spared no expense."


    "Indeed," Antoine replied with a polite smile, gesturing toward the entrance. "The prince values the presence of every esteemed guest."


    Inside the grand hall, the scene was nothing short of magnificent. Crystal chandeliers bathed the room in warm light, their glow reflecting off polished marble floors. Ornate tables, laden with silver platters of delicacies and fine Elysean wine, lined the room. A string quartet played softly in the corner.


    Lady Genevieve arrived shortly after, her calculating gaze sweeping the room as she entered.


    "Ah, Antoine," she said smoothly and continued. "I trust His Highness has something¡­ enlightening planned for tonight?"


    Antoine inclined his head. "The prince always has his ways of surprising us, my lady."


    Genevieve''s lips curled into a faint smile, though it didn''t reach her eyes. "Indeed."


    Count Duval was next, his broad frame filling the entrance as he descended from his carriage. He exchanged a few terse words with Antoine before entering, his face a mask of irritation. The nobles were clearly divided¡ªsome curious, others openly resentful, but all intrigued by what awaited them.


    At the far end of the hall, Prince Bruno stood atop a slightly elevated dais. His attire was impeccable, his high-collared coat embroidered with the gold insignia of the Elysean crown. His expression was calm, composed, but his piercing gaze swept over the room with purpose. This was his arena, and tonight, the nobles would play his game.


    Antoine approached the prince, leaning in slightly. "Your Highness, nearly all of the invited nobles have arrived. The banquet is proceeding as planned."


    "Good," Bruno replied. "Let them settle. I want them comfortable¡ªrelaxed, even."


    Antoine nodded and stepped back, blending seamlessly into the background.


    The banquet began in earnest. Servants moved deftly among the guests, offering glasses of wine and trays of hors d''oeuvres. Conversation hummed throughout the hall, with nobles exchanging pleasantries and veiled barbs.


    Meanwhile, Count Duval, who had been mingling with Lord Vallier and Lady Genevieve noticed something.


    "Where is Marquis Adrien?" Count Duval asked.


    Lord Vallier swiveled his head and looked for Adrien.


    "I don''t see him¡­is he not attending?"


    "That''s impossible, he had already expressed his intention of coming to the banquet," Lady Genevieve added. "Perhaps he is running late."


    "Anyways¡­that''s our lord sitting there. Look at him, he is just observing. What does he intend on gaining by hosting a banquet?" Count Duval said as his eyes were fixed on Bruno.


    "He intends to gain exactly what we''re doing now," Genevieve said coolly. "Talking. Wondering. Second-guessing ourselves. It''s a power play, plain and simple."


    Lord Vallier narrowed his eyes as he studied Bruno. "A power play, perhaps, but one with purpose. He didn''t summon us here for idle conversation or goodwill. He has a plan."


    Count Duval scoffed, swirling his wine with an annoyed flick of his wrist. "If his plan is to lecture us on loyalty and reforms, he''s wasting his breath. None of us are fools."


    "Careful, Duval," Genevieve warned softly. "You''re speaking loudly enough to be overheard."


    Duval waved her off dismissively. "Let them overhear. I''ve said nothing that isn''t true. The prince may believe he has the upper hand, but this banquet changes nothing."


    At that moment, the sound of a bell rang gently through the hall, drawing the attention of the nobles.


    A servant stepped forward and announced, "Your Highness will address the gathering shortly. We kindly ask all guests to find their places."


    The hum of conversation subsided as the nobles moved toward the arranged tables. Bruno remained on the dais, his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze sweeping over the room.


    As the guests settled, Lady Genevieve leaned toward Vallier. "Notice how he hasn''t mingled with anyone. He''s letting us stew in our own thoughts."


    "Or in our own fear," Vallier replied darkly.


    Duval, sitting across from them, muttered, "Let him try to intimidate us. I won''t yield."


    At the head of the room, Bruno finally stepped forward, his boots clicking softly against the polished marble. His piercing gaze met the eyes of several nobles before he spoke.


    "My esteemed guests. I welcome you all to this banquet¡ªa celebration, if you will, of the unity and strength of Corse under the Kingdom of Elysea."


    Some nobles exchanged wary glances, their skepticism clear.


    Bruno continued, undeterred. "Tonight, I intend to speak plainly. It is no secret that my reforms have sparked¡­ debate among the nobility. I have heard the whispers, the rumors, the dissent. And I have taken it upon myself to address these matters directly."


    Duval shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his earlier bravado faltering.


    Bruno''s gaze lingered on him briefly before sweeping across the room. "I believe in transparency. I believe that the path to a stronger Corse lies in cooperation and trust. But trust cannot thrive in the shadow of doubt and betrayal."


    A ripple of unease passed through the hall.


    "Which brings me to a matter of great importance," Bruno said, his voice hardening slightly. "There are those among us who have chosen to conspire against the crown. To resist the reforms that are meant to benefit not only Elysea but Corse itself. This is not speculation; this is fact."


    The room fell deathly silent. Genevieve''s hand tightened around her wine glass, while Vallier''s expression grew grim.


    Bruno stepped down from the dais, walking slowly toward the center of the room.


    "There was what you might call a whistleblower that blew the whistle about this treachery. Please introduce yourself."


    The hall was so silent that the faint clink of glasses being set down on tables echoed unnervingly. All eyes followed Prince Bruno''s gaze as he gestured toward the grand entrance. The doors creaked open, and every noble strained to see who would emerge.


    The sound of deliberate footsteps preceded the appearance of a figure that froze the gathered guests in their seats. Marquis Adrien stepped into the hall, flanked by two Elysean guards.


    Lord Vallier''s jaw dropped, his hand clutching the armrest of his chair as if for support.


    "It can''t be¡­" he whispered.


    Count Duval stiffened, his wine glass halting mid-air. His expression was a blend of disbelief and rising anger.


    "Adrien? What¡­ What is he doing here?"


    Lady Genevieve''s calculating mask faltered for a moment as her eyes narrowed. S~ea??h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "He was supposed to be one of us," she muttered under her breath.


    Adrien stopped near the center of the room, his gaze briefly flickering over Vallier, Duval, and Genevieve before settling on Bruno. The prince''s expression remained calm, almost smug, as he looked down at the Marquis.


    "Marquis Adrien," Bruno said smoothly, his voice carrying effortlessly across the hall. "Thank you for joining us. I trust your presence here clears up any lingering doubts about the¡­ whistleblower I mentioned."


    A wave of murmurs swept through the room as nobles exchanged glances, some incredulous, others panicked. Adrien, however, stood silently, his hands clasped behind his back in a gesture of forced composure.


    "Now that he has arrived, let''s begin."

 Chapter 13 Name Calling

    "Marquis Adrien, you know who those traitors are, as you were part of them, correct?" Bruno began sharply.


    Adrien hesitated, his gaze fixed on the marble floor as every pair of eyes in the room bore into him. The silence was suffocating, broken only by the faint rustle of fabrics as the nobles shifted uncomfortably in their seats.


    Bruno took a deliberate step closer, his presence looming over the marquis. "You have already proven your cooperation, Adrien. Do not falter now. Speak."


    Adrien finally raised his head, his face pale but resolute. He opened his mouth, but the words seemed caught in his throat. The weight of betrayal hung heavy in the air, and the gathered nobles watched with bated breath, waiting for the axe to fall.


    "I¡­" Adrien began, his voice barely a whisper. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to meet Bruno''s unyielding gaze. "I will speak the truth, as I have promised."


    Lady Genevieve''s hand gripped the edge of the table so tightly her knuckles whitened. "What are you doing, Adrien?" she hissed, unable to stop herself.


    Adrien''s eyes flicked to her, regret flashing in them briefly. "What must be done, Genevieve."


    Bruno gestured for him to continue, his patience razor-thin. "Names, Adrien. Give me the names."


    Adrien inhaled deeply, his voice steady now as he spoke. "Lord Vallier. Count Duval. Lady Genevieve. These three have been at the forefront of the resistance."


    A gasp rippled through the hall, the nobles recoiling in shock. Vallier shot to his feet, his face contorted in fury.


    "This is slander! Lies spun by a coward to save his own skin!"


    Bruno raised a hand, silencing him effortlessly. "You will have your turn to speak, Lord Vallier. For now, I suggest you remain seated."


    Vallier glared at the prince but reluctantly sank back into his chair, muttering curses under his breath.


    Bruno turned back to Adrien, his tone demanding but measured. "Is that all, Marquis?"


    Adrien hesitated, his hesitation betraying that there was more to reveal. He swallowed hard, his gaze flickering to Vallier and Duval, who stared daggers at him.


    "There are others," he admitted, his voice lower now, as if hoping it wouldn''t carry. "Baron Lavigne was involved initially but withdrew from active discussions. And¡­ Renard. Lord Renard has expressed doubts but has not taken any overt action yet."


    Genevieve''s composure cracked, her face twisting in disdain. "You despicable worm," she spat, her voice trembling with barely suppressed rage. "You''ll condemn us all to save yourself?"


    Adrien''s face crumpled, guilt and shame written plainly across it. "I have no choice," he murmured.


    "I am sure prior to this event, there are other nobles who have joined your cause right?" Bruno asked.


    "There are," Adrien said and began calling out names.


    Prior to this banquet, Bruno had ordered the Marquis to act as though he had not been caught, to maintain his ties with the conspirators and stir their confidence. Adrien had reluctantly agreed, knowing that his compliance was the only way to ensure his family''s safety. Letters were written, discreet meetings held, and assurances given to the resistance that their plans remained secure.


    Unbeknownst to the conspirators, every move they made was meticulously documented and fed back to Bruno''s agents. By the time the banquet arrived, the prince had not only a list of names but a thorough understanding of the extent of their plotting.


    "Give me names," Bruno urged.


    Adrien''s breathing quickened as he looked across the room, his eyes scanning the faces of the gathered nobles. He hesitated again, knowing that every name he uttered would deepen the fissures in the noble class and condemn yet another ally. But he also knew that hesitation would only invite more suspicion¡ªand potentially, the wrath of Prince Bruno.


    Swallowing the lump in his throat, Adrien began to speak, his voice low and unsteady.


    "Lord Marcel of Pereth," he said, his gaze darting toward a middle-aged man seated near the end of the long banquet table. Marcel''s face turned pale, his eyes widening in disbelief.


    "What is this madness?" Marcel exclaimed, his voice trembling. "I''ve done no such thing!"


    Adrien ignored him, continuing with a shaky breath. "Baroness Elodie. She provided funding for the resistance under the guise of charitable contributions."


    Elodie, a stately woman with silver-streaked hair, froze in her seat. Her composed demeanor cracked as she gripped the edge of the table. "This is outrageous!" she snapped. "Adrien, you vile coward! You''ll lie and destroy lives to save your own hide?"


    Adrien winced at her words but pressed on. "Lord Bertram. He facilitated arms shipments to the rebels through his shipping company."


    Bertram, a portly man with flushed cheeks, shot to his feet, his voice booming. "Lies! These are baseless accusations! Your Highness, this man seeks to deceive you!" S~ea??h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Bruno raised his hand, his expression calm but commanding. "Sit down, Lord Bertram. You will have the opportunity to address these claims, but not before Marquis Adrien has finished."


    Bertram reluctantly obeyed, though his fists clenched with fury.


    Adrien''s voice quivered as he continued. "Lady Sabine¡­ she was instrumental in coordinating communications between the conspirators and the rebels."


    Lady Sabine, seated near the center of the room, gasped audibly, her hand flying to her mouth. "I cannot believe this," she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. "Adrien, how could you?"


    Adrien couldn''t meet her gaze. He felt the weight of his betrayal like a crushing boulder on his chest, but he knew there was no turning back now.


    Bruno stepped forward, his piercing gaze sweeping over the accused nobles. "You see, my lords and ladies, the resistance is not a faceless entity. It is here, among us, woven into the very fabric of this room. And now that the web of deception has been unraveled, we will deal with it."


    With a flick of Bruno''s finger, the grand doors of the hall burst open, and a squadron of armed Elysean soldiers marched in.


    Their boots thudded against the marble floor, their muskets gleaming under the light of the chandeliers. The sight sent a ripple of shock and fear through the room.


    The nobles watched in stunned silence as the soldiers spread out, surrounding the hall.


    "By order of His Highness, Prince Bruno de Elysea," Berthold declared, his voice echoing through the room, "those named as conspirators against the crown are hereby placed under arrest."


    The tension snapped like a taut string.


    "You can''t do this!" Lord Marcel of Pereth shouted, his face a mix of indignation and panic. "I have done nothing to warrant this treatment!"


    Two soldiers approached him without hesitation, and grabbed him by the arm.


    As the soldiers grabbed him by the arms, Marcel struggled against their grip. "Unhand me! This is an outrage!"


    Baroness Elodie rose from her seat, her face flushed with anger. "You cannot arrest a noble of Elysea without evidence! This is a travesty of justice!"


    Her words were cut short as two soldiers gripped her arms firmly, pulling her from her chair. She resisted, her silver-streaked hair disheveled as she struggled against them, but it was futile. The soldiers did not flinch or respond to her protests.


    Lord Bertram, red-faced and shaking with fury, lashed out verbally as two soldiers approached him. "You dare touch me? Do you know who I am? This is an affront to the entire noble class!" His booming voice echoed across the hall, but it fell on deaf ears.


    One of the soldiers grabbed his arm, but Bertram attempted to pull away. With a swift motion, the second soldier seized his other arm, subduing him. His shouts devolved into curses as he was dragged toward the exit.


    Lady Sabine, trembling and tearful, pleaded as the soldiers neared her. "Please, Your Highness, I have children! They need me¡ªI beg you to reconsider!"


    Bruno''s expression remained impassive, his focus unwavering. He gave no indication that her words had even registered.


    The room was filled with the sounds of chairs scraping against the marble floor and the accused nobles'' desperate cries. Each plea was met with silence from the soldiers and indifference from Bruno, whose piercing gaze never wavered.


    Those nobles whose names weren''t called watched in silence, fearing that they might be next if they intervened..


    Lord Vallier stood defiantly as the soldiers reached him, his eyes blazing with anger. "You think this will break us? You think this show of force will make us bow to you?"


    The soldiers said nothing, their faces emotionless as they secured his hands behind his back. He strained against their grip but was swiftly overpowered.


    "This is tyranny!" Vallier bellowed as he was marched toward the door. "You will regret this, Bruno! The nobility will not stand for¡ª"


    His voice faded as the soldiers dragged him from the hall.


    Count Duval, his face contorted in rage, clenched his fists as the soldiers surrounded him. "You''re a coward, Bruno!" he spat. "Hiding behind your guards and your throne! If you were a true leader, you''d face us directly, not¡ª"


    A soldier stepped forward, grabbing him by the arm, and Duval''s tirade was cut short as he was hauled from his seat. He continued to shout insults as he was escorted out.


    Genevieve, ever composed even in the face of calamity, glared daggers at Bruno. "You may think you''ve won, Your Highness," she said icily as soldiers flanked her. "But this will not be forgotten."


    Bruno remained silent, his gaze locked on her until she was taken away.


    "Now then¡ªlet''s meet them outside," Bruno thought to himself.

 Chapter 14 Loyalty or Death

    Outside the estate, the rounded-up nobles were filed in a row, their faces pale and drenched in anxiety as they stood under the watchful eyes of the Elysean soldiers. The night was eerily silent, broken only by the occasional shuffle of boots and the nervous murmurs of the accused.


    Prince Bruno de Elysea emerged from the estate''s grand entrance, flanked by his advisors and guards. The cold moonlight illuminated his stern expression, and his high-collared coat seemed to gleam with an almost otherworldly authority. He strode forward with purpose, stopping a few paces in front of the assembled nobles.


    "Lords and ladies of Corse," Bruno began, his voice steady and devoid of warmth. "You stand accused of treason against the crown¡ªa crime that strikes at the very heart of our kingdom''s unity and prosperity."


    The accused nobles exchanged panicked glances, some trembling, others stiff with defiance. None dared to interrupt.


    "Treason," Bruno continued, his piercing gaze sweeping over them, "is not merely an offense against the ruler. It is an offense against every loyal subject of Elysea. It is a betrayal of the trust placed in you as stewards of your lands and titles."


    He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in before delivering the blow. "The penalty for treason in the Kingdom of Elysea is death by firing squad. Furthermore, all properties, estates, and titles of the guilty will be confiscated by the crown."


    A collective gasp rippled through the line of nobles. Some stumbled backward, their faces contorted with fear and disbelief.


    "No!" Lord Marcel cried, his voice trembling. "This cannot be! I have served the two kingdoms faithfully¡ªthis is a mistake!"


    Baroness Elodie fell to her knees, tears streaming down her face. "Please, Your Highness! Have mercy! My family¡­ my children¡­ they depend on me!"


    Others joined in the chorus of desperation, their voices rising in a cacophony of pleas.


    "Your Highness, I beg you!" Lady Sabine sobbed, her hands clasped together. "Spare us, and we will dedicate our lives to your cause!"


    "Silence!" Bruno''s voice cut through their cries like a blade. The guards banged their musket stocks on the ground in unison, enforcing the prince''s command. The pleas died away, replaced by muffled sobs and strained breathing.


    Bruno''s gaze hardened as he looked down the line of condemned nobles. "You had your chance to stand with the crown, to support the reforms that would strengthen Corse and Elysea alike. Instead, you chose to conspire, to scheme, to betray. And now, you face the consequences of that choice."


    His tone was icy, unyielding, as he turned to the commanding officer of the soldiers. "Carry out the sentence."


    The officer snapped to attention and saluted. "Yes, Your Highness."


    The nobles erupted in a final, desperate chorus of protests. Lord Bertram struggled against his captors, shouting incoherently. Lady Genevieve, who had maintained a veneer of composure, finally cracked, screaming,


    "You can''t do this, Your Highness! You will answer for this injustice!"


    Bruno did not acknowledge her outburst. His expression remained impassive as he watched the soldiers prepare their rifles. The condemned were forced to their knees, their hands bound behind their backs.


    As the soldiers formed their firing line, the officer raised his sword, signaling his men to take aim.


    The nobles'' pleas grew quieter, some resigning themselves to their fate, others still muttering prayers or curses under their breath. S~ea??h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    The officer''s sword dropped.


    The night exploded with the deafening crack of musket fire, and the nobles fell, their voices silenced.


    Inside the estate, the muffled echo of musket fire reverberated through the grand hall, halting the quiet conversations among the remaining nobles. Their faces turned pale, their expressions shifting from discomfort to outright terror. Though none had seen the executions, the sound alone carried the weight of finality, leaving no doubt about the fate of those taken outside.


    A tense silence filled the room, broken only by the faint clink of a wine glass as someone''s trembling hand accidentally knocked it over. The nobles exchanged uneasy glances, many averting their eyes from each other as if any show of solidarity might mark them next for judgment.


    Prince Bruno re-entered the hall moments later, his boots echoing against the marble floor. The nobles instinctively turned to him, others had fearful expressions on their faces while some had a forced deference expression.


    Then¡ªseconds later¡ªthere was a shout from one of the nobles.


    "Long live the Prince! Long live Elysea!"


    The shout echoed through the grand hall like a spark igniting dry tinder. The noble who cried out¡ªa trembling man with sweat streaking his pale face¡ªraised his glass in a shaky toast. His voice was uneven but loud enough to carry, desperate in its tone.


    "Long live the Prince! Long live Elysea!"


    The hall fell into a tense silence, the nobles frozen as they weighed their options. Bruno''s icy gaze swept over the room, silently daring anyone to challenge the proclamation. The fear was palpable, an oppressive force pressing down on every soul present.


    Then, a second voice joined in, a younger noble seated near the back. "Long live Prince Bruno!" His cry was more resolute, though it carried the same undertone of fear.


    One by one, the others followed suit, their voices rising in an unsteady chorus:


    "Long live the Prince!"


    "Long live Elysea!"


    "Glory to the crown!"


    The nobles stood, raising their glasses in forced unity, their fear evident in their trembling hands and darting eyes. They chanted louder, their voices growing stronger not out of conviction but from the sheer terror of being the only one silent. To abstain was to risk drawing Bruno''s attention¡ªand potentially sharing the fate of those who had been taken outside.


    Bruno stood motionless, his expression as cold and unyielding as ever. He let the chant continue, the nobles'' voices growing more fervent as they sought to outdo one another in displays of loyalty.


    When he finally raised a gloved hand, the hall fell silent once more, the nobles'' voices tapering off into a nervous hush. His gaze lingered on them, his silence drawing out the tension until it was almost unbearable.


    "Your loyalty is noted," Bruno said at last. "But words alone will not ensure the prosperity of this kingdom. Loyalty must be demonstrated through action. Remember this."


    He allowed his words to sink in, the nobles nodding quickly, eager to show their compliance. Their fear had transformed into a desperate scramble for self-preservation, and Bruno knew it.


    Turning to his Chief of Staff, Antoine, he whispered.


    "Continue the banquet, tomorrow we will reorganize the island''s administrative system."


    "Yes Your Highness."

 Chapter 15 A Day After

    A day later, in Bruno''s estate. In his bedroom.


    Sunlight streamed through the windows, and the rays landed on his face, causing him to squint. Prince Bruno de Elysea stirred, his body slowly waking as his mind replayed the events of the previous night.


    The echoes of musket fire rang faintly in his memory, mingling with the desperate cries of the condemned nobles. His face remained impassive as he recalled the grim but necessary display of authority. There had been no room for hesitation, no space for mercy. Treason demanded consequences, and those consequences had solidified his power.


    He exhaled sharply, pushing the thoughts aside. The banquet, after the executions, had gone on without incident. The remaining nobles had sung his praises, their fear palpable, and their allegiance clearly declared. The fear he had instilled would linger, ensuring cooperation in the days to come.


    Bruno swung his legs over the edge of the bed, sitting up. The warmth of the sunlight did little to soften his resolve. Today, the real work began¡ªthe restructuring of Corse''s administrative system and the appointment of loyalists to key positions.


    Rising to his feet, he stretched briefly before summoning a servant. The attendant entered swiftly, bowing deeply before approaching to assist.


    "Prepare my bath," Bruno ordered, his tone even.


    "Yes, Your Highness," the servant replied, retreating to carry out the command.


    Moments later, Bruno immersed himself in the warm waters of the bath. The heat soothed his muscles, though his mind remained sharp, already calculating the day''s agenda.


    Once bathed and dressed in his usual attire¡ªa meticulously tailored high-collared coat adorned with the Elysean crown''s insignia¡ªBruno made his way to his office. His polished boots clicked against the tiled floor as he walked with purpose.


    The double doors to his office were already open, and inside, Antoine stood near the desk, a stack of documents in hand. His expression was composed but focused, as though he had been anticipating Bruno''s arrival.


    "Good morning, Your Highness," Antoine greeted, bowing slightly. "I trust you slept well." S§×ar?h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Well enough," Bruno replied, stepping into the room and closing the doors behind him. "I see that you have arrived in my office early."


    "That''s because you willed it, Your Highness," Antoine let out a soft chuckle.


    "Let''s get to work then," Bruno said as he took his seat. "Do you remember what I told you yesterday?"


    "Administrative reforms?" Antoine recalled.


    "That''s correct, I want to reform the way the territory is being managed. What do you know about the current system in Corse in terms of administration?"


    "In simple words, feudalism."


    Bruno leaned back slightly in his chair, his fingers steepled as he absorbed Antoine''s succinct response.


    "Feudalism," Bruno repeated, his tone flat yet contemplative. "A system that has outlived its usefulness. The decentralization of power in Corse has bred inefficiency, corruption, and, as we witnessed last night, treason."


    Antoine nodded. "The nobles wield their authority unchecked in their respective territories, collecting taxes, enforcing laws, and maintaining their own small armies. It allows them too much autonomy, which in turn weakens the crown''s influence."


    Bruno''s eyes narrowed. "Precisely. Corse needs an administration that answers directly to the crown, not one that operates as a collection of independent fiefdoms. We will dismantle this outdated structure and replace it with one that centralizes authority."


    Antoine tilted his head slightly, curiosity glinting in his eyes. "Do you have a specific framework in mind, Your Highness?"


    Bruno leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk as he spoke. "A system of appointed governors and officials. Loyalists to the crown, tasked with overseeing Corse''s regions. They will report directly to the central government here in Loretto. Taxation, law enforcement, and military recruitment will be standardized under this system."


    Antoine nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Ambitious, but effective. Such a system would strip the remaining nobles of their power without requiring the sword¡ªa political victory as much as an administrative one. But the nobles that we executed, they have their small armies. What are we going to do with them?"


    Bruno''s gaze sharpened as Antoine posed the question. He stood from his chair, his hands clasped behind his back as he paced slowly across the room.


    "The small armies of the executed nobles must be dealt with swiftly and decisively. We cannot allow remnants of their power to linger, nor can we risk those forces becoming rallying points for discontent."


    Antoine watched the prince intently. "Your Highness, are you suggesting disbanding them entirely?"


    Bruno turned, his piercing gaze locking onto Antoine. "Not entirely. That would be inefficient. Instead, we will integrate these forces into the royal army. Their leaders will be removed and replaced with officers loyal to the crown. The soldiers themselves will be given a choice: swear allegiance to Elysea or face dismissal."


    Antoine nodded thoughtfully, stroking his chin. "A pragmatic approach. It would bolster the strength of the royal army while neutralizing any potential threats. However, there may be resistance among the soldiers."


    Bruno''s lips curled into a faint, cold smile. "Resistance is expected, but it will be minimal. Their loyalty to their previous lords died with them. For most, survival and livelihood will outweigh rebellion."


    Antoine placed a document on the desk, sliding it toward the prince. "I''ve already taken the liberty of drafting a plan for the integration process. The officers we trust can oversee the transition, ensuring order and discipline."


    Bruno reviewed the document briefly, nodding in approval. "Good. Begin implementing this immediately. Start with the garrisons nearest Loretto and work outward. Ensure that the transition appears as seamless as possible to the common folk. I want this settled before we engage with the last threat."


    "The last threat being¡ª" Antoine paused and then remembered who Bruno was referring to. "You mean the rebels?"


    Bruno nodded in confirmation. "That''s right. A fight between our army and theirs is inevitable and is looming soon. We have to deal with them swiftly in order to regain peace and stability in the area. However¡ªit''s kind of weird that they haven''t made their move yet."


    "Perhaps they are preparing for something big?" Antoine said.


    Bruno sighed. "We shouldn''t talk about the rebels that much. They are nothing but nuisance. I am sure that when the day of confrontation comes, our army will emerge victorious. Speaking of the army, how are they?"


    "The locals are being integrated into our armed forces smoothly. Give it a month or two and we can send them in a campaign."


    "That''s better."

 Chapter 16 Overseeing the Progress

    November 1st, 1689 ¨C Loretto, Training Grounds


    Prince Bruno de Elysea stepped onto the hard-packed dirt of the training grounds, his polished boots crunching softly underfoot.


    Before him stood a formation of 500 men, their ranks perfectly aligned. Each soldier wore the standard-issue uniform of the Elysean army, and carried a standard-issue muskets.


    The army was meant to be 1,000 strong, but logistical delays had limited the availability of weapons, as blacksmiths and craftsmen worked tirelessly to fulfill the demand. Still, the discipline in the soldiers'' posture and the intensity in their eyes was enough to draw a faint nod of approval from Bruno.


    General Berthold approached briskly, his boots stirring dust as he came to stand beside the prince. He saluted crisply, his stern face betraying no sign of fatigue despite weeks of overseeing the troops'' training.


    "Your Highness," Berthold greeted. "The men are assembled and ready for inspection."


    Bruno scanned the lines of soldiers, his gaze sharp and evaluative. He stepped closer, observing the steadiness in their stances, the resolve etched into their expressions. Though fewer in number than intended, the men before him radiated readiness.


    "They look disciplined," Bruno remarked, his tone neutral but approving. "Though I understand the shortage of weaponry persists."


    Berthold inclined his head. "Yes, Your Highness. The blacksmiths and craftsmen are working around the clock, but production remains slower than expected. We are prioritizing quality over speed to avoid any equipment failures."


    Bruno nodded. "Good. I''d rather have half an army properly equipped than a full one ill-prepared. What is your assessment of their readiness, General?"


    Berthold''s chest swelled with pride as he answered confidently. "The men are ready, Your Highness. They''ve undergone rigorous drills, learned formation tactics, and are adept with the weapons we have so far. Morale is high, and discipline is holding firm."


    Bruno turned to face him directly, his piercing gaze locking onto the general. "They''ll need that discipline, General. On December 1st, we will march on the rebel base. I want this force to be sharp, unyielding, and prepared to crush their operations entirely. Can I rely on them to deliver?"


    Berthold straightened further, his tone firm. "Without question, Your Highness. They will not falter. Are we going to stick with the plan that you have drawn?"


    Bruno nodded. "That''s still the best plan we can draw given with our limited resources and time."


    Berthold inclined his head, his expression resolute. "Understood, Your Highness. We will focus on perfecting the execution of the plan during the remaining weeks. The officers are well-informed, and the men are showing promise in their drills."


    Bruno nodded before leaving the area.


    ***


    Thirty minutes later, he visited the alchemy workshop which is just five blocks away from the blacksmith workshop where the weapons are being manufactured.


    "Your Highness¡­I didn''t expect you''d visit so soon," Elias greeted him with a bow.


    "At ease Elias," Bruno said.


    Elias straightened, his hands still dusted with residue from his latest experiment. The alchemy workshop was bustling, its shelves lined with vials of various substances, and the air heavy with the scent of sulfur and ammonia.


    The rhythmic hum of machinery filled the room, emanating from the corner where the Haber-Bosch reactor stood¡ªa massive contraption of pipes and valves that dominated the space.


    "I wanted to see the progress myself," Bruno continued, his sharp eyes scanning the workshop. "How are the operations proceeding? Have you managed to stabilize the process?"


    Elias gestured toward the reactor, leading Bruno closer. "We''ve made significant strides, Your Highness. The reactor is running efficiently, and we''ve begun producing ammonia in quantities sufficient for your planned operations."


    Bruno examined the machine closely, his hands clasped behind his back. The reactor hissed softly, a controlled release of pressure escaping from its valves.


    "Good, ammonia production is key to ensuring we have the explosives and ammunition necessary for the campaign. How soon can we meet the required output?" sea??h th§× ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Given the current pace, we should be able to produce enough ammonium nitrate within two weeks to arm the artillery units and provide additional reserves. However, scaling up beyond that might require additional resources and manpower."


    Bruno nodded thoughtfully. "Two weeks will suffice for now. The blacksmiths and craftsmen are already under strain; we cannot afford delays on their end. Looks like after we exterminate the rebels, I''ll have to increase production."


    "By means of what?" Elias inquired.


    "By opening more workshops and factories. We are going to industrialize this island."


    Elias''s eyes widened briefly at the mention of industrializing the island, but he quickly composed himself.


    "A bold plan, Your Highness," he said. "Industrialization would not only enhance production but also cement Corse''s strategic importance within Elysea."


    Bruno nodded. "Precisely. After this campaign, I intend to reorganize Corse entirely¡ªnot just administratively but economically as well. We will no longer rely on antiquated systems. The island will become a hub of progress."


    "And it will be an honor to be a part of it¡­" Elias paused as he noticed Bruno walking over to the completed batch of ammonium nitrate.


    "Elias."


    "Yes, Your Highness?"


    "I want to do a test. I need enough ammonium nitrate to breach the gate of a fortified rebel stronghold. Something powerful enough to destroy both reinforced wood and iron."


    "How much do you need, Your Highness?"


    Bruno crossed his arms, thinking through the details of the intelligence reports. "The gate is approximately 3 meters tall, 2 meters wide, and 20 centimeters thick. Reinforced wood with iron bars. Assuming its tensile strength is around 50 MPa for the wood and considerably higher for the iron, I estimate we''ll need at least 5,000 kilojoules of energy to breach it."


    The explosive energy of ammonium nitrate is approximately 3.85 MJ/kg.


    Bruno began muttering aloud. "5,000 kilojoules divided by 3.85 megajoules per kilogram¡­ that''s approximately 1.3 kilograms of ammonium nitrate. Factoring inefficiencies and ensuring success, we should double that."


    He raised his head, meeting Elias''s gaze. "Prepare 3 kilograms of ammonium nitrate for the test."


    Elias blinked, visibly impressed by Bruno''s rapid computation. "Three kilograms? Understood, Your Highness."


    "When would you like this prepared?"


    "Immediately," Bruno replied firmly. "I want a test conducted within the next two days. I will construct a gate to match the dimensions similar to the fort the rebels are hiding."


    Elias bowed deeply. "It will be done, Your Highness. I''ll begin the preparations immediately."

 Chapter 17 New Weapon

    An hour later.


    Prince Bruno de Elysea sat behind his polished oak desk, reviewing a set of documents when Antoine entered the room, bowing respectfully.


    "You called for me, Your Highness?" Antoine asked, his tone crisp and professional.


    Bruno looked up, his expression firm. "Antoine, I need you to commission the construction of a large wooden gate. Make it sturdy, reinforced with iron, similar to the gates used in fortified structures."


    Antoine raised an eyebrow, clearly curious. "May I ask what purpose this gate serves, Your Highness?"


    Bruno leaned back in his chair, folding his hands together. "It''s for a test. I need a structure that replicates the main gate of the rebel fort. This will be used to demonstrate a new weapon that we will deploy in the upcoming siege."


    Understanding the importance of the task, Antoine nodded. "Understood, Your Highness. I''ll coordinate with the carpenters and blacksmiths immediately. Is there anything else?"


    "Yes," Bruno said, his tone resolute. "Inform General Berthold. I want him and the soldiers present at the training grounds for the demonstration. They need to witness the power of this weapon firsthand."


    Antoine bowed again. "Consider it done, Your Highness. The gate will be ready in two days."


    Bruno nodded. "Good. Keep me informed of the progress."


    Antoine departed swiftly, already mentally preparing the list of tasks required to fulfill the prince''s orders.


    November 5th, 1689 ¨C Training Grounds S~ea??h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Two days later, the training grounds were abuzz with activity. A massive wooden gate, reinforced with iron bars, now stood firmly erected at the far end of the field. Soldiers stood in formation nearby, murmuring among themselves as they eyed the strange structure.


    General Berthold stood to the side with Bruno, his arms crossed. "Your Highness, I must admit, I''m intrigued. This new weapon you speak of¡ªwhat exactly is it?"


    "You''ll see soon enough, General," Bruno replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "The soldiers need to understand the power we will bring to the battlefield."


    Nearby, Elias and his assistants carefully placed a clay container filled with ammonium nitrate against the base of the gate. A long fuse extended from the container, ready to be lit.


    Bruno turned to address the gathered soldiers.


    "Today, you will witness the strength of a new weapon. This is what will grant us the advantage in the coming siege. Watch closely."


    The soldiers fell silent, their eyes fixed on the setup.


    Bruno gestured toward Elias. "Proceed."


    Elias stepped forward, lighting the fuse with a torch. The hissing sound of the burning fuse filled the air as everyone instinctively took a step back, anticipation thickening the atmosphere.


    Moments later, the explosion rocked the training grounds. A deafening roar echoed across the field as the ammonium nitrate detonated, obliterating the gate in an instant. Splinters of wood and twisted iron flew in every direction, leaving behind a cloud of dust and a gaping hole where the gate had stood.


    The soldiers shielded their faces from the blast, their expressions were disbelief as the dust began to settle.


    General Berthold broke the stunned silence, his voice filled with astonishment. "Incredible. The rebels won''t stand a chance against this."


    Bruno turned to the soldiers, his gaze sharp. "This is the power we will wield against those who oppose the crown. With weapons like these, victory is assured."


    The soldiers erupted into cheers, their morale bolstered by the display. Bruno allowed himself a moment of satisfaction before turning to Elias.


    "Good work," he said. "Prepare more of these charges. We''ll need them ready for deployment."


    Elias nodded, still wide-eyed from the spectacle. "Yes, Your Highness."


    "We''ll revisit the plan a week before the siege," Bruno said to Berthold.


    "Yes Your Highness, I will be there, " Berthold bowed.


    Not far from the training grounds, a figure crouched low behind a dense thicket of bushes. His breath was shallow, and his heart raced as he observed the scene before him. The rebel spy, garbed in a simple cloak to blend with the common folk, had witnessed the explosion from his hidden vantage point. His eyes remained locked on the shattered remains of the gate, the splintered wood and twisted iron a testament to the weapon''s terrifying power.


    The cheers of the soldiers rang faintly in the distance, but to the spy, it was as though they were mocking him. The Elysean forces were no longer just a disciplined army¡ªthey had weapons of mass destruction at their disposal. The increase in their numbers and the sophistication of their new tools were signs that the rebels'' days of scattered resistance were nearing an end if nothing was done.


    His fingers tightened around the parchment he carried¡ªa map he had drawn detailing troop movements and resources around Loretto. Now, that map seemed incomplete, insignificant compared to the knowledge he had just gained.


    "This changes everything," he muttered to himself, his voice trembling. "If they bring that¡­ thing to Fort Cervo, our defenses won''t stand a chance."


    The spy knew he couldn''t linger. He had to get this information to Fort Cervo immediately. Every second spent hiding risked capture, and the rebels could not afford to lose this critical intelligence.


    He adjusted his hood, ensuring his face was concealed, and began his retreat, moving quickly but carefully through the underbrush.


    "Fort Cervo must know," he whispered, his resolve strengthening. "They need to prepare for this."


    The journey to Fort Cervo would take at least a day to get to the southern edge of the island and crossing would take another day. They still have time¡ªor not. He still hadn''t obtained one critical information, that is when they are going to attack.


    As he reached the edge of the forest and the faint outline of a village appeared in the distance, the spy slowed his pace. Villages were risky¡ªfilled with potential informants loyal to the crown. Still, he needed supplies for the journey ahead. Pulling his hood tighter, he steeled himself before stepping into the outskirts, blending into the waning hustle of villagers winding down their day.


    "Just keep moving," he whispered to himself. "Fort Cervo depends on this."

 Chapter 18 Fort of Cervo

    The early morning light illuminated Fort Cervo, perched on the rugged coastline of Sardinia. The fort, with its high stone walls and narrow watchtowers, bustled with activity as the rebels prepared for the inevitable battle. Soldiers marched in organized lines across the courtyard, and the clang of hammers echoed as blacksmiths worked tirelessly to forge weapons. Supply wagons rolled through the gates, carrying food, powder, and shot for the growing rebel force.


    At the gate, Paolo, the rebel spy, arrived after a grueling two-day journey. His cloak was caked with dirt, his face pale with exhaustion. As he approached the guards, they stepped forward, muskets in hand.


    "Identify yourself," one of the guards demanded, his tone sharp.


    Paolo raised his hands, his voice hoarse from days of travel. "It''s Paolo. I''ve returned from Loretto with urgent news for Commander Vittorio."


    The guards studied him for a moment before recognizing his face. They nodded and gestured him inside. "Follow us. The commander will want to hear this immediately."


    Paolo followed the guards through the courtyard. Around him, soldiers were sparring with wooden rifles, their movements stiff but improving under the guidance of experienced trainers. Large crates of ammunition were being unloaded by quartermasters, while others reinforced the fort''s walls with thick planks of wood and sheets of iron. The atmosphere was tense, with every person focused on their task.


    The guards led Paolo into the fort''s command room, a plain stone chamber dominated by a large wooden table covered in maps and notes. Around it stood several rebel leaders, their faces lined with fatigue and worry. At the head of the table was Commander Vittorio Salvi, a tall, broad-shouldered man with gray-streaked hair and a weathered face. His eyes narrowed as he noticed Paolo enter.


    "You''re back," Vittorio said. "What did you find in Loretto?"


    Paolo stepped forward, bowing slightly. "Commander, the Elysean army is preparing for an assault, and they''ve developed a weapon that could turn the tide of this war." sea??h th§× nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Vittorio raised an eyebrow but said nothing, waiting for Paolo to continue. The other officers leaned in, their expressions grim.


    "They''ve created an explosive," Paolo explained, his voice urgent. "I saw it with my own eyes during a demonstration. They used it to destroy a massive wooden gate reinforced with iron. The explosion obliterated it completely. If they bring this weapon to Fort Cervo, our gates won''t hold."


    The room fell silent. Finally, Vittorio spoke. "What exactly are we dealing with? How is it used?"


    "It''s simple," Paolo replied. "They place a container filled with the explosive at the base of the target and light a fuse. The explosion is powerful enough to tear through anything in its path. It''s not like anything we''ve faced before."


    Vittorio''s jaw tightened. He turned to one of his officers, a young man named Rinaldo. "How are the gates holding up?"


    Rinaldo shook his head. "They''re solid, but if what Paolo says is true, they won''t withstand a blast like that."


    "Then reinforce them," Vittorio ordered. "Add more iron plating and strengthen the hinges. Use stone if you have to. I don''t care how it''s done¡ªjust make sure those gates hold."


    Rinaldo nodded and left the room to oversee the work. Vittorio turned back to Paolo. "What else did you see?"


    "Their numbers," Paolo continued. "They''ve mobilized about 500 men. Their soldiers are disciplined, well-trained, and equipped with standard-issue muskets."


    One of the officers, Antonio, frowned. "We only have a month to prepare. Do we have enough supplies to hold out?"


    "Our supplies are adequate for now," Vittorio replied. "But we''ll need to ration carefully. Antonio, make sure every wagon that comes in is accounted for. We can''t afford to waste anything."


    "Yes, Commander," Antonio said, already making notes.


    Another officer, Matteo, who oversaw the artillery, spoke up. "What about the cannons? If they bring those explosives, we''ll need to stop them before they reach the gates."


    "We have twelve cannons positioned along the walls," Matteo said. "But ammunition is limited. If we''re forced into a prolonged siege, we''ll run out."


    "That we can''t do. If we fail here, or if this fort fall to the enemy hands, there won''t be anyplace left for us to retreat to," Vittorio finished Matteo''s thought, his tone grim. "Fort Cervo is not just our stronghold; it''s our symbol of resistance. If it falls, so does the morale of every rebel still fighting."


    The room fell into a heavy silence as the officers absorbed the weight of his words. Vittorio turned to Paolo again. "Did you hear anything about their timeline? When are they planning to attack?"


    Paolo hesitated, his brow furrowing. "I couldn''t gather that information, Commander. I only know they are preparing diligently, and their morale is high. With their resources, I would estimate they could be ready to move in a few weeks."


    Vittorio grunted, clearly dissatisfied. "What are the possible approaches that they could make?"


    "Well, since we are on the other island, the only way for them to get us is through seaborne invasion. They will probably use their ships of the line or frigates to transport their troops and supplies. Once they establish a foothold near the coast, they could march directly toward Fort Cervo," Paolo explained. "The coastline around the fort is rugged, but there are a few landing spots that are accessible for a force of their size. If they''re well-coordinated, they could land undetected and move quickly."


    Vittorio nodded, his expression hardening as he digested the information. "Then we need to anticipate their movements and make their landing as costly as possible. Matteo, can we position some of our cannons to cover the likely landing points?"


    Matteo nodded. "Yes, Commander. We can move four of the twelve cannons closer to the shoreline. It''ll leave us lighter on artillery at the fort itself, but it should give us a chance to disrupt their landing."


    "Do it," Vittorio said decisively. "If we can slow them down or scatter their forces before they reach the fort, it''ll buy us precious time."


    Turning to Rinaldo, Vittorio continued, "I want a small detachment sent to scout the coastline. They''ll need to monitor those landing points and alert us the moment they see any movement. Choose men you trust, and make sure they know the risks."


    "Understood, Commander," Rinaldo said, leaving the room to carry out the orders.

 Chapter 19 The Confratation is Nearing

    At Prince Bruno''s Estate, all of the military staffers in the Island of Corse were gathered. Prominent figures such as Captain Duval, General Berthold, and other military officers.


    "Thank you for gathering here for this critical discussion," Bruno said, his eyes sweeping across the military personnel. "We have now a chance of crushing the rebellion that had plagued this island. Now, as for the plan, the two ships of the line that we have here will conduct naval bombardment off the coast of Cervo, where you will attract the main defenders of the fort to you. You will bombard their fort for two days, and they will think that we are simply bombarding them while our main troops will land near Cervo undetected through our frigates and breach the fort while the main forces are distracted."


    General Berthold leaned forward, his weathered face set with determination.


    "Your Highness, the plan is bold, but timing will be everything. If our landing party is detected prematurely, the defenders could regroup and repel the assault before we breach their gates."


    Bruno nodded. "Exactly why precision and coordination will be our priorities. Captain Duval," he turned to the navy officer, "your ships must maintain constant fire on the fort to ensure the enemy''s attention is entirely on the coast. The bombardment must appear relentless."


    Duval straightened, his uniform crisp as he replied. "Understood, Your Highness. We''ll keep their defenders pinned and disoriented. Our gunners are well-trained, and the ships'' crews are prepared."


    Bruno''s gaze shifted to Berthold. "General, your role is equally critical. You will lead the landing party. The moment the frigates drop anchor near the secondary landing site, you must move swiftly and silently. Speed will be our greatest weapon."


    Berthold gave a curt nod. "Consider it done, Your Highness. The men have been drilled extensively in stealth operations. We''ll strike before the enemy knows we''ve arrived."


    One of the younger officers raised his hand hesitantly. "Your Highness, what about their scouts along the coastline? If the rebels have patrols near the landing site, it could jeopardize the entire operation."


    Bruno acknowledged the concern with a slight tilt of his head. "I''ve considered that. We''ll deploy a small team of sharpshooters and scouts ahead of the landing party. Their task will be to neutralize any patrols quietly. They''ll clear the way for the main force."


    The officer nodded, reassured by the answer.


    Another voice spoke up¡ªCaptain Ricard, one of the artillery specialists. "What about the explosives, Your Highness? Will they be part of the landing force?"


    "Yes," Bruno confirmed. "Elias and his team have prepared charges specifically designed to breach the fort''s gates. These will be carried by the engineering detachment accompanying the main force. The gates must fall quickly to maintain the element of surprise."


    General Berthold spoke again. "I must say sir, I am duly impressed with the strategic planning that you have made. It''s easy but effective. Let''s just hope our plan survives enemy contact."


    "What are you talking about, General Berthold? No plan can survive enemy contact," Bruno replied, a faint smirk crossing his face. "But a good plan allows for adaptability. We have contingencies in place, and the men are trained to think and act decisively. That will be our strength."


    Berthold gave a slight nod, a look of respect flashing in his eyes. "As you say, Your Highness. I''ll make sure the men are ready to adjust as needed."


    Bruno turned his attention back to the table, where the map of Fort Cervo and the surrounding coastline lay spread out. He pointed to a marked section of the coastline, a narrow cove shielded by jagged cliffs. "This is where the frigates will anchor and deploy the landing party. The cove will provide cover, but the terrain is rough. The troops must move quickly and stay quiet."


    Captain Duval leaned forward, studying the map. "The ships of the line will maintain their positions here," he said, tracing his finger along the waters just off the fort''s main defenses. "The bombardment will draw their attention, but if the wind changes or visibility becomes poor, it could complicate our maneuvers."


    "That''s why timing is critical," Bruno interjected. "The landing force must coordinate with the naval bombardment. We cannot afford delays or miscommunication. The entire operation hinges on synchronization. That will be all. Make your final preparations and ensure our men are fully equipped and ready before the planned date."


    The officers nodded in unison, saluting sharply before filing out of the room, their faces set with determination. The sound of boots echoed against the stone walls as they dispersed to carry out their respective tasks. Only Antoine remained, who had been silent the entire discussion.


    "Antoine."


    "Yes Your Highness."


    "I''m curious, don''t we get an update from Elysea?" Bruno asked. He was curious about the development of the capital in the mainland but so far, ever since he was transmigrated in this world, there was no report regarding their situation.


    "There''s none Your Highness. I''m sure everything is alright over there. If something serious had happened, we would certainly be informed by our messengers," Antoine replied respectfully.


    "Is that so?" Bruno hummed in understanding. "My father has sent me to this island to prepare me for something unexpected, like you know my brothers not being able to ascend to the throne. I should give them updates of what''s happening over here."


    "That''s a wise decision, Your Highness," Antoine praised. "What would you like me to write?"


    Antoine tilted his head slightly, waiting for Bruno''s response.


    Bruno leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. "Write that we are on the verge of bringing order to Corse. The rebellion will be crushed. I want my father to know that, despite the limited military presence here, we have turned the tide. This achievement, I believe, is worthy of recognition."


    Antoine nodded, pulling out a small leather-bound notebook and a quill from his satchel. "Shall I emphasize your leadership and the strategic planning that made this possible, Your Highness?"


    Bruno waved a hand dismissively. "Focus on the results. Let the success of this campaign speak for itself. My father values outcomes, not words of self-praise."


    "As you wish, Your Highness," Antoine replied, dipping the quill into a small inkpot. "Anything else you''d like me to include?"


    "Ask him how he is," Bruno simply added. "Show him that I cared about him." Sear?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Very well, Your Highness."

 Chapter 20 The Confrontation Part 1

    December 31st, 1689 ¨C Off the Coast of Fort Cervo


    The sea was a vast, ink-black expanse as the two Elysean ships of the line approached the coastline under the cover of darkness. Their sails were furled, their masts cutting sharp silhouettes against the faint glow of the moonlight breaking through the clouds. Every lantern aboard had been extinguished, leaving the ships shrouded in near-total darkness as they glided silently across the calm waters. The crews moved with hushed precision, their boots muffled against the wooden decks as they prepared the cannons for the first volley.


    Onboard the lead ship, Elysea''s Pride, Captain Duval stood on the quarterdeck, his sharp eyes scanning the faint outline of Fort Cervo against the jagged cliffs. The imposing fortress loomed in the distance, its high stone walls faintly visible in the moonlight. The rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the rocky shoreline was the only noise that reached their ears.


    "Hold position," Duval murmured, his voice barely louder than a whisper. The helmsman adjusted the wheel, anchoring the ship in the designated spot. The second ship, Lionheart, followed suit, positioning itself parallel to the first. Both vessels now sat silently, their broadside cannons aimed squarely at the sleeping fort.


    On the ramparts of Fort Cervo, two rebel defenders patrolled the chemin de ronde, the narrow walkway atop the walls. One of them, a young man named Marco, clutched his musket tightly as he peered into the darkness. His companion, a grizzled veteran named Sergio, walked a few paces ahead, his steps slow and deliberate.


    "Anything out there?" Marco asked, his voice low.


    "Just the sea," Sergio replied gruffly, though his eyes never stopped scanning the horizon. "But don''t let your guard down. The Elyseans are cunning. They won''t announce their arrival." sea??h th§× N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Marco nodded, his grip tightening on his weapon. The air was cold, and a biting wind whipped across the ramparts, carrying the salty tang of the sea. Just as Marco turned to glance at the cliffs behind them, a sudden flicker of light caught his eye.


    "What''s that?" he whispered, pointing toward the water.


    Sergio squinted, his heart sinking as he spotted the faint orange glow. The light grew brighter for a split second before a thunderous explosion ripped through the air. The ground beneath their feet trembled as the first cannonball struck the outer wall, sending a cascade of stone and debris flying into the courtyard below.


    The silence of the night shattered in an instant. Cannonballs from both Elysea''s Pride and Lionheart rained down on the fort, each shot accompanied by a blinding flash of light and a deafening roar. The once-peaceful sea erupted into chaos as plumes of smoke and fire rose into the night sky.


    Inside the fort, the rebels were jolted awake by the terrifying sounds of destruction. Men stumbled out of their barracks, half-dressed and disoriented, as the alarm bells began to toll. Commander Vittorio Salvi was among the first to emerge.


    "What''s happening?" he barked, his voice rising above the cacophony of cannon fire and shouting men.


    One of his officers, Rinaldo, ran toward him, his face pale. "The Elyseans are bombarding us from the sea, Commander! Two ships¡ªthey must have arrived under cover of darkness."


    Vittorio swore under his breath. "Get the cannons firing! Target those ships before they reduce this fort to rubble!"


    Rinaldo nodded and sprinted toward the artillery crews, who were already scrambling to load the fort''s twelve cannons. The massive guns, positioned strategically along the walls, roared to life, their muzzles spitting fire as they returned fire toward the Elysean ships. The booming echoes of the cannon blasts reverberated across the coastline, creating a deafening symphony of war.


    Onboard Elysea''s Pride, Captain Duval remained calm despite the chaos. He watched as cannonballs from the fort''s defenses splashed into the sea around them, some coming dangerously close but none finding their mark.


    "Steady, men!" Duval shouted over the noise. "Adjust the aim of the starboard guns! Focus on their artillery emplacements!"


    The gunners obeyed, their movements precise as they adjusted the elevation and trajectory of their cannons. Moments later, another volley was unleashed. The barrage struck the fort''s walls with devastating force, shattering stone and silencing one of the rebel cannons in a fiery explosion.


    Inside the fort, rubble and debris rained down on the defenders as they scrambled to reinforce their positions. Soldiers hauled sandbags and wooden barricades into place, their faces streaked with soot and sweat. Amid the chaos, Commander Vittorio shouted orders, his voice cutting through the din.


    "Rinaldo, get the wounded to the infirmary! Matteo, keep the remaining cannons firing! We must hold the line!"


    The Elyseans are attacking, does that mean this is the day that his spy warned him about a possible invasion from Corse.


    If that was the case, the ship of the line of the Elyseans must be distracting them from the land forces.


    "Don''t commit everything to those Elyseans'' warships!" Commander Vittorio barked, his voice cutting through the deafening roar of cannon fire and the chaos in the courtyard. "Man the main gate! If this is the invasion our spy warned us about, they''ll come by land while we''re distracted with their fleet!"


    The officers around him scrambled to carry out his orders. Rinaldo, wiping soot from his face, yelled to a group of soldiers who were hauling crates of ammunition. "You four! To the main gate now! Bring reinforcements to secure the barricades and make sure the gates hold!"


    The men nodded, dropping their loads and sprinting toward the gate with their weapons in hand. Meanwhile, Matteo continued to coordinate the cannon crews on the walls. "Reload! Faster! They''re focusing their fire on the western wall!" he shouted as another volley from the Elysean ships struck with a deafening explosion, sending stone fragments flying. One of the cannons tilted precariously from the impact, and Matteo cursed under his breath.


    Vittorio stood on the ramparts, his sword unsheathed, as he surveyed the scene below. Fires had broken out in several parts of the fort, and the wounded were being carried to the infirmary on makeshift stretchers. The Elysean bombardment showed no signs of slowing, and the rebels'' limited artillery was struggling to mount an effective counterattack.


    "Commander, the gate reinforcements are in position," Rinaldo reported, his voice strained as he arrived at Vittorio''s side.


    "That''s good. Now we try to defend ourselves against those ships."

 Chapter 21 The Confrontation Part 2

    The sun had risen and set twice since the Elysean ships began their relentless bombardment. Fort Cervo stood battered and bruised, its once-proud stone walls now pockmarked with gaping holes and smoldering debris. Smoke hung heavy in the air, a constant reminder of the devastation wrought by the cannon fire. Inside the fort, tension simmered as the rebels struggled to maintain order amidst the chaos.


    Commander Vittorio Salvi stood at the edge of the ramparts, his hands gripping the cold stone as he surveyed the damage. His face was lined with exhaustion, his eyes bloodshot from sleepless nights. Around him, the air was filled with the sounds of frantic activity¡ªsoldiers shouted orders, cannons roared intermittently, and the occasional scream of the wounded pierced the air.


    Behind him, a group of his officers had gathered, their expressions grim. Among them was Matteo, the head of the fort''s artillery, his face streaked with soot. Rinaldo, his second-in-command, looked equally weary but determined.


    "It''s been two days, Commander," Matteo said, his voice low but firm. "Two days of this constant bombardment, and still no sign of a landing party. What are they waiting for?"


    Vittorio didn''t answer immediately. His eyes remained fixed on the horizon, where the two Elysean ships loomed like ominous shadows against the morning sky. Their cannons continued to fire in coordinated salvos, each blast sending shockwaves through the fort.


    "They''re trying to wear us down," Vittorio said at last, his voice heavy with doubt. "Or perhaps this is their strategy. They want us to break before they even set foot on this island."


    "But what if they don''t plan to land at all?" Rinaldo interjected. "What if this is it? Just two ships sitting out there, pounding us into submission?"


    Matteo nodded in agreement. "If that''s the case, we need to act, Commander. We''ve been holding back our forces, keeping them at the main gate in case of an invasion that hasn''t come. Meanwhile, those ships are tearing this fort apart. We should reposition the cannons guarding the gate and focus our fire on the Elysean fleet."


    Vittorio turned to face his officers, his jaw clenched. "And if we do that, what happens if this is a feint? What happens if the moment we move our defenses, their troops land and take the fort from the inside?"


    The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of Vittorio''s words sinking in. Finally, Matteo spoke again, his tone insistent.


    "Commander, we can''t sit here and let them destroy us piece by piece. We''re running out of time, and those walls won''t hold much longer. If we don''t take the fight to those ships, there won''t be a fort left to defend."


    The room murmured in reluctant agreement. Vittorio''s gaze swept over his officers, each one looking to him for a decision. He exhaled slowly, then gave a nod.


    "Very well," he said, his voice steady. "Reposition the cannons from the main gate to the western wall. Target their lead ship first¡ªcripple it, and the second will be forced to retreat."


    Matteo saluted sharply. "Understood, Commander. I''ll oversee the repositioning myself."


    "Rinaldo," Vittorio continued, "keep a small detachment at the gate. If this is a feint, I want to be ready."


    "Yes, Commander," Rinaldo replied, already moving to relay the orders.


    The rebels worked with desperate urgency to reposition the cannons, hauling the massive guns and their ammunition across the fort. By late afternoon, six cannons were in place along the western wall, their barrels aimed squarely at the Elysean fleet. The crews were ready, their faces grim but determined.


    Vittorio stood behind Matteo, who barked orders to the gunners. "Range the target! Elevate by two degrees! On my mark, fire a volley!"


    The first volley thundered from the western wall, the recoil shaking the ground as six cannonballs hurtled toward the Elysea''s Pride. The lead ship rocked violently as one of the shots struck its hull, splintering wood and sending a plume of smoke into the air. A cheer rose from the rebels, their spirits lifted by the sight of the enemy taking damage.


    Onboard the Elysea''s Pride, Captain Duval steadied himself as the deck lurched beneath his feet. He glanced at the impact site, his expression unreadable.


    "They''ve finally decided to fight back," he remarked to his first mate.


    "Should we adjust our position, Captain?" the first mate asked.


    "No," Duval replied. "Maintain our course. Let them think they have the upper hand. Prepare the gunners for counterfire."


    The Elysean ships retaliated swiftly. Their broadsides roared to life, sending another devastating volley toward the fort. One of the rebel cannons was obliterated in the blast, its crew thrown to the ground by the force of the explosion. Smoke and fire filled the air as the battle raged on.


    "Reload! Keep firing!" Matteo shouted, his voice hoarse. The remaining cannons roared again, their shots finding their mark on the Elysea''s Pride. Another hit rocked the ship, and for a moment, it seemed as though the rebels might gain the upper hand.


    But the Elyseans were relentless. Their superior firepower and disciplined crews quickly turned the tide. The Lionheart joined the assault, focusing its fire on the western wall. The combined barrage was overwhelming, and the rebels began to falter.


    "Commander, we''re losing too many cannons!" Rinaldo shouted, rushing to Vittorio''s side. "We can''t keep this up!"


    Vittorio''s face was a mask of frustration. He knew Rinaldo was right¡ªthe fort''s defenses were crumbling under the relentless assault. But retreating wasn''t an option. Not yet.


    "Keep firing until I give the order to fall back," Vittorio said, his voice resolute. "We''ll make them pay for every inch."


    Captain Duval watched the flames consuming parts of Fort Cervo, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. "They''ve taken the bait," he said quietly.


    The first mate nodded. "Their cannons are concentrated on us now. The landing force should have no trouble moving into position."


    Duval''s smile widened. "Good. Let''s keep them distracted a little longer. Signal the Lionheart¡ªcontinue the bombardment."


    The first mate saluted and moved to relay the order. As the Elysea''s Pride unleashed another volley, Duval gazed at the distant fort, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.


    "The rebels won''t know what hit them," he murmured.


    ***


    Meanwhile, two frigates, carrying five hundred troops, reached the shore of Sardinia.


    S~ea??h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 22 The Confrontation Part 3

    The crescent moon hung low in the sky, casting faint silver light over the rugged coastline of Sardinia. The jagged cliffs shielded a secluded cove where the two Elysean frigates, Shadow''s Edge and Seafarer, were anchored. The larger ships of the line, Elysea''s Pride and Lionheart, continued their bombardment of Fort Cervo in the distance, their cannon fire masking the movements of the landing forces.


    General Berthold stood on the deck of Shadow''s Edge, his arms crossed and his face set in grim determination. Around him, soldiers moved quietly, their boots muffled against the wooden planks.


    Berthold turned to his second-in-command, Captain Armand, a stout man with sharp eyes and a calm demeanor.


    "Are the men ready?" Berthold asked.


    "Yes, General," Armand replied. "The first wave is prepared to disembark. We''ve secured the sailboats to ferry the cannons and supplies ashore."


    Berthold nodded. "Good. The success of this operation depends on speed and silence. We can''t afford to alert the rebels before we''re in position."


    He turned to the troops assembled on the deck¡ªfive hundred men, their uniforms darkened with soot to blend into the shadows. Their faces were stoic, their weapons and gear secured to minimize noise. Behind them, small cannons, crates of ammunition, and barrels of ammonium nitrate were loaded onto the sailboats tethered to the frigate.


    "Listen closely," Berthold said, his voice cutting through the quiet. "This is not a fight for glory or recognition. This is a mission of precision and discipline. Our brothers on the ships are risking their lives to keep the rebels distracted. It''s our job to ensure that distraction is not in vain. We move quickly, we move quietly, and we hit them where it hurts. Understood?"


    A chorus of muted affirmations rippled through the ranks.


    Berthold raised a hand and pointed toward the shoreline. "Let''s move."


    The first wave of soldiers climbed into the sailboats. The boats, powered by long oars, glided silently toward the shore, their dark hulls blending seamlessly with the shadowy water. Berthold sat at the helm of the lead boat, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he scanned the shoreline for any signs of enemy scouts.


    The cove was narrow and sheltered, its rocky cliffs forming a natural barrier against prying eyes. As the boats reached the shore, the soldiers disembarked swiftly, their boots sinking into the damp sand. They moved to secure the area, their muskets at the ready. Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Clear the perimeter," Berthold ordered in a hushed tone. "We can''t afford surprises."


    Scouts fanned out, disappearing into the surrounding vegetation. After several tense minutes, one of them returned, giving a silent signal that the area was secure.


    "Bring the cannons and supplies ashore," Berthold commanded.


    The next wave of boats arrived, carrying the first of the small cannons and crates of ammunition. Soldiers worked in near silence, hauling the heavy equipment onto the beach and covering it with tarpaulins to minimize its visibility. The ammonium nitrate barrels were handled with extreme care, their deadly contents too valuable¡ªand volatile¡ªto risk mishandling.


    As the final boat reached the shore, Berthold turned to Captain Armand. "We need to establish a staging area. Find a defensible position close to the fort but out of sight."


    Armand nodded and gestured to a group of officers. They unfolded a map of the area, illuminated by the faint glow of a shuttered lantern. Berthold leaned over the map, tracing a path with his finger.


    "There''s a cluster of trees here," he said, pointing to a spot less than a mile from the fort. "It''s close enough to stage the cannons for the assault but far enough to remain hidden. Use the natural cover to conceal our forces."


    "Understood, General," Armand replied. "I''ll lead the advance team."


    By the time the soldiers reached the designated area, the first hints of dawn were creeping over the horizon. The trees provided ample cover, their dense foliage shielding the troops from view. Soldiers worked quickly to establish the staging area, digging shallow trenches and camouflaging the cannons with branches and leaves.


    Berthold stood at the edge of the camp, his eyes fixed on the faint silhouette of Fort Cervo in the distance. The sound of cannon fire from the Elysean ships continued unabated, a constant reminder of the distraction that made their covert landing possible.


    "Status report," he said as Captain Armand approached.


    "All cannons are in position," Armand replied. "The ammonium nitrate has been secured, and the men are ready for further orders."


    Berthold nodded, his mind racing with the logistics of the assault. "Good. Have the engineers prepare the charges for the gate. We''ll move at nightfall."


    "Yes, General," Armand said before turning to relay the orders.


    As the day wore on, the soldiers remained hidden, their movements limited to avoid detection. Scouts reported back periodically, confirming that the rebels remained focused on the naval bombardment. Vittorio and his men had yet to realize that the real threat was now less than a mile away.


    In the staging area, the engineers worked methodically to prepare the ammonium nitrate charges. The barrels were fitted with fuses, their deadly contents carefully measured to ensure maximum effectiveness against the fort''s reinforced gate.


    Berthold inspected the preparations, his expression unreadable. "How long until the charges are ready?" he asked one of the engineers.


    "By nightfall, General," the engineer replied. "We''ll have everything ready for deployment."


    "Good," Berthold said. "Make sure the men know their roles. This assault must be flawless."


    As the sun dipped below the horizon, the soldiers gathered for a final briefing. Berthold stood before them, his voice steady and commanding.


    "This is it," he said. "The moment we''ve been preparing for. The rebels think their walls will protect them, but tonight, we''ll prove them wrong. Stay focused, stay disciplined, and follow your orders. Victory depends on each and every one of you."


    The soldiers responded with quiet determination, their resolve unshaken despite the risks ahead.


    As darkness fell over Sardinia, the Elysean forces prepared to strike. The naval bombardment continued, a relentless cacophony that masked the sounds of their final preparations. Berthold drew his sword, its blade gleaming faintly in the moonlight.


    "Move out," he ordered.


    The soldiers moved as one, their footsteps muffled by the soft forest floor. The cannons were hauled into position, and the charges were loaded onto makeshift sleds. Under the cover of night, the Elyseans began their march toward Fort Cervo, their eyes fixed on the prize that awaited them.

 Chapter 23 The Confrontation Part 4

    January 4th, 1690 ¨C The Outskirts of Fort Cervo.


    General Berthold crouched behind a cluster of bushes atop a small ridge overlooking the fort. In his hands, a pair of binoculars gleamed faintly. He raised them to his eyes, scanning the rebel stronghold.


    The fort was eerily quiet, save for the occasional shout of an order from within its battered walls. Smoke still curled from the damage wrought by the relentless naval bombardment, and Berthold could see rubble scattered across the courtyard. What caught his attention most was the main gate¡ªreinforced with iron, but conspicuously unguarded.


    He lowered the binoculars, his expression thoughtful but determined. "No sentries at the gate," he murmured, more to himself than to Captain Armand, who crouched beside him.


    "Perhaps the bombardment has them stretched thin," Armand suggested in a hushed tone. "They''ve likely committed their remaining forces to the walls and artillery emplacements."


    Berthold nodded, his mind racing. "It''s possible, but we can''t underestimate them. This could be a trap, though it''s a risk we must take."


    He turned to the engineers gathered behind them, their faces tense but resolute. Each man carried a carefully prepared barrel of ammonium nitrate, the fuses coiled neatly on top. Berthold motioned them forward.


    "Move to the gate. Keep low and stay silent. Set the charges at the base and wait for my signal to light the fuses."


    "Understood, General." S§×arch* The N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Berthold shifted his attention to Captain Armand. "I want sharpshooters positioned to cover the engineers. If the rebels spot them, I want those sentries silenced immediately."


    "Yes, General," Armand replied, motioning to a group of marksmen who were already taking up positions among the rocks and bushes.


    The engineers began their approach, their movements slow and deliberate. The barrels of explosives were strapped to sleds, which they dragged carefully across the uneven ground. The faint sound of their boots crunching against the dirt was barely audible over the distant thunder of cannon fire from the Elysean ships.


    Berthold watched through his binoculars as the engineers reached the edge of the fort''s shadow. The main gate loomed ahead, its heavy iron reinforcements glinting faintly in the moonlight. Still, there was no sign of movement¡ªno guards, no patrols. The fort seemed oblivious to the danger closing in.


    The engineers reached the gate without incident. The lead engineer motioned for his team to begin, and they set to work, positioning the barrels at key points along the base of the structure. They worked quickly but carefully, their hands steady despite the tension in the air. Once the barrels were in place, they uncoiled the fuses, stretching them to a safe distance.


    Berthold lowered the binoculars, his jaw tightening. "They''ve made it to the gate," he said quietly. "Now we wait."


    Unbeknownst to the Elyseans, Commander Vittorio Salvi stood atop the western wall, his eyes fixed on the distant flashes of cannon fire from the Elysean fleet. He had spent the past almost three days directing the fort''s defenses


    his focus entirely on the ships that had been pounding his stronghold into ruin. The idea of a land-based assault had crossed his mind, but with no reports of enemy movement on the ground, he had dismissed it as unlikely.


    "Commander," Rinaldo called out, approaching him with a hurried step. "The men are holding their positions, but we''ve lost another cannon on the western wall. The bombardment is relentless."


    Vittorio nodded grimly. "The Elyseans want us to break. We won''t give them that satisfaction."


    He glanced toward the main gate, his expression darkening. "Any word from the scouts near the perimeter?"


    "None, sir," Rinaldo replied. "It''s been quiet¡ªtoo quiet."


    Vittorio frowned, unease settling in his gut. He couldn''t shake the feeling that something was amiss, but the pressing threat of the naval bombardment demanded his attention.


    "Keep the men alert," he said finally. "We can''t afford to be caught off guard."


    At the base of the gate, the engineers finished securing the fuses. The barrels of ammonium nitrate were positioned strategically to maximize the blast''s impact. He glanced back toward the ridge, where Berthold and his men waited. He gave a silent thumbs-up, signaling that the charges were ready.


    Berthold acknowledged the signal with a nod. He turned to Captain Armand. "Order the sharpshooters to hold position. No one fires unless absolutely necessary. We need to maintain the element of surprise."


    "Yes, General," Armand replied, relaying the order.


    Berthold raised his hand, signaling for the engineers to retreat. One by one, they withdrew from the gate, moving with the same deliberate care they had shown on their approach. As they reached the cover of the ridge, the engineer approached Berthold, his face pale but composed.


    "The charges are set, General," he reported. "We''re ready to detonate on your command."


    Berthold placed a hand on the man''s shoulder. "Well done. Get your team into position and prepare for the next phase."


    Berthold turned to Captain Armand, his expression resolute. "Signal the artillery crews to be ready. Once the gate is down, we''ll need to move fast."


    Armand nodded, his face grim. "Understood, General."


    Berthold raised his hand once more.


    "Light the fuses."


    The engineering team sprang into action, igniting the fuses. The thin trails of flame snaked their way toward the barrels, casting faint, flickering light in the darkness.


    A deafening roar shattered the stillness of the night as the charges detonated. The ground shook violently, and a blinding flash of light illuminated the surrounding area. The gate was obliterated in an instant, the reinforced iron and heavy wood reduced to splinters and twisted shards. Smoke and dust billowed into the air, obscuring the gaping hole where the gate had once stood.


    Cheers erupted from the Elysean troops as the success of their operation became clear. Berthold raised his sword, his voice cutting through the chaos.


    "Move in! Secure the fort!"


    The soldiers surged forward, their muskets and bayonets at the ready. The element of surprise was theirs.

 Chapter 24 Battle in the Fort Cervo

    Commander Vittorio Salvi stood on the western wall, his eyes fixed on the Elysean ships that continued their relentless bombardment. Smoke and ash filled the air, and the vibrations from the cannon blasts had become almost rhythmic. His men were worn but holding the line, their focus pinned on the overwhelming naval assault.


    "Commander!" a panicked shout came from the direction of the courtyard.


    Vittorio turned sharply to see a runner sprinting toward him, his face pale and his uniform stained with sweat and grime.


    "What is it?" Vittorio barked, his voice sharp over the cacophony of cannon fire.


    "The main gate, sir! It''s been breached!" the soldier blurted, gasping for air.


    Vittorio''s stomach dropped. He grabbed the soldier by the shoulders. "What do you mean, breached? By what?"


    "There was an explosion, sir¡ªhuge! The gate is gone, completely destroyed. The Elyseans are pouring in from the rear!"


    The commander''s grip tightened. This was the attack he had feared, the one he had tried to prepare for but couldn''t pinpoint. His attention had been consumed by the ships at sea, and now the true threat had emerged from the shadows.


    "Sound the alarm!" Vittorio shouted. "Get everyone to the courtyard immediately! Secure the inner defenses!"


    The soldier saluted and sprinted off, his shouts echoing through the fort as the bells of alarm began to toll. Vittorio turned to Rinaldo, who had appeared at his side, his expression as grim as the situation demanded.


    "Rinaldo, take a detachment and fall back to the main gate. Slow them down at all costs. Matteo, keep the cannons firing on those ships; we can''t afford to let up there."


    Rinaldo nodded, drawing his sword. "Understood, Commander. I''ll do what I can."


    As Rinaldo hurried off with a group of soldiers, Vittorio clenched his fists. The Elyseans had played them perfectly. The naval bombardment was nothing more than a distraction, and now his forces were spread thin.


    "Matteo!" Vittorio barked, his voice cutting through the chaos.


    The artillery officer turned, his soot-streaked face filled with tension. "Commander?"


    "Divert two cannons to cover the courtyard! Aim them toward the inner gate, and have the crews ready to fire if the Elyseans push too far!"


    "But, sir, that will weaken our¡ª"


    "Do it now!" Vittorio snapped. "If we lose the courtyard, it''s over!"


    Matteo saluted and hurried off, shouting orders to his cannon crews.


    The once-calm interior of Fort Cervo had become a battlefield. Smoke from the exploded gate mixed with the chaos of Elysean troops pouring into the courtyard. General Berthold led the charge, his sword raised as his men fired controlled volleys into the disoriented rebels scrambling to form a defense.


    "Push forward!" Berthold shouted. "Take the courtyard and hold it!"


    The Elyseans moved with precision, their muskets firing in coordinated waves as bayonet-wielding soldiers advanced behind them. The rebels fought back fiercely, using whatever cover they could find amid the rubble and debris, but the suddenness of the attack had thrown them into disarray.


    Captain Armand approached Berthold, his own sword streaked with blood. "General, the engineers are setting up the cannons now. We''ll have additional firepower in minutes."


    "Good," Berthold replied. "Once the cannons are ready, focus on the remaining defenders near the inner gate. We can''t let them regroup."


    The Elysean engineers worked quickly, dragging small field cannons into position and loading them with grapeshot. As the first cannon roared to life, its deadly payload tore through a group of rebel soldiers attempting to rally near a supply cart. The rebels scattered, their morale beginning to waver.


    Rinaldo and his detachment arrived at the inner gate, their faces set with grim determination. He positioned his men along the makeshift barricades, hastily erected from crates and barrels. Muskets were raised, and the rebels prepared to hold their ground.


    "They''re coming!" one of the soldiers shouted, pointing toward the smoke-filled courtyard.


    The first wave of Elysean soldiers emerged from the haze. Rinaldo gave the order to fire, and a volley of musket balls tore into the advancing line. Several Elyseans fell, but the rest pressed on, returning fire as they closed the distance.


    "Hold the line!" Rinaldo yelled. "Don''t let them break through!" sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    The fighting was brutal and chaotic, with muskets firing at close range and bayonets clashing in vicious melees. Despite their determination, the rebels were outmatched. The Elyseans'' discipline and superior coordination began to turn the tide.


    From his position on the western wall, Vittorio could hear the sounds of the battle raging below. He clenched his jaw, his mind racing for a solution. The fort was crumbling, both literally and figuratively. If he didn''t act quickly, the Elyseans would overrun them completely.


    "Rinaldo won''t be able to hold for long," Vittorio muttered to himself. He turned to Matteo, who was overseeing the artillery crews.


    "Matteo, redirect fire to the courtyard! Target the Elyseans near the inner gate!"


    "Commander, if we do that, the ships¡ª"


    "The ships are the least of our problems right now!" Vittorio snapped. "Do it!"


    Matteo hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "Yes, Commander."


    The cannons on the western wall swiveled toward the courtyard, their crews working furiously to reload. Moments later, the thunderous booms of cannon fire echoed through the fort as the heavy projectiles crashed into the Elysean ranks. The blasts sent debris and bodies flying, temporarily slowing their advance.


    Those manning the cannons celebrated on their hit¡ª.


    Boom!


    The celebration was short-lived as the ground beneath the western wall shook violently. A deafening explosion followed, drowning out all other sounds. A direct hit from Elysea''s Pride had landed squarely on the cluster of cannons, obliterating them in an instant. Smoke and debris erupted into the air as splinters of wood and shards of metal rained down upon the rebels stationed nearby.


    Matteo was thrown backward by the force of the blast, his ears ringing and his vision swimming. He struggled to push himself up, coughing from the smoke that now enveloped the wall. Around him, the once-vibrant artillery crews lay scattered, some unmoving, others groaning in pain as they clutched their wounds.


    "Matteo!" Vittorio''s voice cut through the chaos as he scrambled to the fallen officer''s side. "Are you alive?"


    Matteo blinked, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused. "C-Commander... the cannons... they''re gone," he rasped.


    Vittorio''s face twisted in frustration. "I can see that! Can you stand?"


    Matteo nodded weakly, using Vittorio''s arm to steady himself. Around them, the western wall was in ruins. The last of their heavy artillery had been silenced, leaving the fort defenseless against the ships.


    "Pull back to the keep!" Vittorio ordered, his voice rising above the chaos. "There''s nothing more we can do here! All remaining forces, fall back to the inner defenses!"


    The rebels on the wall, those who could still move, obeyed the command. They scrambled down the crumbling staircases, their morale shattered by the loss of their cannons. Below, the courtyard was a scene of chaos. The Elyseans, emboldened by their naval support, pressed forward relentlessly, their muskets firing in disciplined volleys as they advanced on the inner gate.


    In the courtyard, Rinaldo continued to hold his position with the dwindling rebel forces. He shouted orders over the din of musket fire, his voice raw from exertion.


    "Reload! Aim for the officers! Slow them down!"


    The rebels fired another volley, but their numbers were thinning rapidly. The Elyseans, bolstered by their superior discipline and equipment, pushed forward like a tide that couldn''t be stopped. The rebel barricades, hastily constructed and poorly reinforced, were beginning to buckle under the pressure.


    "Rinaldo!" Vittorio''s voice reached him as the commander and a handful of survivors from the western wall rushed into the courtyard. "We need to regroup at the keep! The cannons are gone, and we can''t hold this position any longer!"


    Rinaldo turned, his face streaked with sweat and soot. "If we retreat now, they''ll overrun us before we can reach the keep¡ª"


    Boom!


    Another explosion erupted near the courtyard, and Rinaldo was caught from it.


    "Rinaldo!"

 Chapter 25 Last Step

    The once-proud fortress of Fort Cervo was now a shadow of its former self. Smoke rose from the crumbling walls, the acrid stench of gunpowder thick in the air. The courtyard was strewn with debris, shattered barricades, and the lifeless bodies of those who had given everything to defend the rebel stronghold. The surviving rebels had managed to fall back to the keep, their last refuge, but hope was dwindling.


    Inside the keep, Commander Vittorio Salvi stood in the dimly lit hall, his uniform torn and bloodied. The ragged remnants of his forces surrounded him, their faces etched with exhaustion and despair. The wounded were slumped against the walls, their groans filling the silence between the distant booms of Elysean cannon fire. Vittorio wiped the sweat and soot from his brow, his mind racing for a way out of the dire situation.


    "Barricade the doors," Vittorio ordered, his voice steady despite the chaos. "Use anything you can find¡ªtables, barrels, even rubble."


    The remaining soldiers moved quickly, dragging whatever they could find to fortify the massive wooden doors. Rinaldo, wounded but alive, leaned heavily against a broken spear for support, his face pale.


    "Commander," he said hoarsely, "we''re surrounded. There''s nowhere left to retreat."


    Vittorio clenched his fists, his gaze shifting to the narrow windows of the keep. Outside, through the thick smoke and haze, he could see the Elysean forces encircling them. Soldiers forming a line with muskets at the ready. Field cannons were being positioned strategically, their barrels aimed directly at the keep.


    Beyond the land forces, the ominous silhouettes of Elysea''s Pride and Lionheart loomed on the horizon. Their massive guns, which had already devastated the fort''s walls, now shifted their focus to the keep. Vittorio''s heart sank as he realized the full extent of their predicament.


    A trumpet blast shattered the tense silence, echoing across the battlefield. The Elysean forces halted their movements, and a single figure stepped forward from their ranks. General Berthold approached the keep with an escort of officers.


    "Rebels of Fort Cervo!" Berthold called out. "You have fought bravely, but the battle is over. Your defenses are shattered, your forces scattered, and your cannons silenced. Look around you¡ªthere is no escape."


    Inside the keep, Vittorio gritted his teeth as Berthold''s words carried through the air. His men exchanged nervous glances, the truth of the general''s statement sinking in.


    Berthold continued, his voice unwavering. "You are surrounded on all sides. My men hold every approach, and my cannons are trained on this keep. The ships behind me are ready to reduce it to rubble at my command. Surrender now, and I will grant you mercy. Resist, and you will all be buried beneath the ruins of this fortress."


    A heavy silence fell over the battlefield, broken only by the distant crackle of fire and the groans of the wounded. Vittorio turned to his men, their faces filled with fear and uncertainty.


    "Commander," Rinaldo said quietly, "we can''t hold out against that. If they fire on the keep... there''ll be nothing left."


    Vittorio''s jaw tightened. His mind raced as he weighed their options. Surrender meant the end of the rebellion on Corse, but continuing to fight would lead to certain death¡ªfor himself and every man under his command.


    Berthold raised his voice again. "I will give you until the count of ten to decide. Lay down your arms, and you will be treated as prisoners of war. Refuse, and I will show no quarter."


    The Elysean soldiers stood motionless, their muskets aimed at the keep. The cannons were loaded and ready, the gunners awaiting Berthold''s command. Even the distant ships seemed to hold their fire.


    "One!" Berthold began, his voice echoing.


    Inside the keep, Vittorio''s men shifted nervously, their fear palpable.


    "Two!"


    Vittorio took a deep breath, his heart pounding. Surrender felt like betrayal, but his men were looking to him for guidance¡ªfor a chance to live.


    "Three!"


    Vittorio clenched his fists, his gaze falling to Rinaldo, who gave him a faint, resigned nod.


    "Four!"


    The commander turned back to the doors, his decision weighing heavily on his shoulders.


    "Five!"


    Time was running out.


    "Six!"


    General Berthold''s voice echoed across the battlefield, firm and unyielding. Inside the keep, the rebels braced themselves, gripping their weapons tighter. Commander Vittorio Salvi stood unmoving, his eyes fixed on the shattered remnants of his once-proud fortress visible through the narrow windows. His mind was a storm of emotions¡ªrage, grief, and defiance.


    "Seven!" Berthold continued, his tone growing colder with each count.


    Rinaldo, leaning heavily against a broken spear, turned to Vittorio. His voice was faint but urgent.


    "Commander... please. We''ve done all we can. If we surrender, at least some of us might survive."


    Vittorio''s jaw tightened. His gaze swept over the faces of his men¡ªfaces streaked with blood, soot, and tears. These were men who had given everything to defend their home, their cause. To surrender now, after so much had been lost, felt like dishonoring their sacrifice. Yet, the logical part of him knew Rinaldo was right.


    "Eight!"


    "Commander!" a soldier near the barricaded door called out. "What are your orders?"


    "We have lost much," Vittorio said. "Our walls have crumbled, our cannons are silent, and many of our brothers lie dead. But if we surrender now, we hand the Elyseans the victory they have sought to steal with brute force. I cannot¡ªI will not¡ªgive them that satisfaction."


    "Commander¡ª" Rinaldo began, but Vittorio raised a hand to stop him.


    "They want us to kneel, to admit defeat. But we are Corseans. We do not kneel. If this is to be our end, then let it be on our terms. Let it be fighting."


    The room fell silent. For a brief moment, no one moved. Then, one by one, the men nodded, their resolve hardening despite the hopelessness of their situation. Rinaldo, though visibly pained, straightened as best he could and saluted.


    "Nine!" Berthold''s voice rang out, sharp and impatient.


    Vittorio strode to the barricaded doors and turned to his men one last time. "Hold the line. Do not let them break us."


    "Ten!" Berthold called, his voice laced with finality. When no response came from the keep, he sighed disappointingly.


    He turned to his officers and gave a single nod.


    "So be it."


    Berthold raised his hand, signaling to the artillery crews. "Fire."


    The silence was shattered as the Elysean cannons roared to life. Explosive shells streaked through the air, slamming into the keep''s ancient stone walls with devastating force. The impact sent shockwaves through the structure, dislodging chunks of masonry and filling the air with dust and debris. Inside, the rebels staggered under the onslaught, shielding their faces from falling rubble.


    "Brace yourselves!" Vittorio shouted, his voice barely audible over the deafening bombardment.


    Outside, the Elysean musketeers advanced in disciplined lines, their weapons aimed at the windows and arrow slits. As soon as the cannons paused to reload, the muskets opened fire in unison, sending a deadly hail of lead into the keep. The rebels returned fire from their limited vantage points, but their numbers were too few, their weapons too scattered.


    Berthold stood at the forefront of his forces, his sword drawn. "Push forward!" he commanded. "The walls won''t hold much longer."


    The Elysean cannons unleashed another volley, this time targeting the weakened gate of the keep. The reinforced wood splintered under the repeated blows, and with a final, deafening crack, it gave way. Elysean soldiers surged forward, their bayonets gleaming in the faint light.


    "Hold the line!" Vittorio roared, his voice a rallying cry for his beleaguered men.


    The rebels met the Elyseans head-on in a chaotic melee. Muskets were fired at point-blank range, bayonets clashed against swords, and the narrow confines of the keep became a brutal battleground. Vittorio fought at the forefront, his blade cutting through the Elysean ranks with desperate fury. Around him, his men fought with everything they had, refusing to yield even as their numbers dwindled.


    Outside, the Elysean ships of the line adjusted their aim, their massive cannons targeting the upper levels of the keep. With a thunderous roar, they fired in unison, obliterating entire sections of the structure. The walls began to crumble, and the roof buckled under the relentless assault. sea??h th§× Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Commander!" Rinaldo shouted, blood streaming from a wound on his forehead. "The keep won''t hold!"


    Vittorio glanced around, taking in the devastation. The Elyseans were everywhere, their discipline and firepower overwhelming the last pockets of rebel resistance. Yet, even in the face of certain defeat, he refused to surrender.


    "We fight to the end!"

 Chapter 26 The Rebels are No More

    January 12th, 1690 ¨C Fort Cervo, Occupied by Elysean Forces.


    The air was crisp and carried the faint scent of salt from the nearby sea as Prince Bruno de Elysea stepped off his carriage. The prince, clad in a dark blue military coat adorned with silver trim, adjusted his gloves and surveyed the scene before him. Fort Cervo, once the defiant bastion of rebellion on Corse, now bore the scars of conquest. Its towering walls were blackened with soot, and the courtyard remained a patchwork of rubble and hastily cleared debris. Yet, the fort stood under Elysean control.


    Soldiers lined the path from the outer gates to the battered keep, their uniforms pristine despite the chaos that had transpired only a week prior. Muskets rested against their shoulders, and their boots gleamed in the morning sunlight. Their posture was impeccable, every man standing stiffly at attention as the prince passed, their eyes locked straight ahead.


    Flanked by his personal guards, Bruno walked with measured steps, his polished boots crunching softly against the gravel. His expression was calm, almost indifferent, as if the destruction around him was merely an expected consequence of war. The soft murmur of a distant breeze and the faint creak of leather harnesses were the only sounds that accompanied him.


    At the far end of the path, in front of the keep''s crumbling fa?ade, General Berthold stood in sharp contrast to the ruins around him. His uniform bore the wear of battle¡ªa small tear on one sleeve, soot stains on the hem¡ªbut it was meticulously maintained. His sword hung at his side, its polished hilt catching the light, and his hands were clasped behind his back. Despite the exhaustion etched into his features, he radiated the composure of a seasoned commander.


    As the prince approached, the soldiers lining the path snapped to salute in perfect unison. Bruno''s expression remained unchanged, though he acknowledged their discipline with a subtle nod. His gaze shifted to Berthold, who stood resolute, his eyes fixed forward in anticipation.


    When Bruno stopped a few paces away, Berthold brought his heels together and bowed deeply, his voice crisp and authoritative as he spoke.


    "Your Highness, welcome to Fort Cervo. The rebellion has been crushed, and the fort is secure under Elysean control. All has been prepared for your inspection."


    Bruno regarded the general for a moment, his sharp eyes taking in every detail of the man who had orchestrated this victory.


    Then, with a faint smile, he replied, "Well done, General Berthold. Your efficiency and discipline are to be commended. Few could have achieved what you and your men have here."


    Berthold straightened, though he did not allow himself to appear overly proud. "Thank you, Your Highness. The men performed admirably. Their discipline and sacrifice were crucial in bringing this campaign to a swift conclusion."


    Bruno''s gaze drifted past Berthold to the keep, its damaged fa?ade standing as a grim reminder of the battle that had unfolded within. "The keep," he said, his tone contemplative. "Does it still stand as a symbol of defiance, or have we ensured its legacy is that of a failed rebellion?"


    "It stands only as a ruin now," Berthold replied. "The last remnants of resistance fell within these walls. The Rebels fought fiercely, but they were outmatched. Their commander, Vittorio Salvi, fought to the very end. He refused to surrender, even when all hope was lost."


    Bruno''s lips pressed into a thin line. "And his men?"


    "Most were killed in the fighting. The few who survived are being held as prisoners. They will await your orders regarding their fate."


    Bruno nodded absently, his thoughts momentarily elsewhere. Then, with a sharp turn, he gestured toward the keep. "Show me the aftermath. I want to see for myself the price of this victory."


    "Of course, Your Highness." Berthold turned and motioned for the prince to follow him toward the crumbling structure.


    As they approached the keep, the soldiers standing nearby saluted once more. The air grew heavier, the shadows of the ruined walls casting long stretches of darkness across the courtyard. The prince''s steps slowed as he crossed the threshold into the remnants of the rebel stronghold, his eyes scanning the scorched stone and scattered remnants of barricades.


    "Tell me, General," Bruno said, his voice cutting through the silence, "what do you make of these rebels? Are they fools, or do they possess something more dangerous¡ªconviction?"


    Berthold hesitated for a moment before answering. "They were not fools, Your Highness. They fought with the conviction of men who believed in their cause. But conviction alone does not win wars. Strategy and strength prevailed, as they always do."


    Bruno paused, resting a gloved hand on the jagged edge of a broken wall. "Conviction can be a dangerous thing, General. If it lingers, if it festers, it can spark another rebellion. We must ensure this island understands the futility of resistance."


    Berthold inclined his head. "Your Highness, the victory here has shattered their morale. Corse will be pacified, and any lingering resistance will be dealt with swiftly."


    The prince''s gaze lingered on the ruins for a moment longer before he turned to face Berthold. "See to it, General. I want Corse to remember this day not as a tragedy, but as a lesson in the unassailable strength of Elysea. Leave nothing to chance."


    "As you command, Your Highness," Berthold replied, his voice steady.


    Bruno''s eyes swept the courtyard once more before he took a step back, his expression inscrutable. S~ea??h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Let us finish this inspection. There is much to be done, and I have no intention of lingering in this place longer than necessary."


    "As for the prisoners of war, Your Highness? What are we to do about them?" General Berthold asked.


    "Hmm¡­" Bruno hummed as he contemplated. "Well, we can''t let them live, they are a symbol of rebellion. If we are to spare them, there will come a time where they will revolt if opportunity comes. So, execute them, General."


    "As you wish, Your Highness."

 Chapter 27 Two Years Later

    January 20th, 1690 ¨C Loretto, Capital of Corse


    Prince Bruno de Elysea stood atop the grand balcony of the Governor''s Palace in Loretto, overlooking the city square where hundreds had gathered. The people of Corse¡ªnobles, merchants, and common folk alike¡ªfilled the streets.


    Behind Bruno, members of his retinue stood in disciplined silence. General Berthold was among them, his posture rigid as he observed the restless crowd below. The victory at Fort Cervo had been decisive, and now it was time to cement Elysean authority over Corse.


    Bruno raised a hand, and the murmuring crowd fell into silence. His voice was firm, carrying across the square with an unwavering tone.


    "People of Corse, the rebellion has been crushed. The forces that sought to defy the rightful rule of Elysea have been annihilated, and Fort Cervo stands under our control. The traitors who led this futile uprising met their end, and those who followed them have paid the price for their disloyalty."


    A murmur spread through the crowd, but no one dared to speak against the prince. Bruno continued.


    "With this victory, order is restored. No longer will Corse be plagued by instability and treachery. Under my rule, you will have peace, prosperity, and security. The Elysean crown does not seek to destroy, but to unify. Those who accept this new order will thrive. Those who resist will share the fate of the rebels."


    He paused, scanning the crowd for any sign of dissent. The silence that followed was heavy, but it was the silence of resignation. Bruno gave a small nod.


    "From this day forward, Corse belongs fully to Elysea. It will be governed with strength and wisdom. Let today be the beginning of a new era¡ªone of stability, progress, and order."


    With that, Bruno stepped back, signaling the end of the proclamation. The soldiers lining the streets struck their muskets against the cobblestone in unison, a show of force and finality. The message was clear¡ªElysea had won, and Corse would kneel.


    ***


    Two years later, the landscape of Corse had changed drastically. What was once a region defined by instability and rebellion was now being transformed under Prince Bruno''s rule.


    One of the prince''s first major initiatives was the establishment of public schools across Corse. These institutions were modeled after the best learning centers in Elysea, focused on literacy, arithmetic, and vocational skills. Attendance was not yet mandatory, but incentives were put in place to encourage commoners to send their children. Scholarships were introduced for promising students, particularly in the fields of engineering, law, and finance¡ªall essential to the new order.


    Additionally, Bruno enacted legal reforms, consolidating local laws under Elysean governance. Courts were reorganized to prevent arbitrary rulings, ensuring uniformity in justice. Corrupt officials, many of whom had exploited the instability before Elysean control, were swiftly removed and replaced with more competent administrators.


    Bruno''s next major move was the monetary reform. The island''s previous fragmented system, where local merchants relied on a mix of bartering, foreign coins, and promissory notes, was replaced with a standardized Elysean currency.


    A new central mint was established in Loretto to produce gold and silver coins marked with Elysean insignias, eliminating reliance on foreign mints. This move stabilized the economy, reduced fraud, and facilitated large-scale trade. Banks, previously few and unregulated, were now under the supervision of the Elysean Bureau of Finance, ensuring consistency and security for investors.


    Bruno understood that true power came not just from military dominance but from economic and industrial strength. He directed funding toward infrastructure projects, including paved roads, bridges, and ports, ensuring that goods could move efficiently across the island.


    The largest transformation, however, came from the rise of industrial sites.


    One late afternoon, Bruno visited a steel production facility in the industrial sector outside Loretto. Dressed in a reinforced coat and wearing protective gloves, he stood at the observation platform, watching as workers operated massive Bessemer converters, turning molten iron into steel.


    The facility was one of many built under his orders, its blast furnaces roaring, emitting an intense glow as liquid metal poured into molds. Engineers and workers¡ªmany of whom had been trained through the newly established technical academies worked methodically.


    "Your Highness," one of the industrial supervisors, Julien Moreau, approached and bowed. "Production has increased significantly since last year. With the new furnaces, we expect a 20% rise in output by the end of this quarter."


    Bruno nodded, observing as workers used crane systems to transport the heavy steel beams. "And what of the labor force? Are they trained to maintain this pace?"


    Julien gestured toward a nearby section where younger workers were being supervised by skilled metallurgists.


    "We have integrated an apprenticeship program. Most of these men were farmhands before the reforms, but with proper training, they are becoming proficient steelworkers."


    Bruno walked further along the observation deck, glancing down at the rolling mills, where red-hot steel was being shaped into rails, beams, and machinery parts.


    "We are building an industry that will secure Elysea''s dominance for the next century," Bruno remarked. "Steel will not only be used for construction¡ªit will arm our fleets, strengthen our cannons, and ensure our railways expand across the empire."


    Julien nodded in agreement. "With this facility alone, we can now supply the navy, the rail projects, and major infrastructure expansions. Also we can export those excess steel to other nations, Your Highness."


    Bruno exhaled, pleased. "Good. The more self-sufficient Corse becomes, the stronger our grip on the region. Have the finance ministry oversee negotiations for exports. We will prioritize our own military and infrastructure first, but surplus production must not go to waste."


    Julien nodded. "Of course, Your Highness. The markets are eager, and with consistent output, we will be able to establish Corse as an industrial hub for the empire."


    Bruno continued along the observation deck, his sharp gaze assessing the rows of rolling mills, the rhythmic pounding of steel against steel echoing through the facility. He turned to one of the engineers overseeing the molten steel pouring process.


    "How soon before we can produce specialized alloys?"


    The engineer, an older man with calloused hands and a soot-streaked coat, hesitated before answering. "If we refine our methods and acquire more skilled labor, we could begin producing high-carbon steel and ship-grade plating within months."


    "Very well, we will invite more."


    ***


    Later that week, Bruno visited another critical project¡ªthe steam engine production facility. Located near one of Corse''s coal mines, this facility was tasked with manufacturing steam locomotives, stationary engines, and naval propulsion systems.


    Bruno entered the cavernous assembly hall, where massive iron components were being bolted together by teams of mechanics and engineers.


    The air was thick with the scent of oil and coal, the sounds of hissing steam and grinding metal filling the space.


    Thomas Beaulieu, the facility''s lead engineer, approached and bowed. "Your Highness, welcome. We are currently assembling the second batch of steam engines for the upcoming rail expansion."


    Bruno walked past a row of half-built locomotives, each one in varying stages of completion. "What of naval engines? Have we made progress on steam-powered warships?"


    Beaulieu gestured toward a side section of the factory where a steam turbine prototype was being tested. "This model is still experimental, but once refined, it will be more efficient than sailmast. Your Highness, your genius in engineering always astounds me when I work on those machines. You came up with everything. Is the capital already that advanced?" S~ea??h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Bruno shook his head. "No, I don''t think the capital has something that we have here. For now, in this world, we are the only place where industrialization is present. Keep up the good work."


    While Bruno was inspecting the site, Antoine ran towards him.


    "Your Highness!"


    Bruno glanced over his shoulder and saw Antoine.


    "Antoine," he said, fully turning towards him. "What is it?"


    "Your Highness¡ªI have urgent news! There is an Elysean Fleet heading towards the port."


    "Did you just say Elysean fleet?" Bruno repeated. For almost three years, Bruno hasn''t had any contact with the mainland, and this is the first time that he might establish one.


    After all, what he was doing here was a test to see if he is a capable ruler. Well, if he can present to the crown that he had increased the economy, the way of life, and infrastructure. He could land himself a spot to the crown.


    Though not that he wanted the crown. He wanted recognition of his works, and if they were going to recall him to the capital, he would refuse and stay on the island.


    "Your Highness? What should we do?"


    "Well, Antoine, there is only one thing we can do. Let''s welcome them," Bruno replied.

 Chapter 28 Unusual Welcome

    January 10th, 1693 ¨C Port of Loretto, Corse.


    Bruno stood atop the fortified balcony of the Governor''s Mansion, his hands resting on the stone railing as his eyes remained fixed on the horizon. The air was crisp, the salty breeze from the sea carrying the distant sound of rolling waves. Behind him, Antoine and several high-ranking government officials, military officers, and industrial magnates gathered.


    The Elysean fleet¡ªover twenty ships of the line¡ªwas approaching the harbor of Loretto. It was an imposing sight, their towering masts cutting through the morning haze, their hulls gleaming under the sun. Bruno had waited nearly three years for word from the mainland, and now, at last, it had come.


    Yet, something was wrong.


    The fleet had not entered the port in a staggered approach. Instead, the warships formed a line, sailing broadside to the city¡ªa classic battle formation. The maneuver sent a cold chill down Bruno''s spine. His brows furrowed as he studied the alignment of the ships.


    "What are they doing?" he muttered.


    Antoine, standing beside him, frowned. "That''s not a ceremonial approach. That''s¡ª"


    Captain Duval, one of Corse''s senior naval officers, stiffened as he observed the fleet through his spyglass. His face drained of color as realization dawned on him.


    "That''s a broadside formation," Duval said, lowering the spyglass. "They only do that when they''re about to open fire."


    Bruno snapped his gaze to Duval. "Are you certain?"


    "Yes," Duval said gravely. "And if I''m not mistaken¡ª"


    Boom.


    A deafening roar shattered the uneasy silence.


    The Elysean fleet had fired.


    A volley of cannon fire tore through the air, their projectiles streaking toward the harbor like black meteors. Seconds later, impact¡ªthe first shots slammed into the two ships of the line stationed in the port, both flying the Elysean flag.


    The Pride was struck amidships, its hull splitting apart as a series of explosions erupted from within. The shockwave sent sailors and dockworkers hurtling into the water. The second ship, Lionheart, took a full broadside to its stern, its masts snapping like twigs, debris raining down onto the deck.


    Panic erupted.


    The port descended into chaos as the cannonballs struck the warehouses, merchant ships, and supply depots along the docks. Civilians screamed and ran for their lives.


    Smoke billowed into the sky as fires broke out across the harbor.


    Bruno''s eyes widened in disbelief.


    "They''re firing on us?" Antoine choked out, his voice laced with shock.


    Bruno whipped around, his gaze snapping to Captain Duval.


    "This isn''t a misunderstanding," he said coldly. "This is an attack."


    Duval nodded grimly. "They are treating us as enemies."


    "General Berthold, ready your men for defense! Man the coastal artillery!"


    Berthold, who had been standing near the back, immediately snapped to action.


    Moments later, the soldiers of Elysea stationed in Loretto stood before him professionally despite cannonballs landing near them.


    "All soldiers, to your posts! Coastal batteries, prepare to fire! Form defensive lines!"


    They sprang into motion. Officers barked orders, soldiers rushed toward pre-positioned cannons along the harbor, and lookout posts signaled the alarm. Church bells began to toll, warning the rest of the city that an attack was underway.


    Meanwhile, another thunderous volley crashed into the port. Cannonballs splintered wooden piers, obliterated merchant vessels, and sent flaming debris soaring through the air. The warehouses that stored food, munitions, and coal for the industrial facilities erupted into fireballs, their rooftops collapsing under the sheer force of the bombardment.


    Bruno turned back to the horizon, his heart pounding as the Elysean fleet reloaded for another barrage.


    "This wasn''t a diplomatic envoy," he muttered under his breath. "This was an execution."


    Antoine grabbed his shoulder, his face stricken with urgency.


    "Your Highness, we need to get you out of here! The city is not defensible against this kind of firepower!"


    Bruno clenched his fists. He wanted to fight, to rally his forces and make a stand¡ªbut against an entire battle fleet? They won''t have a fighting chance within the firing range of those ships of the line.


    General Berthold returned to the balcony and reported.


    "Your Highness¡­all our fighting forces in Loretto are mobilized and are taking up defensive positions as we speak."


    "Very well, they''ll hold their position and buy us time," Bruno replied, his eyes fixed to General Berthold.


    "What are you planning, Your Highness?"


    "I plan a retreat to the next city. Loretto won''t be able to stop the fleet, they are going to just fire upon us relentlessly." sea??h th§× N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "You are giving up the city?" Antoine chimed in.


    "I am not talking to you Antoine, refrain from doing such a reaction, I am talking to a military officer here," Bruno chided him with a cursory glance.


    "Nevertheless," Bruno continued. "We are going to give up Loretto. I''m sure you are aware of why."


    "I know, Your Highness, Loretto is not equipped to protect itself from naval invasion," General Berthold acknowledged.


    "We are going to mobilize our elite battalion, they''ll come with us to the next city," Bruno announced.


    Elite battalion is a part of the Corse Army equipped with the latest iterations of rifles and cannons. They were the best of the best, handpicked by Bruno and Berthold. They are the last line of defense.


    "Understood, Your Highness. I''ll have them mobilize," General Berthold said firmly.


    "Let''s leave!"


    ***


    Admiral Lucien Vaubert stood on the quarterdeck of his flagship, watching through his spyglass as the city of Loretto burned. The smoke from the dockyards, warehouses, and shattered buildings spiraled into the sky, forming a dark cloud over the once-thriving port. The rhythmic boom of cannon fire echoed across the waves as another volley was unleashed from the fleet, further reducing the Corsican capital to ruins.


    Vaubert''s grip tightened on the brass casing of the spyglass as he swept his gaze over the futile defenses of the city. The coastal artillery fired back, but their return fire was sporadic, disorganized. The few batteries that remained operational struggled to match the overwhelming firepower of the twenty ships of the line under his command.


    He lowered the spyglass, exhaling slowly.


    "They are resisting more than expected, Admiral."


    The voice belonged to Captain Armand Renoux, the commander of the gunnery crews of the flagship.


    "It doesn''t matter, they will fall, and so does Prince Bruno de Elysea."

 Chapter 29 Why are they Attacking?

    January 11th, 1693 ¨C Port of Loretto, Corse.


    Admiral Lucien Vaubert stood on the smoldering ruins of the main dockyard, surrounded by his officers and a contingent of heavily armed marines. The port was under complete Elysean control. Flames still licked at the remains of warehouses, and charred bodies floated near the wreckage of merchant ships. Soldiers patrolled the harbor, extinguishing fires where possible and executing any remaining resistance fighters. The once-bustling port was now a scene of devastation.


    Two Corse Elysean soldiers, Private Gaspard and Corporal Jean, were dragged before the Admiral. Their faces were bruised and swollen, blood trickling from fresh wounds. Their arms were bound tightly behind their backs with coarse ropes. The marines forced them to their knees on the cobblestone pier, their heads bowed from exhaustion and pain.


    Vaubert stepped forward, his polished boots crunching on broken glass and splintered wood. He eyed the two prisoners with cold indifference before speaking in a measured tone.


    "Raise their heads. I want them to look me in the eye."


    The guards complied, roughly jerking the prisoners upright. Gaspard winced as the movement aggravated a deep gash across his temple. Jean coughed, spitting blood onto the stone at his feet, but his gaze was defiant as it met the Admiral''s.


    "Why?" Jean rasped, his voice raw. "Why are you doing this? We are Elysean soldiers¡ªloyal to the crown! This is our homeland! Prince Bruno de Elysea himself governs this island in the name of Elysea. You are attacking your own people! This... this is treason!"


    The Admiral said nothing at first. His cold blue eyes bore into Jean''s, unflinching. After a long silence, Vaubert finally spoke.


    "The crown you speak of no longer exists."


    Jean and Gaspard froze, confusion and disbelief crossing their battered faces.


    "What... what are you saying?" Gaspard stammered. "What do you mean? The crown no longer exists? What happened to the capital? To the King?"


    Vaubert exhaled slowly, taking a step closer to the prisoners.


    "Elysea is no longer ruled by monarchs. The Revolution has swept across the empire. The monarchy was overthrown over a year ago. The King and his family have been executed. In their place, a new government has risen¡ªthe Republic of Elysea. I serve that Republic, not your so-called Prince." S~ea??h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Jean''s eyes widened in shock. He shook his head in disbelief. "Impossible... no. You''re lying. The King, the royal family¡ªthey would never fall! We would have heard of this! The capital can''t¡ª"


    "It already has," Vaubert interrupted coldly. "While your Prince was here playing at governance, the true battle for Elysea was fought and won. The old order is dead."


    Gaspard snarled through gritted teeth. "This is treason! You betray your ancestors, your blood, your honor! You serve murderers and usurpers! We serve only the crown!"


    Vaubert raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by the outburst. He gave a subtle nod to Captain Renoux, who stepped forward with his musket.


    "I''ll ask you only once," Vaubert said, his tone devoid of emotion. "Where has your Prince retreated to? You''ve seen what our fleet can do. Surrendering him to us will save countless lives. If you value your people, you will tell me."


    Jean spat onto the ground near Vaubert''s feet. "We serve only the crown. You''ll get nothing from us."


    Gaspard nodded in solidarity. "We''ll die before betraying His Highness."


    Vaubert sighed softly, as if disappointed by their answer. He took a step back and folded his hands behind his back.


    "As you wish."


    Without another word, Captain Renoux raised his musket, aiming at Jean''s head. The corporal met his gaze with defiant pride, refusing to flinch.


    "Vive le Roi," Jean whispered.


    The musket roared, the shot echoing across the desolate port. Jean''s body crumpled to the ground, his blood pooling beneath him.


    Gaspard tensed, his breathing ragged, but his resolve did not waver. Renoux calmly reloaded the musket as the Admiral watched impassively.


    "May you burn in hell for this," Gaspard growled. "The Republic will never hold Corse. Prince Bruno will return, and you''ll pay for this betrayal."


    Renoux raised the musket again and pulled the trigger. Another deafening crack echoed through the harbor. Gaspard fell beside his comrade, his lifeless eyes staring at the sky.


    The Admiral turned to his officers. "Dispose of the bodies. Ensure the soldiers see what happens to those who defy the Republic."


    Renoux saluted. "Yes, Admiral."


    As the marines dragged the corpses away, Vaubert returned to the edge of the pier, gazing out at the horizon. His thoughts drifted to Prince Bruno.


    He was given a mission from the National Government. Kill Prince Bruno de Elysea so that the resurrection of the monarchy would never be possible.


    The only way for the Republic to live is for every symbol of the old monarchy to be erased. Vaubert knew this mission was more than a military conquest¡ªit was an execution order for the last remaining heir with any claim to the Elysean throne.


    He turned to Captain Renoux.


    "Prepare scouting detachments. I want patrols moving inland within the hour. Our priority is to track and corner Prince Bruno. He cannot escape."


    Renoux saluted sharply. "Understood, Admiral. What should be done with any resistance groups or settlements we encounter?"


    "Destroy them if they refuse to cooperate. Burn any village that harbors royalist sympathizers. Send a message to the people of Corse: the age of kings is over. The Republic will not tolerate rebellion."


    Renoux nodded and strode off to relay the orders. The marines began forming squads, preparing to move through the surrounding countryside. Vaubert observed the organized efficiency with cold satisfaction. The port was already being fortified to serve as a base of operations, supply chains established to fuel the inland campaign.


    Prince Bruno and his entourage rode hard along the coastal road leading away from the burning city. Smoke from Loretto stretched high into the sky, a grim marker of the naval bombardment that had shattered their defenses. Soldiers from the elite battalion flanked the prince, their rifles at the ready, scanning the terrain for ambushes.


    General Berthold rode alongside Bruno, his jaw clenched in frustration. "They overwhelmed us too quickly. We didn''t even have a chance to engage them properly, Your Highness."


    "We were never meant to win that battle, General," Bruno replied. "Loretto was always vulnerable to a naval assault. Now that we know what we''re facing, we''ll prepare differently. This fight isn''t over."


    Antoine rode up from the rear of the formation, his face pale. "Your Highness, what do we do if the Elysean fleet pursues us? They might push deeper inland."


    Bruno''s eyes hardened. "Let them. They will not find us unprepared again. We''ll regroup at Mont Verdain and fortify our position there. From that high ground, their fleet''s cannons won''t be able to reach us. If they want this island, they''ll have to march through every inch of it¡ªand they''ll pay dearly for every step."


    General Berthold nodded. "We can buy time. Our industrial sites are spread across the countryside, and with the elite battalion leading our forces, we can create a defensive network."


    "I know¡ªand they won''t even know what will happen. Anyways¡­why are they attacking us in the first place?" Bruno asked.


    "Something must have happened in the mainland. We have had no news about it for almost three years. Things might have changed," Antoine replied.


    "Well I guess we will have to interrogate one of their soldiers," Bruno said.

 Chapter 30 The Prelude to Siege

    The sun was beginning to set by the time Prince Bruno and his entourage reached Mont Verdain. The city, perched high atop a rocky plateau, stood as one of Corse''s last true strongholds. Its thick stone walls, reinforced under Bruno''s orders during the early stages of industrial reform, loomed over the surrounding countryside. Towers equipped with cannons overlooked the approach road, and guards patrolled the battlements with vigilance. The gates, made from iron and oak, were sealed tight until Bruno''s arrival was confirmed by the sentries.


    "Open the gates!" an officer shouted from the walls.


    The heavy gates groaned as they swung inward, allowing the column of soldiers, wagons, and horsemen to enter. Bruno led the group through the entrance, taking in the sight of bustling activity within the city. Civilians were hurriedly fortifying homes and businesses. Blacksmiths hammered away at spare parts for artillery, while squads of soldiers inspected their rifles and ammunition in preparation for the coming siege.


    Bruno dismounted his horse near the main square, where a crowd of local officials and officers awaited him. General Berthold followed closely behind, his boots striking the cobblestones with a sense of urgency.


    "Your Highness," Governor Emil DuPont greeted with a deep bow. "We received word of the attack on Loretto. The situation sounds dire. How long until the enemy reaches us?"


    Bruno waved him off, his mind already working on the next steps. "They''ll likely move cautiously at first, assessing the terrain and our defenses. We have time, but not much. We must make Mont Verdain a fortress they''ll regret approaching."


    He turned to General Berthold. "Begin reinforcing the walls. I want every cannon and piece of artillery we have on the perimeter. Train the new recruits immediately¡ªriflemen on the walls, sharpshooters positioned in the towers."


    "Yes, Your Highness," Berthold said before saluting and moving to carry out the orders.


    Bruno addressed Governor DuPont next. "How are our food supplies and ammunition reserves?"


    "We have enough provisions to last three months under siege," DuPont replied. "Our ammunition stores, however, could be better. Some shipments were lost at the port when the fleet attacked."


    "It''s fine," Bruno said, turning his gaze to Berthold. "Once the elite battalion arrives, I want them ready to begin patrol rotations around the outer perimeter. I don''t want the enemy to catch us unawares. We will hold Mont Verdain at all costs."


    "Understood, Your Highness," Berthold replied with a firm nod. "The battalion should reach us by morning. Once they do, we''ll establish forward outposts and expand our surveillance range."


    Bruno exhaled deeply, his mind already calculating the moves the Republic''s forces might take. He glanced at the bustling square once more. Soldiers and civilians alike moved with a sense of purpose. Fear was in their eyes, but so was determination.


    Antoine approached, wiping sweat from his brow after helping coordinate the supply teams. "Your Highness, the eastern gate defenses are being reinforced as we speak. I also spoke with the head engineers. They''ve accelerated production on additional barricades and mobile artillery platforms."


    "Good," Bruno said. "We''ll need everything ready by the time the Republic sends its scouts. Once they locate our position, we can expect their main force to follow shortly after."


    Antoine hesitated before continuing. "Your Highness... what of the civilians who cannot fight? Should we begin evacuating them to safer locations outside the city?"


    Bruno shook his head. "There is no safer location, Antoine. If we scatter our people, they''ll be picked off one by one. Mont Verdain is our stronghold, and it will remain their refuge. As long as we control the high ground, we can outlast the siege. The enemy has power, but they cannot hold these mountains."


    Antoine sighed but nodded in agreement. "Understood. I''ll coordinate additional shelters for non-combatants within the inner district."


    Bruno gave a brief nod of approval. "Make it happen."


    By the time darkness fully enveloped the plateau, Mont Verdain''s defenses were fully mobilized. Fires burned steadily in the watchtowers, casting a warm glow over the rugged terrain. Soldiers patrolled the parapets, their rifles gleaming under the moonlight. Artillery crews stood by their cannons, watchful and alert.


    General Berthold climbed the eastern watchtower, where Bruno stood overlooking the plains. In the distance, the faint flickers of distant campfires could be seen¡ªadvanced scouts from the Republic''s forces. S~ea??h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "They''re here," Berthold said quietly, following Bruno''s gaze.


    Bruno nodded. "Scouts first, then the full force. They won''t attack without knowing the terrain."


    Berthold crossed his arms. "They''ll probe our defenses, looking for weak points. We need to show them there are none."


    "We will," Bruno replied. His tone was calm but resolute. "Let them come. This city isn''t Loretto. If they expect to march in uncontested, they''ll find themselves bleeding for every inch."


    Several miles from Mont Verdain, the Republic''s scouting detachment reported back to their commander, Captain Julien Renoux. He examined a rough map of the region, his brow furrowing as the scouts described the fortified city.


    "High walls, reinforced artillery positions... a natural fortress," one scout explained. "They''ve fortified every approach to the plateau. Getting siege equipment up there will be a nightmare."


    Renoux frowned. "Typical royalist arrogance. They think their high ground makes them untouchable."


    The scout hesitated. "With respect, Captain, it might. Mont Verdain is designed for a prolonged siege. Even with our fleet controlling the coast, taking that city will cost us dearly."


    Renoux slammed a fist onto the map table. "Damn that prince... He''s more of a threat than we expected. The Admiral will need to know."


    He turned to his aide. "Send a message to Admiral Vaubert. Inform him that Mont Verdain is heavily fortified. We''ll need additional artillery if we want to break this siege quickly."


    The aide saluted and rushed off to deliver the report. Renoux gazed toward the distant mountain, its shadow looming ominously under the moonlight.


    "Enjoy your fortress while you can, Prince Bruno," he muttered. "The Republic always finds a way."


    Meanwhile, Bruno peered in his spyglass and sighed. "Tomorrow, they''ll attack."

 Chapter 31 Siege Preparations

    At dawn, the sound of marching boots echoed down the winding mountain road. The elite battalion, two hundred strong, approached Mont Verdain with disciplined precision. These were the best-trained and best-equipped soldiers on the island, personally organized under Bruno''s command. They were clad in durable uniforms with reinforced leather padding. Slung across their shoulders were semi-bolt action rifles, a weapon designed and produced under Bruno''s industrial reforms.


    Leading the battalion was Captain Auguste Vallier, a battle-hardened officer with sharp eyes and a calm demeanor. He raised his hand, signaling the column to halt as they reached the main gate. A sentry on the wall gave a confirming shout.


    "Open the gates!"


    The iron-and-oak gates creaked open, revealing a contingent of Mont Verdain soldiers waiting inside. Prince Bruno stood at the forefront, flanked by General Berthold and Governor DuPont. Captain Vallier dismounted from his horse, approached Bruno, and bowed respectfully.


    "Your Highness," Vallier said with reverence. "The elite battalion reports as ordered. We''ve come prepared to defend the city."


    Bruno smiled faintly and extended his hand for a firm handshake. "Thank you, Captain Vallier. You''ve arrived just in time. We face an enemy unlike anything we''ve dealt with before."


    "I''ve heard the reports, Your Highness," Vallier said, straightening his posture. "The Elysean fleet bombarded Loretto and captured it. I still don''t understand why they would fire upon an Elysean prince or even their own soldiers stationed there."


    "Neither do I," Bruno replied, his voice steady but cold. "Something has changed in the mainland. And I intend on finding that out."


    Captain Vallier nodded thoughtfully at Prince Bruno''s words. He removed his gloves and adjusted the rifle slung across his back as the soldiers around them began dispersing to their positions on the walls and towers.


    "I''ll have my officers set up observation points around the eastern ridge," Vallier continued. "If the enemy sends scouts, we''ll catch them before they get too close."


    "Good," Bruno said, glancing at General Berthold. "Coordinate with Berthold and ensure the sharpshooters have overlapping firing angles. I don''t want any blind spots in our defenses. The Republic soldiers are moving cautiously, but they''ll test our walls before committing to a full assault."


    Berthold nodded in agreement. "We''ve positioned heavy artillery on the northern towers, Your Highness. If their cannons enter range, we''ll counterfire immediately."


    "That''s exactly what we need," Bruno replied. His gaze shifted to the bustling square, where blacksmiths continued working on spare parts for artillery and barricades. Civilians moved supplies into underground storage areas, while engineers inspected the reinforced walls.


    Governor DuPont approached, wiping sweat from his brow. "Your Highness, additional grain shipments have arrived from the nearby farms. We''ll be able to extend our food reserves by another two months if rationed properly."


    "Excellent, Governor. Ensure the distribution centers are secure. The last thing we need is panic or sabotage disrupting supplies," Bruno ordered.


    "As you command, Your Highness," DuPont replied, bowing slightly before hurrying away.


    Bruno turned back to Vallier and Berthold. "We''ll hold this city as long as necessary. If they expect us to surrender quickly, they''ll be sorely disappointed."


    Bruno stood atop the eastern watchtower, his spyglass raised as he surveyed the plains below. The enemy had begun to appear on the horizon. Their forces moved in disciplined formation, infantry columns stretching across the landscape like a dark wave. Artillery units followed closely behind, their cannons glinting under the midday sun.


    "They''re setting up siege positions," Berthold muttered beside him. He pointed to a series of wagons being unloaded near a ridge. "Those artillery crews are building emplacements. Once those guns are in place, they''ll start bombarding our walls."


    Bruno nodded, lowering the spyglass. "They''re wasting no time. They''ll likely probe our defenses tonight, looking for weak points. We''ll need to respond aggressively."


    "We''ll keep patrols along the walls throughout the night," Vallier suggested. "If they attempt a surprise attack, we''ll drive them back."


    Bruno''s expression darkened as he watched the enemy forces continue to organize. "Let them come. They think this is another Loretto, but they''ll find out soon enough that Mont Verdain is a different beast."


    ***


    Captain Julien Renoux strode through the growing encampment, his boots crunching against the dirt path leading to the artillery lines. Soldiers erected tents and dug trenches, while officers barked orders to their units. Renoux''s mind was occupied with the reports he had received from his scouts. Something about Corse didn''t add up.


    He approached a makeshift command tent, where several scouts and engineers waited for him. A detailed map of the region lay on the table, marked with key locations¡ªroads, supply depots, bridges, and other infrastructure.


    Renoux traced one of the newly built roads with his gloved finger. "Tell me again what you found."


    The lead scout, a wiry man with sharp eyes, stepped forward. "Sir, the road networks are far more developed than anticipated. Paved stone roads now connect the major cities, and there are fortified depots positioned at key intersections. We also saw what appeared to be industrial facilities further inland¡ªpossibly workshops or factories. Some of them seem to be using steam power, though we couldn''t confirm the details without getting closer." S§×ar?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Renoux frowned. "Steam power? That''s a significant leap in development. Corse was supposed to be an isolated backwater, reliant on imports from the mainland. How the hell did they build all this without anyone noticing?"


    The scout hesitated. "It''s possible the prince was responsible. We''ve heard rumors that Prince Bruno initiated major reforms and industrial projects during his time here. He might have modernized the entire island."


    Renoux slammed his fist on the table. "Damn that prince¡­ He''s more of a threat than I thought. If he''s managed to turn Corse into an industrial hub, this siege will be far more difficult than we expected. Still, I am confident that we can defeat him in one siege."


    One of his lieutenants, Captain Armand Renault, joined him near the table. "Do you think they''ll try a counterattack during the night?"


    Renoux chuckled and shook his head. "No, Prince Bruno''s too clever for that. He knows attacking us in the open would be suicide. He''ll hunker down behind his walls and hope we break before his supplies run out. It''s textbook defensive warfare."


    "And if he has tricks up his sleeve?" Renault asked, raising an eyebrow.


    Renoux waved a hand dismissively. "We''re not facing some mythical army, Captain. These are royalist fanatics clinging to outdated ideals. They are still just isolated rebels. The Republic has crushed far greater threats. We''ll do the same here."

 Chapter 32 The Fight

    January 12th, 1693 ¨C Mont Verdain, Corse


    The sun had barely risen when a sentry atop Mont Verdain''s eastern wall spotted movement on the horizon. A long, dark line of soldiers, wagons, and artillery pieces crawled across the plains below. Drums echoed faintly, accompanied by the steady march of boots and the rattle of iron wheels. The main force of the Republic had arrived.


    Captain Vallier stood next to Prince Bruno on the wall, his spyglass trained on the advancing enemy. He could make out infantry battalions supported by cavalry detachments and heavy artillery teams positioning themselves near the ridge.


    "They''re wasting no time," Vallier remarked, lowering the spyglass. "Artillery teams are moving into range. They''ll try to weaken the walls before sending in the infantry."


    Bruno nodded, his gaze unwavering. "They''ll find that we''re not as easy to break as they think. How are our sharpshooters positioned?"


    "They''re ready, Your Highness," Vallier confirmed. "Fifty of our best marksmen are stationed across the towers and key defensive points. All equipped with scoped rifles. They''ll target the artillery crews the moment they begin setting up."


    "Good. Let''s give them a warm welcome."


    Captain Renoux strode confidently between the artillery units. Engineers and gunners worked quickly to position their siege cannons and mortars along the ridge overlooking Mont Verdain. The cannons, painted in dull gray to blend with the rocky terrain, gleamed in the morning light.


    "Positions!" barked an artillery officer as crews wheeled the last cannon into place. Gunpowder barrels were unloaded, and rangefinders calculated the elevation needed to hit the fortress walls.


    Renoux watched with satisfaction. "Prepare the first volley. Once the cannons fire, the defenders will scramble. We''ll break their defenses piece by piece."


    The artillery crews loaded the cannons, but before the first order could be given, a sharp crack echoed across the battlefield. One of the lead gunners fell to the ground, blood pouring from a clean shot to the head.


    "What the¡ª?" Renoux froze as another shot rang out, striking another artilleryman.


    "Snipers!" a soldier shouted in panic. "They''ve got snipers on the walls!"


    "Impossible! At this distance?!" Renoux gritted his teeth and ducked behind a supply crate as another gunshot echoed across the ridge. A third artilleryman collapsed, clutching his chest. The precision of the shots was unnerving.


    "Where are those bastards firing from?!" he barked.


    "Sir! The snipers are stationed in the watchtowers and along the fortified walls!" a scout called out, crouching beside him.


    Renoux cursed under his breath. "Damn it! I thought this island was a backwater. Since when do they have advanced rifles?"


    Another shot rang out. Renoux heard the sickening thud of a bullet striking an officer nearby. The man fell backward, his sword clattering to the ground.


    "We can''t set up the cannons under this fire, Captain!" an artillery officer shouted, panic creeping into his voice.


    "Get the skirmishers forward! Deploy smoke grenades! I want those snipers blinded!" Renoux ordered. "Have the infantry form a screen to cover the artillery!"


    The soldiers scrambled to obey. Skirmishers equipped with muskets rushed forward, firing sporadic volleys toward the walls while others lobbed smoke grenades across the open ground. Thick white clouds began to rise, obscuring visibility on both sides of the battlefield.


    Corporal L¨¦on Jourdain adjusted his rifle scope, his breath steady despite the growing smoke. He spotted a group of Republic skirmishers advancing under the cover of the haze.


    "Visibility''s dropping fast," a nearby sharpshooter muttered.


    Jourdain ignored him and focused on a target¡ªa soldier crouching behind a rock, trying to direct his comrades forward. He exhaled slowly and pulled the trigger.


    Crack!


    The soldier fell, and the advancing skirmishers hesitated.


    "Keep firing! Aim for any flashes of movement!" Captain Vallier''s voice rang out from the observation deck.


    Jourdain chambered another round and continued firing, his shots methodical and precise. Even with the smoke, the sharpshooters managed to sow confusion and fear among the enemy ranks.


    Renoux clenched his fists as he observed the chaos unfolding before him. Despite the smoke, his men were still being picked off. He knew they couldn''t afford to lose more artillery crews before the first volley.


    "Lieutenant Renault, get those cannons firing now!" he barked.


    "We''re still finalizing the range calculations, sir!" Renault protested.


    "To hell with that! Just fire blindly if you have to! We need to suppress those snipers!"


    Reluctantly, Renault relayed the order. Moments later, the cannons roared to life, their deafening blasts shaking the ground. Explosive shells arced through the smoke, crashing into the walls of Mont Verdain. Stone and debris flew into the air as the first impacts struck the fortress, but the royalist defenses held firm.


    Renoux smirked as he heard the distant rumble of destruction. "Let''s see how long they last under sustained fire."


    The first shell struck the eastern wall, sending a tremor through the entire city. Civilians ducked for cover as dust and debris rained down. Engineers and artillery crews scrambled to reinforce weakened sections of the battlements.


    Prince Bruno remained calm despite the barrage. He stood near one of the primary artillery positions, issuing orders to the crews.


    "Maintain counterfire! Focus on their artillery emplacements. We need to disrupt their rhythm," Bruno commanded.


    The royalist cannons thundered in response, their shells crashing into the ridge where the Republic''s artillery teams were stationed. Several enemy cannons were destroyed in fiery explosions, further complicating Renoux''s efforts.


    "How are the walls holding?" Bruno asked General Berthold, who approached with a report. S~ea??h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Minor damage so far, Your Highness," Berthold replied. "Their fire is spread out. They''re trying to locate our weak points."


    "Good. We''ll give them nothing to exploit."


    Bruno raised his spyglass, scanning the battlefield. Through the smoke, he saw disorganized clusters of Republic infantry retreating from the artillery line. The sharpshooters'' harassment and counterfire had disrupted the enemy''s coordination.


    "They''re faltering," Bruno said. "This is our chance. Order Vallier to send out a strike team. Target their artillery crews directly. We''ll cripple their offensive capability before they can regroup."


    Captain Vallier led a detachment of fifty soldiers down a concealed mountain path that flanked the Republic''s encampment. Moving swiftly and silently, the royalist troops navigated the rough terrain, using the smoke and chaos as cover.


    "Positions," Vallier whispered as they reached a vantage point overlooking the enemy artillery lines.


    The royalists spread out, taking cover behind boulders and tree stumps. Vallier signaled for the attack.


    Crack! Crack! Crack!


    A coordinated volley of rifle fire tore through the Republic artillery crews. The gunners, caught off guard, fell in rapid succession. Explosions erupted as ammunition stores were hit, sending fireballs into the sky.


    "Advance! Clear the line!" Vallier shouted.


    His troops surged forward, firing with precision as they stormed the artillery positions. The Republic soldiers, already demoralized, broke and fled in disarray.


    Renoux cursed as he watched the collapse of his artillery line. "Pull back to the secondary encampment!" he roared. "We need to regroup!"


    By midday, the battlefield fell eerily silent. The smoke began to dissipate, revealing the full extent of the Republic''s losses. Burning wreckage and abandoned cannons littered the ridge. Royalist soldiers stood triumphantly along the walls, cheering as the enemy retreated.


    Prince Bruno lowered his spyglass and exhaled slowly. "We''ve won the first engagement, but they''ll be back."


    "Let them come," Vallier said, wiping soot from his face. "We''ll be ready."


    "No, this time we won''t let them come. We will be the one chasing," Bruno said.

 Chapter 33 The Counterattack

    January 13th, 1693 ¨C Mont Verdain


    Prince Bruno stood in the war council chamber of the Governor''s Hall. Around him, his officers and advisors, including General Berthold, Captain Vallier, and Governor DuPont, waited for his plan. Outside, the sounds of soldiers making preparations for the night echoed through the fortress walls.


    Bruno placed his hands firmly on the large map spread across the table. His finger traced the route from Mont Verdain to the port city of Loretto.


    "We''re not waiting for the enemy to regroup," Bruno said firmly. "If we stay here, they''ll eventually reinforce and hit us with everything they have. We''re going to take the fight to them."


    There was a murmur of surprise among the officers. General Berthold spoke first.


    "Your Highness, you mean to attack their base of operations at Loretto?"


    "Exactly," Bruno confirmed. "Their entire invasion force is being supplied from the port. Without it, they''ll lose control of Corse. If we can strike them hard enough, we''ll force them to retreat entirely."


    Captain Vallier nodded. "A bold move. They''ll never expect us to launch an assault so soon after today''s battle. Especially not at night."


    "That''s precisely why we''re attacking at midnight," Bruno continued. "While they sleep, we''ll descend upon them. By the time they realize what''s happening, we''ll already be inside the city."


    General Berthold crossed his arms thoughtfully. "We''ll need absolute discipline and silence during the approach. If they detect us before we reach the gates, we''ll lose the element of surprise."


    "They won''t," Bruno assured him. "Our scouts have already identified a route through the hills that bypasses their main sentries. We''ll march in darkness and launch the attack before dawn. Once inside, we''ll secure key positions¡ªthe docks, their command center, and their artillery depot."


    Governor DuPont, usually more cautious, seemed energized by the plan. "If we succeed, Your Highness, the morale of the enemy forces will collapse. We can end this siege before it truly begins."


    Bruno nodded. "Precisely. Now, Captain Vallier, I want your elite battalion leading the charge. General Berthold, your regular infantry will secure our flanks and prevent any reinforcements from cutting off our escape route. I''ll personally lead the assault on their command center."


    The officers exchanged glances of agreement. Vallier gave a firm salute. "We''ll be ready, Your Highness."


    "Good," Bruno said, straightening. "Begin preparations immediately. We march at midnight."


    Under the cover of darkness, the royalist army moved silently through the rugged terrain leading to Loretto. The soldiers marched with discipline, their boots muffled by the rocky ground. Prince Bruno rode at the head of the column, flanked by Vallier and Berthold. Scouts ahead signaled with lantern flashes, indicating that the path was clear.


    The moon cast a faint glow on the distant city. From their vantage point, they could see the dim lights of campfires scattered near the port. Ships of the enemy fleet lay at anchor in the harbor, their silhouettes barely visible against the night sky.


    Captain Vallier rode up alongside Bruno. "We''re nearing the outer perimeter, Your Highness. No sign of enemy patrols."


    "Good," Bruno replied quietly. He turned to Berthold. "Once we reach the outskirts, I want the artillery teams to position themselves along the eastern ridge. They''ll provide covering fire if things go wrong."


    "Understood," Berthold whispered.


    As they advanced closer to the city, the tension among the soldiers grew. The memory of Loretto''s fall was still fresh in their minds. Many had lost friends and comrades during the bombardment. Now, they had a chance to reclaim what had been stolen.


    "Remember," Bruno addressed the officers near him, his voice low but firm. "No noise, no hesitation. We strike hard and fast. Tonight, we take back our city."


    The first phase of the attack began with eerie silence. Royalist scouts crept through the darkened streets, eliminating sentries and guards at key points. Within minutes, the main gates were unbarred, allowing the rest of the force to pour into the city.


    Captain Vallier led his battalion through the eastern district, where the enemy''s artillery depot was located. They moved with practiced efficiency, rifles at the ready. The first squad encountered a group of sleeping artillerymen. Without a sound, they secured the area and sabotaged the cannons by removing their firing mechanisms.


    A few blocks away, Bruno led a detachment toward the enemy''s command center near the governor''s mansion. The streets were eerily quiet, save for the distant crash of waves against the docks. His soldiers advanced swiftly, clearing buildings and alleyways as they moved.


    Suddenly, a gunshot rang out.


    "Contact!" a royalist soldier shouted.


    The enemy had been alerted. Within moments, the sound of bells and shouting spread throughout the city. Bruno cursed under his breath.


    "Vallier, report!" he barked into his communicator device, an innovation created by his engineers.


    "We''ve encountered light resistance near the artillery depot," Vallier''s voice crackled in response. "No major issues. We''re proceeding with the plan."


    Bruno nodded and turned to his men. "Double time! We need to secure the mansion before they organize a counterattack!"


    Captain Renoux had been rudely awakened by the sound of distant gunfire. He stumbled out of his quarters, pulling on his coat and grabbing his sword.


    "What''s happening?!" he demanded as officers rushed to meet him.


    "Sir, the royalists have breached the city!" an aide shouted. "They''re attacking multiple locations at once!"


    Renoux''s eyes widened in disbelief. "Impossible! How did they get past our patrols?!"


    "They must have used the hills to bypass our defenses," another officer suggested.


    Renoux gritted his teeth. "Rally the troops! I want all available units defending the docks and command center. We cannot lose this city!"


    The fighting intensified as dawn approached. Royalist soldiers clashed with enemy forces in the narrow streets, gunfire and shouts echoing off the stone walls. Civilians hid in their homes, terrified by the sudden violence.


    Prince Bruno''s detachment finally reached the governor''s mansion, where Renoux had made his stand. The gates were heavily guarded, but Bruno''s sharpshooters quickly neutralized the sentries. Explosions rocked the courtyard as royalist grenadiers breached the entrance. sea??h th§× novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Bruno led the charge.


    Renoux''s officers attempted to rally, but the royalists overwhelmed them with superior tactics and firepower. Renoux himself was cornered near the central staircase.


    "Look what we have here, an injured officer," Bruno said. "We are going to extract as much information as we can from you, I hope you cooperate with us."

 Chapter 34 Learning the Truth

    The sound of hurried footsteps and clanging weapons filled the air as royalist soldiers spread out across the docks. Captain Vallier''s elite battalion led the charge, swiftly cutting down any pockets of resistance. Royalist sharpshooters continued to provide cover from elevated positions, ensuring the retreating Republic soldiers had no opportunity to regroup.


    "Take the docks!" Vallier barked. "Secure every vessel and destroy any remaining artillery!"


    Republic soldiers stumbled over crates and supplies in their desperate attempt to reach the anchored ships. A few managed to board a frigate and tried to cast off, but royalist cannon crews wheeled a heavy gun into position near the pier.


    "Target that frigate!" a royalist officer commanded.


    With a deafening roar, the cannon fired, striking the side of the vessel. The explosion ripped through the hull, sending splinters and debris flying into the air. The frigate listed heavily to one side, its crew abandoning ship in a panic. Several soldiers leapt into the water, surrendering to royalist forces waiting on the docks.


    "Hold your fire!" Vallier ordered as the last of the enemy resistance crumbled. "We''ve secured the area."


    Prince Bruno arrived at the scene moments later, his eyes scanning the battlefield. The docks were littered with the wreckage of the Republic''s failed defense. Captured soldiers knelt in long rows, their hands tied behind their backs. Royalist officers moved through the ranks, collecting weapons and issuing orders.


    "Captain Vallier," Bruno called out as he dismounted his horse. "Status report."


    "We''ve secured the entire port, Your Highness," Vallier replied. "All enemy vessels have been grounded, and their artillery positions are neutralized. The remaining Republic forces have surrendered."


    Bruno nodded. "Good. Keep the prisoners under close watch. I have an enemy commander rounded up earlier, I am going to interrogate him."


    ***


    At the Estate.


    Prince Bruno stepped into the dimly lit room, his boots echoing ominously against the stone floor. Captain Vallier and General Berthold followed close behind, standing guard at the entrance. Renoux sat in the center of the room, his hands still bound, though his posture remained defiant despite his injuries. Two guards flanked him, ensuring he had no chance of escape.


    Bruno pulled up a wooden chair and sat directly across from the Republic officer.


    "Captain Renoux," Bruno began. "Let''s not waste time. Your army is broken. The port is under my control. I need information, and you will give it to me."


    Renoux chuckled bitterly. "You''re dreaming if you think I''ll betray the Republic."


    Bruno leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. "A republic? What are you talking about, Renoux? The last I heard, Elysea was still under the rule of my father. Now you invade my land, fire upon Elysean soldiers, and speak of a republic. Explain yourself."


    Renoux''s smirk faded as he stared into Bruno''s cold, unrelenting gaze. For a moment, he hesitated, but he seemed to realize the futility of withholding the truth any longer. He sighed heavily, the defiance in his voice waning.


    "There is no King anymore," Renoux muttered. "Your father¡­ the entire royal family¡­ they''re gone."


    Bruno froze for a moment, the words not fully registering. He leaned closer, his voice dangerously low. "Gone? What do you mean by ''gone''?"


    "There was a revolution," Renoux explained, locking eyes with Bruno. "It started nearly two years ago. The people of Elysea were fed up with the monarchy, with the endless social stratification and the corruption of the aristocracy. The nation boiled over in riots and uprisings. Your father, didn''t do anything and we had enough."


    Renoux paused, gauging Bruno''s reaction. When the prince didn''t speak, he continued.


    "The Revolutionary Council seized power. They executed the King and Queen, along with most of the royal family. Nobles who resisted were also purged. The Council proclaimed a new Republic of Elysea. They rewrote the laws, redistributed land, and declared an end to the old system of privilege and exploitation."


    "And I suppose you believe that murdering my family and tearing apart the country brought freedom?"


    Renoux met his gaze without flinching. "I believe it brought justice. The old order needed to be broken. The aristocracy hoarded power and wealth while the common people starved. Your father''s inaction sealed his fate. The revolution wasn''t just anger¡ªit was survival."


    Bruno stood abruptly, pacing across the room. His mind reeled as Renoux''s words echoed in his ears. His father¡­ his family¡­ gone, executed like criminals. He had expected betrayal on this island, but not this¡ªa full-scale upheaval of everything he had ever known.


    "You call it survival, yet here you are¡ªinvading Corse, killing your fellow countrymen. If your Republic is so righteous, why resort to this?"


    Renoux straightened, his expression sharp. "Corse is a threat to the Republic as long as you live. You''re a rallying point for every royalist sympathizer. The Council ordered this invasion to prevent a resurgence of monarchy. If you fall, the Republic''s authority is secure."


    "I see¡­I understand now. It is all starting to make sense."


    Renoux furrowed his brow at Bruno''s calm and detached response. He had expected anger, perhaps even despair. Yet the prince''s reaction was strangely measured, almost indifferent, as if the death of his entire family meant nothing.


    "You understand?" Renoux asked cautiously. "Your father and the rest of your family are dead. Executed. And you... you don''t seem to care."


    Bruno halted his pacing and turned slowly toward Renoux, his expression unreadable. He tilted his head slightly, his sharp gaze locking onto the captain.


    "Why should I?" he said softly.


    Renoux blinked, taken aback. "What do you mean? They were your family. Your bloodline. Don''t you feel any rage, any grief? Even now, you should¡ª"


    "You assume too much," Bruno interrupted coldly. His eyes gleamed with a chilling intensity that made Renoux instinctively shift in his chair. "Perhaps you think I mourn their loss. But the truth is far more complicated." S§×arch* The n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Renoux stared at him, confusion deepening. "You... don''t care? You''re their son, their heir. I thought you''d be¡ª"


    "I am not the man you think I am," Bruno said firmly. A subtle smirk formed on his lips as he crossed his arms. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "The royal family you speak of¡ªthose ties mean nothing to me. What I do care about is this island and what it represents. If the Republic thinks it can claim what''s mine, then they are gravely mistaken."


    Renoux frowned, struggling to piece together what he had just heard. He could sense something... off about the prince. There was a dispassionate air to Bruno that didn''t match the stories he had heard about the young noble years ago.


    "What are you talking about?" Renoux demanded. "If you''re not driven by vengeance for your family, then why are you fighting to restore the monarchy?"


    Bruno chuckled softly, his eyes narrowing with a cold fire. "Restore it? No, Renoux. I have no interest in being a puppet figurehead like my predecessors. This Republic of yours thought it could erase me from history, but it made one critical mistake: leaving me alive."


    He stepped closer to the bound captain. "I''m not fighting to preserve the monarchy. I''m fighting to take what''s rightfully mine. Corse is only the beginning. Once I retake the throne, I will crush the Council that betrayed us and reshape the nation as I see fit. I will build a new order¡ªan empire that neither your revolutionaries nor your corrupt aristocrats could have dreamed of."

 Chapter 35 Long Live the King

    January 14th, 1693 ¨C Loretto, Corse


    The city of Loretto had returned to calm by mid-morning. Royalist soldiers patrolled the streets, ensuring there were no remnants of Republican resistance. Civilians cautiously emerged from their homes, fear still etched on their faces from the previous night''s battle. However, the sight of familiar soldiers wearing the royalist crest brought them a degree of comfort. They began clearing rubble, rebuilding market stalls, and putting out the remaining fires.


    Prince Bruno stood on a hastily erected platform in the town square, his military advisors, including Captain Vallier and General Berthold, flanking him. A large crowd gathered before him, their eyes filled with confusion, anxiety, and hope. Many were desperate for answers about the events that had unfolded.


    Bruno raised his hand, calling for silence. The crowd''s murmurs slowly died down as all attention focused on the prince. His gaze swept across the crowd, ensuring every person present could see him clearly.


    "People of Loretto," Bruno began. "I know you are afraid. I know many of you do not understand why this city¡ªyour home¡ªwas attacked by those who should have been our countrymen. I am here to give you the truth."


    He took a step forward, his voice rising so all could hear. "Two nights ago, an army bearing the banner of Elysea launched an unprovoked assault on our island. They bombarded our port, killed our soldiers, and sought to subjugate us. You are probably wondering how this could happen. How could our own nation turn against us?" S§×ar?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    The crowd murmured again, bewildered. Bruno continued without pause, his expression hardening. "The reason, my people, is because Elysea is no longer the country you once knew. The kingdom we were loyal to has fallen. The monarchy, our royal family, has been overthrown by revolutionaries who call themselves the Republic of Elysea."


    Gasps and shocked whispers rippled through the crowd. Many could not believe what they were hearing. The idea that the centuries-old kingdom had been dismantled was almost too much to comprehend.


    "They rose in rebellion two years ago," Bruno went on. "They executed my father, the King, my mother, the Queen, and countless others of noble blood. The Republic now rules from the capital, seeking to destroy everything we stood for¡ªour traditions, our values, and our right to self-govern."


    An elderly man near the front of the crowd shouted, "But you''re still here, Your Highness! You survived!"


    Bruno nodded. "Yes. By a twist of fate, I am the last living member of the royal family. The Republic''s leaders see me as a threat to their power. That is why they sent their army to Corse¡ªto kill me and extinguish any chance of restoring the kingdom."


    His words carried a weight that seemed to settle heavily on the gathered crowd. For a long moment, no one spoke. The full gravity of the situation began to sink in.


    "But I am not dead," Bruno declared firmly, his voice cutting through the silence. "We are not broken. The Republic thought we would submit easily, but they underestimated the strength and will of Corse. We have repelled their forces, taken back Loretto, and shattered their plans. This is only the beginning."


    Captain Vallier stepped forward and saluted. "The enemy that survived in the expedition were all arrested and executed for high treason."


    Captain Vallier''s declaration caused another wave of murmurs in the crowd. Fear mixed with relief as the people processed the news. Many had lost family members and friends in the Republic''s brutal assault, and the announcement of justice being served brought some small measure of closure.


    Prince Bruno raised his hand again to quiet the voices. "Justice has been delivered to those who sought to destroy our lives. But make no mistake, this is far from over. The Republic will not accept defeat easily. They will return with greater force. That is why we must be prepared¡ªtogether."


    Bruno scanned the crowd, making eye contact with as many people as possible. "From this day forward, Corse will be the beacon of resistance. We will not hide in fear. We will not wait for another attack. Instead, we will strengthen our forces and strike at the heart when the time comes."


    The crowd listened intently, their expressions gradually shifting from confusion and fear to a sense of unity and purpose. Prince Bruno''s words were sinking deep, stirring the embers of resistance in their hearts. People began nodding to one another, whispers of determination spreading throughout the square.


    "We will fight for you, Your Highness¡ªNo Your Majesty!"


    A woman near the center of the crowd raised her fist in the air, her voice cutting through the murmurs.


    "Long live the King!" she cried, her words filled with renewed hope. Others quickly repeated her call, their voices growing louder with each chant.


    "Long live King Bruno! Long live the King!"


    The chant spread rapidly throughout the square. People who had moments before been filled with fear now shouted with defiant pride. They clapped and cheered, raising their arms in unison. The square was soon filled with the thunderous sound of their voices, echoing off the surrounding buildings.


    Bruno, standing tall on the platform, raised his hand, urging the people to continue. He did not correct them, nor did he claim the title officially just yet. In truth, he knew that their belief in him was vital, their loyalty essential for what lay ahead. His calm gaze swept over the sea of faces, their eyes shining with hope and determination.


    Captain Vallier leaned toward him, his voice low but firm. "They''ve given you their trust, Your Highness. You''ve inspired them to fight. This is a moment we cannot waste."


    "I know," Bruno replied quietly, his eyes still on the crowd. He then stepped forward once more, raising both hands to bring their attention back to him.


    "My people," he called out, his voice powerful and commanding, "today marks the beginning of our fight to restore our home and bring justice to those who fell under the Republic''s tyranny. We will train. We will build. And we will not stop until Elysea is free from those who betrayed our nation!"


    The cheers intensified, people waving royalist flags and embracing one another. The chant resumed louder than before.


    "Long live King Bruno! Long live Elysea!"


    As the crowd celebrated, Bruno turned to Vallier and Berthold. "This moment will solidify their morale, but it''s only one step. Start organizing recruitment efforts. We''ll need every able-bodied person into the ranks of our army."


    "Consider it done, Your Highness," Vallier replied with a salute.


    "Now¡ªlet''s get started."

 Chapter 36 The Revolutionary Council

    March 14th, 1693 ¨C The Revolutionary Capital of Elysee


    The Royal Palace of Elysea, once a symbol of unchallenged aristocratic rule and grandeur, had been repurposed into the administrative headquarters of the Republic of Elyosa. The marble halls were stripped of royal portraits, and the gilded furnishings were replaced with utilitarian desks, banners bearing the emblem of the revolution, and the harsh rhetoric of equality and progress. In the council chamber, twelve members of the Revolutionary Council, dressed in austere but immaculate robes, gathered around a long, rectangular table. Each member represented a faction within the new regime¡ªthe military, industry, agriculture, education, and foreign policy.


    At the head of the table sat Jacques Delacroix, the council''s de facto leader, a former judge and philosopher whose silver hair and piercing eyes gave him an air of intimidating authority. Known for his cunning intellect and ruthless pragmatism, Delacroix had been one of the architects of the revolution. Beside him sat Emilia Voss, Minister of State Security, a cold and calculating figure responsible for the brutal purges of royalist loyalists. Opposite her, General Hector Bellerose, commander of the Revolutionary Army, adjusted his coat with a scowl. News of the failed invasion of Corse had brought him here in no small amount of embarrassment.


    "Let us begin," Delacroix announced, his deep voice echoing off the chamber''s stone walls. "We have much to discuss, and time is not on our side."


    Emilia Voss leaned forward, placing a stack of reports on the table. "The matter of Corse requires immediate attention. Our forces failed to eliminate Prince Bruno. His survival has emboldened the island''s population, and intelligence reports indicate that he has assumed leadership of a growing royalist resistance."


    "That island was supposed to be secured within days," General Bellerose snapped, his frustration evident. "Captain Renoux underestimated the enemy. He reported that they faced modernized defenses, including advanced weaponry. It seems this ''Prince Bruno'' has transformed Corse into a fortress under our noses."


    Several council members exchanged uneasy glances. One of them, Jean-Paul Lafayette, Minister of Trade and Finance, adjusted his spectacles and spoke cautiously. "The longer we leave Corse in his hands, the more he threatens to disrupt trade routes and alliances. He could seek aid from neighboring monarchies, perhaps even join this growing coalition against us."


    Delacroix raised a hand, silencing further murmurs. "We will deal with Bruno in due time. However, the mainland situation is more pressing. Reports indicate that several kingdoms have formed a coalition to oppose us. The Kingdom of Greater Germania, the Empire of Orosk, and the Kingdom of Britannica have each condemned our revolution and declared us a threat to their stability."


    "Of course they have," Emilia said with a scoff. "Monarchs fear what we represent. They know their own peasants and middle classes might rise up if inspired by our success."


    General Bellerose crossed his arms. "Fear alone doesn''t win wars, Minister Voss. The coalition is mobilizing their armies. Greater Germania has already reinforced its western border, and the Orosk Empire is mobilizing its army. If they coordinate their attacks, they could push us."


    Minister Fr¨¦d¨¦ric Rousseau, responsible for foreign affairs, tapped a finger on the map spread across the table.


    "We''ve received intelligence that Britannica has begun supplying arms and naval support to our enemies. They''ve stationed warships near the Channel, likely preparing for blockades or coastal raids. If we''re not careful, we''ll face economic strangulation in addition to military threats."


    The tension in the room grew palpable. Delacroix inhaled deeply, his gaze sharp as he addressed the council. sea??h th§× n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "The coalition sees us as a pariah state. They do not believe we can withstand a prolonged conflict. They think our people will lose their will to fight if we are isolated and battered on all sides. We must prove them wrong."


    So, what are your orders?" General Bellerose asked.


    Delacroix''s voice hardened. "First, we will strengthen our defenses along the border with Greater Germania and fortify key provinces. Mobilize the Revolutionary Army and conscript additional regiments where necessary. Second, Minister Rousseau, you will reach out to sympathetic factions in neutral territories. There are republican movements in neighboring lands¡ªuse them to sow discord and divide our enemies."


    Rousseau nodded. "I have contacts in the western provinces of Greater Germania who might be willing to stir unrest. It won''t be easy, but it''s possible."


    "Good," Delacroix said before turning his attention back to the matter of Corse. "As for the prince¡­"


    "He''s an afterthought," Emilia Voss interjected with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Without significant foreign backing, his resistance will collapse eventually. The island cannot sustain itself indefinitely. We should focus on the mainland first."


    General Bellerose hesitated. "Underestimating him a second time would be a mistake, Minister Voss. He may not have the resources now, but if the coalition sees him as a useful pawn, they might offer him aid to keep us distracted."


    Delacroix considered this for a moment. "Then we monitor him closely. Deploy spies and informants to Corse. If he attempts to make contact with the coalition, we will intercept and eliminate his envoys. For now, Prince Bruno is a pawn without a board¡ªhe has no kingdom to reclaim unless he can cross the sea."


    The council members murmured their agreement, though tension remained in the air. They all understood that the survival of one royal heir was a loose thread in their revolution''s fabric. A thread that could unravel much more than they cared to admit.


    "I want a full report on our border fortifications by the next session," Delacroix concluded. "And double security at the docks and ports. If Bruno or any royalist loyalists attempt to smuggle supplies through our waters, they are to be captured or sunk."


    The meeting adjourned with the council rising from their seats. As the members filed out of the chamber, Delacroix remained behind, staring at the map of Elysea spread across the table. His fingers traced the outline of Corse as a faint smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth.


    "Let''s see how long you can hold out, Prince Bruno," he muttered to himself. "We crushed your family. We''ll crush you too¡ªwhen the time is right."

 Chapter 37 Repairing Ships

    March 20th, 1693 ¨C Port of Loretto, Corse


    The salty breeze swept across the bustling harbor as Prince Bruno stood near the edge of the main dock, his gaze fixed on the captured Republic frigate and ship of the lines being refitted for royalist service. Around him, the port hummed with activity¡ªworkers hauling timber, ropes, and supplies; blacksmiths hammering away at iron reinforcements; and carpenters patching up damaged hulls and masts.


    Bruno folded his arms, his face impassive but his mind calculating. The damage inflicted by the Republic''s siege had been significant, but Loretto''s port was alive again. This port, once ravaged by artillery and fire, was now transforming into a hub of royalist strength. Their ability to cross the sea and challenge the Revolutionary Council rested on these very ships.


    Captain Vallier approached, saluting briskly. "Your Highness, the repairs on the primary vessels are progressing faster than expected. Our shipwrights say the captured frigate and ship of the line should be seaworthy within the month."


    Bruno nodded in approval. "Good. We''ll need every vessel ready for war. What''s the status of the smaller ships?"


    Vallier gestured toward a line of brigs and sloops anchored further down the docks. "The brigs sustained minimal damage during the battle. They''re being outfitted to serve as escorts and supply carriers. The sloops will be used for scouting and swift communication. Once the fleet is assembled, we''ll be capable of maneuvering quickly and striking with precision."


    Bruno took a moment to observe the captured frigate more closely. Its sleek, reinforced hull had originally been designed for long-range patrolling and coastal bombardment. Now, it would be turned against its former masters. Royalist engineers were replacing its Republican flags and insignias with banners bearing the crest of the House of Elysea.


    "Walk with me, Captain," Bruno said, stepping onto the gangplank that led to the frigate''s deck. Vallier followed, the wooden planks creaking beneath their boots as they boarded the ship. S~ea??h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    The deck was bustling with royalist sailors and officers. They saluted as Bruno passed, their faces showing both respect and newfound confidence. Some had been fishermen and merchant sailors before the war, now turned into disciplined members of the royalist navy. Others were veterans of the earlier battles, hardened by the defense of Corse.


    "This ship will be key to our campaign," Bruno remarked as they approached the helm. He ran a gloved hand along the rail, his gaze distant. "Once the fleet is complete, we will no longer be confined to Corse. We will retake what is rightfully ours."


    "We''re with you, Your Highness," Vallier said firmly. "Every man and woman here is ready to follow you back to the mainland. The Republic''s hold is weaker than they realize. If we strike swiftly and decisively, we can rally the people and undermine their control."


    Bruno turned to face him, his expression thoughtful. "I agree. But we must be methodical. The Republic may seem fragmented, but they are not without resources. Their Revolutionary Army is large, disciplined, and fanatical. If we charge in without a plan, we''ll face overwhelming force."


    "We''ve already begun gathering intelligence," Vallier added. "Our spies have reported that the Revolutionary Council is preoccupied with a coalition of monarchies forming against them. The Kingdom of Greater Germania, the Empire of Orosk, and Britannica have mobilized their forces, placing pressure on the Republic''s borders."


    Bruno allowed himself a small smile. "Good. Let the Council spread themselves thin. The coalition will force them to divide their attention. That gives us an opportunity to strike where they least expect it."


    They continued their inspection, moving below deck. The lower compartments were being restructured to accommodate royalist supplies¡ªammunition, provisions, and medical supplies. A team of carpenters reinforced the bulkheads, ensuring the frigate could endure long voyages and withstand future battles.


    "Make sure the armory is stocked with enough ammunition to sustain a prolonged engagement," Bruno ordered. "I don''t want us caught off guard if we encounter resistance at sea."


    "Understood, Your Highness," Vallier replied.


    As they ascended back to the main deck, a group of shipwrights approached, led by a tall, broad-shouldered man with soot-streaked hands. He bowed respectfully.


    "Your Highness, Captain Vallier. We''ve nearly completed repairs on the main mast. Once the new sails are raised, she''ll be ready for her maiden voyage under your banner."


    "You''ve done excellent work," Bruno said. "Keep at it. We''ll need this ship ready sooner rather than later."


    The shipwright nodded and returned to his crew. Bruno remained at the helm, his eyes scanning the horizon. The waters beyond Corse stretched endlessly, a gateway to the mainland and the battles that awaited them. His thoughts drifted briefly to the Revolutionary Council¡ªthe ones responsible for his family''s death and the chaos that had engulfed his kingdom. He would not let them rule unchallenged.


    Vallier stood beside him in silence for a moment before speaking. "The men are eager, Your Highness. They want to reclaim what was taken from us."


    "They''ll have their chance," Bruno replied. "But we must remain disciplined. Emotions alone won''t win this war. We''ll strike with strategy and strength. The Republic''s power is built on lies and fear. Once the people see that they can resist, the revolution will unravel."


    The prince''s words carried a quiet determination that resonated with Vallier. The captain nodded firmly. "What are your orders for the next phase?"


    "Continue the recruitment efforts. Every able-bodied man and woman willing to fight will be trained. We need sailors, soldiers, and craftsmen. Expand our intelligence network¡ªsmugglers, merchants, anyone who can provide information on the Republic''s movements. We''ll infiltrate their supply lines and weaken them from within."


    "And when the time comes?"


    Bruno''s eyes gleamed with cold fire. "When the time comes, we''ll land on their shores and remind the Revolution that they are not invincible. We''ll liberate the people they have deceived and avenge the fallen."


    The two men stood in silence for a moment, the wind tugging at their coats. The captured ship loomed behind them like a symbol of defiance. And they will use that symbol to destroy what they have constructed.

 Chapter 38 Royalist New Guns

    April 3rd, 1693 ¨C Royalist Gun Workshop, Loretto, Corse. S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    The steady clang of hammers striking metal echoed across the sprawling gun workshop situated near the western outskirts of Loretto. Smoke billowed from tall chimneys, and the scent of molten steel mixed with coal filled the air. Rows of craftsmen, engineers, and apprentices moved about with purpose, assembling weapon components and calibrating complex mechanisms under the watchful eyes of foremen.


    Prince Bruno arrived on horseback, dismounting near the entrance. Captain Vallier and Master Engineer Antoine Durand awaited him, flanked by guards and senior machinists. Durand, a lean man with spectacles perched on his nose, stepped forward and bowed.


    "Your Highness," Durand greeted him with pride in his voice. "The first production models of the new artillery pieces have been completed. We have set up a test site beyond the ridge for a live demonstration."


    "Excellent," Bruno replied, shaking Durand''s hand. "These howitzers will be critical in our campaign. Show me the assembly line first."


    Durand led the prince through the workshop, passing rows of partially assembled cannon barrels and reinforced chassis. Workers were meticulously grinding, welding, and reinforcing the thick barrels with steel bands designed to withstand extreme pressures. Some were installing hydraulic recoil systems designed to absorb shock and prevent the weapon from shifting after firing.


    "These are the 152mm howitzers you designed, Your Highness," Durand explained. "Their effective range is around seven kilometers, depending on terrain and elevation. With high-explosive shells, they can deliver devastating indirect fire on enemy fortifications and artillery positions."


    Bruno nodded as he inspected a finished barrel resting on a steel frame. The design had been inspired by his modern knowledge of artillery mechanics, something he had carefully integrated into the workshop''s capabilities without overwhelming the workers with too much complexity.


    "The recoil system," Bruno asked, pointing to the hydraulic unit mounted beneath the barrel, "can it handle repeated fire without overheating?"


    "Yes, Your Highness," Durand assured him. "The recoil is dampened by a hydraulic cylinder filled with pressurized oil. We''ve tested it under simulated battlefield conditions¡ªeach howitzer can sustain twelve rounds per minute for up to thirty minutes before needing cooling maintenance."


    Bruno ran his hand along the sleek barrel. Unlike older cannons that relied purely on brute force and heavy shot, these howitzers combined precision engineering with superior firepower. He had ensured that the design featured rifling in the barrel, allowing for greater accuracy over long distances. The ammunition, standardized into high-explosive, armor-piercing, and incendiary variants, had also been developed to maximize the versatility of the weapon.


    "And what about mobility?" Bruno continued as they walked toward another section of the workshop. "How quickly can these be repositioned in the field?"


    "We''ve mounted each howitzer on a reinforced carriage with pneumatic wheels," Durand replied. "Horses can tow them, but for faster deployment, we''re experimenting with attaching them to steam tractors."


    "Good," Bruno said. "Artillery that can''t be repositioned quickly is a liability. We''ll need both firepower and flexibility when facing the Revolutionary Army."


    Durand gestured to another part of the workshop where a smaller cannon was being assembled. This weapon was noticeably more compact, with a 76mm bore designed for faster firing and mobile infantry support.


    "These are the smaller field guns based on your instructions," Durand explained. "Their range is shorter, about three to four kilometers, but they excel in rapid deployment and anti-personnel roles. They can be manned by a crew of four and repositioned swiftly on the battlefield."


    Bruno nodded approvingly. "These will complement the howitzers well. They''ll be essential for infantry support during city sieges and close-quarters engagements."


    As they exited the workshop, Vallier joined the conversation. "Your Highness, shall we proceed to the test site?"


    "Yes," Bruno replied. "I want to see how they perform in the field."


    The test site was located on an elevated ridge overlooking a wide, open plain. Several artillery crews had already positioned both the 152mm howitzers and the 76mm field guns at designated points along the ridge. Observers, including senior officers and engineers, stood near the firing stations, awaiting Bruno''s arrival.


    "Your Highness," an artillery officer saluted, "we are ready to begin the live demonstration."


    "Proceed," Bruno ordered, stepping toward the observation area. He raised a spyglass to his eye, focusing on the wooden targets and mock fortifications set up at various distances across the plain.


    The first crew, operating the 152mm howitzer, loaded a high-explosive shell into the breach. The gun commander called out firing coordinates, adjusting the elevation and azimuth based on calculated range data. Once the gun was locked in position, the loader pulled the lanyard.


    A deafening boom echoed across the ridge as the howitzer discharged its shell. The recoil mechanism absorbed the impact smoothly, with minimal displacement of the carriage. Seconds later, the shell struck a distant target, detonating in a fiery explosion that sent debris flying.


    "Direct hit," Vallier commented, lowering his own spyglass. "The range and accuracy are impressive. Usually, the cannon that we use only has an accuracy of about an acceptable range, but this... it''s unprecedented," Vallier finished, his voice filled with awe.


    Bruno spoke. "It''s due to the rifling, Vallier. Traditional smoothbore cannons sacrifice accuracy for ease of manufacturing. By grooving the interior of the barrel, we impart spin to the projectile, stabilizing it in flight. Combined with advanced sighting instruments, the howitzer''s accuracy significantly surpasses conventional models."


    "I see¡­rifling huh."


    The artillery crew quickly moved into action. One man retrieved another high-explosive shell from a nearby crate, while another adjusted the elevation wheel on the barrel. Within moments, the howitzer was ready for another shot. The loader shouted, "Ready!" and pulled the lanyard once again.


    Boom!


    The second shot arched through the sky, its path calculated precisely to hit a wooden fortification over six kilometers away. The target shattered upon impact, sending a shockwave rippling through the observers'' viewing area.


    Bruno lowered his spyglass, his expression neutral but pleased. "The rate of fire is acceptable for now, but I want drills conducted to improve reload time. Crews need to achieve faster reloading under combat conditions."


    "Understood, Your Highness," Vallier replied, saluting.


    Next, they moved to the field gun test site, where a 76mm cannon crew stood ready. This time, the target was a simulated infantry formation made up of life-sized wooden mannequins.


    "Test shrapnel rounds," Bruno ordered.


    The crew inserted a shell designed to detonate mid-air, scattering lethal fragments. They adjusted the gun''s elevation for a near-horizontal trajectory and prepared to fire.


    "Fire!"


    The 76mm cannon let out a sharp crack, significantly quieter than the deep boom of the howitzer. The round burst in mid-flight, sending hundreds of metal fragments tearing through the mock infantry. The mannequins were obliterated, with splinters and debris scattered across the field.


    "Effective," Bruno noted with a hint of satisfaction. "The combination of these smaller field guns and the howitzers will give us control over both large-scale bombardments and mobile skirmishes."


    Durand spoke with pride. "The field gun is designed for maximum versatility. With a four-man crew, it can be disassembled and transported quickly, then reassembled in minutes. It''s ideal for supporting infantry advances or defending key positions."


    Bruno turned to Vallier. "These weapons give us an edge, but only if deployed with strategy. We need to coordinate artillery barrages with infantry movements. Ensure that our officers receive proper artillery training."


    "Of course, Your Highness. We''ll begin tactical integration drills immediately," Vallier responded.


    Bruno walked toward a group of engineers and artillery commanders who had gathered nearby, all awaiting his next instructions. He took a moment to speak directly to them.


    "These weapons are the product of our hard work and ingenuity. They are tools of liberation. But make no mistake¡ªpoor strategy and complacency can turn them into liabilities. I expect discipline, precision, and adaptability from all of you. Our campaign to reclaim the mainland will not be won with brute force alone."


    The officers stood straighter, their faces serious as they nodded in agreement.


    "I want the howitzers and field guns in full production," Bruno continued. "We will need at least fifty howitzers and over a hundred field guns ready by the time the fleet sails. Ammunition reserves must be tripled.


    "Yes Your Highness!"

 Chapter 39 Visitor from Foreign Country

    April 5th, 1693 ¨C Loretto, Corse


    The afternoon sun bathed the royal palace of Loretto, now repurposed as Prince Bruno''s military headquarters, in a warm golden glow. A flag bearing the royal crest fluttered in the breeze atop the tallest spire. Inside the council chamber, Prince Bruno and his advisors awaited the arrival of a diplomat from the Kingdom of Greater Germania.


    "Are we certain about this man''s credibility?" Captain Vallier asked, adjusting the cuffs of his uniform. "Diplomats rarely act without hidden agendas."


    "We''re not naive, Captain," Bruno replied, his gaze focused on the large doors at the entrance. "Greater Germania is at war with the Republic, just like we are. They wouldn''t bother sending a representative unless they had something significant to offer¡ªor demand."


    General Berthold nodded. "Still, it''s wise to be cautious. They''ve been eying our territories for generations. Whatever assistance they offer will come at a cost."


    Before anyone could say more, the chamber doors swung open. A tall, imposing man dressed in a formal diplomatic coat entered the room, accompanied by two aides. He had sharp features, with an air of practiced authority and confidence. His long military overcoat bore the sigil of Greater Germania''s royal house.


    The herald announced him. "Presenting Lord Maximilian von Reichenbach, envoy of His Majesty King Wilhelm of Greater Germania."


    Maximilian gave a respectful bow. "Your Highness, Prince Bruno of Elysea. It is both an honor and a necessity that we meet today."


    Bruno stepped forward and extended his hand. "Lord Reichenbach, welcome to Loretto. We appreciate the effort you took to come here during such dangerous times."


    "Thank you, Your Highness." Maximilian shook Bruno''s hand firmly before stepping back. "I bring urgent matters from my king. Greater Germania stands with you in opposition to the Revolutionary Republic of Elysea. As you know, we have been engaged in hostilities along our western border. Their expansionist ideology threatens the stability of all monarchies in the region."


    Bruno gestured for Reichenbach to sit at the long table. Once the diplomat and his aides were seated, Bruno took his place at the head of the table, flanked by Vallier and Berthold.


    "I understand your concerns," Bruno began. "The Republic has made it clear that their goal is not just to control Elysea but to inspire similar uprisings across Europe. Your support in this fight could shift the balance of power in our favor. However, I''m curious about your king''s intentions. What does Greater Germania seek in exchange for aiding my cause?"


    Reichenbach nodded approvingly. "You are direct, Your Highness. I admire that. Yes, there is a matter of strategic interest we must discuss. One hundred years ago, your kingdom annexed the region of Alsace during the War of Succession. That territory has been a point of contention between our nations ever since. If we are to provide full military and financial support for your campaign, we will require Alsace to be returned to Greater Germania once you have reclaimed your throne."


    Bruno''s expression remained neutral, though his mind raced. Alsace... the territory rich in coal and iron. If I give that up, I''ll lose critical resources for rebuilding the kingdom and sustaining future conflicts.


    "I see," Bruno replied calmly. "Alsace is indeed a strategically important region. It has been under Elysean rule for a century now. To relinquish it would weaken our kingdom''s industrial capacity and economic future. I cannot agree to such terms."


    Maximilian leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing. "Your Highness, I do not wish to pressure you, but you must understand the reality we face. The Republic has already fortified its western front. If we do not act together, they may strike a crippling blow to both your cause and ours. We offer you a powerful alliance¡ªtroops, weapons, and access to our supply chains. All we ask is the return of what was historically ours."


    Captain Vallier clenched his fists. "Historically yours? Alsace has been part of Elysea for generations. That region is vital to us. Asking for it in exchange for help is no different than demanding our capitulation."


    Maximilian did not flinch. "Captain, this is not a matter of sentiment. It is geopolitics. Greater Germania cannot afford to commit its forces without securing its own interests."


    Bruno raised a hand to silence Vallier, his voice calm but firm. "I understand your position, Lord Reichenbach. You have your own people to protect, just as I do. But you also understand that I cannot compromise the future of my kingdom by ceding one of its most valuable regions."


    Reichenbach sighed, leaning back in his chair. "You drive a hard bargain, Your Highness. Very well. Let us be clear with one another. Whether or not you agree to our terms, we have no choice but to continue fighting the Republic. Their aggression threatens every monarch in Europe, including my king. If we fail to contain them, the revolutionary fire could spread to our borders."


    Bruno seized the opportunity. "Then we are in agreement on one thing¡ªour enemy is the Republic. I suggest we focus on mutual cooperation without territorial concessions for now. If our alliance succeeds, there may be other ways to resolve the Alsace dispute diplomatically."


    Maximilian studied Bruno carefully. "You propose that we aid you without demanding immediate compensation. That is a risky gamble."


    "It''s a gamble we both must take," Bruno countered. "If the Republic gains full control of Elysea, they will not stop there. Supporting my cause now increases our chances of victory on both fronts. If we are divided, we will both fall."


    The room fell into a tense silence. Finally, Maximilian smiled faintly. "You speak like a king, Your Highness. Very well. I will convey your proposal to King Wilhelm. In the meantime, you have our commitment to provide military advisors, intelligence, and logistical support. We will coordinate our efforts to weaken the Republic on multiple fronts."


    Bruno extended his hand once more. "Then we have a temporary understanding. Together, we will bring down the Republic." sea??h th§× NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Reichenbach shook his hand firmly. "Indeed. I look forward to the day when both our nations are free of revolutionary influence."


    As the diplomatic party departed, Bruno gathered his advisors to discuss the meeting''s outcome.


    "They''re playing a dangerous game," Vallier muttered. "They''ll wait until we''re desperate and then push the Alsace issue again."


    "I know," Bruno replied. "But for now, they need us as much as we need them. We''ll accept their help but remain vigilant. Our priority is to retake the mainland and rally the people. Once we''re in a position of strength, we''ll renegotiate from there."


    Berthold nodded. "Agreed. We can''t afford to lose Alsace. The resources there are too valuable for our long-term survival."


    "Then it''s settled," Bruno said, his tone resolute. "Prepare the fleet and finalize our battle plans. The Revolution''s days are numbered."

 Chapter 40 Onward to Elysea!

    April 20th, 1693 ¨C Port of Loretto, Corse


    The harbor of Loretto was alive with organized chaos. Royalist soldiers, sailors, and workers moved like a well-oiled machine as they prepared the fleet for departure. The captured Republican ship of the line and frigates had been fully repaired and refitted under Bruno''s command. Now, with banners bearing the crest of the House of Elysea flying high, the ships were ready to take the fight to the mainland.


    Prince Bruno stood on an elevated platform overlooking the docks, observing the operations below with a keen eye. The air was filled with the clatter of crates, the creaking of wooden planks under heavy cargo, and the distant shouts of officers issuing orders. The soldiers of his army, now numbering over 3,000, were boarding the vessels, each battalion assigned to a specific ship.


    Captain Vallier approached, saluting. "Your Highness, the boarding process is proceeding smoothly. All regiments have been assigned their ships. The final shipments of food, ammunition, and medical supplies are being loaded as we speak."


    Bruno nodded, turning to face Vallier. "Good. We''ve prepared for this moment for months. We can''t afford delays. Once everything is secured, signal the fleet to be ready for departure."


    "Yes, Your Highness," Vallier replied before hurrying off to oversee the final preparations.


    Bruno''s gaze shifted to the largest ship in the fleet¡ªthe Elysean Vow, the newly renamed ship of the line that had been captured from the Republic. Its three decks bristled with 80 cannons, their barrels gleaming in the sunlight. It would serve as the flagship for the campaign ahead. Other ships, including two frigates, four brigs, and several sloops, were positioned throughout the harbor, each with a role in the mission.


    Below the platform, Master Engineer Antoine Durand inspected the cannons being mounted on the ships. The 152mm howitzers and the smaller 76mm field guns had been carefully designed for both ship and shore operations. Sailors hauled crates filled with high-explosive shells, powder kegs, and cannonballs onto the deck of each vessel.


    Durand approached Bruno as he descended from the platform. "Your Highness, the artillery crews have completed their final inspections. All cannons are secure and fully operational. I''ve personally ensured that each ship''s armory has more than enough ammunition for the initial engagements."


    "Excellent work, Antoine," Bruno said, clasping the engineer''s shoulder. "These cannons will give us an edge in both naval and land battles. We''ll show the Republic that their time of terror is coming to an end."


    Nearby, General Berthold barked orders to the infantry regiments boarding their assigned ships. Each soldier carried a full complement of gear¡ªrifles, bayonets, rations, and spare ammunition. Supply officers checked manifests and tallied the inventory to ensure no critical supplies were left behind.


    "Keep the lines moving!" Berthold shouted. "We sail in a matter of hours. Everyone should be in their positions before sunset!"


    The soldiers obeyed without hesitation. Many of them had fought alongside Bruno during the defense of Corse, and their loyalty to him had only deepened after his speech in Loretto. They knew the stakes¡ªthis was not just a campaign to reclaim a throne but a battle for survival against a ruthless regime.


    Bruno strode up the gangplank of the Elysean Vow, greeted by the ship''s captain, Theodore LaSalle, a seasoned veteran who had defected from the Republic shortly after the revolution.


    "Your Highness," LaSalle saluted. "The flagship is fully manned and ready for your command. We''ve completed a full inspection of the sails, rigging, and weaponry. She''s seaworthy and ready for war."


    "Good to hear, Captain," Bruno replied, walking toward the helm. He glanced out over the harbor, watching as the final groups of soldiers boarded their ships. "We''ve come a long way since the siege of Loretto. Now, we take the first step toward liberating our homeland."


    LaSalle stood beside him, his expression grim but resolute. "The men are ready, Your Highness. They''ve endured much, but their spirits are high. They believe in your leadership¡ªand in the cause."


    "They will have their chance to prove their resolve," Bruno said quietly. "The Republic may believe they can crush us with sheer numbers, but they underestimate the will of those fighting for their homes and their freedom."


    Bruno''s thoughts briefly drifted to the Revolutionary Council in Elysee. He imagined their faces¡ªcold, calculating, filled with arrogance. They had executed his family, seized control of the nation, and spread fear across the land. Now, they would face the consequences of their actions.


    "Captain LaSalle, ensure that all ships receive the departure signal as soon as the final inventory checks are complete," Bruno ordered. "We leave nothing to chance." sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Understood, Your Highness," LaSalle replied, turning to relay the command to his officers.


    As the sun began to dip toward the horizon, the ships in the harbor came alive with activity. Sailors unfurled sails, and officers shouted commands as anchor chains were hauled aboard. Drummers aboard the Elysean Vow began to beat a steady cadence, signaling the fleet''s imminent departure.


    Prince Bruno returned to the observation platform one last time, addressing the gathered officers and soldiers below. His voice rang out over the harbor, carried by the evening breeze.


    "Today, we set sail not just for conquest, but for justice," he declared. "The Republic has stolen our country, destroyed our families, and trampled on the rights of our people. But they have made a fatal mistake¡ªthey left us alive, and they underestimated our resolve."


    The soldiers and sailors erupted in cheers, their voices rising in unison. "Long live the King! Long live Elysea!"


    Bruno raised his hand to silence them. "This journey will not be easy. We will face powerful enemies, but we have something they do not¡ªunity, purpose, and the knowledge that we fight for those who cannot fight for themselves. Let this be the beginning of their end."


    The cheers resumed, echoing across the port as the final preparations concluded. The fleet, now fully manned and supplied, began to pull away from the docks, sails billowing in the wind. Prince Bruno watched in silence, the weight of the mission ahead pressing on his shoulders.


    "This is it," Vallier said quietly beside him. "Our future begins now."


    Bruno nodded. "And we will not stop until Elysea is free."

 Chapter 41 Landing on the Mainland

    April 26th, 1693 ¨C Golfe-Juan, Elysea


    The fleet appeared on the horizon in the early morning light, the golden sun reflecting off the sea as the banners of the royal house fluttered proudly in the breeze. The Elysean Vow led the formation, its towering masts cutting a majestic figure as it glided toward the shores of Golfe-Juan. Behind it, frigates, brigs, and sloops followed in a disciplined line. The town''s harbor, a modest but functional port, lay nestled between the surrounding hills and cliffs.


    Prince Bruno stood at the helm of the flagship, his gaze fixed on the shoreline ahead. Despite the calm waters and the lack of visible defenses, he remained cautious. Intelligence reports had indicated that many smaller towns and villages had been left untouched by the Revolutionary forces, but Bruno knew better than to trust appearances.


    "Captain LaSalle," Bruno said, turning slightly, "send a signal to the rest of the fleet. We will proceed with caution. I want all ships ready to provide support if needed."


    LaSalle nodded, stepping to the signal officer. Within moments, flag signals were hoisted on the Elysean Vow, instructing the rest of the fleet to maintain defensive readiness.


    "Your Highness," Captain Vallier said, approaching, "scouts report no signs of enemy presence near the port. It seems the Republic has neglected this region entirely."


    Bruno frowned slightly. "Or they assume the local population is either loyal to them or too isolated to resist. Either way, we need to confirm their allegiance before we move forward."


    The fleet drew closer to the harbor, and Bruno gave the order to lower the longboats. Soldiers, armed and armored, filed into the boats while sailors prepared the docking equipment. Bruno himself descended from the deck, joining Vallier and General Berthold in one of the lead boats.


    The longboats reached the docks with little fanfare, the oars cutting cleanly through the water. Local fishermen and dockworkers, initially startled by the sight of an entire fleet, began to gather cautiously near the pier. They muttered among themselves, exchanging nervous glances as soldiers disembarked and took up defensive positions along the harbor. Some of the townspeople whispered questions¡ªwho were these soldiers, and why were they flying the royal banner?


    Bruno stepped onto the dock, his boots landing firmly on Elysean soil for the first time since the revolution. He adjusted his coat, emblazoned with the crest of the House of Elysea, and strode forward with confidence. Vallier and Berthold flanked him, their expressions serious but calm.


    An elderly man, dressed in the attire of a local merchant, cautiously stepped forward from the crowd. He hesitated before speaking, his voice wary but respectful.


    "Forgive me, Your Grace," the man said, bowing slightly. "We weren''t expecting visitors, especially... of this kind. Who are you, and why have you come to Golfe-Juan with an army?"


    Bruno stopped a few paces away and addressed the gathered crowd, his voice steady and clear. "My name is Prince Bruno of Elysea. I am the last surviving member of the royal family, and I have come to reclaim what was stolen from us."


    The crowd stirred with confusion and shock. Some gasped, while others exchanged incredulous looks. A younger man near the front shook his head in disbelief. "The Prince? But... we heard the entire royal family was executed two years ago! How can this be true?"


    Bruno''s gaze hardened as he raised his hand to calm the murmurs. "It is true that the Republic sought to exterminate my family. They killed my father, the King, my mother, the Queen, and many others. But by the will of fate, I survived. Now I stand before you not as a victim of their treachery, but as your rightful ruler, returned to restore order and justice to this land."


    A tense silence followed. Then, an elderly woman stepped forward, her eyes filled with both awe and sorrow. "The Republic has brought nothing but fear and division to our country," she said softly. "They spoke of equality, but all we''ve seen are soldiers taking what they please. If you truly are the Prince... what do you intend to do?"


    "I intend to reclaim the throne and put an end to the tyranny that has gripped our nation," Bruno answered without hesitation. "The Revolutionary Council has spread lies and fear to maintain their power. They believe they can intimidate the people into submission. But they are wrong. We will fight for a free and united Elysea¡ªone where justice and dignity are restored."


    More voices spoke up from the crowd.


    "They''ve bled our trade routes dry!"


    "Taxes have doubled since the Council took over!"


    "My cousin was taken by their conscription forces! We never heard from him again!"


    Bruno raised his hand once more. "Your suffering has not gone unnoticed. But I cannot win this war alone. I need your support¡ªyour strength and your courage. Together, we can drive the Republic from this land."


    The crowd slowly began to nod and murmur in agreement. Word of the Republic''s excesses had spread across the countryside, and while the townspeople had not been directly attacked, they had suffered economically and socially under the new regime.


    Captain Vallier leaned toward Bruno and whispered, "They''re beginning to rally to your cause, Your Highness. If we solidify their support, we''ll gain a valuable foothold here."


    Bruno nodded subtly. "It starts with trust," he replied under his breath before addressing the crowd again. "I will not force any of you to take up arms. But those willing to stand with us will be welcomed as allies. We will need craftsmen, scouts, and soldiers for the battles ahead. In return, I promise to protect this town and its people from the Republic''s retaliation."


    A young blacksmith stepped forward, clenching his fists. "I''ll join you, Your Highness! My brother fought and died defending the old monarchy. If you''re here to bring them to justice, then I''ll fight too!" sea??h th§× Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Others began stepping forward, offering their allegiance. The momentum shifted as the people of Golfe-Juan found renewed hope. They began organizing themselves, bringing forth supplies, offering intelligence on the surrounding region, and volunteering for the royalist army.


    By midday, Bruno''s officers had established a temporary command post in the town hall. Scouts were dispatched to neighboring villages, while supply officers coordinated with local merchants to secure food and materials for the fleet.


    As Bruno stood overlooking the harbor from the town square, Vallier approached with a report. "Your Highness, the locals have pledged their support. We''ve identified several strategic positions around the port to fortify. Scouts report no sign of Republican forces within fifty kilometers."


    "Good," Bruno said, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "This is only the beginning. We''ve taken the first step, but the real battles are still ahead. The Republic will not stand idly by once they learn of our presence here."


    "We''ll be ready," Vallier assured him.


    Bruno nodded. "Yes, we will. And when the time comes, we''ll make them regret the day they ever raised arms against Elysea."


    With the town of Golfe-Juan secured, Bruno''s campaign to reclaim the mainland had begun.

 Chapter 42 Consolidation

    April 27th, 1693 ¨C Golfe-Juan, Elysea


    By dawn, the port town of Golfe-Juan had transformed into a hub of royalist activity. Soldiers patrolled the streets, craftsmen reinforced strategic locations, and couriers rode out to nearby towns, spreading word of Prince Bruno''s arrival. The fleet anchored in the harbor remained a dominant presence, its ships fully stocked and ready to provide support for the growing resistance effort.


    Prince Bruno stood inside the command post in the town hall, a large map of the region spread out before him. General Berthold, Captain Vallier, and several other officers gathered around the table as scouts reported new information.


    "The surrounding villages are largely sympathetic to the crown," a scout reported. "Many of the local leaders have expressed their willingness to supply food and manpower. They''ve had minimal contact with Republican forces but have faced harsh taxation through intermediaries."


    Bruno traced his finger along the map, noting key roads and trade routes. "Good. These roads are essential for maintaining our supply lines. If we can control them, it will hinder the Republic''s ability to mobilize forces in this region."


    General Berthold nodded in agreement. "Securing the nearby towns will give us a solid foothold. But we must also consider the possibility of Republican retaliation. Once they discover you''ve landed, they won''t hesitate to send a response force."


    Bruno''s expression hardened. "They will come, but we''ll be ready. What''s the status of our fortifications?"


    "We''ve begun reinforcing the northern approaches to the town," Berthold replied. "The cliffs to the east provide natural protection, and we''ve stationed scouts along the coastal paths. If the Republic launches an attack, they''ll be funneled through limited entry points."


    Bruno turned to Captain Vallier. "And our artillery?"


    "The howitzers and field guns have been positioned on elevated ground overlooking the harbor," Vallier said. "Crews are conducting drills to ensure they can fire accurately and quickly. We''ve also mounted smaller cannons near the town center in case of a close-quarters assault."


    Bruno gave a nod of approval. "Good. Maintain those drills. The Republic won''t expect us to be this well-prepared. If they try to overwhelm us with numbers, we''ll make them pay dearly."


    By mid-morning, delegations from nearby villages arrived at the town hall. Farmers, blacksmiths, merchants, and former soldiers filled the chamber, each bringing news and pledges of support. One by one, they approached Bruno to offer their services.


    A burly blacksmith named Renaud stepped forward, his face weathered from years of hard labor. "Your Highness, we''ve got smithies in three villages ready to forge weapons and tools for your army. Just give us the materials, and we''ll keep your soldiers armed."


    "Your work is vital to our cause, Renaud," Bruno said with a firm handshake. "Coordinate with Master Engineer Durand. He''ll ensure you have the resources you need."


    Next came an elderly merchant named Pierre, who represented several trade networks along the southern coast. "We can smuggle supplies through the inland routes," he offered. "The Republic''s patrols rarely venture far from their main garrisons. With your fleet protecting the port, we can maintain a steady flow of goods."


    "Excellent," Bruno replied. "But be cautious. The Republic will tighten their grip on trade once they hear of our activities. Use decoys and false manifests if necessary. We cannot afford to lose vital supplies."


    As more allies pledged their support, the atmosphere in the room shifted from uncertainty to confidence. For many, this was the first glimmer of hope they had seen in years.


    Later that afternoon, Bruno addressed the townspeople once more from the square. Word had spread quickly, and residents from nearby villages had gathered to hear the prince speak. Hundreds of people filled the plaza, their eyes focused on the platform where Bruno stood.


    "People of Golfe-Juan and the surrounding lands," Bruno began, his voice steady and authoritative, "you have suffered under the weight of oppression and fear for too long. The Republic, in their quest for power, has abandoned the principles of justice and unity. They seek to erase our history and crush our spirit."


    The crowd listened intently, many nodding in agreement.


    "But today, we take the first step toward reclaiming our future. This land belongs to us¡ªthe people of Elysea¡ªnot to those who would rule through lies and violence. Together, we will drive the Republic from our shores and restore the dignity that they have stolen."


    A cheer rose from the crowd, growing louder with each passing moment.


    "Long live the King!" someone shouted, and the chant quickly spread through the plaza. S§×ar?h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Long live King Bruno! Long live Elysea!"


    Bruno raised his hand, signaling for silence. "I do not seek the throne for personal glory. I fight because it is my duty to protect this nation and its people. I fight for those who cannot defend themselves. And I ask you now¡ªwill you stand with me?"


    The crowd roared in affirmation, their voices echoing off the stone buildings surrounding the square.


    As the sun dipped lower in the sky, Bruno returned to the command post. Officers and advisors reviewed their plans for the next phase of the campaign.


    "We''ll begin moving our forces inland within the week," General Berthold said. "Our scouts have identified key strongholds under Republic control. If we take those, we can secure the entire southern region."


    Captain Vallier added, "We should also continue spreading our message to the larger towns. Once word of your return reaches them, more will likely join our cause."


    Bruno leaned over the map, considering their options. "Agreed. We''ll move carefully but decisively. The Republic is already stretched thin fighting the coalition to the north. If we strike swiftly, we can cripple their ability to reinforce these territories."


    He straightened, his expression resolute. "This is our time. We will not falter. Prepare the troops and the fleet for deployment. By the end of this campaign, the people of Elysea will know that their rightful prince has returned."


    The officers saluted, each man and woman ready to carry out their duties. Outside, the sounds of preparation continued as soldiers drilled and supplies were loaded onto wagons.


    Prince Bruno stepped out onto the balcony overlooking the town square. The people below looked up at him with hope and determination. He knew the road ahead would be long and perilous, but for the first time in years, the dream of a free and united Elysea felt within reach.

 Chapter 43 The Tactic

    The towering Bureau of State Security in the heart of Elysee was a grim fortress of information. Its black stone walls were lined with guards and watchtowers, while inside, operatives moved with cold efficiency. In one of the many high-security chambers, Minister Emilia Voss read a top-priority report delivered just that morning. The document bore an urgent seal from an intelligence officer stationed in the southern provinces.


    Prince Bruno had landed.


    Voss''s thin lips pressed into a tight line. She set the report on the table before her and rang a bell. Within moments, General Hector Bellerose and Jean-Paul Lafayette, the Minister of Trade and Finance, entered the chamber. Both men knew from Voss''s grim demeanor that the news was not in their favor.


    "Minister Voss," Bellerose said, his tone clipped, "what is the situation?" S~ea??h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Voss gestured to the report on the table. "We''ve confirmed the worst. Prince Bruno has landed in the south. He''s taken control of the port town of Golfe-Juan and secured the loyalty of nearby villages. Our spies report that his fleet consists of fully armed warships, and his army has grown to more than three thousand soldiers."


    Bellerose''s brow furrowed deeply. "Golfe-Juan... that''s a vital trade hub. How in the name of the Revolution did we let this happen?"


    "They used stealth," Voss replied coldly. "They approached under the cover of night, and the locals aided them. They''ve been consolidating power quickly, establishing alliances with merchants, farmers, and former soldiers. Word is already spreading that the ''rightful prince'' has returned."


    Lafayette adjusted his spectacles, his eyes narrowing. "If he controls Golfe-Juan, he''ll be able to disrupt our trade routes. Supplies from the south will slow, and merchants sympathetic to his cause may refuse to pay their taxes. This will cripple our economy, especially with the coalition of monarchies already blockading key ports."


    "Exactly," Voss said. "We cannot afford to let him expand his influence. The coalition of Greater Germania, Britannica, and the Orosk Empire is applying immense pressure on our borders. Prince Bruno''s rebellion is precisely the distraction they''ve been waiting for. If we''re not careful, we could face a two-front war."


    Bellerose stepped forward, his expression hardening. "Then let''s crush him now. We can dispatch a regiment to Golfe-Juan within days. I''ll personally lead the attack. The town isn''t fortified enough to withstand a full assault."


    "No," Voss interrupted firmly. "We''re stretched too thin on the northern front. Diverting forces to Golfe-Juan would leave our border vulnerable. The monarchies would seize the opportunity to advance deeper into our territory."


    "So, what''s your plan, Minister?" Bellerose demanded, crossing his arms.


    "We have to contain him in the south."


    "But that would mean committing a large number of forces, I am confused," Bellerose said.


    "Containment does not require brute force, General. It requires strategy¡ªcontrol of key points and the erosion of his resources. We won''t face him head-on; instead, we''ll isolate and strangle his operations until he is left with no viable options."


    Bellerose frowned but listened intently. "Explain."


    "First," Voss continued, tracing her finger over the map of southern Elysea, "we reinforce control over the roads and critical supply lines leading to Golfe-Juan. Bruno relies heavily on local support for food, supplies, and manpower. We will cut off those routes, placing strategic outposts along major roads and trade paths to intercept caravans and couriers."


    Lafayette nodded, following her movements on the map. "We have strong garrisons in the towns of Valence and Aix. If we fortify those positions and deploy patrols along the trade routes, we can severely hinder their ability to move goods."


    "Exactly," Voss said. "We create a network of blockades and checkpoints designed to prevent any reinforcement or supply from reaching Golfe-Juan. At the same time, we escalate pressure on the local population. Offer rewards to those who cooperate with us and punishments for those who assist the royalists."


    Bellerose interjected, his tone skeptical. "And what of his fleet? If they control the coastline, they can resupply through the sea. We don''t have enough warships in the south to blockade Golfe-Juan effectively."


    "True," Voss conceded, "which is why we won''t waste resources on a full naval blockade. Instead, we deploy smaller, fast-attack vessels¡ªcorvettes and gunboats¡ªto harass their ships. Keep them on constant alert, force them to waste time and resources defending their convoys. Additionally, we send infiltrators to sabotage their dockyards and damage their vessels while they''re anchored."


    Lafayette cleared his throat. "While military measures are necessary, I believe economic warfare will play a crucial role here. The merchants who have aligned with Bruno are motivated by opportunity. We can counter that by offering trade incentives to those who remain loyal to the Republic. I''ll also tighten control on inland trade routes. If merchants know they''ll lose profits by siding with the prince, many will abandon him."


    Voss nodded approvingly. "Exactly. Starve him of resources and allies. Infiltrate his networks, spread misinformation, and create divisions among his supporters. If we do this right, Bruno will be forced to either overextend his forces in desperate attacks or retreat entirely. Either way, he''ll be contained."


    Bellerose crossed his arms, his jaw tightening. "What if he pushes forward despite the containment? What if he takes more towns and rallies a larger army?"


    "That''s the risk," Voss admitted. "But with the coalition threatening our northern borders, we cannot afford to overcommit forces to the south. Our best option is to keep him boxed in, bleed his army through attrition, and crush his morale over time."


    "So in essence, this plan only works if the Prince doesn''t move aggressively," Bellerose said, skepticism still lingering in his tone. "But what if Bruno anticipates this and presses forward before we can establish our containment lines? The man isn''t a fool. He''s demonstrated a keen strategic mind so far."


    Voss''s expression hardened. "Then we will ensure that he is forced to move cautiously. Disinformation will be our weapon. Spread rumors of a large Republican force advancing from the north. If Bruno believes he''s about to be surrounded, he''ll waste time reinforcing his defenses and consolidating his position instead of expanding."


    "And if he calls our bluff?" Bellerose asked, raising an eyebrow.


    "Then we strike swiftly at his supply depots," Voss replied coldly. "We''ll organize raids and sabotage operations to cripple his logistics. Without supplies, an army cannot march. His soldiers will grow weary, demoralized, and eventually desert him if they face hunger and scarcity."


    "I see¡­"

 Chapter 44 Too Late for That Plan

    May 14th, 1693 ¨C Southern Elysea Countryside


    Prince Bruno''s army marched steadily across the rolling fields, their banners fluttering in the spring breeze. Over three thousand soldiers strong, the force moved with discipline and precision. Among them, two thousand carried newly issued bolt-action rifles, each man equipped with ample ammunition and trained in modern firing drills. The remainder of the army was armed with a mix of rifles, bayonets, and sabers, supported by the new artillery units.


    Howitzers and field guns, designed under Bruno''s supervision, were mounted on reinforced carriages and hauled by teams of horses. Supply wagons carried food, medical equipment, and additional ammunition, ensuring the army was ready for prolonged engagements.


    Bruno rode at the front of the formation, flanked by Captain Vallier, General Berthold, and Antoine Leclerc. Scouts had reported the location of the first major obstacle in their campaign: Fort Vaillac, an imposing Republican stronghold that controlled the primary route leading toward Elysee. It was one of four key fortifications that had to be captured if the royalists were to push inland.


    "Fort Vaillac is positioned on elevated ground," Leclerc explained, pointing to a hand-drawn map as they paused near a hill overlooking the plains. "It was reinforced after the revolution. They''ve added multiple layers of defense¡ªtrenches, stone walls, and artillery emplacements. It won''t be an easy target."


    Berthold grunted in agreement. "The fort guards the main road north. If we don''t take it, we''ll be bottlenecked here, and the Republic can funnel reinforcements from other garrisons. We''ll be stuck fighting a war of attrition."


    Bruno dismounted, stepping closer to the map. He traced the positions marked in ink, calculating their next move. "What''s the enemy''s estimated strength?"


    "Roughly eight hundred soldiers," Vallier replied. "They have six artillery pieces, including two long-range cannons positioned on the ramparts. Their commander is Colonel Dumont¡ªa veteran from the early days of the revolution."


    Bruno''s eyes narrowed. "They''re outnumbered, but they have the advantage of fortifications. A frontal assault would be costly, especially if they have overlapping fields of fire. Fortunately, we have our new cannons with us. I want to see them debut in this battle."


    General Berthold stepped forward, his expression resolute. "What are your orders, Your Highness?"


    Bruno pointed to a ridge on the map positioned south of the fort. "We''ll deploy the 152mm howitzers here. The elevation will allow us to bombard their ramparts and artillery emplacements from a safe distance."


    Captain Vallier added, "With the fort under bombardment, their defenders will be forced to retreat from the exposed ramparts. We can exploit that window of confusion."


    Bruno nodded. "Exactly. Once their artillery is neutralized, we''ll move the infantry in two waves. General Berthold, you''ll lead the main attack from the west. Captain Vallier, your detachment will create a diversionary assault on the eastern approach. This will draw their attention and divide their forces."


    "Understood," Vallier affirmed. "How many men for the diversion?"


    "Eight hundred," Bruno replied. "That will be enough to keep them preoccupied without overcommitting our forces."


    Antoine Leclerc, Bruno''s chief advisor, crossed his arms thoughtfully. "The terrain favors them, but if the artillery does its job, the psychological shock will make their defense collapse. What''s the estimated time to breach?"


    Bruno glanced at Durand, who spoke confidently. "If we maintain steady fire, two hours at most. Once their defenses are broken, it will be up to the infantry to finish the job."


    Bruno''s gaze swept across the gathered officers. "This battle will set the tone for our campaign. We take this fort, and the road to the capital opens."


    Dawn ¨C Near Fort Vaillac


    The sun had barely begun to rise when the royalist forces moved into position. The fog clung to the fields and hills, providing cover as artillery crews set up their howitzers on the ridge. The heavy cannons were anchored securely, their barrels aimed at the fort''s towering walls.


    Bruno rode along the artillery line, inspecting each position. Soldiers saluted as he passed, their faces tense but determined. He stopped beside Durand, who was making final adjustments to a cannon''s targeting mechanism.


    "Everything in place?" Bruno asked.


    Durand nodded. "The crews are ready. Once we start firing, we''ll target their ramparts and gun emplacements first. That should disrupt their ability to coordinate."


    Bruno turned to the gun crews and raised his arm, signaling the start of the bombardment. "Fire!"


    The howitzers roared in unison, sending their high-explosive shells arcing through the early morning sky. Moments later, thunderous explosions shook the fort as the shells slammed into the stone walls. Plumes of smoke and debris rose into the air, and terrified shouts echoed from within the stronghold.


    The first volley was followed by a second and then a third. The royalist artillery maintained a steady rhythm, pounding the fort with relentless precision. Bruno observed through a spyglass as sections of the southern wall began to crack and crumble.


    He could see that the republicans doesn''t know who is hitting them as they are beyond range."


    "Keep the pressure on. They''ll break before they can organize a counter-attack."


    Durand, standing beside him, adjusted his stance and issued orders to the artillery crews. "Focus fire on their southern defenses! Maintain intervals between volleys. We want them scrambling to find cover."


    The howitzers roared again, sending another salvo of high-explosive shells hurtling toward the fort. The impact was immediate¡ªchunks of stone shattered, and part of the outer wall collapsed with a deafening crash. Soldiers on the ramparts were thrown into disarray, some retreating from their posts while others fired blindly in desperation.


    "Target their cannons," Bruno ordered, pointing to one of the remaining gun emplacements. "If we disable their artillery, the infantry will have a clean path to advance."


    "Yes, Your Highness," Durand acknowledged, relaying the command to the nearest gun crews.


    Within moments, another volley hit the fort''s ramparts. One of the long-range cannons was obliterated, the explosion sending fragments of iron and stone scattering across the battlements. Bruno could hear the faint cries of disoriented soldiers echoing through the valley.


    Inside Fort Vaillac


    Colonel Dumont staggered through the smoke-filled courtyard, barking orders to his panicked men. "Hold your positions! Get those cannons firing now!"


    "Colonel, the southern wall is collapsing!" a lieutenant shouted, his face pale with fear. "They''ve destroyed two of our main batteries!"


    "Then relocate the others! We can''t let them gain the upper hand!" Dumont snapped, but he knew the situation was slipping out of control. Whoever was attacking them had superior artillery and was firing from a concealed position beyond their range.


    Dumont clenched his jaw, scanning the horizon. "Prepare the reserves. If they breach, we''ll make our stand at the inner defenses. Send word to our garrison at Valence¡ªwe need reinforcements now!"


    Bruno dismounted from his horse as General Berthold approached with an update. "Your Highness, the bombardment has crippled their defenses. Our scouts report that parts of the southern and western walls are breached."


    "Good," Bruno replied, his tone decisive. "It''s time for the infantry to advance. General, lead the main force from the west as planned. Captain Vallier, commence the diversionary assault on the eastern approach. We''ll trap them between our two forces." S§×ar?h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 45 Victory in Our Hands!

    May 14th, 1693 ¨C Assault on Fort Vaillac


    The battlefield erupted with action as Prince Bruno''s orders were executed. The royalist infantry surged forward, advancing under the protective cover of artillery fire. General Berthold led the main attack from the west, while Captain Vallier''s detachment launched their diversionary assault on the eastern approach.


    Bruno remained at the forward command post, his eyes never leaving the fort as he watched through his spyglass. From his vantage point, he saw smoke billowing from shattered sections of the fort''s walls. The artillery had done its job, reducing the enemy''s defenses to crumbling ruins. Now, it was up to the infantry to take the stronghold.


    The Main Assault ¨C Western Wall


    "Hold the line! Advance on my command!" General Berthold barked as he rode ahead of the advancing soldiers.


    The royalist infantry moved in tight formations, their bayonets fixed and their rifles ready. Enemy riflemen fired from the few remaining sections of the fort''s ramparts, but with their defensive positions compromised, their shots were rushed and inaccurate. The royalists returned fire with deadly precision, their bolt-action rifles cutting down exposed defenders.


    "Engineers, forward!" Berthold commanded.


    A team of combat engineers carrying demolition charges sprinted toward the breaches in the wall. Despite sporadic enemy fire, they reached the weakened structure and quickly set their explosives. Moments later, a thunderous explosion echoed across the battlefield, creating a wider breach for the advancing soldiers.


    "Charge!" Berthold roared.


    The royalists surged through the gap, engaging the remaining defenders in brutal close-quarters combat. Bayonets clashed, rifle butts struck skulls, and hand-to-hand fighting ensued in the rubble-strewn corridors of the outer defenses.


    One young soldier, barely out of his teens, drove his bayonet into a Republican officer''s chest. The officer crumpled to the ground with a gurgling cry. Around him, royalist soldiers pushed forward, forcing the enemy to retreat deeper into the fort.


    "Push them back! Give them no quarter!" Berthold urged, leading from the front.


    The Diversionary Assault ¨C Eastern Approach


    Meanwhile, Captain Vallier''s detachment pressed hard against the eastern defenses. Their attack, though intended as a diversion, was executed with fierce determination. The royalists exchanged volleys with entrenched Republican soldiers who struggled to maintain their positions amid the chaos.


    "Keep up the pressure!" Vallier shouted. "Suppress their fire and advance by squads!"


    Royalist soldiers advanced in staggered formations, using cover effectively as they fired in coordinated bursts. The crack of rifle fire filled the air as Vallier''s men methodically cleared the outer trenches. Smoke and dust obscured much of the battlefield, making it difficult for the defenders to see where the main threat lay. S§×arch* The novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    As more Republican soldiers were drawn to the eastern defenses, the pressure on General Berthold''s main force decreased. Bruno''s plan was working perfectly¡ªthe enemy was divided and disoriented.


    Inside Fort Vaillac


    Colonel Dumont paced furiously near the inner courtyard. His face was drenched in sweat, and his once-pristine uniform was stained with soot and dirt. The collapse of the southern and western walls had thrown his entire defense into chaos. Reports of breaches and heavy casualties streamed in from every direction.


    "Colonel, the royalists have breached the outer defenses on both sides!" a panicked officer reported. "We''re being overrun!"


    "Then we hold the inner defenses!" Dumont snapped. "Pull every available man to the central barracks. We make our stand here!"


    The defenders scrambled to regroup, but it was clear to Dumont that they were losing control. The sound of royalist artillery and rifle fire drew closer with each passing moment.


    The Final Push


    Prince Bruno rode closer to the battlefield as the infantry made their final advance. He dismounted and walked among his officers, issuing direct orders to ensure the momentum was maintained.


    "Berthold''s forces have breached the walls," Vallier reported, approaching Bruno. "The enemy is falling back to the central courtyard. Their numbers are dwindling."


    "Good," Bruno replied. "Have the artillery cease fire. I don''t want to risk hitting our own men. Order Berthold to encircle the courtyard. We''ll give the defenders one chance to surrender."


    Vallier saluted and quickly relayed the command.


    Within the hour, the royalists had secured most of the fort. General Berthold''s soldiers encircled the courtyard, their rifles aimed at the remaining defenders, who were now cornered and outnumbered. Colonel Dumont stood defiantly among his men, refusing to order a surrender despite the hopeless situation.


    A royalist officer approached under a flag of truce. "Colonel Dumont, by order of Prince Bruno of Elysea, you are offered the chance to surrender. Lay down your arms, and your men will be spared."


    Dumont clenched his fists, his pride battling with the reality of defeat. Around him, his soldiers looked exhausted and demoralized. Some had already dropped their weapons, realizing there was no point in further resistance.


    "I..." Dumont began, his voice strained. He hesitated, then finally let out a defeated sigh. "I will speak with your prince."


    Shortly after, Colonel Dumont was brought before Prince Bruno near the shattered gates of Fort Vaillac. The two men faced each other in tense silence.


    "You''ve fought well, Colonel," Bruno said and continued. "But this battle is over. There is no shame in surrendering to prevent further bloodshed."


    Dumont''s voice was calm, almost too calm. "You have your victory, Prince Bruno," he repeated, stepping forward. "But the Republic will not fall so easily."


    Bruno maintained his composure, observing the colonel''s subtle body language¡ªtensed muscles, clenched jaw, and darting eyes. He sensed the shift in the atmosphere and remained alert.


    Dumont moved closer, his boots crunching over loose stones. "You may think you''ve won here, but all it takes is one act... and this war changes forever."


    In a sudden blur of motion, Dumont lunged forward, pulling a concealed knife from his sleeve, aiming for Bruno''s heart. Gasps erupted from the surrounding soldiers as time seemed to slow.


    Bruno was ready.


    In one fluid motion, he pulled a musket pistol from his belt and leveled it at Dumont''s chest.


    Then with a pull of the trigger, the pistol fired with a deafening crack, the sound echoing through the ruined walls of Fort Vaillac. Colonel Dumont staggered, the knife slipping from his grasp as he clutched his chest, blood seeping through his uniform. His eyes widened in shock as he fell to his knees, gasping for air.


    . Bruno stepped forward, lowering the smoking pistol, his expression cold but resolute.


    Dumont struggled to speak, his voice barely a whisper. "You... think... this changes anything...?"


    Bruno knelt slightly, locking eyes with the dying colonel. "It changes everything. The Republic can''t hide behind terror and deception forever. You''ve lost this fort, and you''ll lose the war."

 Chapter 46 One Fort Down

    May 15th, 1693.


    The sun rose over Fort Vaillac, casting light on the scars of the previous day''s battle. The royalist banners now fluttered above the crumbled ramparts. Soldiers moved swiftly through the corridors and courtyards, clearing debris, securing weapons, and tending to the wounded. Prince Bruno stood on a raised platform overlooking the fort, his expression serious as he watched his men organize the aftermath of their victory.


    General Berthold and Captain Vallier approached, saluting. "The fort is fully under our control, Your Highness," Berthold reported. "The remaining defenders have been disarmed, and their wounded are receiving medical attention alongside our own."


    "Good," Bruno replied. He turned to Vallier. "And the civilians in the area?"


    "They''ve remained inside their homes, watching cautiously," Vallier answered. "Many fled to nearby villages before the battle. We''ve sent word that they may return and that no harm will come to them."


    Bruno''s gaze hardened. "See that it stays that way. Our objective is liberation, not terror. I won''t have our men looting or harassing the local population."


    Berthold frowned slightly. "Some soldiers might see this as an opportunity to take spoils. It''s a tradition in war, after all."


    "That tradition ends here," Bruno said firmly. "I will not allow this army to devolve into a band of marauders. Gather the officers and bring the troops to the central courtyard. I''ll address them myself."


    A few hours later, hundreds of royalist soldiers stood assembled in the central courtyard of Fort Vaillac. They stood in ranks, many still dusty and bloodied from the battle. Officers barked orders to ensure discipline, and a tense quiet settled over the gathered men as Prince Bruno took his place on a platform at the front.


    Bruno''s eyes scanned the crowd, noting the weariness and pride on their faces. He spoke with a commanding voice that carried across the courtyard.


    "Soldiers of Elysea, you have fought with courage and honor. You have delivered us a great victory today. Fort Vaillac, a key stronghold of the Republic, is now in our hands. This is a moment to be proud of."


    The soldiers murmured in agreement, some raising their fists in quiet celebration.


    "But," Bruno continued, his tone hardening, "with this victory comes responsibility. We are not here to conquer our own people. We are here to free them. The Republic rules through fear and oppression. We will not make the same mistake. We will win the hearts and loyalty of the people through justice and discipline¡ªnot through looting and violence." S§×arch* The ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    A few soldiers exchanged nervous glances, clearly understanding the implications of his words.


    "Any man caught stealing from or harming civilians will be punished," Bruno declared. "We are soldiers, not brigands. Our mission is to restore peace and order to Elysea. You represent that mission. Do not forget it."


    General Berthold stepped forward. "You heard His Highness! Maintain discipline at all times! Any breach of conduct will be dealt with swiftly."


    The soldiers saluted in unison, their respect for Bruno clear in their eyes. As the assembly dispersed, Bruno watched them march away to continue their duties. Vallier stood beside him, nodding in approval.


    "They''ll follow you, Your Highness," Vallier said. "They know you mean what you say."


    "They have to," Bruno replied. "If we lose the trust of the people, this war will drag on indefinitely."


    Word of Fort Vaillac''s fall spread quickly through the southern countryside. Villagers who had feared Republican retaliation cautiously returned to their homes. Many were greeted by royalist patrols offering assurances of protection and fairness. Merchants and farmers who had withheld support now saw an opportunity to align themselves with the prince''s cause.


    In nearby towns, local leaders sent delegations to the fort, offering supplies and manpower. Bruno met with several of them in the fort''s refurbished command chamber.


    "We are at your service, Your Highness," said Pierre Fournier, a respected elder from the town of Saint-Amand. "The people are ready to provide food and shelter for your army. Many of our young men wish to enlist as well."


    "Your support is invaluable," Bruno replied, shaking the man''s hand. "With your help, we can secure this region and protect it from further Republican aggression."


    Bruno spent the next few hours coordinating efforts to stabilize the area. Engineers repaired the fort''s walls, while scouts mapped out the next phase of the campaign. Supplies flowed steadily into the fort, bolstering the royalist army''s readiness for future battles.


    Several days later, the news of Fort Vaillac''s capture reached the Revolutionary Council in Elysee. Minister Emilia Voss sat in her office, reading the urgent report with a growing scowl. She slammed the document onto her desk, causing several nearby aides to flinch.


    "Colonel Dumont has failed," she muttered. "The fort has fallen, and Prince Bruno now controls a vital route toward the capital."


    General Hector Bellerose entered the room, his jaw clenched in frustration. "We underestimated him. Our forces in the south weren''t prepared for this kind of coordinated assault. Dumont''s incompetence has cost us dearly."


    "What''s the status of our other fortifications?" Voss demanded.


    "Fort Rochevelle is reinforcing its defenses," Bellerose replied. "Captain Armand has been instructed to hold at all costs. We''ve also mobilized additional regiments to bolster our garrisons along the southern front."


    "Good," Voss said coldly. "But that won''t be enough. Bruno''s victories will embolden the populace. We need to break his momentum before it''s too late."


    Lafayette, the Minister of Trade and Finance, entered the chamber with a grim expression. "The fall of Vaillac is already affecting our trade routes. Merchants in the south are refusing to pay taxes. They''re siding with Bruno."


    Voss''s eyes darkened. "Then we''ll make an example of those who betray the Republic. Begin seizing assets and arresting suspected collaborators. We will tighten our control over the economy and the population."


    "And what of Bruno himself?" Bellerose asked. "He''s proven to be a capable strategist. If we don''t stop him soon, he could reach Elysee."


    "We''ll stop him," Voss replied icily. "Send infiltrators to sow discord among his ranks. Spread rumors of betrayal and dissent. And prepare our elite forces. If he wants a war, we''ll give him one he won''t survive."


    The room fell into a tense silence as the council members absorbed the gravity of the situation. The battle for Elysea was far from over, and both sides knew that the next confrontation would be even bloodier than the last.

 Chapter 47 Taking them a bit Seriously

    May 20th, 1693 ¨C The Southern Rebellion Expands


    Prince Bruno stood at the gates of Fort Vaillac, observing as scouts and couriers galloped across the countryside on horseback. The royalist victory had ignited a chain reaction¡ªneighboring towns and villages that had once been hesitant now saw an opportunity to rise against the Republic. Farmers, merchants, and artisans, many of whom had endured years of harsh taxes and oppressive laws, were rallying to the cause.


    In the nearby town of Saint-Amand, the atmosphere was charged with anticipation. The streets were crowded with citizens eager to hear from royalist envoys. Blue and gold banners bearing the crest of the House of Elysea were raised over the central square as representatives from the royalist army addressed the townspeople.


    "Our prince has returned!" a royalist officer declared, standing on a makeshift podium. "Fort Vaillac has fallen! The Republic''s stranglehold on the south is weakening. Prince Bruno fights not for power, but for your freedom¡ªfreedom from fear, from unjust taxes, and from tyranny. Join us, and together, we will reclaim our kingdom!"


    The crowd erupted in cheers. Local leaders, many of whom had been sitting on the fence out of fear of Republican retaliation, stepped forward to pledge their support. Armed citizens began organizing themselves into militias, ready to defend their homes and assist the advancing royalist army.


    However, the Republic was not idle. As Minister Voss had ordered, teams of infiltrators were dispatched to the region to spread dissent among Bruno''s supporters. They posed as defectors or disillusioned royalist soldiers, whispering rumors of betrayal, greed, and hidden motives. False reports of royalist officers mistreating civilians were circulated in an attempt to erode trust in Bruno''s leadership.


    But the plan quickly faltered.


    Bruno had anticipated such tactics. He had instructed his officers to maintain strict communication channels, ensuring that rumors could be swiftly identified and disproven. When word spread that royalist soldiers were looting villages, Bruno himself led an investigation and uncovered the impostors responsible. The infiltrators were captured and publicly exposed as agents of the Republic.


    In the village of Mireille, the local mayor, an elderly man named Henri Lemoine, addressed the gathered townsfolk after the infiltrators were brought to justice.


    "These deceivers sought to turn us against one another," Lemoine said with a raised voice. "But His Highness Bruno has shown us integrity and justice. He has promised us protection and has delivered on that promise. We will not be divided by the Republic''s lies!"


    The villagers responded with resounding approval, their loyalty to the royalist cause solidified.


    Back at Fort Vaillac, Prince Bruno''s army continued to grow. Hundreds of volunteers arrived from surrounding regions, many bringing their own weapons and supplies. Engineers worked tirelessly to expand the fort''s defenses, while new recruits underwent rigorous training under the supervision of General Berthold and Captain Vallier.


    Antoine Leclerc, Bruno''s chief advisor, approached him in the command chamber. "Your Highness, our forces have swelled to nearly five thousand. More volunteers are expected in the coming weeks. At this rate, we''ll have enough manpower to launch an offensive on the next stronghold, Fort Rochevelle."


    Bruno nodded thoughtfully. "And what of supplies?"


    "Abundant," Leclerc replied. "The local farmers have pledged food, and merchants are providing materials. We''ve also secured additional artillery and ammunition from hidden stockpiles that sympathizers had been guarding for years."


    "Good," Bruno said. He paused, then added, "What of the Republic''s movements?"


    Leclerc sighed. "They''re scrambling to contain the situation. Reinforcements are being mobilized from the north, but they''re stretched thin due to the coalition''s pressure on their borders. Still, we must remain cautious. They won''t let us march to the capital unchallenged."


    Bruno leaned over the map on the table, his finger tracing the route toward Fort Rochevelle. "They''ll likely try to reinforce this position next. If we can strike before they organize, we''ll maintain the momentum." sea??h th§× N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Meanwhile, in Elysee, the Revolutionary Council was in disarray. Minister Voss, General Bellerose, and Jean-Paul Lafayette convened in an emergency session to assess the rapidly deteriorating situation.


    "Our efforts to destabilize the royalists have failed," Voss announced bitterly. "The infiltrators were exposed, and now Bruno''s propaganda machine is stronger than ever. More towns are declaring allegiance to him by the day."


    Bellerose slammed his fist on the table. "We need more troops! Send everything we have to Fort Rochevelle. We''ll crush him there and end this rebellion before it spreads further."


    "We don''t have the luxury of mobilizing everything," Lafayette argued. "Our northern borders are under constant threat from Greater Germania and Britannica. If we overcommit to the south, we risk losing territory to the coalition."


    "Then we must make an example of one of these rebellious towns," Voss said coldly. "If they see what happens to those who defy us, fear will return to their hearts."


    Bellerose shook his head. "That won''t work. Bruno''s forces have the support of the people now. Brutality will only drive more of them into his arms."


    "No¡­ it will work. It happens throughout history," Voss insisted, her voice cold and resolute. "When people see what happens to those who defy authority, they''ll choose survival. Fear can be a stronger motivator than hope. They''ll be forced to join us."


    General Bellerose crossed his arms, skepticism etched on his face. "Perhaps. But we''ve already seen how quickly Bruno responds to our tactics. He anticipated the infiltrators, exposed them, and turned it to his advantage. Any heavy-handed measures may backfire just as quickly."


    "Fear works only if your enemy doesn''t have a protector," Lafayette added cautiously. "Bruno is that protector now. Any drastic punishment will push more towns and villages to his cause."


    Voss narrowed her eyes. "Then we must act with precision. We won''t attack the entire region¡ªjust one key town. A place where royalist influence is growing but not yet solidified. If we strike decisively, other communities will hesitate before joining him."


    Bellerose sighed and leaned forward over the table. "Fine. Choose your target. But we don''t have much time. Bruno will push for Fort Rochevelle soon. If he takes it, the southern front is lost."

 Chapter 48 Now Its Time to get Serious

    May 24th, 1693.


    Under Voss''s orders, a detachment of 1,000 Republican soldiers advanced toward the village of Mireille, a small but strategically significant settlement located near Fort Vaillac. Republican spies reported that the town''s leaders were considering formally pledging allegiance to Prince Bruno. The goal was to crush the village and instill fear in nearby communities before they aligned with the royalists.


    The Republicans entered Mireille at dawn, armed with orders to take hostages and destroy key infrastructure. The village square was eerily quiet as the soldiers marched in formation, their boots echoing on the cobblestones.


    "Search the buildings," the Republican captain ordered. "Round up the villagers."


    His men spread out, banging on doors and forcing terrified families into the square. Mothers clutched their children, while elderly townsfolk huddled together, whispering prayers. The captain stepped forward, addressing the crowd with a voice of authority.


    "This village is guilty of harboring traitors. You''ve given aid and comfort to the enemies of the Republic. That will not be tolerated."


    Before he could continue, the sound of a distant trumpet echoed through the air, followed by the unmistakable thunder of hoofbeats. The captain froze, turning toward the village entrance.


    "They''re here¡­" he muttered.


    Prince Bruno''s army, led by Captain Vallier and supported by local militia, arrived with speed and ferocity. The royalist cavalry charged down the main road, sabers flashing in the morning light. Behind them, ranks of infantry advanced with precision, rifles raised.


    "Hold the line!" Vallier shouted. "Protect the villagers! Drive them out!"


    The Republican soldiers, caught off guard, scrambled to form a defensive perimeter, but it was too late. The cavalry crashed into their ranks, scattering them like leaves in the wind. Rifle fire erupted from both sides, the royalists firing in coordinated volleys that decimated the enemy''s front line.


    Villagers, emboldened by the sight of their protectors, seized improvised weapons and joined the fight. Armed with pitchforks, clubs, and hunting rifles, they attacked the disoriented Republicans from alleyways and rooftops.


    The battle was over within an hour. The surviving Republican soldiers fled, abandoning their weapons as they retreated toward the forest. Bruno and his officers entered the village square, where the townspeople greeted them with cheers and tears of relief.


    "You came just in time, Your Highness," Mayor Lemoine said, stepping forward with a bow. "They were going to destroy us."


    Bruno dismounted and shook the mayor''s hand. "You''re under my protection now. The Republic will not harm you again."


    Vallier approached and saluted. "The enemy has been routed. Shall we pursue?"


    "No," Bruno replied, his gaze hard. "Let them run. They''ll spread word of their defeat, and it will demoralize the Republic''s forces. Secure the village and tend to the wounded. We''ll use this victory to rally more support."


    ***


    Over the next few days, news of the failed Republican raid on Mireille spread like wildfire. Delegations from nearby towns, including Saint-Amand and Arles, arrived at Fort Vaillac to offer their allegiance. Village leaders pledged food, weapons, and militia recruits to bolster the royalist army.


    In a meeting with his officers, Bruno emphasized the importance of maintaining discipline and trust. "The people are watching us closely," he said. "Every action we take will shape their perception of this rebellion. We must continue to demonstrate that we are fighting for justice and liberation, not conquest."


    General Berthold nodded in agreement. "Our forces now stand at nearly six thousand, Your Highness. With this momentum, we can strike at Fort Rochevelle before the Republic regroups."


    "Then we''ll move swiftly," Bruno declared. "They won''t have time to reinforce their defenses. We march within the week."


    ***


    May 30th, 1693.


    The Revolutionary Council convened in a large chamber within the Bureau of State Security. Minister Emilia Voss, General Hector Bellerose, and Minister of Trade Jean-Paul Lafayette stood around a war table strewn with maps and reports. The mood was tense. Each failed attempt to destabilize the royalist rebellion had only strengthened Prince Bruno''s growing influence. The council was finally forced to confront the reality: psychological warfare had failed.


    General Bellerose leaned over the table and slammed his fist down. "Enough with covert tactics! We''ve wasted valuable time and resources on infiltration and intimidation, and none of it has worked. The Prince''s forces are gaining momentum, and more towns are joining him every day. We need to hit him head-on."


    Voss crossed her arms and nodded reluctantly. "I agree. The people have seen through our fear tactics, and Bruno has positioned himself as a champion of justice. If we''re going to stop this rebellion, we have to defeat him on the battlefield."


    "Exactly," Bellerose added. "But that means deploying a significant force to the south. We cannot afford to lose another major stronghold like Fort Rochevelle."


    Lafayette interjected. "And how do you propose we do that without weakening our northern defenses? We''re still at war with Greater Germania and Britannica. Our supply lines are stretched thin, and we can''t divert everything to the south."


    Bellerose turned to Voss with a resolute expression. "There''s one option left. We need to recall General Lucien Marceau."


    The room fell silent for a moment. The name carried weight. General Marceau was a living legend¡ªrenowned for his victories against Britannica''s armies and his ability to turn the tide of impossible battles. However, he had been reassigned to the northern front to hold back the coalition forces.


    Voss''s eyes narrowed. "Marceau? He''s our best commander, but he''s already engaged in critical operations near the northern borders."


    "Critical, yes," Bellerose replied, "but reports indicate that Marceau''s forces have been outperforming Germania. They''ve driven deep into enemy territory and secured key strongholds. If anyone can afford to be temporarily withdrawn, it''s him."


    Lafayette hesitated. "If we pull him from the northern front, we risk losing ground. What if the coalition pushes back while he''s gone?"


    Bellerose shook his head. "Marceau has capable subordinates who can maintain the front. We can''t win this war by holding ground alone. If Bruno takes Fort Rochevelle and establishes full control over the south, we''ll be facing a rebellion strong enough to march on the capital." S§×ar?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Voss considered the proposal carefully. She disliked the idea of shifting resources from one front to another, but the current situation was spiraling out of control. Marceau''s presence in the south might be their last chance to crush the royalist uprising before it became a full-scale civil war.


    "Fine," she said at last. "Send the order. General Marceau is to lead a campaign against Prince Bruno. I want him mobilized within two weeks. We''ll coordinate reinforcements and supplies to support the offensive."


    Bellerose saluted. "I''ll handle it personally. The prince won''t know what hit him."

 Chapter 49 Two Forts Down

    June 7th, 1693 ¨C Fort Vaillac


    The royalist army buzzed with activity as Prince Bruno prepared to launch the next phase of his campaign. Soldiers inspected their equipment¡ªrifles were cleaned and loaded, artillery carriages reinforced, and wagons stocked with provisions. Engineers worked tirelessly on reinforcing bridges and pathways to ensure smooth logistics. The goal was clear: Fort Rochevelle had to fall.


    Bruno stood over a map in the command chamber, flanked by General Berthold, Captain Vallier, and Antoine Leclerc. Scouts had returned with crucial information regarding the fort''s defenses. S§×arch* The Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Two thousand men guard the fort," Leclerc reported. "They''ve reinforced the outer walls and placed artillery on elevated platforms. However, their garrison appears hastily organized. There are signs they haven''t fully prepared for an extended siege."


    "They''ll know we''re coming soon," Vallier added. "We need to move before they can mobilize reinforcements."


    Bruno nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Agreed. We need to strike decisively. What''s the terrain?"


    Leclerc pointed to a ridge on the map. "There''s high ground here to the west. Perfect for our artillery. The eastern side is less fortified¡ªideal for a flanking maneuver. If we can breach the gates and disable their artillery, their defenses will crumble."


    Berthold crossed his arms. "We''ll have to move fast. If the Republic catches wind of this, they might send more troops."


    "They won''t have time," Bruno said firmly. "We''ll cut off their communication lines. Prepare the men. We march tomorrow."


    June 10th, 1693 ¨C Near Fort Rochevelle


    The royalist army advanced under the cover of night. The road to Fort Rochevelle was surrounded by dense forests and rocky hills, making it difficult for scouts to spot them from afar. Bruno had divided his forces into three groups: General Berthold commanded the central column with the artillery, Vallier led the cavalry on the eastern flank, and Bruno led the western detachment tasked with cutting off any potential escape routes.


    By dawn, the army was in position. The fort loomed on a plateau, its walls bristling with cannons and watchtowers. Bruno observed through a spyglass, noting the placement of enemy artillery.


    "They''re relying on height for defense," he murmured. "But that leaves their cannon crews exposed."


    Durand, the chief engineer, stood beside him. "Our howitzers can handle that. Once we take out their guns, they''ll have no choice but to retreat inside the walls."


    "Make it happen," Bruno ordered. He turned to Vallier. "Is the cavalry in position?"


    "They''re ready," Vallier replied. "We''ll hit them the moment the artillery weakens their defenses."


    Bruno took a deep breath. "Let''s begin."


    The Assault Begins


    The first cannon volley shattered the dawn silence. Explosive shells arced through the sky, slamming into the fort''s artillery emplacements. Stone and metal fragments rained down on the defenders, sending shockwaves across the ramparts.


    Inside the fort, Republican soldiers scrambled to respond. Officers barked orders as cannon crews struggled to return fire.


    "Get those guns firing!" a sergeant shouted. "Target their artillery!"


    But the royalists had the advantage. Bruno''s howitzers, positioned on the western ridge, continued their bombardment with relentless precision. One by one, the enemy cannons were disabled, their crews either killed or forced to abandon their posts.


    "Prepare the infantry!" General Berthold roared. "Advance under cover of fire!"


    Royalist soldiers surged forward in disciplined formations. They moved through the trenches and hills, their rifles raised. Shots rang out as both sides exchanged fire. Engineers carrying demolition charges pushed toward the main gate, using the smoke and confusion to mask their approach.


    "Set the charges!" one of the engineers yelled.


    Explosions ripped through the fort''s main gate, sending debris flying. The royalist infantry charged through the breach, clashing with the defenders in brutal close-quarters combat. Bayonets gleamed in the morning light as soldiers fought for control of the outer walls.


    Inside the Fort


    Colonel Armand, the Republican commander, stood on the central tower, his face pale as he watched the chaos unfold below.


    "Sir, the western defenses are collapsing!" a lieutenant reported. "Their artillery is tearing us apart!"


    "Hold the inner defenses!" Armand snapped. "Pull every available man to the courtyard. We can''t let them take the fort!"


    His officers obeyed, rallying the remaining troops. But morale was already crumbling. The sound of royalist war cries echoed through the corridors as more sections of the walls fell to the advancing army.


    Bruno led his detachment through a secondary breach on the western side. He moved swiftly, cutting down a Republican soldier who lunged at him with a bayonet. Around him, his men pushed forward with determination, clearing the path to the central courtyard.


    "Push them back!" Bruno shouted. "We have them surrounded!"


    The royalist infantry pressed their advantage, forcing the defenders into a final stand near the barracks. Captain Vallier''s cavalry burst through the eastern gate moments later, completing the encirclement.


    "Drop your weapons!" Vallier bellowed. "You''re outnumbered!"


    Colonel Armand hesitated, his gaze darting between his exhausted men and the advancing royalists. Slowly, he raised his hand in surrender.


    By midday, the battle was over. Royalist banners were hoisted above Fort Rochevelle, and the prisoners were disarmed and placed under guard. Bruno stood in the central courtyard, overseeing the cleanup efforts.


    General Berthold approached with a report. "The fort is ours, Your Highness. Casualties were minimal. Most of the enemy surrendered once we breached the inner defenses."


    "Good," Bruno replied. "Ensure the prisoners are treated fairly. I want them to understand that we fight for liberation, not revenge."


    Captain Vallier arrived moments later. "We found documents in the command tower. Orders from Elysee. It looks like they were expecting reinforcements, but they never arrived."


    Bruno nodded thoughtfully. "The Republic is stretched thin. This victory will force them to make difficult choices."


    Antoine Leclerc entered the courtyard with a message. "Your Highness, delegations from nearby towns are already on their way. News of the battle spread faster than we anticipated."


    "Then we''ll use that momentum," Bruno said. "Fortify this position and prepare for further attacks. The Republic won''t give up easily."


    ***


    June 12th, 1693 ¨C Elysee, Bureau of State Security


    Minister Emilia Voss paced back and forth in the war room, her heels striking the marble floor with a sharp echo. The report on Fort Rochevelle''s fall lay crumpled in her fist. General Hector Bellerose and Minister Jean-Paul Lafayette stood nearby, tension hanging thick in the air.


    "How many forts do we have left under our control in the south?" Voss demanded.


    "Only Fort Serrant and Fort Dubois remain, but both are undermanned," Bellerose replied. "If Bruno''s forces maintain their current momentum, he could take them within weeks."


    "Then when the hell is General Marceau arriving?" Voss''s voice cracked with frustration.


    Lafayette adjusted his spectacles, speaking in a measured tone. "The latest dispatch confirmed that Marceau''s army is already en route. He''ll be in the southern territories within a fortnight. We''ve reassigned additional artillery and infantry to support him."


    Bellerose leaned forward on the table. "Marceau is a man of results. He''ll stabilize the front."


    Voss inhaled deeply, her jaw tightening. "He''d better. We cannot afford another loss. If Bruno takes control of the southern provinces, the entire Republic will begin to fracture."

 Chapter 50 Making Next Move

    June 14th, 1693 ¨C Fort Rochevelle


    The fort had been transformed into a hub of royalist activity. Engineers worked day and night to repair damaged walls and reinforce key defensive positions. Fresh supplies flowed in from nearby towns, and new recruits joined Bruno''s ranks by the hundreds.


    In the fort''s command chamber, Bruno met with his senior officers. General Berthold unrolled a large map of the region on the table.


    "Fort Serrant lies forty miles to the southeast," Berthold said, tracing a route with his finger. "It''s the next logical target. However, scouts report an increased Republican presence in the surrounding area. It seems they''re finally reinforcing their defenses."


    "Reinforcements, or something more?" Antoine Leclerc asked. "There''s been talk of a high-ranking general leading the effort."


    Captain Vallier crossed his arms. "It''s possible. The Republic wouldn''t sit idle after losing two major forts. They know Bruno''s campaign is gaining momentum."


    Bruno nodded slowly, absorbing the information. "They''re preparing to counterattack. If we keep pushing without a solid plan, we risk overextending ourselves."


    "What do you suggest, Your Highness?" Berthold asked.


    Bruno leaned over the map, pointing to key locations along the trade routes. "We''ll disrupt their supply lines first. Cut off their access to reinforcements and resources. Without support, their garrisons will weaken. Meanwhile, we''ll build stronger alliances with the surrounding towns and strengthen our defensive network."


    "Sabotage and attrition," Leclerc muttered approvingly. "It''ll force them to act on our terms."


    Bruno straightened, his expression resolute. "Exactly. If they want a decisive battle, it''ll happen on ground of our choosing."


    June 16th, 1693 ¨C En Route to Fort Serrant


    General Lucien Marceau''s column marched steadily along a narrow dirt road, banners fluttering in the warm breeze. Thousands of disciplined Republican soldiers followed in perfect formation¡ªinfantry, cavalry, and artillery units. Marceau himself rode at the front, his sharp gaze fixed on the horizon.


    A courier approached, saluting sharply. "General Marceau, a report from Fort Serrant. They''ve spotted royalist scouts near the eastern perimeter."


    "I don''t care about that. Tell me more about the royalists'' weapons. They were the ones deciding the battle."


    The courier adjusted his stance nervously under General Marceau''s piercing gaze. "General, the reports indicate that the royalists have advanced weaponry. Their muskets can fire with greater range and accuracy than ours. Many of our soldiers were struck down before they could even get into effective musket range."


    Marceau narrowed his eyes. "How much greater a range?"


    "Twice as far, perhaps more," the courier replied. "And they fire faster, almost as if they''ve improved the reloading process."


    "Improved reloading process?" Marceau muttered under his breath and continued. "And what of their artillery?"


    The courier hesitated for a moment, then continued. "It''s unlike anything we''ve encountered before. According to the witness, the royalists'' cannons fire from beyond their sight. Explosive shells rain down on their positions, shattering walls and disorienting their troops. By the time their men locate the source of fire, it''s too late. Their artillery crews are precise¡ªthey cripple their defenses in minutes."


    Marceau clenched the reins of his horse, deep in thought. "So, this is how they''ve been winning every engagement. It isn''t just tactics¡ªit''s technology. Somehow, Prince Bruno has gained access to superior weaponry."


    "General, what are your orders?" the courier asked.


    Marceau exhaled slowly, formulating a response. "We need more information. If they have this advantage, it''s a miracle they haven''t already reached the capital. Something is slowing them down¡ªperhaps logistics or inexperience in deploying these weapons on a larger scale."


    He turned to his officers. "Send scouts to infiltrate the royalist ranks. I want to know everything about these weapons. How they function, where they''re produced, and who''s in charge of maintaining them. Knowledge is our greatest weapon right now."


    "Yes, General," the officers replied, saluting sharply.


    Marceau continued. "Until then, we adapt. If their artillery outranges us, we use mobility and deception to avoid prolonged bombardments. If their infantry has superior rifles, we close the distance quickly. Terrain will be key¡ªwe''ll force them into choke points where range matters less."


    One of Marceau''s lieutenants stepped forward. "General, if I may¡­ if they have such advanced equipment, how can we hope to overpower them without equal firepower?"


    Marceau''s expression hardened. "Wars aren''t won by weapons alone. Discipline, strategy, and the will to fight can turn the tide of any battle. Remember that. Our enemy may be strong, but they are not invincible."


    June 18th, 1693 ¨C Fort Rochevelle.


    Meanwhile, Prince Bruno received reports from his scouts detailing the movements of the republican army. Bruno studied the maps, noting the efficient formations and supply lines. It was clear that this general was different from the others he had faced.


    "Marceau¡­" Bruno murmured. "He''s disciplined, methodical. This isn''t someone who''ll be easily intimidated by our victories."


    "General Marceau is a veteran," Leclerc said. "He''s been leading campaigns against the enemies of the Kingdom of Elysea and was feared one in the continent."


    Captain Vallier crossed his arms, his brow furrowed. "Which is why it doesn''t add up. Marceau fought against Elysea''s enemies for years and earned respect across the continent. Why would he join the Republic?"


    "Desperation, perhaps," Leclerc suggested. "The Revolution may have offered him something he couldn''t refuse. Power, influence, or perhaps a cause he now believes in."


    Bruno shook his head. "It doesn''t matter why he''s here. What matters is that he''s dangerous. Marceau will adapt quickly to our tactics. He won''t underestimate us like the others."


    General Berthold stepped forward. "Do you think he knows about our weapons?"


    "He''s learning," Bruno replied. "His scouts are likely gathering information as we speak. But they won''t have the full picture¡ªnot yet."


    Leclerc nodded. "Still, we should assume that Marceau will be cautious moving forward. He''ll try to mitigate the advantage our weapons give us."


    Bruno straightened and looked at his gathered officers. "Then we must evolve faster than he does. We can''t afford to remain predictable. From now on, we need to vary our strategies in each engagement. Hit-and-run tactics, ambushes, misdirection¡ªwhatever keeps him off balance."


    Berthold grunted in agreement. "He''ll be expecting us to push directly for Fort Serrant. What if we bait him?" S§×arch* The n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Bruno''s eyes gleamed with interest. "Go on."


    "We make it appear that we''re massing for a large assault on the fort," Berthold continued. "Meanwhile, we launch a surprise attack on their supply lines. If we cut off his access to ammunition and rations, his army will be forced to withdraw."


    "Good," Bruno said, tapping the map. "We''ll need speed and coordination. Vallier, I want your cavalry to spearhead the attack on the supply routes. Berthold will hold position near Fort Serrant with a smaller force to create the illusion of a siege. I''ll lead a separate detachment to disrupt their communication lines."


    "Understood, Your Highness," Vallier replied with a firm salute.


    "Let''s move quickly," Bruno added. "We only have a short window before Marceau''s reinforcements fully entrench themselves."


    General Marceau''s scouts returned to his camp with urgent reports. One of the men dismounted his horse and approached the general, saluting sharply.


    "General Marceau, the royalists are massing troops near Fort Serrant. They''ve begun constructing siege positions and trenches to the west."


    Marceau frowned, his instincts warning him of a possible deception. "They''re committing to a siege? That''s not like Bruno. He''s been using mobility and surprise to win his battles. Why change tactics now?"


    "Perhaps he believes the fort is too heavily defended," one of Marceau''s lieutenants offered. "He might be preparing for a long-term engagement."


    "Or he''s trying to distract us," Marceau said quietly. He walked over to the large map of the region spread across a table. His finger traced the trade routes and supply depots surrounding the fort.


    "He''s playing a deeper game. If I were in his position, I''d go after our supplies while keeping us focused on a false threat. We can''t let him control the flow of battle."


    Marceau turned to his officers. "Double the patrols on the supply lines. Increase security at the depots. We''ll maintain the illusion that we''re fully focused on the fort, but I want every move the royalists make monitored closely. If Bruno wants a game of deception, we''ll give him one."

 Chapter 51 The Reversal of Fortune

    June 21st, 1693.


    Vallier''s cavalry moved swiftly through the dense forests near the main Republican supply route. Hidden among the trees, his riders waited patiently as scouts kept watch for the approaching convoy.


    "They''ll be here soon," a scout whispered. "Four wagons, guarded by about fifty soldiers."


    Vallier nodded, signaling for his men to prepare. The plan was simple¡ªstrike quickly, capture the supplies, and retreat before the Republicans could organize a counterattack.


    Moments later, the convoy appeared on the dirt road. The soldiers guarding it were alert but unaware of the danger lurking in the shadows. Vallier raised his hand, then brought it down in a sharp motion.


    "Attack!"


    The cavalry charged out of the forest, their horses thundering across the road. Royalist riflemen fired from concealed positions, taking out several Republican guards in the first volley. The remaining soldiers scrambled to defend the wagons, but they were overwhelmed by the speed and precision of the ambush.


    Within minutes, the convoy was captured. Vallier''s men secured the supplies and rounded up the surviving guards.


    "Send a message to His Highness," Vallier ordered. "Tell him the first phase is complete. The Republicans won''t be getting these supplies anytime soon."


    June 22nd, 1693.


    General Marceau read the latest reports with a grim expression. Another supply convoy had been intercepted, and communication lines to Fort Serrant were sporadic at best. His army was being systematically isolated.


    "He''s cutting us off," Marceau muttered. "This isn''t a simple rebellion anymore. Bruno is conducting a full-scale campaign."


    One of his officers stepped forward. "General, if we don''t secure the supply routes, our position at Fort Serrant will become untenable."


    "I know," Marceau replied. "But that''s exactly what Bruno wants. He''s trying to force us into a desperate counterattack."


    He turned to his staff. "We won''t give him the satisfaction. Begin consolidating our forces near the southern trade route. We''ll lure his cavalry into a trap and regain control of our logistics. From there, we''ll launch a counteroffensive."


    As his officers saluted and dispersed, Marceau''s mind raced with possibilities. He had faced many formidable opponents in his career, but Bruno was proving to be one of the most unpredictable. This war was far from over, and both generals knew that the next few battles would determine the fate of Elysea.


    June 25th, 1693.


    General Marceau''s plan was in motion. His soldiers, disguised as a vulnerable supply convoy, advanced along a narrow road near the southern trade route. Hidden in the surrounding hills were elite Republican infantry and cavalry units, each positioned to strike when the royalist ambushers revealed themselves.


    At midday, Marceau and his officers watched the unfolding scene from a distant vantage point. A scout rushed toward them, saluting sharply.


    "Sir, Vallier''s cavalry has been spotted! They''re moving into position for an ambush."


    "Let them believe they have the advantage. Once they commit to the attack, signal the counterstrike."


    Vallier led his cavalry along the tree line, watching the slow-moving convoy with suspicion. The wagons were lightly guarded, just as his scouts had reported. It seemed almost too easy. He hesitated for a moment, but the opportunity was too tempting to ignore.


    "Positions!" Vallier barked. His men fanned out, rifles at the ready. "Wait for my signal!"


    The convoy continued its slow march, unaware of the royalists lying in wait. Vallier raised his arm, preparing to launch the attack. As soon as his hand dropped, royalist cavalry and infantry surged forward from the trees.


    "Fire!" Vallier shouted.


    The royalist riflemen opened fire, cutting down several Republican guards in the first volley. The convoy seemed to falter, the guards scrambling in confusion. Vallier grinned, confident they had caught the enemy off guard.


    But then, everything changed.


    A trumpet blast echoed from the hills, followed by the thunder of hoofbeats. From both sides of the road, hidden Republican soldiers emerged in force. Musket and rifle fire erupted from the ridges, pinning Vallier''s men in a deadly crossfire.


    "Ambush! Fall back!" Vallier roared, his eyes wide with shock.


    Republican cavalry charged down the slopes, cutting off the royalist retreat. The battlefield descended into chaos as Vallier''s forces scrambled to regroup. Royalist riders clashed with the advancing enemy, sabers flashing in desperate defense.


    "Hold the line!" Vallier urged, parrying a saber strike from an advancing Republican cavalryman.


    Despite his efforts, the royalists were overwhelmed by the sheer number of attackers. Vallier knew they were outmaneuvered and outgunned. If they didn''t withdraw soon, the entire detachment would be lost.


    "Break through the left flank!" he shouted. "We need to get out of here!"


    His men fought fiercely, but the losses mounted quickly. After a grueling half-hour of intense combat, Vallier finally managed to lead the survivors through a gap in the Republican line. Bloodied and exhausted, the remnants of the royalist cavalry retreated into the forest, leaving behind wounded soldiers and equipment.


    Republican soldiers scoured the battlefield, retrieving weapons from fallen royalists. One officer approached General Marceau, who had arrived at the scene after the fighting subsided.


    "General, we''ve captured several of their weapons," the officer reported, holding up a bolt-action rifle. "These are unlike anything we''ve seen before."


    Marceau dismounted his horse and examined the rifle closely. The craftsmanship was superior to anything produced by the Republic''s armories. The bolt mechanism allowed for rapid reloading, and the rifled barrel gave it extraordinary range and accuracy.


    "This explains a lot," Marceau muttered. He turned to his officers. "Gather every piece of equipment you can find. I want these rifles studied immediately. Our engineers need to understand how they work."


    "Yes, General," the officer replied, saluting.


    Nearby, captured royalist soldiers were being questioned. Marceau approached one of the prisoners, a young infantryman with a defiant glare. S§×arch* The Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Tell me about these weapons," Marceau demanded. "Where are they manufactured?"


    The soldier spat on the ground. "I won''t tell you anything."


    Marceau sighed, motioning for his men to take the prisoner away. He didn''t expect easy answers, but the captured equipment was enough to start unraveling the mystery.

 Chapter 52 Getting Revenge

    June 26th, 1693 ¨C Fort Rochevelle


    News of the ambush reached Prince Bruno by the afternoon. His face darkened as he listened to the report.


    "Vallier''s detachment was ambushed," Leclerc said grimly. "The Republicans set a trap. He managed to retreat with a third of his men, but the rest were either killed or captured."


    "They''re adapting," Bruno muttered. "This General Marceau isn''t like the others."


    Berthold nodded. "They''ve captured some of our rifles. If their engineers can reverse-engineer the designs, they''ll begin closing the technological gap."


    "No, that won''t be easy on their end. The rifles I designed required precision tools and specialized machinery to produce. Without access to those, replicating them will take time¡ªpossibly years. However, we can''t assume they''ll fail to make progress. We need to act quickly and stay ahead."


    Leclerc crossed his arms thoughtfully. "Even if they can''t mass-produce the rifles, they''ll still learn from them. They might develop countermeasures or tactics to nullify our advantage in range and firepower."


    Berthold frowned. "Marceau is already a step ahead. We need to regain the initiative."


    Bruno leaned over the map table, his eyes scanning potential routes and chokepoints. "We can''t let him dictate the pace. If he''s expecting us to continue ambush tactics, we''ll change our approach entirely. We''ll mislead him with feints and false movements."


    "What do you have in mind, Your Highness?" Berthold asked.


    Bruno pointed to a narrow valley that lay between Fort Rochevelle and the nearby hills. "This terrain works to our advantage. It''s surrounded by dense woods and high ridges¡ªperfect for artillery placement. We''ll make it appear as though we''re retreating to draw him in, but we''ll be waiting to crush him when he overcommits."


    "An encirclement," Leclerc said with a nod of approval. "If done right, it could turn the tide back in our favor."


    "Exactly," Bruno confirmed. "But it''s critical that we control the information reaching his scouts. We''ll need decoy units, false camps, and misleading reports. If Marceau thinks we''re falling back in disarray, he''ll be tempted to pursue us aggressively."


    Vallier, still recovering from his wounds but present at the meeting, spoke up. "I''ll lead the decoy force. He''ll expect me to be weakened after the ambush. It''ll add credibility to the ruse."


    Bruno placed a hand on Vallier''s shoulder. "Are you sure you''re up for it? You''ve barely had time to recover."


    "I''m sure," Vallier replied firmly. "This is personal now. We owe him for that ambush."


    "Very well," Bruno said, his gaze resolute. "Prepare the men. This battle could define the course of the entire campaign. We strike within the week."


    June 30th, 1693.


    The royalists moved swiftly under the cover of darkness, establishing hidden artillery positions on the ridges surrounding the valley. Engineers dug fortified trenches and camouflaged the gun emplacements. Supply wagons were relocated to nearby villages to minimize visibility, and decoy fires were lit at false camps in the lower hills.


    Vallier''s detachment set up a visible but vulnerable position near the valley entrance. Scouts patrolled the area, intentionally leaving tracks and signs of recent movement to mislead any observers.


    Bruno monitored the preparations closely, ensuring every detail of the trap was perfect. He knew Marceau was too experienced to fall for a simple ruse. This plan had to be layered with deception and tactical precision.


    "We''ll hold fire until they''re fully committed," Bruno instructed Durand, the chief artillery officer. "Once they''re in the valley, we''ll unleash everything we have."


    Durand saluted. "They won''t know what hit them, Your Highness."


    July 2nd, 1693.


    General Marceau received reports from his scouts indicating royalist movements toward the valley. The information fit the pattern he had been expecting: Bruno''s forces appeared to be withdrawing in disarray after Vallier''s failed ambush.


    "They''re retreating," one of Marceau''s officers said confidently. "We''ve got them on the run."


    Marceau narrowed his eyes. "It''s too clean. Bruno is crafty. He''s led me into traps before, and this reeks of another one."


    "General, if we don''t press the attack, we risk giving them time to regroup," another officer argued.


    Marceau was silent for a moment, then spoke decisively. "We''ll move in, but with caution. Half of our forces will remain outside the valley as reserves. Our artillery will advance but stay near the entrance to maintain a retreat route. I won''t be caught in a pincer maneuver."


    The officers saluted and relayed his orders. Marceau''s army began its advance into the valley, with infantry and cavalry leading the charge.


    From his vantage point on the ridge, Bruno observed Marceau''s cautious advance. The Republican forces moved in disciplined formations, their flanks protected by skirmishers. Marceau''s reputation as a strategist was evident¡ªhe wasn''t taking any unnecessary risks.


    "They''re not committing fully," Leclerc said grimly. "He''s holding back his reserves."


    "Then we adjust," Bruno replied. "Signal the artillery to target their front lines and force them deeper into the valley. If we can create enough chaos, Marceau may be forced to send in reinforcements."


    Durand gave the signal, and moments later, the ridges erupted with cannon fire. Explosive shells rained down on the advancing Republican soldiers, shattering their formations. Smoke and debris filled the air as royalist infantry opened fire from concealed positions.


    "Advance to the center!" an officer yelled as Republican troops scrambled for cover.


    Marceau''s eyes narrowed as he assessed the situation. "They were ready for us. Send in the second wave to support the front. We''ll push through their defenses."


    The battle intensified as more Republican forces entered the valley. Bruno watched carefully, waiting for the right moment to spring the full trap.


    "Now," he commanded.


    Royalist cavalry charged from hidden paths, slamming into the flanks of the Republican column. Artillery shifted fire to cut off their retreat, creating a wall of destruction at the valley entrance.


    Marceau''s forces found themselves surrounded on all sides. Despite the chaos, Marceau maintained his composure.


    "Rally the men!" he ordered. "Form defensive squares and hold the line! We''ll break through on the eastern ridge!"


    His officers carried out his commands, but the royalist forces pressed their advantage relentlessly. Hours of brutal fighting ensued, with both sides suffering heavy casualties.


    By dusk, the battlefield fell silent. The royalists had gained control of the valley, but Marceau managed a disciplined withdrawal with a portion of his army. The cost of the battle was high on both sides, but Bruno had achieved his objective¡ªMarceau''s forces were weakened, and their momentum stalled. S§×arch* The Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "We''ve won today, but Marceau won''t give up," Bruno said as he surveyed the battlefield. "He''ll adapt again. We need to stay ahead."


    Berthold approached, saluting. "What are your orders, Your Highness?"


    "Consolidate our defenses and fortify the valley. We''ve shown we can outmaneuver him, but the next battle will be even harder."

 Chapter 53 Nail in the Coffin

    July 7th, 1693 ¨C Republican Stronghold near Fort Serrant


    General Lucien Marceau stood on the walls of the Republican stronghold, watching the distant ridges through his spyglass. Smoke drifted over the horizon, and the low rumble of cannon fire echoed across the valley. The Royalists were coming.


    Marceau had expected Bruno to strike, but he hadn''t anticipated this level of force. The reports had been consistent¡ªBruno''s forces possessed advanced artillery that could strike beyond conventional range. The destruction of the Republican army at the last battle had already proven that. Yet, Marceau had still managed to extract a portion of his troops, retreating toward Fort Serrant and entrenching in a defensive position nearby.


    But Bruno wasn''t giving him time to recover.


    A courier rushed up the stone steps, saluting sharply. "General, enemy artillery has begun their bombardment. Their shells are landing well beyond our range. They must have positioned their guns on the ridgeline."


    Marceau gritted his teeth. He had stationed his own artillery on the forward hills to counter an assault, but their range was proving insufficient. The Royalists'' long-range cannons were tearing into their fortifications with frightening precision.


    "Where is their infantry?" he asked, lowering the spyglass.


    "Still advancing, sir. They''re moving in formation, covered by their artillery fire."


    Marceau turned to his officers. "Pull the forward artillery back. We can''t afford to lose them before they fire a shot. Move the cavalry to the rear trenches and prepare the infantry for a staggered withdrawal into the inner defenses. We''re not holding the outer walls."


    His commanders hesitated. "Sir, if we abandon the outer walls¡ª"


    "We''ll be annihilated if we stay," Marceau cut in sharply. "Bruno has superior firepower, and he knows it. If we hold our ground, we''ll be slaughtered before they even reach us."


    Reluctantly, the officers nodded and rushed to carry out his orders.


    On the opposing ridge, Prince Bruno observed the Republican stronghold through his spyglass. The walls were thick, and despite the bombardment, the structure was holding¡ªfor now.


    "Durand," Bruno called to his artillery commander. "Focus fire on the southern bastion. I want that section of the wall weakened before we send in the infantry."


    Durand nodded. "Yes, Your Highness." S~ea??h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    The next volley of howitzer shells arced high into the sky, whistling as they descended upon the fort. Explosions rocked the walls, sending chunks of stone and debris raining down. The southern bastion shuddered under the relentless assault.


    Bruno turned to General Berthold. "Signal Vallier''s cavalry to prepare for the flank assault. Once the breach is open, we won''t give them time to reorganize."


    Berthold saluted and relayed the command. The Royalists were executing their strategy with brutal efficiency¡ªbombard, weaken, and then strike with overwhelming force.


    Inside the Republican stronghold, Marceau felt the impact of another devastating explosion. Dust and smoke filled the air, and soldiers coughed as they hurried to reinforce the inner defenses.


    "General!" a wounded officer stumbled forward. "The southern bastion is close to collapsing. They''ve concentrated their fire there!"


    Marceau clenched his fists. Bruno was carving a hole into his defenses with mechanical precision. He had no choice but to reposition his men.


    "Fall back to the central courtyard," he ordered. "Use the rubble as cover. If we can delay them, we might still have a chance."


    The Republican forces withdrew in an orderly fashion, retreating deeper into the stronghold. The outer walls were abandoned just as another barrage of artillery fire shattered the southern bastion, leaving a massive gap in the defenses.


    Bruno watched as the Republican forces retreated from the breached walls. "They''re giving up the outer defenses," he noted. "They''re trying to lure us into a prolonged fight inside the fort."


    Leclerc smirked. "A logical move. But one that won''t work against us."


    Bruno raised his sword, signaling the advance. "Forward! Take the fort!"


    The royalist infantry surged forward, muskets raised. The breach in the wall became a floodgate as soldiers poured through, engaging the retreating Republicans in brutal close-quarters combat. Bayonets clashed against sabers, and gunfire echoed through the crumbling corridors.


    From the eastern flank, Captain Vallier''s cavalry stormed through the secondary gates, cutting down fleeing Republican troops before they could regroup.


    Inside the courtyard, Marceau barked orders. "Hold the line! We''ll make our stand here!"


    The remaining Republican soldiers formed a defensive ring around the command post, desperately trying to hold off the Royalist advance. But the enemy was relentless¡ªwell-coordinated volleys cut down their ranks, and artillery fire continued to pound the remaining strongpoints.


    Marceau knew they were finished. His men were outgunned, outflanked, and outmaneuvered.


    An officer stumbled toward him, blood streaming from his temple. "General, we can''t hold them back!"


    Marceau exhaled sharply. "Then we cut our losses."


    He turned to his lieutenants. "Order a retreat. Any men who can escape, let them. The battle is lost."


    His officers hesitated only for a moment before nodding. Marceau himself, however, did not move. He had fought wars his entire life, and he wasn''t about to flee from the battlefield like a common soldier.


    When the Royalists finally broke through the last line of defense, they found Marceau standing tall amidst the bodies of his fallen men. His uniform was dirtied, his sword stained with blood, but his gaze remained cold and unwavering.


    Bruno approached, lowering his weapon. "General Marceau."


    Marceau met his gaze without flinching. "Prince Bruno."


    "You fought well," Bruno said, keeping his tone neutral. "But this war is over for you."


    Marceau smirked. "For me, perhaps. But not for the Republic."


    Bruno exhaled. "Surrender. Spare your remaining men from unnecessary slaughter."


    Marceau stared at him for a long moment before finally tossing his sword to the ground. "Very well, Your Highness. I surrender."


    By nightfall, the Republican stronghold was firmly in Royalist hands. Marceau and the remaining prisoners were secured, and the royalist banners flew high above the fort.


    Bruno stood on the battlements, overlooking the battlefield. This was his greatest victory yet. The Republic''s strongest general had been defeated, and their last major southern stronghold had fallen.


    But he knew this war was far from over. The Republic would not simply crumble after one defeat. They would regroup, they would retaliate, and they would fight for every inch of territory.


    Leclerc approached him. "What now, Your Highness?"


    Bruno''s gaze remained fixed on the horizon. "We press forward. We take the capital. And we end this war."

 Chapter 54 Panic and Chaos

    July 15th, 1893.


    The city of Elysee was in chaos.


    It had begun as whispers¡ªrumors of General Marceau''s defeat at Fort Serrant. Then, by midday, the news had spread like wildfire. By evening, the capital was no longer a city of order but a city of unrest.


    In the market squares and taverns, people gathered in clusters, murmuring among themselves. Royalist sympathizers, long forced into silence by the Republican regime, found renewed courage. The defeat of Marceau¡ªhailed as the Republic''s greatest general¡ªwas proof that the tide of war had turned.


    And at the heart of the commotion was a name: Prince Bruno of Elysea. S~ea??h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "The last rightful heir still lives!" an old noble shouted from atop a wooden cart in the Plaza de la R¨¦publique. "He fights for our kingdom! He fights for us!"


    The crowd roared in approval, their voices echoing through the streets. Others took up the chant:


    "Long live Prince Bruno! Long live the true king!"


    Republican banners that had hung from buildings for years were torn down and burned. In their place, the old blue and gold banners of the royal family were hastily painted onto walls. The people had found their rallying cry, and the Republic''s grip on the capital was starting to crack.


    Inside the Bureau of State Security, Minister Emilia Voss paced furiously across the grand chamber where the Revolutionary Council had gathered. Her sharp heels clacked against the marble floor as she read the latest intelligence reports.


    "This is a disaster," she snapped, slamming a report onto the table. "Marceau was our strongest general. And now he''s in chains."


    Jean-Paul Lafayette, the Minister of Trade and Finance, rubbed his temples. "The economic situation was already dire, Emilia. With the loss of the southern strongholds, merchants are refusing to pay taxes. They''re declaring their allegiance to the prince."


    General Hector Bellerose, head of the Republican Army, scowled. "We still have control over the capital, and we have the numbers. The prince may have won battles, but he hasn''t won the war."


    Voss turned to him, eyes burning with frustration. "The people don''t care about battles! They care about what they see, and what they see is that the last prince of Elysea is marching toward them while we''re stuck debating policy!"


    A courier burst into the chamber, breathing heavily. "Ministers, there are riots in the eastern and southern districts. Royalist supporters are calling for the prince to take the throne. The city guard is struggling to maintain order."


    Bellerose''s fist clenched. "Then we use force. We crush this rebellion before it spreads further."


    Voss hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "Do what needs to be done. Mobilize the National Guard and the Revolutionary Police. Show no mercy. If we let this riot fester, it''ll become a full-scale insurrection."


    Bellerose saluted sharply and left the chamber, barking orders to his officers as he went.


    The Streets of Elysee.


    By nightfall, the Republican forces moved in. Armed soldiers marched through the streets, their muskets loaded and bayonets fixed. The National Guard, dressed in their blue and white uniforms, formed blockade lines at key intersections.


    The protesters, initially emboldened by their numbers, soon realized what was coming. The Republic had made its decision¡ªthere would be no negotiations.


    At the Plaza de la R¨¦publique, where thousands had gathered, the first shots were fired.


    "Disperse immediately!" a Republican officer bellowed through a brass horn. "Return to your homes, or you will be fired upon!"


    The crowd refused to move. A defiant cheer erupted:


    "LONG LIVE PRINCE BRUNO!"


    A second later, gunfire cracked through the air.


    The front line of protesters collapsed as musket balls tore through flesh. Screams erupted, and the crowd panicked, scattering in all directions. But some fought back¡ªbarricades were hastily erected, stones were hurled, and desperate men and women charged at the soldiers with clubs and daggers.


    The Revolutionary Police arrived next, wielding sabers and whips. They cut through the rioters with ruthless efficiency, showing no hesitation as they crushed resistance in the streets.


    The Rue de Marigny, once a thriving marketplace, became a slaughterhouse.


    "Run! RUN!" a man shouted as he pulled a wounded boy from the chaos, blood dripping from a bullet wound in the child''s leg.


    The Republican soldiers, now emboldened by their orders, showed no mercy. Fires erupted as they torched any shop or home suspected of harboring royalist sympathizers.


    By the time dawn approached, the streets were filled with bodies. The city smelled of gunpowder and blood.


    Minister Voss stood on the balcony of the Bureau of State Security, looking down at the ruined streets. Smoke curled into the sky from the smoldering ruins of shops and homes.


    She had won the battle. The riots had been quelled.


    But at what cost?


    Hundreds were dead. Thousands more had been imprisoned or had fled into hiding. The Republic had retained control of the capital¡ªbut it was now ruling through terror.


    Lafayette joined her on the balcony, his face pale. "This¡­ this was a mistake," he muttered.


    Voss didn''t look at him. "It was necessary."


    "Do you really think people will forget this?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "They''ll remember who ordered the massacre. And they''ll fight even harder for the prince."


    Voss''s grip on the balcony railing tightened. She knew he was right.


    The news of the massacre reached the countryside within days. The peasants, once hesitant to take up arms, now saw the Republic for what it truly was¡ªa regime that would kill its own citizens to stay in power.


    In villages and towns across Elysea, the people rose up.


    Farmers, blacksmiths, and former soldiers took up their weapons. Royalist banners flew over town halls. Local militias formed, preparing for Bruno''s arrival.


    In Fort Rochevelle, Prince Bruno read the reports with a heavy heart. He had expected resistance from the Republic, but he had not expected this level of brutality.


    He turned to his officers. "We don''t march on the capital as conquerors. We march as liberators. The people are waiting for us."


    General Berthold nodded. "The Republic has shown its true colors. They rule by fear, but fear only lasts so long. What are your orders, Your Highness?"


    Bruno folded the report and looked toward the horizon.


    "We march. Elysee must be freed."

 Chapter 55 Battle of Elysee

    July 20th, 1693 ¨C The March on Elysee


    The Royalist Army advanced across the countryside, their banners rippling in the wind as they moved ever closer to the capital. The road to Elysee was lined with towns and villages that had long suffered under the Republic''s rule, and now, with hope rekindled, the people welcomed their liberators. Farmers and merchants alike stood along the dirt roads, waving, cheering, and offering what little supplies they could spare. Many young men, driven by the desire to see the kingdom restored, took up arms and joined Prince Bruno''s ranks.


    But as the grand city of Elysee appeared in the distance, standing tall and defiant with its stone walls and towering buildings, a grim realization settled over Bruno and his officers. The Republic would not surrender easily.


    Standing at the front of his army, Bruno surveyed the skyline through his spyglass. Smoke from the recent riots still lingered in the air, dark clouds of anger and desperation that refused to fade. His grip on the reins tightened. "They''re preparing for the final stand," he murmured.


    General Berthold rode beside him, eyes fixed on the city ahead. "Urban warfare will be unlike any battle we''ve fought before," he warned. "The defenders know every street, every alley. We''ll be fighting for every inch of the city."


    Bruno lowered his spyglass. "That''s why we won''t play by their rules," he said. "If we march through the gates expecting a fair fight, we''ll be slaughtered. We''ll use our strengths¡ªour firepower, our coordination, and our strategy. They still think they can match us in battle. We''ll prove them wrong."


    July 21st, 1693.


    At dawn, the Royalist artillery roared to life. Cannons lined the ridges outside the city, positioned carefully by Durand''s engineers to maximize their effectiveness. Their long-range shells hammered the city walls, shaking the very foundation of Elysee. Entire sections of stone crumbled under the relentless assault, dust and debris choking the air. The great iron gates, which had once stood as the Republic''s symbol of defiance, were soon reduced to a gaping hole.


    Inside the city, the Republican defenders scrambled. Officers shouted orders, trying to restore some semblance of organization as soldiers rushed to reinforce barricades and man sniper positions inside buildings. Musket fire cracked through the air, but the Royalists remained beyond range, their superior artillery ensuring the defenders could do nothing but wait for the inevitable ground assault. S§×ar?h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    From atop a ridge, Bruno observed the damage through his spyglass. He turned to General Berthold. "Signal the infantry. It''s time."


    The Royalist Army surged forward, marching through the shattered gates with unwavering discipline. Their muskets were raised, bayonets fixed, moving in coordinated formations. They had trained for this moment, and now, as the streets of Elysee became their battlefield, every movement was precise, every shot calculated.


    But the Republican Army was far from defeated. Though outgunned, they knew the city well, and they used its dense, twisting streets to their advantage. From rooftops and balconies, Republican snipers picked off advancing soldiers, their shots echoing between the stone buildings. Ambushes were sprung in alleyways, where hidden defenders attacked with knives, pistols, and even makeshift explosives.


    A Royalist column advancing down a narrow street was suddenly met with an explosion as a barrel bomb, hidden beneath a wagon, erupted in flames. Soldiers were thrown from their feet, screaming as the blast ripped through their ranks. Smoke and dust filled the passage, and from the shadows, Republican troops emerged, firing into the dazed Royalists before vanishing into nearby buildings.


    From the rooftops, flaming oil was dumped onto unsuspecting Royalist formations, the burning liquid sending men into agonized screams as they tore at their uniforms in vain. Every street was a deathtrap, every corner a place where death lurked unseen.


    Bruno, watching the battle unfold, knew he had to change tactics. He turned to Durand. "Move the artillery into the city," he ordered.


    Durand hesitated. "Artillery in urban combat? It''s risky, Your Highness."


    Bruno''s gaze was steely. "We don''t have a choice."


    Soon, Royalist field artillery was dragged into the streets, rolling over the rubble as engineers set up firing positions. The next assault began not with musket fire, but with cannon blasts that ripped through entire buildings, leveling Republican sniper nests and fortified barricades alike. Grenadiers moved ahead of the infantry, tossing explosives into enemy strongholds before storming in to finish off the survivors.


    Slowly, the Republican resistance began to crumble.


    July 22nd, 1693.


    After two days of brutal urban combat, the Royalist Army had pushed the remaining Republican forces into the Grand Plaza, the heart of Elysee. Here, the last bastion of Republican rule remained¡ªthe Bureau of State Security and the Revolutionary Palace, where the remnants of the government had barricaded themselves.


    General Hector Bellerose, the last remaining commander of the Republican Army, stood on the steps of the Bureau, surrounded by his final defenders. Smoke, blood, and fire filled the plaza, but still, they refused to surrender.


    Bruno, leading his men into the square, looked upon the tattered remnants of the once-mighty Republican Army. He dismounted his horse and stepped forward.


    Bellerose watched him approach, sword in hand, his uniform torn and bloodied. "You think this ends today, Prince?"


    Bruno met his gaze. "It does."


    With a final, desperate cry, the Republicans made their last stand. They fought like men with nothing left to lose, charging forward with bayonets and pistols, trying to break the Royalist line in one last, futile attack.


    But the battle was already over.


    Royalist rifles fired in coordinated volleys, cutting down the last defenders. Within minutes, the Grand Plaza belonged to Prince Bruno.


    Minister Emilia Voss, Jean-Paul Lafayette, and the remaining Revolutionary Council had already fled long before the final clash. They had escaped through a hidden tunnel beneath the Bureau of State Security, desperate to flee before Bruno''s forces captured them.


    But Bruno had anticipated their escape.


    He had ordered his cavalry to block every known exit out of the city. He knew where the tunnel led, and he was waiting for them.

 Chapter 56 Reminiscing

    July 23rd, 1693.


    Voss and her ministers emerged in the countryside, believing they had escaped to freedom. But instead of open roads, they were met with a ring of Royalist cavalry, rifles leveled at them.


    Bruno, seated atop his horse, approached.


    Voss''s expression darkened. "You planned this."


    Bruno''s eyes were cold. "I knew you''d run. People like you always do."


    Lafayette fell to his knees, trembling. "Please, Your Highness¡ªmercy¡ª"


    Bruno exhaled slowly. "Did you show mercy to the people of Elysee when you massacred them?"


    Voss clenched her fists. "Kill me if you must. But the Republic''s ideals will never die."


    Bruno turned to his men. "Take them alive."


    July 24th, 1693.


    The Royal Palace of Elysee loomed in the distance, its towering spires and marble halls untouched by the battle that had consumed the city. It had once been the heart of the kingdom, a symbol of the royal family''s strength and heritage. And now, after what could be considered an exile, Prince Bruno was finally returning.


    He rode at the head of his army, his banner fluttering in the wind. The streets were lined with cheering citizens, waving the royal colors and chanting his name. The Republic had ruled with an iron fist, but its grip had finally broken. The people saw him not just as a victorious general but as the last true heir of Elysea.


    Yet as he approached the palace gates, a strange feeling settled in his chest. This had once been his home, a place where he had spent his early childhood before being sent to Corse. Memories, long buried under years of war, came rushing back.


    The palace gates creaked open, revealing the grand courtyard beyond. For a moment, Bruno could almost see himself as a child, running across the polished stone paths, his laughter echoing under the vast, arched halls. He remembered his father''s voice, deep and commanding, giving orders to the court. He remembered his mother, elegant and poised, reading in the gardens while he played nearby.


    But those days were gone. The palace had stood empty for years, its corridors once filled with nobles and royal guards now silent. Bruno dismounted his horse and stepped forward, his boots echoing against the marble floor as he crossed the threshold of his old home.


    Inside the Palace


    Bruno walked through the grand entrance hall, running his gloved fingers along the gilded walls. The chandeliers still hung from the high ceilings, though dust and neglect had dimmed their former brilliance. The paintings of his ancestors lined the corridors, their regal expressions watching him as if they had been waiting for his return.


    "So much has changed," he muttered to himself.


    His officers followed behind him, but they did not speak. They knew this was a personal moment for him.


    The throne room was just ahead, its large doors slightly ajar. Bruno hesitated for just a moment before pushing them open.


    The golden throne of Elysea stood at the far end of the room, untouched by time. A symbol of authority, of legacy, of a kingdom that had nearly been lost. And yet, it felt foreign to him.


    He stepped forward, his boots clicking against the polished floor, and stood before the throne. He did not sit. Not yet.


    Not until the crown was placed upon his head.


    Bruno turned away, exhaling slowly. He had won the war, but he was not yet king. That moment would come soon¡ªwhen the nobles, the clergy, and the people declared him as such. For now, he was the ruler in all but name.


    As he walked the halls of the palace, fragments of his childhood returned to him.


    He remembered the library, where he had sat for hours, fascinated by books on war and history. He had once dreamt of commanding armies, but that dream was far too off for the original Bruno as he had grown very spoiled.


    He passed by the royal gardens, where his mother used to walk, her hands brushing against the white roses. He could almost hear her voice, soft and gentle, telling him stories of Elysea''s great kings.


    And then there was his father''s study, the place where decisions that shaped the kingdom had been made. The heavy oak door creaked as he pushed it open, revealing a room frozen in time.


    A large map of Elysea still lay on the desk, its edges curled with age. The same desk where his father had once sat, his hands clasped as he planned military campaigns, economic reforms, and diplomatic strategies. Bruno had once watched from the corner of the room, too young to understand the burdens of kingship.


    Now, that burden was his.


    He turned to Berthold and Leclerc, who stood nearby. "This is where we will plan the kingdom''s future," he said firmly. "The war may be over, but our work is just beginning."


    That evening, Bruno convened his first council meeting in the palace. His commanders, advisors, and trusted nobles gathered around the long table in the war room, discussing the next steps. S§×arch* The n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "The Republic''s leadership is finished," Berthold reported. "Voss and her ministers are in our custody. The remaining Republican generals have either surrendered or fled into hiding."


    Leclerc nodded. "The countryside is firmly in our control. Most of the towns and cities have declared loyalty to you, Your Highness. The people want you crowned."


    Bruno leaned forward, his hands clasped. "And what of the army? We must ensure stability before the coronation."


    Vallier, still recovering from his wounds, spoke up. "The Royalist Army stands strong, but we must be cautious. There are still remnants of the Republic''s supporters¡ªdesperate men who might try to fight back."


    Bruno considered this. "We will rebuild the kingdom, but not through fear. The people must see that we are different from the Republic. No mass executions, no purges. We will hold trials for the former government officials. Those guilty of crimes will face justice, but there will be no senseless bloodshed."


    Berthold smirked. "A wise approach. A ruler must know when to be merciful and when to be ruthless."


    Bruno''s gaze hardened. "And should they try to rise against us again, we will crush them without hesitation."


    As the meeting concluded, Bruno returned to the royal chambers, his footsteps slowing as he entered. This had been his parents'' room once. He stepped inside, looking at the ornate canopy bed, the large windows that overlooked the city, the grand fireplace that had warmed the room on cold nights.


    He walked to the balcony, placing his hands on the railing as he gazed at Elysee.


    The city had changed. The streets that had once been filled with Republican banners now bore the colors of the royal family. The people below cheered his name, their voices carrying into the night.


    It was hard to believe.


    The original prince had left this palace to be trained in governance but was merely a disguise for him to be sent off so as to not bring shame upon the royal family. Just now, he had led a rebellion that no one had thought possible.


    Bruno took a deep breath. The war was over, but his true test was about to begin.


    The task of ruling was far more difficult than winning battles.


    But he was ready.

 Chapter 57 The Republic Dies Today

    July 26th, 1693.


    Prince Bruno stepped through the iron gates of La Bastille de Fer, Elysee''s harshest prison, where only the most dangerous criminals and enemies of the state were sent. The air was thick with the stench of damp stone and unwashed bodies. Torches flickered against the cold walls, casting long shadows as he moved deeper into the prison''s depths.


    Two Royalist guards walked ahead of him, leading the way through the dimly lit corridors. Behind him, General Berthold, Captain Vallier, and Antoine Leclerc followed in silence. None of them spoke¡ªthe weight of what was about to happen did not require words.


    Bruno had come to see them¡ªthe leaders of the Revolutionary Council, the very people who had overthrown his family and turned Elysea into a blood-soaked dictatorship.


    They had once ruled Elysee from the grand chambers of the Bureau of State Security. Now, they were nothing more than prisoners, shackled in chains, awaiting judgment.


    As the group approached the final cell block, the warden stood at attention and saluted. "Your Highness, they are waiting inside."


    Bruno gave a curt nod. "Open the door."


    With the heavy scrape of iron against stone, the door swung open.


    Inside the dimly lit chamber, Emilia Voss, General Hector Bellerose, and Jean-Paul Lafayette sat on a long wooden bench. Their hands were bound in iron chains, their clothes torn and stained with filth.


    Voss, once the ruthless Minister of State Security, sat with her back straight, her piercing gaze locking onto Bruno with open defiance. Even now, she refused to bow.


    Bellerose, the former head of the Republican Army, remained silent, his jaw clenched. His uniform was in tatters, his once-polished boots caked in dirt. He had spent his life leading men into battle, but now he had no army left to command.


    Lafayette, the Minister of Trade and Finance, looked the worst of them all. His face was gaunt, his eyes bloodshot with exhaustion. He had lost his wealth, his influence, and whatever dignity he had left. He knew what was coming.


    Bruno stepped inside, his boots echoing against the stone floor. He stopped before them, crossing his arms as he studied their faces.


    For a long moment, none of them spoke.


    Then, Bruno broke the silence.


    "I was sent to Corse," he said calmly. "Officially, it was to ''prepare me for governance.'' But I know the truth now. I was sent away because the royal court had no use for a spoiled prince." S§×ar?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    His gaze hardened. "And when the Republic took power, a fleet was sent to ensure that I never returned."


    Voss remained silent, but there was a flicker of something in her expression. Recognition.


    Bruno took a step closer. "Tell me. Were you the ones who ordered it? Were you the ones who sent men to kill me?"


    Lafayette swallowed hard. His mouth opened, but no words came.


    Bellerose kept his eyes on the floor.


    It was Voss who finally spoke.


    "The fleet was sent under my orders," she admitted. "The Republic could not afford a claimant to the throne. If you had lived in exile, the nobles would have used you as a symbol. They would have rallied behind you, as they have now." She tilted her head. "Killing you was necessary."


    Bruno''s fists clenched. "And yet, you failed."


    Voss gave a thin, humorless smile. "Yes. And that failure led us here."


    Bruno exhaled slowly. He already knew the answer, but hearing it from her own mouth confirmed everything.


    His voice was cold when he spoke again. "Then you are guilty of high treason."


    Bruno turned to Bellerose. "Tell me something, General. How did it happen? How did you and your revolutionaries manage to overthrow my father?"


    Bellerose finally raised his eyes to meet Bruno''s. "It wasn''t difficult," he admitted. "Your father was blind. The people were starving, and he did nothing. The nobles hoarded wealth while the commoners suffered. When the time came, the people rose up, and we gave them a banner to fight under."


    Bruno narrowed his eyes. "And so you executed the royal family."


    Bellerose nodded without hesitation. "The king, the queen, your older brothers. If we had captured you, you would have been among them."


    Bruno felt something dark settle in his chest. The slaughter of his family had not been out of necessity. It had been a calculated, merciless act to erase the monarchy.


    "And what did you do after taking power?" Bruno continued. "Did you build a better nation? Did you bring prosperity to Elysea?"


    Lafayette laughed bitterly. "We tried," he muttered. "But revolution is messy. The Republic needed money, so we taxed the people into poverty. It needed order, so we built prisons and filled them with anyone who disagreed with us. In the end, we became the very tyrants we swore to replace."


    Bruno didn''t respond. He had heard enough.


    He turned to Berthold. "Have them brought to the square. We will make this public."


    The prisoners tensed.


    Voss, for the first time, showed genuine fear. "A trial¡ª" she started.


    "There will be no trial," Bruno interrupted. His voice was like steel. "You massacred my people, burned my cities, and murdered my family. You are not leaders. You are criminals. And criminals do not get the courtesy of trials."


    Bellerose let out a slow breath, accepting his fate. Lafayette, already broken, began to weep.


    Bruno stepped closer to Voss, lowering his voice. "You said the Republic''s ideals would never die. Maybe that''s true. But you won''t be around to see it."


    Voss straightened her spine, inhaling sharply. She would not beg.


    Bruno turned and left the chamber, giving his final order.


    "Execute them at dawn."


    Bruno''s voice carried no hesitation. "We will prepare the guillotine. The people of Elysee will witness the justice they have long been denied."


    Voss inhaled sharply but said nothing. Bellerose closed his eyes, resigned to his fate, while Lafayette let out a strangled whimper. The weight of their impending execution pressed down upon them, and for the first time, they truly felt powerless.


    Berthold stepped forward. "Shall we make the announcement to the public, Your Highness?"


    Bruno turned to him, his gaze unwavering. "Yes. Let them know that the Republic dies tomorrow."


    With that, he stepped out of the cell, the heavy iron door slamming shut behind him.

 Chapter 58 The Execution of Revolutionary Council

    July 27th, 1693.


    The dawn was slow to break over Elysee, as though the heavens themselves hesitated to witness the reckoning that was about to unfold. A gray sky hung over the city, the air thick with the lingering scent of gunpowder and ash from the recent battle. Streets that had once been empty and silent under Republican rule were now filled with a sea of people, gathering in the central square before the scaffold.


    At the heart of it stood the guillotine¡ªan instrument of death that had once been used by the Revolutionary Council to purge their enemies. Now, it would claim the heads of the very men and women who had wielded it so mercilessly.


    From his vantage point on a raised platform, Prince Bruno observed the scene before him. The people of Elysee, who had lived under the Republic''s rule for more than a decade, had once gathered in this very square to cheer for the execution of nobles and monarchists. Today, they had come for justice¡ªor vengeance.


    The prisoners, bound and shackled, knelt before the guillotine. They were no longer the powerful leaders who had once ruled Elysea with an iron fist. They were broken, stripped of their influence, awaiting judgment.


    Captain Vallier stood beside Bruno, his expression hard. General Berthold and Antoine Leclerc flanked his other side, their presence a silent reminder that this was not merely an act of revenge, but a necessary step toward solidifying Bruno''s rule.


    The herald stepped forward, unfurling a scroll as he addressed the crowd.


    "Citizens of Elysee, today marks the end of tyranny! The Revolutionary Council, who once ruled through fear and oppression, have been found guilty of crimes against the kingdom. For the massacres of our people, for the betrayal of our nation, and for the murder of the royal family, they now face the justice they denied to so many!"


    A deafening roar of approval surged through the crowd, fists raised, voices echoing through the city.


    Bruno took a slow breath, then gave a curt nod to the executioner.


    The first prisoner was brought forward.


    Jean-Paul Lafayette, the former Minister of Trade and Finance, had once been among the wealthiest men in Elysea. He had helped fund the Republic''s rise, filling its coffers by bleeding the people dry. Taxes, trade monopolies, forced contributions¡ªhe had built an empire of gold atop the suffering of others.


    Now, he was barely recognizable. His fine clothing was torn, his once-groomed beard unkempt, his hands shaking violently as he was dragged up the scaffold.


    "Please¡ª" he stammered as the executioner forced him to his knees. "Please, Your Highness, have mercy!"


    Bruno looked down at him, his expression unreadable. "Did you show mercy to the families who starved under your rule? Did you show mercy to the merchants whose businesses you destroyed?"


    Lafayette whimpered. "I¡ªI was only following orders¡ª"


    Bruno gave a sharp nod. "Then follow this one. Accept your fate."


    The crowd jeered as Lafayette was forced beneath the blade. The executioner yanked the lever, and with a sickening thud, the guillotine did its work.


    Silence followed for a brief moment¡ªthen the people erupted in cheers.


    Bruno did not react. His gaze was already on the next prisoner.


    Hector Bellerose had been the Republic''s enforcer, the man who had led armies against his own people in the name of order. He had commanded the forces that slaughtered royalist uprisings. He had given the order to fire on innocent civilians.


    Unlike Lafayette, he did not beg.


    As he walked up the scaffold, his back straight, his eyes calm, he glanced at Bruno. "I fought for what I believed in," he said simply. "And I die for it."


    Bruno met his gaze. "You killed my family."


    Bellerose nodded once. "Yes."


    Bruno inhaled slowly. "Then you die for it."


    Bellerose knelt, placing his hands on the wooden block, accepting his fate. The executioner pulled the lever.


    The blade fell.


    The Butcher of Elysee was no more.


    The crowd roared again, their voices shaking the city''s foundations. The people had feared Bellerose for years¡ªnow, they saw his blood stain the very ground he had once ruled.


    Bruno barely registered their cheers. His focus was on the last prisoner.


    Emilia Voss had been the true power behind the Republic. She had been its mind, its voice, its executioner. The head of the Bureau of State Security, she had overseen the purges, the arrests, the torture chambers where enemies of the state disappeared.


    And yet, as she was brought to the scaffold, her face betrayed no fear.


    Even in chains, even in rags, she stood with the posture of a woman who believed she was still in control.


    "You think this is victory?" she said as she was forced onto her knees. "You think by killing me, you will erase the Republic?"


    Bruno stepped forward, his voice calm. "The Republic is already dead, Emilia. And soon, you will be too." S§×arch* The Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    She smirked. "Then you are a fool. Ideas cannot be killed."


    Bruno exhaled. "Perhaps not. But murderers can."


    He gave the signal.


    The guillotine fell one final time.


    And with that, the Republic''s last shadow was gone.


    The crowd stood in stunned silence for a moment, as if processing what had just happened. And then, as the realization sank in, the square erupted in a deafening roar.


    The Republic had fallen. Its leaders had paid for their crimes. And Elysea was free.


    Bruno turned to Berthold. "Burn their bodies. Let the wind scatter their ashes."


    Berthold nodded. "And what of the Republic''s remaining supporters? There are still many who backed them."


    Bruno looked over the crowd, at the people who had once been ruled through fear.


    "We do not rule through terror," he said. "There will be no more purges. Those who choose to live in peace under my rule will not be harmed."


    "And those who don''t?" Vallier asked.


    Bruno''s expression darkened. "If they try to rise again, we will crush them without hesitation."


    The message was clear.


    Bruno turned away from the blood-stained scaffold, his mind already shifting to what came next. The Republic was gone, but now he faced a greater challenge.


    Rebuilding a kingdom.


    As he made his way back toward the palace, he could hear the people chanting.


    "Long live the King! Long live King Bruno!"


    For the first time since this war began, he allowed himself a small, weary smile.


    He was not king yet.


    But soon, he would be.

 Chapter 59 Sending the Message to the Army

    July 30th, 1693


    The grand chamber of the Royal Palace of Elysea was no longer the seat of a crumbling monarchy or the office of a repressive regime. It had become the war room for Prince Bruno, the de facto ruler of Elysea. Maps and reports were spread across the large wooden table, surrounded by his closest advisors¡ªGeneral Berthold, Captain Vallier, and Antoine Leclerc. The weight of rebuilding the kingdom now rested on his shoulders, and the first step was ending the war that had consumed Elysea for over a decade.


    Bruno''s fingers tapped lightly on the polished surface of the table. "It''s time," he said finally, his voice calm but firm. "The war must end. The Republic is no more, and Elysea needs to rebuild."


    Leclerc nodded, understanding the implications. "I''ll draft the letters immediately. The coalition nations¡ªGreater Germania, Britannica, and the Iberian Empire¡ªmust be informed that Elysea is under new leadership."


    "We''ll need to send envoys," Vallier added. "They won''t just take our word for it. For all they know, this could be a ploy by Republican remnants."


    Bruno sighed. "Then we will send men they trust. Officers who fought in the war, diplomats who still hold some credibility. The message must be clear: the Republic is gone, and it is time for a ceasefire."


    He turned to Berthold. "What of our forces still fighting along the border?" S§×arch* The nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Berthold''s expression darkened. "We have around 100,000 men still active in the field. Many are entrenched along the border, while others are deep in enemy territory. They''ve fought for the Republic, bled for it. Some will accept your rule, but many¡­ many still believe in the ideals of the Republic."


    Bruno narrowed his eyes. "How many do you estimate will refuse to stand down?"


    Berthold hesitated before answering. "At least forty, maybe fifty thousand."


    A tense silence followed.


    Vallier crossed his arms. "So, another civil war."


    Bruno exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Not a full-scale civil war. Not yet. But sedition, certainly. If nearly half of our military refuses to acknowledge my rule, then we have another battle ahead of us. We need to act quickly before they organize."


    Leclerc adjusted his spectacles, his voice careful. "Many of these soldiers have lived under Republican rule for years. To them, the Republic was not a regime¡ªit was their home. They were promised a future free from monarchy, free from nobility. If they see you as just another king to be overthrown, they won''t hesitate to take up arms."


    Bruno nodded, acknowledging the truth in his words. "Then we give them a choice."


    Berthold raised an eyebrow. "A choice?"


    "We send orders for them to lay down their arms and return to Elysea," Bruno explained. "Those who accept will be welcomed back into the Royal Army. Those who refuse will be given safe passage to leave Elysea. But if they choose to rebel, then we will treat them as enemies of the state."


    Leclerc frowned. "And if they don''t leave? If they stay and resist?"


    Bruno''s expression hardened. "Then we put them down."


    August 2nd, 1693 ¨C The Orders Are Given


    Messages were dispatched across the country and beyond its borders. Letters, carried by trusted officers and envoys, reached the commanders of Elysea''s remaining forces. They were simple, direct, and left no room for misinterpretation.


    [To the Soldiers of Elysea,


    The Republic is no more. Its leaders have fallen, its government dismantled. Prince Bruno of Elysea has reclaimed the throne, and the kingdom stands united once more.


    Effective immediately, all military operations beyond our borders are to cease. All soldiers are to return home. Any who wish to continue serving the Royal Army will be granted full amnesty.


    However, any who seek to fight in the name of the Republic must understand this: Elysea will not tolerate insurrection. Lay down your arms or leave. If you choose war, you will be treated as an enemy of the kingdom.


    The choice is yours.


    Prince Bruno of Elysea]


    The letters were received by commanders across Elysea''s remaining battlefields. Some read them with relief, eager to return home. Others, however, saw them as a betrayal.


    August 5th, 1693.


    Reports flooded into the Royal Palace within days.


    "They refuse to stand down," Berthold said grimly, tossing a handful of letters onto the table. "Not all, but enough to be a problem."


    Bruno picked up one of the letters, reading the response from a Republican commander stationed near the Britannica border.


    [To the so-called King of Elysea,


    We do not recognize your authority. We have fought for the Republic, for the ideals of freedom and equality, and we will not bow to another monarch.


    You may have taken Elysee, but you have not taken our spirit. If you want our surrender, come and take it from us.


    General Victor Mcdonauld, 2nd Republican Army]


    Bruno set the letter down, his jaw tightening. "Where are they?"


    Berthold pointed at the map, marking key locations where resistance had emerged. "The largest groups are stationed in the north near Greater Germania, and in the south near the Iberian frontier. The rest are scattered throughout Elysea, mostly in fortified positions."


    Leclerc sighed. "We''re looking at another campaign. It won''t be as large as the war against the Republic, but it will be bloody."


    Vallier shook his head. "They''re fools. They''re outnumbered, outgunned. They can''t win this."


    Bruno narrowed his eyes. "They don''t need to win. They just need to make it costly for us."


    Leclerc nodded. "Precisely. If they wage a prolonged guerilla war, they could destabilize the kingdom before it''s even properly rebuilt."


    Bruno leaned over the table, his expression unreadable. "Then we strike first."


    Berthold''s eyes flickered with approval. "What''s the plan?"


    Bruno pointed to the key rebel strongholds. "We move swiftly. We target their leadership, cut off their supplies, and eliminate them before they can organize. We cannot allow this to drag on."


    Leclerc hesitated. "We could still negotiate. Offer them a chance to surrender peacefully."


    Bruno exhaled. "We did. They refused. But since they loved equality and freedom that much, I can promise radical reforms to them."

 Chapter 60 We Will Serve

    Leclerc adjusted his spectacles, watching Bruno carefully. "Radical reforms?"


    Bruno met his gaze. "We are not restoring the old monarchy. The people would never accept it. The nobles, for all their supposed loyalty, are opportunists who will turn against me the moment they see a better prospect. If I am to keep this kingdom together, I need to prove that my rule will not be a return to the past."


    Berthold nodded slowly. "And what does that mean?"


    "It means that we are not returning to the old ways. We will keep some of the Republic''s reforms¡ªsuch as the abolition of noble privileges. There will be no special rights granted by birth. Every man will earn his place in Elysea based on merit, not lineage."


    Vallier crossed his arms. "So, no return to the monarchy, but also no Republic?"


    Bruno exhaled, pacing around the war room. "The Republic failed because it gave too much power to ideologues who ruled through chaos. The monarchy before it failed because it was built on the stagnation of privilege. Elysea will not be ruled by bloodlines or by mobs¡ªit will be ruled by strength, by vision."


    Leclerc frowned. "And who holds that vision, Your Highness?"


    Bruno stopped and turned to face them. "I do."


    A silence settled over the room.


    Berthold smirked. "Then you intend to rule as a supreme head of state."


    Bruno nodded. "Yes. The people need order, and only I can provide it. I will not be a king in the old sense, nor a mere figurehead under a republic. I will be Elysea''s leader¡ªunchallenged and absolute." Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Leclerc hesitated before speaking. "A strong ruler can bring stability. But absolute power¡­ that is a dangerous path."


    Bruno met his gaze. "It is only dangerous if the ruler lacks vision. The Republic tried to govern by committee, by endless debates, and by sacrificing national interests for the sake of ideology. The old monarchy was no better¡ªits policies enriched the nobles while the people starved. This kingdom will not be ruled by greed or by weak men squabbling in councils. It will be ruled with purpose."


    Vallier folded his arms. "And what do you propose?"


    Bruno walked to the map of Elysea spread across the war table. "First, I will establish a new government. A Council of State, composed of the most capable men in Elysea, regardless of their birth or past allegiances. This council will serve as advisors, but the final authority will rest with me."


    Berthold nodded. "And the nobility? They will not sit idle while you strip them of their power."


    Bruno smirked. "They will adapt. Those who are loyal will be allowed to serve the state¡ªon my terms. But their titles will mean nothing unless they prove themselves useful."


    Leclerc sighed. "And the people? They fought for the Republic because they wanted rights, not just a new ruler."


    Bruno turned to him. "Then they shall have rights¡ªbut not at the expense of the kingdom''s stability. The law will be equal for all, but there will be no mob rule. Justice will be swift and firm. Property rights will be secured, but the state will ensure that no oligarchy rises to take advantage of the people. Education will be expanded so that talent, not heritage, determines one''s success."


    Berthold grinned. "So, a state built on strength and merit. It sounds¡­ revolutionary."


    Bruno chuckled. "Revolutions fail when they are built on ideals alone. This will be built on discipline, law, and power."


    September 3rd, 1693.


    The city of Elysee gathered in the grand square, where thousands of citizens stood in anticipation. The banners of the Republic had been torn down, and the royal insignias had not been raised to replace them. Instead, a new standard¡ªbearing the eagle of Elysea¡ªwas hoisted above the city.


    Bruno stood on the palace balcony, overlooking the people. He wore no crown, only a dark military uniform with golden embroidery, signifying his role as commander of the nation.


    When he spoke, his voice carried across the square with the weight of certainty.


    "People of Elysea," he began, "our kingdom has endured war, tyranny, and division. The Republic is no more, and the old monarchy will not return. We stand at the dawn of a new era."


    The crowd murmured, uncertain.


    "I have seen firsthand the failures of the past¡ªthe corruption of the nobles, the oppression of the Republic, the chaos of endless war. No more."


    A silence settled as they listened.


    "This nation will be ruled by law and order, by strength and discipline. No man will be granted privilege by birth. No noble will rule simply because of their lineage. No ideology will dictate policy at the cost of our people''s well-being. Elysea will be a nation of merit, where the strong and capable lead, and where every man has the opportunity to rise."


    Some in the crowd murmured with approval.


    "I will govern this nation¡ªnot as a king of the old ways, nor as a puppet of the fallen Republic, but as the supreme head of the state. I will rebuild our lands, strengthen our armies, and bring Elysea into an era of prosperity. We will not return to the failures of the past. We will forge a new destiny."


    For a moment, there was silence.


    Then, the chants began.


    "Long live Bruno! Long live Elysea!"


    The voices grew, rising into a deafening roar. The people, weary of instability, had found someone who could lead them. A ruler who would not bow to old traditions nor be shackled by failed ideologies.


    Bruno stood firm, his hands clasped behind his back.


    The state of Elysea was born.


    ***


    In the grand hall of the palace, the highest-ranking officers of the Elysean military who had remained loyal to the Republic were gathered. Some stood stiffly in their uniforms, their expressions cold and unreadable, while others glanced at one another uncertainly, as if waiting for someone to make the first move.


    At the head of the gathering stood General Victor Mcdonauld, commander of the 2nd Republican Army. A tall, grizzled man with a scar across his left cheek, he was among the most respected officers in the Republic''s military. He had not fought in the battles that had led to the Republic''s fall¡ªhe had been stationed along the border, waging war against the coalition forces. Now, he was here, summoned by a ruler he did not recognize.


    Bruno sat at the long table, flanked by General Berthold and Captain Vallier. He studied the men before him. These were seasoned warriors, officers who had fought for the Republic''s banner. Many had lost comrades in battle, had sacrificed for a cause they had believed in. They were not men who would submit easily.


    The silence stretched, heavy and unbroken, until Bruno finally spoke.


    "You are here because I have given you a choice," he said, his voice calm but unwavering. "You swore an oath to serve Elysea, but that oath was twisted by those who led you. The Republic is gone. Its leaders are dead. The people have chosen order over chaos. I am offering you a place in this new Elysea, not as servants, but as soldiers of a nation reborn."


    McDonauld''s expression remained impassive. "You speak of choice, yet your men have already sent their message. Those who resisted you have been crushed."


    Bruno nodded. "Yes, and they will continue to be crushed until this war is over. But I did not call you here to demand your surrender¡ªI called you here because Elysea needs its warriors. It needs commanders who know how to fight, who understand discipline and strength."


    McDonauld''s lips curled in something that was almost amusement. "And if we refuse?"


    Bruno''s eyes darkened. "Then you will be treated as rebels, not soldiers. And you will die."


    A tense murmur rippled through the officers. Some exchanged glances, weighing their options. They were men who had seen war. They understood the gravity of their situation. They could continue fighting, but without leadership, without the Republic to support them, they would be crushed. Or they could bend the knee and survive.


    McDonauld crossed his arms. "And what of the Republic''s ideals? The men under my command did not fight for a king."


    Bruno leaned forward. "They fought for a vision of a stronger Elysea, for a nation free from corruption and stagnation. That is exactly what I am building. I am not restoring the old monarchy. Nobles will have no privileges. There will be no return to the decadence of the past. Only strength and merit will rule in Elysea."


    One of the younger officers, a colonel named Renaud, frowned. "You say that, but what stops you from becoming another tyrant? Another king ruling by birthright?"


    Bruno smirked. "Because I do not rule by birthright. I rule by strength. By the will of the people. And I will ensure that every man in Elysea has a chance to rise, just as I did."


    McDonauld was silent for a long moment. Then, he exhaled through his nose. "You will not make me swear fealty to a crown?"


    Bruno shook his head. "You will swear loyalty to the state. To Elysea."


    McDonauld glanced around at the other officers. He could see it in their eyes¡ªthey were tired. They had fought for years, some of them since the Republic''s founding. They had followed their leaders into battle, and now those leaders were dead or in exile. The war was lost. The dream of a Republic had burned away in the fires of civil war.


    Slowly, he nodded. "Then we will serve."

 Chapter 61 A Wild Suggestion

    September 20th, 1693.


    For the first time since his return to Elysee, Bruno allowed himself a moment to breathe. The war was over. The Republic was crushed, and the military had sworn loyalty to him. The nation was stabilizing, and his authority was absolute. It was only right that the moment be commemorated.


    The grand halls of the Royal Palace were alive once more, illuminated by chandeliers whose golden glow reflected off the polished marble floors. The palace had seen nothing but war councils and military officers in the past months, but tonight, it was filled with laughter, music, and the clinking of glasses.


    A grand banquet had been arranged, a symbolic gesture to mark the return of order to Elysea. Nobles who had survived the Republic''s purges attended in lavish garments, their colors bright, their jewels glittering. Military officers, now loyal to the new regime, stood among them, less accustomed to the revelry but nonetheless partaking in the evening''s festivities.


    Bruno himself stood at the head of the great hall, dressed in a black and gold military coat, adorned with a sash of Elysea''s new colors. He did not wear a crown¡ªhe had not yet been crowned¡ªbut everyone in the hall knew that he was the true ruler of Elysea.


    A toast was raised in his honor, and the hall erupted in cheers.


    "To Prince Bruno!"


    "To Elysea!"


    The sound of a hundred voices echoed through the chamber, and for the first time in years, the palace felt alive.


    Bruno moved through the crowd, shaking hands and exchanging words with men and women he barely knew. Some of these nobles had been imprisoned or exiled by the Republic, stripped of their lands and titles. Now, they were restored, though they all knew that their status was no longer based on blood alone.


    "My Prince," one elderly noble said, bowing low. "You have saved us from ruin. Many of us never believed we would see the light of day again, let alone stand in this hall."


    Bruno offered a small smile. "The Republic sought to destroy Elysea''s past, but I will not allow its history to be erased. However, you must understand¡ªyour titles are no longer a shield. You will serve the state, or you will have no place in it."


    The noble nodded quickly. "Of course, Your Highness. We are at your service."


    Bruno moved on. Some of the nobles were truly grateful, while others hid their wariness behind polite smiles. He would have to watch them closely. He had freed them, but he would not allow them to grow powerful enough to become threats in the future.


    As he passed a group of young officers, he noticed Captain Vallier in deep conversation with a woman draped in sapphire silk. She laughed at something he said, her delicate hand resting lightly on his arm. Bruno smirked. Even in victory, Vallier wasted no time in finding company.


    "Your Highness!" came another voice, and Bruno turned to see a man in his late forties approach. The man bowed low before straightening. "Marquis D''Ormont, at your service."


    Bruno recognized the name. The D''Ormont family had once been among the wealthiest landowners in Elysea before the Republic had seized their estates.


    "You were imprisoned?" Bruno asked.


    The marquis nodded. "My family''s name was erased from every record, and our lands were stolen. I thought I would die in chains."


    Bruno''s gaze remained unreadable. "You have been restored, but you understand the conditions."


    D''Ormont nodded quickly. "Yes, Your Highness. I will serve the state however you see fit."


    Bruno studied him for a moment longer before nodding. "Good."


    As the evening continued, Bruno stepped onto a balcony overlooking the city. The streets of Elysee were alive with celebration, citizens drinking and feasting in the squares. For years, they had known only fear and war. Tonight, at least, they had peace.


    Berthold joined him, holding a goblet of wine. "You look uneasy," he remarked.


    Bruno exhaled, leaning on the stone railing. "It feels¡­ strange, celebrating when there''s still so much work to do."


    Berthold chuckled. "That''s what happens when you take a kingdom for yourself. But tonight, the people rejoice, and you should let them. Tomorrow, we rule. But tonight? Tonight, we drink."


    Bruno smirked, taking the goblet Berthold offered and drinking deeply. The warmth of the wine settled in his chest, but his mind never truly relaxed. S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Leclerc arrived a few moments later, his expression thoughtful. "Your Highness, may I speak with you?"


    Bruno nodded. "Go ahead."


    Leclerc hesitated for a moment before saying, "Now that you are the ruler of Elysea, there is a matter we have yet to discuss."


    Bruno raised an eyebrow. "And what matter is that?"


    Leclerc adjusted his spectacles. "You must take a wife."


    For the first time that evening, Bruno was caught off guard.


    "What?"


    Leclerc continued, "A ruler must secure his dynasty. The people expect stability, and nothing solidifies a new reign more than an heir. If you are to lead Elysea into the future, you must consider marriage."


    Bruno blinked, still processing the suggestion. He had never given thought to marriage.


    Berthold chuckled. "You look as though you''ve been hit by a cannonball."


    Bruno scowled. "I have more pressing concerns than choosing a wife."


    Leclerc remained serious. "Perhaps. But politics do not wait. The nobles will expect a royal marriage, and the people will see it as a sign of stability. The right match could strengthen Elysea."


    Bruno exhaled. "And who exactly do you propose?"


    Leclerc folded his hands behind his back. "There are many options. The daughter of a noble family would secure domestic alliances. A princess from a neighboring kingdom could ease tensions with foreign powers. Or perhaps a woman of common birth, to show the people that your rule is truly for all."


    Bruno rubbed his temple. "You have been planning this for some time, haven''t you?"


    Leclerc smirked. "I merely anticipated the need."


    Berthold took another sip of wine. "It''s not the worst idea, Bruno. If you want your rule to last, an heir would be wise."


    Bruno exhaled, shaking his head. "I will consider it. But I will not be rushed into anything."


    Leclerc bowed slightly. "Of course, Your Highness. But the sooner, the better."

 Chapter 62 Potential Candidate?

    Bruno took another sip from his goblet, still mulling over Leclerc''s suggestion. Marriage? It had never been something he actively considered. But now that the war was over and he had cemented his rule, the question of an heir and stability loomed over him.


    His thoughts were interrupted as the grand hall doors swung open, and the light from the chandeliers reflected off something radiant. A woman, elegant and poised, stepped into the room, immediately drawing the eyes of the gathered nobles and officers. Bruno, too, found himself unable to look away.


    She was stunning. Her long, soft pink hair cascaded down in waves, framing her delicate yet refined features. Her violet eyes carried a quiet intelligence, and the way she moved¡ªgraceful and measured¡ªspoke of noble upbringing. She wore a sophisticated dress of ivory and black, adorned with gold embroidery and a modest corset that accentuated her silhouette. Ribbons of black silk tied her hair neatly, with two dark ornaments that resembled small horns, giving her an almost ethereal presence.


    Bruno realized the hall had quieted slightly as people took note of her arrival. A noblewoman of such beauty and presence did not go unnoticed, especially when her arrival had not been announced.


    Leclerc smirked. "Well, Your Highness, it seems Elysea has no shortage of elegant women fit for royalty."


    Bruno shot him a glance before turning his attention back to the woman. He vaguely recognized her face but struggled to recall her name. If she was here, it meant she had survived the Republic''s purges¡ªperhaps a noble family that had remained neutral or had recently been restored.


    A voice called out from the crowd, breaking the brief silence. sea??h th§× novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Lady Am¨¦lie de Vauclerc," an older nobleman said, stepping forward with a bow. "Your Highness, may I present my niece? Her family name was stripped during the Republic''s rule, but now, with your ascension, they have been reinstated."


    Bruno studied her carefully. So, she was a member of the Vauclerc family. The name had once been prestigious¡ªone of the most prominent houses in Elysea before the Republic had destroyed the aristocracy. He had heard of them in his youth, though he had never interacted with them personally.


    Lady Am¨¦lie curtsied elegantly. "Your Highness," she greeted, her voice as refined as her appearance. "It is an honor to stand before you."


    Bruno nodded slightly, keeping his expression neutral. "Lady Vauclerc. I see your family has returned to court."


    She met his gaze steadily, unfazed by the scrutiny. "Yes, Your Highness. My father and elder brothers¡­ did not survive the purges."


    A flicker of something¡ªpain, regret¡ªpassed through her violet eyes, but she composed herself quickly. "I am the last of my house."


    Bruno had seen many noble families torn apart by the Republic. Some had been complicit in its rise, others had resisted, and many had simply been caught in the tide of revolution. The Vauclercs had been among the latter¡ªa house that had remained loyal to the old order but had been hunted for it.


    "I see," Bruno said. "Then you have endured much."


    Lady Am¨¦lie gave a small smile, though there was something unreadable behind it. "As have we all, Your Highness."


    For a brief moment, they simply regarded each other, the weight of the past hanging between them. Then Berthold, perhaps sensing the shift in the atmosphere, stepped forward and gestured toward the banquet table.


    "This is a celebration, is it not?" he said jovially. "Come, Lady Vauclerc, join us. I am certain His Highness would not object."


    Bruno inclined his head slightly. "Of course. You are welcome to partake in the banquet."


    Lady Am¨¦lie gave another graceful curtsy. "You are too kind, Your Highness."


    As the evening progressed, Bruno found himself observing her from across the room. She spoke with ease, navigating conversations with nobles and officers alike, neither arrogant nor overly submissive. She was intelligent, that much was clear. But there was also something else¡ªsomething careful about her demeanor, as if she measured every word before she spoke.


    At one point, she met his gaze from across the hall, her expression unreadable. Bruno didn''t look away. Neither did she.


    It was only when Leclerc leaned closer and murmured, "Intriguing, isn''t she?" that Bruno exhaled sharply and turned his attention back to his goblet.


    Leclerc chuckled. "Perhaps we have found our answer, Your Highness."


    Bruno frowned. "What are you implying?"


    Leclerc smirked. "Nothing at all. Simply that Lady Vauclerc seems¡­ suitable."


    Bruno shook his head. "You assume too much."


    Leclerc raised an eyebrow. "Do I? You have barely looked at any other noblewoman tonight. But the moment she walked in, you took notice."


    Bruno shot him a glare. "Enough."


    Leclerc wisely took a step back, though the amused glint in his eyes remained.


    Later that night, as the banquet wound down and the guests began to retire, Bruno found himself walking through the palace corridors, trying to gather his thoughts.


    He had spent his life fighting for power ever since he got here in this world. He had never concerned himself with courtly matters, let alone marriage. And yet¡­ Leclerc was right. The question of an heir, of securing his rule, would not go away. After all, he is a royalty.


    As he reached the main hall, he found Lady Am¨¦lie standing near one of the grand windows, gazing out at the city. The glow of the lanterns illuminated her features, making her look almost unreal.


    He hesitated for a brief moment before speaking. "Enjoying the view?"


    She turned, surprised but composed. "It has been years since I stood here," she admitted. "I hardly recognize the city."


    Bruno stepped forward, standing beside her. "Elysee has changed."


    Lady Am¨¦lie glanced at him. "As have you, Your Highness."


    Bruno gave her a sidelong glance. "You knew me before?"


    She smiled faintly. "Not personally. But I remember when you were sent away. The court whispered about the ''forgotten prince.''"


    Bruno exhaled. "I suppose I was."


    She studied him for a moment. "And now, you are its ruler."


    He met her gaze. "And you, the last of your house."


    There was a pause before she spoke again. "Our pasts do not define us, Your Highness. Only what we build from them."


    Bruno considered her words.


    Perhaps Leclerc had a point. Perhaps marriage was more than just a political obligation. Perhaps, in this new Elysea, he needed not just a queen, but an equal.


    But that was a thought for another night.


    For now, he simply nodded. "Wise words, Lady Vauclerc."


    She gave him one last glance before turning toward the exit. "Good night, Your Highness."


    Bruno watched as she disappeared down the corridor, leaving him alone with his thoughts.


    And for the first time in a long time, the future seemed¡­ uncertain.

 Chapter 63 Coincidental Meeting

    September 25th, 1693


    The late afternoon sun bathed the capital of Elysee in a warm golden hue, casting long shadows across the cobbled streets. The scent of freshly baked bread from reopened bakeries mixed with the lingering traces of ash from buildings still in ruins. Merchants haggled with customers, craftsmen repaired storefronts, and soldiers patrolled the streets, ensuring that order remained.


    Prince Bruno rode through the city on horseback, his cloak draped over his shoulders to avoid drawing too much attention. It was not unusual for rulers to inspect their cities from a distance, relying on reports from bureaucrats and advisors. But Bruno had never been content with secondhand information. He had fought for this kingdom with his own hands, and now that he ruled it, he needed to see its recovery with his own eyes.


    Beside him, Captain Vallier rode with quiet vigilance, his eyes constantly scanning their surroundings. Though the city was under Royalist control, threats could still lurk in the shadows. Loyalists of the Republic had not vanished overnight, and Bruno knew that remnants of resistance could rise at any moment.


    Vallier observed the rebuilding efforts as they passed through a marketplace where wooden beams were being hoisted to restore a burned-down shop. "The city''s recovering faster than expected," he remarked.


    Bruno nodded, though his expression remained neutral. "Because they have no choice. If they do not rebuild, they will starve."


    The weight of war still clung to Elysee. Though the banners of the Republic had been torn down and replaced with the newly minted standard of Elysea¡ªbearing the golden eagle¡ªmany streets bore the scars of battle. Some homes had been reduced to rubble, their remains now nothing more than piles of stone and wood. Yet, amid the destruction, there was a resilience in the people.


    They turned a corner onto a quieter street, where a group of children sat in a semicircle outside a modest stone building. A woman stood before them, speaking in a voice clear and calm. S§×ar?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "This city was once called the Jewel of Elysea," she told them, her tone carrying authority yet warmth. "Its streets were filled with life, its people proud and prosperous. And one day, it will be again."


    Bruno narrowed his eyes. He recognized that voice.


    Standing before the children was Lady Am¨¦lie de Vauclerc. She wore a practical yet elegant gown, simpler than the one she had worn at the banquet. The sapphire silk had been replaced by a muted ivory and gray dress, still dignified but suited for movement. Her pink hair was neatly tied back, and her violet eyes gleamed with quiet determination.


    Bruno hadn''t expected to see her again so soon¡ªcertainly not here, teaching children amid the ruins of a broken city.


    "She''s different from the other nobles," Vallier muttered, his tone carrying a note of intrigue. "Most are too busy reclaiming their estates and wealth, yet she''s here."


    Bruno did not reply immediately. Instead, he watched.


    The lesson soon ended, and the children scattered, running toward the market and their homes. Am¨¦lie lingered, watching them go with a small smile before turning to leave.


    Bruno took the opportunity to step forward. "Lady Vauclerc."


    She turned, her expression shifting from surprise to composed elegance. Her violet eyes studied him before she gracefully curtsied. "Your Highness."


    Bruno approached, studying her carefully. "I did not expect to find you here."


    She arched a delicate eyebrow. "And what were you expecting, Your Highness? That I would be idling away in a salon, speaking of courtly gossip?"


    A small smirk played on Bruno''s lips. "Something like that."


    She chuckled, the sound soft yet genuine. "Then I''m afraid I must disappoint you."


    Bruno glanced at the schoolhouse behind her. "You''re teaching?"


    Am¨¦lie nodded. "These children have lost their families to war. Some have no homes to return to. If they are not given guidance now, they will grow up without purpose, without hope. And an orphan with no hope is an easy tool for the next revolution."


    Bruno was silent for a moment. She spoke with the clarity of someone who had given deep thought to the matter¡ªmore thought than many of the so-called statesmen who surrounded him.


    "Most nobles would not bother," he remarked. "They see the people as their subjects, not as something to invest in."


    Her expression remained poised. "Then they are blind. If the people remain uneducated, they will always be susceptible to manipulation¡ªwhether by nobles, by revolutionaries, or by foreign invaders."


    Bruno understood that truth well. Power was not just about swords and soldiers¡ªit was about knowledge. A ruler could not simply command; he had to ensure the loyalty of those who followed him.


    "You think education is the answer to stability?" he asked.


    Am¨¦lie nodded. "It is the foundation. Without it, you are simply ruling over men who do not understand why they follow you."


    Bruno regarded her with newfound respect. He had met many nobles, many women who were skilled in courtly games. But Am¨¦lie de Vauclerc was different. She was sharp, deliberate with her words, and pragmatic in her beliefs.


    He was intrigued.


    "You do not seek to reclaim your family''s old influence," he noted. "Yet here you are, working to rebuild the city."


    She tilted her head slightly. "Because my family was loyal to Elysea, not just to the monarchy. I serve not for titles or power, but because this is my home."


    Bruno found himself admiring that answer. It was not often that he met someone who spoke of duty rather than ambition.


    "Then perhaps Elysea still has use for the House of Vauclerc," he said thoughtfully.


    Am¨¦lie''s lips curved slightly. "That depends, Your Highness. Do you mean to restore it¡­ or to control it?"


    Bruno smirked. "That depends, Lady Vauclerc. Would you be so easily controlled?"


    A quiet chuckle escaped her lips as she shook her head. "No, Your Highness. I would not."


    He liked that answer.


    Bruno took a step back, nodding. "Then perhaps we shall speak again soon."


    She curtsied once more. "Perhaps we shall."


    As she turned and walked away, disappearing down the narrow street, Bruno remained still, watching her go. There was something about her¡ªsomething compelling.


    Vallier, still at his side, finally broke the silence.


    "She has quite the spirit," he remarked.


    Bruno exhaled slowly, mounting his horse. "Yes. She does."


    As they rode further into the city, Bruno''s thoughts lingered on Am¨¦lie de Vauclerc. He had spent years consumed by war, by politics, by power. He had never concerned himself with matters of courtship or marriage.


    But now, for the first time, he found himself considering the possibility.


    Perhaps Leclerc had been right after all.

 Chapter 64 Royal Decrees

    September 30th, 1693.


    The great hall of the royal palace was no longer a place of idle courtly gatherings. It had become the nerve center of Elysea''s new government. Long wooden tables had been arranged in a semicircle, covered in maps, legal documents, and reports from every corner of the kingdom. Candlelight flickered against the polished stone walls as scribes worked tirelessly, recording and copying each decree that would shape the nation''s future.


    At the head of the chamber, Prince Bruno stood tall, his gaze unwavering as he addressed the assembled members of his new Council of State¡ªthe governing body that would advise and execute his vision. The council was composed of men chosen not for their noble blood, but for their skill, loyalty, and expertise.


    Among them was Antoine Leclerc, his sharp mind invaluable in matters of governance; General Berthold, who commanded the army with unwavering discipline; Captain Vallier, now serving as the head of internal security; and several scholars and economists who had survived the Republic''s purges.


    Bruno''s voice was steady as he spoke.


    "The Republic was built on the idea of progress, but it drowned in chaos. The old monarchy thrived on tradition, but it decayed in corruption. Elysea will not suffer the same fate. We will not return to the past, nor will we allow instability to consume us again. The state will be strong, orderly, and just. These decrees will ensure it."


    He gestured toward Leclerc, who stepped forward with a set of documents.


    "The First Decree: The Abolition of Noble Privileges"


    Leclerc cleared his throat and read aloud.


    "By order of His Highness, Prince Bruno of Elysea, all noble titles shall be recognized as honorary and ceremonial only. Landed estates once owned by the aristocracy shall be reviewed by the state, with those deemed unproductive redistributed for agricultural or industrial use. No noble shall hold power over the law, and all positions of governance, military, and civil service shall be awarded by merit alone."


    Murmurs rippled through the chamber. This decree was the final nail in the coffin of the old nobility. The aristocrats who had been spared the Republic''s executions had returned hoping to reclaim their former influence. But Bruno had made his stance clear¡ªtitles would no longer grant privilege, only responsibility.


    General Berthold smirked. "The nobles will protest."


    Bruno gave him a sharp look. "Then they will learn that they serve the state, not the other way around."


    Leclerc continued.


    "The Second Decree: The Reformation of the Military"


    "All officers, regardless of birth, shall rise through the ranks based on merit. The army shall be professionalized, with military academies established to train future commanders. Any remnants of Republican forces that choose to integrate into the Elysean Army shall be granted full citizenship and military status."


    Vallier nodded approvingly. "This will solidify our hold on the military. Those who fought for the Republic will have no reason to rebel if they are given a place in our ranks."


    Bruno turned to Berthold. "Ensure that the officers remain loyal. If any of them conspire against me, eliminate them."


    Berthold grinned. "With pleasure."


    Leclerc moved to the next document.


    "The Third Decree: The Establishment of the Civil Code"


    Bruno himself spoke this time.


    "Law must not be dictated by the whims of the powerful. The people of Elysea, whether noble or common, rich or poor, must be subject to the same laws. A legal code will be written, one that guarantees property rights, enforces contracts, and establishes clear judicial procedures. The Republic''s chaotic legal system is to be abolished, and a structured judiciary will be put in place."


    A scholar among the council adjusted his spectacles. "A uniform legal system will bring stability, Your Highness. But it will take time to establish courts in all provinces."


    Bruno nodded. "Then begin at once."


    Leclerc moved to the next decree.


    "The Fourth Decree: National Education Reform"


    Bruno had been thinking of this ever since his conversation with Lady Am¨¦lie de Vauclerc.


    "The greatest weapon against tyranny is education. The Republic failed because it gave power to men who manipulated the ignorant. That will not happen again. Schools shall be established across the nation, funded by the state. Every child, regardless of birth, shall have the right to basic education in reading, writing, arithmetic, and civics. Higher learning institutions shall be created for those who wish to serve the state in science, administration, and military strategy."


    A murmur of agreement swept through the council. Even Vallier, who rarely showed interest in governance, looked impressed.


    "Ambitious," he admitted. "But if we succeed, we will create a generation that owes its knowledge to the state."


    Bruno smirked. "Exactly."


    Leclerc moved to the final decree.


    "The Fifth Decree: Economic Reconstruction"


    "The war has left our economy in ruins. The Republic taxed the people into poverty, while the old monarchy let wealth accumulate in the hands of the few. Neither system will return. Taxes will be standardized and fair, ensuring that both landowners and merchants contribute to rebuilding the state. Infrastructure will be prioritized¡ªroads, bridges, ports. The economy will be managed by a central bureau, ensuring that industry and agriculture work in harmony."


    One of the economists looked uncertain. "Centralizing the economy is a bold step, Your Highness. It will require strict oversight."


    Bruno''s expression did not waver. "Then it shall be overseen by the best minds in Elysea. This kingdom will not be ruled by reckless greed or blind capitalism. The economy serves the state, and the state serves the people."


    Silence followed. Then Berthold chuckled.


    "You''re building an empire, Bruno."


    Bruno turned to him, his voice steady.


    "I am building a nation¡ªone that will not fall to decadence or revolution."


    He looked around the room. "Make no mistake. These decrees are not suggestions. They are orders. They will be enforced. Anyone who resists them¡ªwhether noble, merchant, or soldier¡ªwill be dealt with."


    The council members exchanged glances before one by one, they nodded in agreement.


    Bruno turned to Leclerc. "Have them copied and distributed across the nation. By tomorrow, every governor, mayor, and military commander must know these laws."


    Leclerc bowed. "It will be done, Your Highness."


    Bruno exhaled, glancing out of the window. The city of Elysee was still rebuilding, but it was no longer just the capital of a kingdom.


    It was the heart of a new order.


    The Elysean Kingdom was no longer just an idea. S~ea??h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 65 Urging the Duties of the Crown

    The royal palace of Elysee had become a hub of ceaseless activity. Officials moved through its halls carrying documents, officers met in council chambers, and the scribes continued copying decrees that would be distributed across the kingdom. Prince Bruno had spent the last few days ensuring his newly issued reforms were being carried out efficiently. Reports flowed in from across the land, detailing both compliance and pockets of resistance that still needed to be dealt with.


    Despite the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, there was another matter pressing upon him¡ªone that had been steadily pushed by Antoine Leclerc.


    As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting golden light through the palace windows, Bruno sat in his private study, reviewing yet another set of reports. Across the room, Leclerc stood with his arms crossed, watching him with an expectant expression.


    Bruno sighed and placed the parchment down. "Just say it already, Leclerc. I can see that look on your face."


    Leclerc smirked. "You''ve made great progress, Your Highness. The kingdom is stabilizing, your government is forming, and the people are beginning to accept your rule. There''s just one thing left."


    Bruno leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. "Let me guess¡ªmarriage?"


    Leclerc nodded. "Precisely. The people need to see a complete restoration of the monarchy. That means not just a ruler, but a dynasty. If we are to proceed with your official coronation, you must secure an heir."


    Bruno exhaled slowly. He had known this conversation was inevitable, but now that it was here, he found himself hesitating.


    "I have ruled without a queen thus far," he said. "The government is running, and my authority is not questioned. Why does the coronation hinge on marriage?"


    Leclerc adjusted his spectacles, his expression patient but firm. "Symbolism, Your Highness. The monarchy is not just about power; it is about continuity. The nobility, the common people, and even our enemies will look to your court and ask¡ªwho will follow after you? A ruler without an heir invites uncertainty. It gives your opponents an excuse to question your legitimacy. Right now, you hold power through strength, but in the years to come, you must secure it through legacy."


    Bruno frowned but didn''t immediately object. He understood the logic. A stable dynasty meant fewer internal threats.


    Leclerc studied him carefully. "I can see it in your face, Your Highness. You''ve already thought about it."


    Bruno tapped his fingers against the desk, considering his words. "There is someone," he admitted after a pause.


    Leclerc smirked knowingly. "Lady Am¨¦lie de Vauclerc."


    Bruno''s sharp gaze flicked up, but there was no point in denying it. "You''re too observant for your own good, Leclerc."


    Leclerc chuckled. "It''s my job, Your Highness." He took a step forward. "She is a suitable candidate. Her family once held great influence, and though they suffered under the Republic, she has proven herself to be resilient. More importantly, she is widely respected among both nobles and commoners alike."


    Bruno nodded slightly. He had seen it firsthand. In the short time since their last encounter, Am¨¦lie had continued her work among the people, helping to organize relief efforts and support orphaned children affected by the war. She had not sought power, yet power seemed to gravitate toward her.


    "She is intelligent, pragmatic, and understands the realities of rule," Bruno said. "More than most nobles."


    Leclerc raised an eyebrow. "You also find her intriguing." S§×ar?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Bruno scowled. "That is not relevant."


    Leclerc smirked. "Oh, but it is. If you are to marry, it is better that you choose someone you respect and can work alongside. Lady Am¨¦lie is not just a political tool¡ªshe is someone who could genuinely strengthen your rule."


    Bruno leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "And what do you think? Will the council support this match?"


    Leclerc nodded. "Most certainly. The nobility will accept her because of her lineage, but she does not carry the weight of an overambitious family that might challenge your authority. The people will admire her because she has worked among them rather than above them. Even your military officers have noted her dedication to the state''s well-being."


    Bruno exhaled. "It seems you have already made up your mind for me."


    Leclerc smiled. "I only present the facts, Your Highness. The choice is yours."


    Bruno was silent for a moment. He had spent so much of his life focused on survival, on power, on ensuring that he reclaimed Elysea. Now, he was faced with a decision that was less about conquest and more about the future.


    A queen.


    An heir.


    A dynasty.


    Finally, he stood from his chair, straightening his coat. "Arrange for a meeting with Lady Am¨¦lie," he said. "I will speak with her myself. But after that, we are going to conduct economical reforms¡­because our economy is still not doing well."


    "What do you propose?" Leclerc asked.


    "I''m planning on establishing a national bank."


    Leclerc adjusted his spectacles, watching Bruno carefully. "A national bank?"


    Bruno nodded, his fingers tapping lightly against the wooden desk. "Yes. The treasury is in ruin. The Republic spent recklessly, printing money until it was worthless. We need stability, and a central financial institution is the only way to regulate our economy."


    Leclerc exhaled. "A bold move. But one that will not be easy. You will need an expert¡ªsomeone who understands the intricacies of finance."


    Bruno leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk. "I already have someone in mind."


    Leclerc''s eyebrows raised slightly. "You mean Jean-Baptiste Moreau."


    Bruno nodded. "He was the finest finance minister my father ever had. He predicted the economic collapse long before it happened, but the old court ignored him. When the Republic took power, he refused to serve them and went into exile."


    Leclerc smirked. "A man of principles. Which means convincing him will not be easy."


    Bruno''s eyes sharpened. "I will make him understand. If he truly cares about Elysea, he will see that this is the only way forward."


    Leclerc nodded. "Shall I send a formal summons?"


    Bruno shook his head. "No. If he sees a royal decree demanding his presence, he will reject it out of spite. I will meet him myself."


    Leclerc''s expression faltered slightly. "Your Highness, you cannot just leave the palace on a whim. If word gets out that you are personally visiting an exiled minister, people will talk."


    Bruno smirked. "Then let them talk. This is too important to leave in the hands of messengers."


    Leclerc sighed, rubbing his temple. "Very well. Where is he?"


    Bruno reached for a parchment and unrolled it. "Moreau has been living in Montreval, a small town near the northern border. He has kept to himself, refusing to take part in any government since the fall of the old monarchy."


    Leclerc crossed his arms. "Montreval is¡­ far. That region is still unstable. There are former Republican loyalists there who have not fully accepted your rule."


    Bruno smirked. "Then I suppose this will also be a test."


    Leclerc shook his head. "You are impossible."


    Bruno chuckled. "Prepare a small escort. We leave at dawn."

 Chapter 66 Getting That One Valuable Person Back

    The journey north was uneventful at first. Bruno, accompanied by Captain Vallier and a dozen royal guards, rode through the countryside, observing the slow recovery of the land.


    Fields that had been burned during the war were beginning to show signs of regrowth. Farmers, once displaced, were returning to their lands. But there were also signs of unrest¡ªvillages where the people eyed the royal banners with suspicion, remnants of Republican influence still lingering.


    Vallier, riding beside Bruno, watched the roads carefully. "Are you certain about this, Your Highness? Moreau is brilliant, but he is also stubborn. What if he refuses?"


    Bruno kept his eyes on the road ahead. "Then I convince him."


    Vallier smirked. "And if words fail?"


    Bruno''s expression darkened. "They won''t."


    By midday, they reached Montreval, a quiet town nestled between rolling hills. It was a place untouched by grandeur¡ªsimple homes, dirt roads, and a modest market square. It was hard to believe that one of the most brilliant economic minds of Elysea had chosen exile here.


    The group dismounted near the town''s inn. Vallier gestured to two guards. "Spread out. Keep watch for anything unusual."


    Bruno walked forward, his cloak billowing slightly in the wind. The town''s people paused, their gazes filled with recognition and unease. Even here, they knew who he was.


    A young boy, no older than ten, ran ahead of them, disappearing behind one of the buildings. Bruno smirked. "It seems our arrival has been noted." S~ea??h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Vallier scoffed. "We are not exactly blending in."


    Bruno strode toward a modest house near the center of town. It was well-kept but simple, a sign of a man who lived comfortably but without excess. He knocked twice.


    For a moment, there was no answer.


    Then, the door creaked open slightly, revealing a man in his late sixties. Jean-Baptiste Moreau. His once neatly combed gray hair was slightly unkempt, his sharp eyes taking in the sight of Prince Bruno standing at his doorstep.


    Moreau exhaled slowly. "I expected this day would come."


    Bruno smirked. "Then you know why I''m here."


    Moreau opened the door wider. "Come inside, Your Highness."


    The interior of Moreau''s home was lined with bookshelves, filled with economic treatises, ledgers, and notes written in his own hand. A fireplace crackled in the corner, the only warmth in the otherwise cold room.


    Bruno took a seat across from him as Moreau poured two cups of tea.


    Moreau studied him carefully. "You have done what I thought impossible. The Republic is gone. You sit on the throne."


    Bruno sipped his tea. "And yet, the nation is broken. I need you, Moreau."


    Moreau chuckled. "You need an old man who was discarded by both the monarchy and the Republic?"


    Bruno''s gaze hardened. "No. I need the man who understood the economy better than anyone else in Elysea''s history. I need the only man who predicted the collapse before anyone else did."


    Moreau sighed, rubbing his temples. "And what do you intend to do?"


    Bruno leaned forward. "A National Bank¡ªone that will stabilize our currency, control loans, and regulate industry. We cannot build a kingdom on a foundation of financial instability."


    Moreau narrowed his eyes. "And you believe the people will accept this?"


    Bruno smirked. "I believe they will have no choice."


    Moreau exhaled. "This will require immense planning. The nobles will resist, the merchants will fear government interference, and the common people will not understand its significance."


    Bruno stood, his expression unyielding. "Which is why I need you."


    A silence stretched between them.


    Then, Moreau sighed. "Damn you, boy. You are too much like your father¡ªbut unlike him, you actually listen."


    Bruno smirked. "So, you''ll do it?"


    Moreau exhaled. "I will return to Elysee. But I have conditions."


    Bruno raised an eyebrow. "Name them."


    Moreau''s eyes glinted. "Full authority over economic policy. No nobles interfering in my decisions."


    Bruno smirked. "Done."


    Moreau crossed his arms. "And one more thing."


    Bruno arched an eyebrow. "What?"


    Moreau took a sip of tea. "If I''m going to fix this mess, I expect wine and decent food."


    Bruno chuckled. "I''ll see to it personally."


    Moreau sighed, shaking his head. "Then we have much work to do."


    Bruno extended his hand. "Welcome back, Minister Moreau."


    Moreau stared at his hand for a moment before clasping it firmly. "Let''s save this damned kingdom."


    Bruno watched as Moreau leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples as if absorbing the weight of his own decision. The old minister may have agreed, but he was not a man who accepted things lightly. He would expect full cooperation, and Bruno was more than willing to give it¡ªso long as Moreau delivered results.


    The fireplace crackled, casting flickering shadows across the study. Bruno set his cup down on the wooden table between them. "We leave for Elysee at first light," he said firmly.


    Moreau let out a heavy sigh, finishing his tea before standing up. "Give me tonight to gather my things. I left behind a world I thought I would never return to. Walking back into it will not be easy."


    Bruno nodded. "Take whatever time you need." He turned toward the door, but Moreau''s voice stopped him.


    "You''ll have enemies, Your Highness." The old man''s voice was low, weighted with certainty. "The nobles will not sit by idly while you strip them of their wealth and influence over the economy. The merchants, too, will resist¡ªmany profited from the Republic''s chaos. Your reforms will be opposed from all sides."


    Bruno turned back to him, his expression unreadable. "I did not expect this to be easy, Moreau."


    Moreau smirked. "Good. Because it won''t be."


    The tension lingered for a moment before Bruno gave him a final nod and stepped outside. Vallier was waiting near the horses, scanning the darkening town with quiet vigilance.


    "How did it go?" the captain asked as Bruno approached.


    "He agreed," Bruno replied simply, mounting his horse.


    Vallier raised an eyebrow. "That easy?"


    Bruno smirked. "Not at all."


    "Now it''s time for you to speak with your future wife."


    "That is if she agrees," Bruno replied.

 Chapter 67 Meeting the Lady

    October 15th, 1693.


    The sun dipped low in the sky as Prince Bruno and his entourage rode through the gates of Chateau Vauclerc. The estate, once a symbol of noble prestige, had endured the scars of war. Though the structure remained intact, remnants of its former grandeur had faded¡ªovergrown gardens, cracked stone columns, and empty halls that had once been filled with wealth and splendor. And yet, despite its diminished state, there was something dignified about the way it still stood, much like the woman who resided within.


    Bruno dismounted, adjusting the cuffs of his dark military coat. He had not come with grand declarations or an excessive entourage¡ªjust Antoine Leclerc, Captain Vallier, and a small unit of guards who waited outside the chateau walls.


    Leclerc, ever the strategist, smirked as he walked beside Bruno. "Are you nervous, Your Highness?"


    Bruno shot him a sharp glance. "I govern a nation. Why would I be nervous?"


    Leclerc chuckled. "Because you are about to meet a woman who will not fall to her knees for a crown. Lady Am¨¦lie de Vauclerc is not someone easily swayed."


    Bruno said nothing, though he did not dismiss Leclerc''s words.


    As they entered the grand receiving hall, the air carried a slight chill. It was a vast room, lined with fading portraits of Vauclerc ancestors. The fireplace burned faintly, its warmth not quite enough to push back the autumn cold.


    And then, the doors opened.


    Lady Am¨¦lie de Vauclerc stepped into the hall, moving with the effortless grace of a woman who had been born into nobility yet carried herself with a presence that demanded respect rather than blind admiration.


    Bruno had seen her before, had observed her from afar¡ªbut seeing her now, in the very home where she had once been raised, felt different.


    She wore a gown of deep blue and ivory, simple yet elegant, the fabric hugging her form without ostentation. Her soft pink hair was braided and pinned with silver clasps, framing her sharp violet eyes¡ªeyes that did not lower or waver when they met his.


    There was no hesitation in her movements, no trace of nervousness. She did not curtsy in the exaggerated way court ladies did when trying to impress royalty. Instead, she dipped her head slightly in a perfectly measured greeting. Polite, but not submissive.


    "Your Highness."


    Bruno inclined his head. "Lady Vauclerc."


    She gestured toward a seating area near the tall windows, where the golden light of the evening sun cast long shadows. "Shall we sit?"


    Bruno followed, seating himself across from her. Vallier and Leclerc remained standing, though Leclerc wore an expression of keen amusement, as if watching a well-matched duel unfold before him.


    Am¨¦lie studied him for a long moment before speaking.


    "You''ve come to discuss marriage."


    Bruno did not flinch. "Yes."


    She exhaled lightly, crossing one leg over the other. "Then allow me to ask the obvious question¡ªwhy me?"


    Bruno arched an eyebrow. "You seem unsurprised."


    She tilted her head slightly. "I am not a fool, Your Highness. I have watched the tides of politics shift, and I know you are a man who does not act without reason. There are many noblewomen in Elysea who would leap at the chance to sit beside you on the throne. Some are just as intelligent as I am. Some are far more beautiful. Yet you are here, speaking to me."


    Bruno leaned forward slightly, intrigued by her directness. "And why do you think that is?"


    A faint smile played on her lips. "That is what I am asking you."


    Bruno studied her carefully. "I do not seek a wife who exists only to bear heirs or smile for the court. I need a queen who understands power¡ªnot just how to wield it, but how to temper it. Someone who can stand beside me, not behind me."


    She tapped a gloved finger against the armrest. "That is a reasonable answer. But it does not satisfy me."


    Bruno smirked slightly. "Then allow me to elaborate."


    He straightened in his seat. "You are unlike the others. While the surviving nobles scurry to reclaim their wealth, you work among the people. You have not sought power, yet you command respect. You are intelligent, pragmatic, and you understand that governance is not simply a game of titles. More importantly¡ªyou are not afraid of me."


    That made her pause. Her violet eyes flickered with something unreadable.


    "Should I be?" she asked, her voice light but carrying a deeper meaning.


    Bruno chuckled. "Most are."


    She tilted her head. "Fear can be useful. But it is also a fragile thing. If you wish for true loyalty¡ªfrom your court, your people, and your queen¡ªthen fear alone will not be enough."


    Bruno found himself impressed.


    Leclerc, who had been quietly watching, interjected with a smirk. "Lady Am¨¦lie, surely you see the opportunity here. A marriage between you and His Highness would restore your family''s legacy and grant you influence over the future of Elysea."


    Am¨¦lie turned to Leclerc with an amused glint in her eyes. "A tempting offer. But I do not seek power for power''s sake, Minister Leclerc. If I am to stand beside a ruler, it must be because I believe in his vision¡ªnot simply because he deems me a suitable match."


    She turned back to Bruno. "Tell me, Your Highness¡ªdo you seek a wife, or do you seek a partner?"


    Bruno met her gaze. "I seek both."


    Another silence. Then, slowly, she smiled¡ªnot the delicate, polite smile of a court lady, but something more knowing.


    "You are an interesting man, Prince Bruno."


    Bruno smirked. "I have been told."


    She exhaled, glancing at the window. "You are building a new Elysea, one unlike the monarchy that fell or the Republic that crumbled. If I were to accept your offer, I would not be a silent figure in this court."


    Bruno nodded. "I would expect nothing less."


    She considered this for a long moment, then stood. "Very well. You will have my answer soon."


    Bruno also rose. "I will await it."


    As she turned to leave, Bruno found himself watching her¡ªnot just because of her beauty, but because he knew, without a doubt, that if she became his queen, she would not merely wear a crown. She would wield it.


    Leclerc chuckled once she was out of earshot. "Well, Your Highness? Satisfied?" S§×ar?h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Bruno exhaled, his smirk fading into something more thoughtful. "For once, Leclerc, I do not know."


    Leclerc grinned. "Then you chose well."


    Bruno glanced out the window. The sun had set, and a new night had begun. The future of Elysea rested on many decisions¡ªbut this one, perhaps, mattered more than most.

 Chapter 68 Getting to Know One Another

    October 17th, 1693.


    Two days had passed since Prince Bruno''s last meeting with Lady Am¨¦lie de Vauclerc, and in that time, the thought of their conversation had not left his mind. She was unlike any noblewoman he had encountered¡ªsharp, deliberate, and unshaken. He had made his case, but she had not fallen at his feet. Instead, she had demanded more.


    And so, he had returned.


    The ride to Chateau Vauclerc was quiet. Bruno, accompanied only by Antoine Leclerc and Captain Vallier, had left most of his guards behind. This was not an official visit. This was not a royal summons. This was something else entirely.


    Leclerc, ever the tactician, smirked as they approached the estate. "You are persistent, Your Highness."


    Bruno adjusted the gloves on his hands, eyes fixed ahead. "I am thorough."


    Vallier scoffed. "That''s one way to put it."


    Bruno ignored them both.


    When they arrived, the chateau''s servants wasted no time in welcoming them. A footman led them to the receiving hall, where Lady Am¨¦lie was already waiting.


    She was seated near the large arched windows, a book resting in her hands. The sunlight caught the strands of her soft pink hair, making it shimmer like silk. When she glanced up, those violet eyes¡ªsharp and unwavering¡ªmet his without hesitation.


    Bruno did not miss the flicker of amusement on her lips.


    "Your Highness," she greeted, closing her book. "To what do I owe this second visit?"


    Bruno stepped forward, removing his gloves with deliberate ease. "I have come to learn more about the woman who may one day be my queen."


    Leclerc coughed lightly, masking what Bruno was sure was laughter. Vallier, for once, had the wisdom to keep quiet.


    Am¨¦lie tilted her head slightly. "You surprise me, Your Highness. Most men in your position would simply declare a marriage and expect the bride to obey."


    Bruno smirked. "I am not most men." Sear?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "No," she admitted, "you are not."


    A silence stretched between them. It was not tense, nor was it awkward. It was the silence of two minds measuring each other.


    Finally, Am¨¦lie gestured to the chairs near the fireplace. "Then let us speak, Your Highness. Let us see if we are suited for one another."


    Bruno took a seat across from her, his posture relaxed yet commanding. Leclerc and Vallier, sensing this was not a discussion they needed to interfere with, stepped to the side, giving them space.


    Am¨¦lie leaned slightly forward, resting her hands on the armrest. "Tell me, Your Highness¡ªwhy do you truly wish to marry? Is it for duty, for strategy, or for something else?"


    Bruno did not hesitate. "Duty, first and foremost. A stable ruler must have a successor, and a kingdom must have its queen. But strategy also plays its part."


    She arched an eyebrow. "And the ''something else''?"


    Bruno smirked slightly. "I suppose I would prefer a wife whose presence does not bore me."


    Am¨¦lie chuckled, the sound light but deliberate. "A fair answer. And yet, you could find a hundred noblewomen who would be content to sit beside you and smile for courtly appearances."


    Bruno leaned forward slightly. "But none of them would challenge me."


    Her gaze flickered, something unreadable passing through it.


    "And you wish to be challenged, Your Highness?"


    Bruno nodded. "A ruler surrounded by sycophants grows complacent. I need a queen who can speak her mind, who understands the weight of the crown."


    Am¨¦lie exhaled softly, her fingers tapping lightly against the wood of the chair. "You place much trust in me already."


    Bruno studied her. "Do you doubt yourself?"


    She smirked. "Not in the slightest. But I must question why you, a man known for seizing power with ruthless efficiency, would entrust a woman with such influence."


    Bruno tilted his head slightly. "Because influence is inevitable. A queen will always have power, whether she wields it openly or in the shadows. I would rather have one who uses it with purpose."


    Her violet eyes searched his, as if peeling back layers to see what lay beneath.


    "Then let us speak plainly, Your Highness."


    Bruno gestured for her to continue.


    "What are your flaws?" she asked, her voice cool yet curious. "You present yourself as strong, as decisive. But I am not blind. No ruler is without weakness."


    Bruno exhaled through his nose. "I am impatient. I expect results quickly, and when I do not see them, I take matters into my own hands."


    Am¨¦lie nodded. "A dangerous trait in a ruler."


    Bruno smirked. "And what of you? Are you flawless, Lady Vauclerc?"


    She chuckled softly. "Far from it."


    Bruno leaned back in his chair, intrigued. "Tell me."


    Am¨¦lie folded her hands neatly in her lap. "I am prideful. I do not bow easily, nor do I accept being treated as an ornament. I will not stand silent when I believe something is wrong. And I do not tolerate incompetence."


    Bruno''s eyes gleamed with something close to approval. "Then we are alike in more ways than I thought."


    She smirked. "Perhaps."


    The room fell into another silence, but this time, it was laced with understanding.


    Finally, Am¨¦lie rose from her seat. Bruno followed suit, standing tall before her.


    "And?" he asked.


    She took a slow breath, as if weighing the moment. Then, she met his gaze with quiet resolve.


    "I will marry you, Your Highness."


    Bruno allowed himself a small smile. "Then we have much to prepare for."


    Am¨¦lie held out her hand, not in the delicate way noblewomen did, but as an equal¡ªa gesture of partnership.


    Bruno clasped it firmly.


    Leclerc, still watching from the side, exhaled in amusement. "You truly have a way of choosing the most interesting people, Your Highness."


    Vallier chuckled. "Let''s hope the wedding is less of a battle than the court politics will be."


    Bruno and Am¨¦lie ignored them both.


    For the first time in a long time, Bruno did not feel like he was simply securing a throne. He was building something greater.


    And Am¨¦lie de Vauclerc would stand beside him, not as a trophy, but as a force of her own.

 Chapter 69 Reforged Kingdom

    Prince Bruno sat in his study, a map of the Kingdom of Elysea sprawled before him. The candlelight flickered against the polished mahogany table, casting elongated shadows across the chamber. His mind was split between two pressing matters¡ªhis impending marriage to Lady Am¨¦lie de Vauclerc and the far-reaching administrative reforms that would redefine the kingdom''s governance.


    His engagement was settled, but securing a queen was only the beginning. If Elysea were to thrive, it needed more than noble alliances and courtly traditions¡ªit needed order, efficiency, and modernization. The era of fragmented feudal governance had to end.


    He turned to Antoine Leclerc, his closest advisor, who stood by the fireplace, observing the prince with keen eyes.


    "We begin immediately," Bruno said. "If this kingdom is to survive the next century, it cannot remain shackled to archaic governance. The nobles will resist, but they have no choice¡ªeither they adapt, or they will be left behind."


    Leclerc smirked. "You mean to strip them of their ancestral powers without outright rebellion?"


    Bruno nodded. "Not strip, Antoine¡ªredefine. They will still have authority, but it will be in service to the crown, not in defiance of it."


    For centuries, the Kingdom of Elysea had been governed by feudal lords who ruled their lands as near-independent sovereigns, owing only loose allegiance to the crown. This led to inefficiency, corruption, and infighting. Bruno would end this.


    The first decree established Prefects, royal administrators who would oversee the governance of each department¡ªthe new administrative divisions of Elysea. These Prefects would be appointed by the crown, answerable only to the monarch, ensuring that Bruno''s rule extended to the farthest reaches of his realm.


    "The Prefects will handle taxation, justice, and infrastructure in their respective regions," Bruno explained to his council later that afternoon. "No more feudal lords dictating their own laws. The administration will answer to me, and only me."


    Some members of the court murmured uneasily. The nobility had long enjoyed unchecked power over their fiefs, and many would see this as an outright attack on their authority.


    "The noble houses will revolt," one of the older councilors warned.


    Bruno smirked. "That is why they will not be discarded¡ªbut reshaped."


    The second decree would appoint Governors over each administrative region¡ªformer lords of their respective lands, now bound to the crown under a new oath. These men would still retain influence but under direct royal oversight. They would no longer be feudal rulers in their own right but stewards of the state.


    "The lords will swear an oath before the crown," Bruno continued, "to govern in the best interest of the people. They will still hold their lands, but their autonomy will be reduced. In exchange, they will receive titles and privileges within the centralized government. Those who refuse will find themselves replaced."


    Leclerc chuckled. "They''ll have no choice but to comply."


    "Exactly," Bruno said. "I will not destroy the nobility, but I will forge them into something greater."


    A few of the councilors still looked uncertain, but they knew better than to oppose the prince openly. The message was clear: the days of noble defiance were over.


    A strong kingdom needed more than governance¡ªit needed wealth, and wealth needed structure. Elysea had long suffered from unreliable currency, inconsistent taxation, and economic stagnation. Bruno would change that.


    The third decree established the National Bank of Elysea, a centralized financial institution that would regulate currency, issue credit, and manage state funds. The bank would stabilize the economy, ensure consistent taxation, and fund the crown''s modernization efforts.


    "The bank will provide loans for infrastructure, trade, and industrialization," Bruno explained to his advisors. "No more reliance on merchant guilds and foreign lenders. Elysea will control its own wealth."


    Leclerc nodded approvingly. "This will put Elysea on the path to financial dominance."


    Bruno leaned forward. "We will also introduce a new standardized currency¡ªthe Elysean Franc¡ªbacked by gold reserves. Every transaction within the kingdom will be conducted under a single, regulated monetary system."


    The economic elite, who had long profited from chaotic financial policies, would resist, but they would soon see the benefits of a stable economy under central control.


    With governance and finance reformed, Bruno turned his attention to industry. Elysea had lagged behind its rivals in industrial development, still relying heavily on agriculture and manual labor. This, too, would change.


    The fourth decree promoted industrialization across the kingdom, focusing on textile production, steel manufacturing, and mechanized agriculture. Bruno sought to transform Elysea from a feudal economy into a modern powerhouse.


    "We will build factories, shipyards, and railways," Bruno declared, outlining his plans to his council. "We will adopt the latest technology and machinery. The nobility will invest, and the people will find work."


    To support this transformation, Bruno granted incentives to industrialists and entrepreneurs willing to invest in mechanized production. He repealed archaic guild restrictions that hindered business growth and encouraged scientific advancements in engineering and metallurgy.


    "These reforms will make Elysea the beating heart of industry in Europe," Bruno stated confidently.


    Leclerc smirked. "You truly mean to pull this kingdom into the future."


    Bruno met his gaze. "I do not ''mean'' to¡ªI will."


    Despite Bruno''s confidence, resistance was inevitable. The nobility had ruled unchecked for centuries, and these reforms would shake the very foundations of their power.


    Many would grumble.


    Some would plot.


    But none would succeed.


    To ensure compliance, Bruno personally summoned every high-ranking noble to the royal palace, where they would swear fealty under the new system. They would either pledge loyalty¡ªor they would be replaced.


    One by one, the lords stood before him.


    One by one, they took the oath.


    And for those who hesitated, Bruno''s words were clear:


    "You may resist, but I will not yield. Either you serve Elysea, or you serve no one."


    With the Prefect system, the National Bank, and industrialization policies in place, Elysea stood on the precipice of a new age.


    Bruno knew that change would not come overnight. There would be challenges, unrest, and setbacks. But he had set the wheels of progress in motion, and they would not stop. S§×ar?h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    As he returned to his study that evening, he exhaled deeply. The kingdom was no longer a patchwork of noble fiefs¡ªit was a centralized power, under his rule.


    And soon, with Lady Am¨¦lie at his side, he would not only be its ruler.


    He would be its architect.


    The future had begun.

 Chapter 70 Preparation for Succession and Marriage Ceremony

    October 30th, 1693.


    Prince Bruno sat in his study, reviewing the endless documents related to his upcoming coronation and marriage to Lady Am¨¦lie de Vauclerc. His desk was covered with letters from noble families, trade guilds, foreign dignitaries, and city officials, all either sending congratulations or making requests to be part of the grand event. The weight of ruling Elysea had already settled on his shoulders, but now, the ceremonial aspect of his ascension demanded his attention.


    Across from him, Antoine Leclerc was seated, flipping through a stack of invitations.


    "The nobles are eager to show their loyalty," Leclerc remarked, smirking. "Many of those who once opposed your reforms are now scrambling to secure a good position at the coronation. Hypocrisy at its finest." sea??h th§× n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Bruno barely looked up as he signed another document. "They know resistance is useless now. They''ll play their role, as they always do."


    Leclerc chuckled. "Then it seems your strategy worked. Still, the scale of this event is¡­ excessive. The cathedral alone has been receiving shipments of silk, gold-threaded banners, and enough candles to light up half of Elysea for a year."


    Bruno set down his quill and leaned back. "The people need spectacle. A grand ceremony cements legitimacy. It reminds them that Elysea is moving forward, not just with words, but with action."


    Leclerc nodded. "Very well. What of the foreign guests? We''ve received confirmations from the Kingdom of Swabia, the Duchy of Lotharingia, and even a delegation from the Eastern Sultanates. They wish to attend both the coronation and your wedding."


    Bruno smirked. "Good. Let them see what Elysea has become."


    At that moment, Captain Vallier entered the room, his uniform crisp and his expression serious. "Your Highness, the cathedral workers report that preparations for the coronation are progressing as scheduled. However, the noble families are arguing over seating arrangements. Apparently, House de Montreau and House de Charbonne are refusing to sit anywhere near each other."


    Bruno exhaled sharply. "They would squabble over chairs while I''m restructuring the entire kingdom."


    Leclerc chuckled. "Should I tell them that if they continue arguing, they''ll be watching the ceremony from the streets?"


    Bruno smirked. "Do it. If they want to behave like children, I''ll treat them like children."


    Vallier nodded. "Understood, Your Highness. Also, the royal tailor requests a final fitting for your coronation attire. They need your measurements confirmed."


    Bruno frowned but nodded. "Fine. I''ll deal with that later."


    With the updates delivered, Vallier took his leave. Bruno turned back to Leclerc. "What about Am¨¦lie? How is her side of the preparations?"


    Leclerc handed him another document. "She''s handling it well. The seamstresses are working on her gown, and she''s meeting with the former royal aide to go over royal protocols. She''s also reviewing the court appointments you''re making after the coronation."


    Bruno smirked slightly. "Good. I expected no less from her."


    Leclerc grinned. "I think she''s already preparing to push for influence in court."


    Bruno chuckled. "She wouldn''t be my wife if she didn''t."


    November 5th, 1693.


    As the day of the coronation drew closer, Elysea was undergoing a transformation. The streets of the capital were cleaned, banners hung from every major building, and markets prepared for the influx of travelers. The people, even those in the lower districts, were caught up in the excitement. The coronation of a new ruler was a rare event, and Bruno had ensured that it would be the grandest in the kingdom''s history.


    The royal cathedral, Notre-Dame d''Elysea, was at the heart of it all. Inside, craftsmen worked tirelessly to prepare the altar, where Bruno would be crowned by the Archbishop of Elysea. The ceremony would include a solemn procession through the city, a blessing by the church, and the formal placing of the crown upon his head.


    Bruno met with the Archbishop in private, ensuring that the church understood his expectations.


    "This is not merely a religious event," Bruno told the elderly archbishop. "This is a statement to the world. Elysea is entering a new era."


    The archbishop nodded solemnly. "Your Highness, the church recognizes your vision for the kingdom. We shall ensure that the ceremony reflects the strength and unity of Elysea."


    Satisfied, Bruno turned to the final piece of the puzzle¡ªsecurity.


    "Captain Vallier," Bruno addressed his military commander, "I want every entrance to the cathedral guarded. Double the patrols in the capital. I will not tolerate any disruptions."


    Vallier saluted. "It will be done, Your Highness. We''ve already stationed additional guards near the palace and key locations throughout the city."


    Bruno nodded. "Good. If anyone dares to cause trouble, deal with them immediately."


    November 10th, 1693.


    While the coronation took precedence, the royal wedding was no small matter either. Am¨¦lie de Vauclerc had taken charge of her preparations, but Bruno knew he had responsibilities as well.


    Traditionally, royal marriages were lavish affairs meant to reinforce alliances. Elysea''s nobility expected a week-long celebration filled with feasts, dances, and public festivities.


    Am¨¦lie, however, was more pragmatic.


    "The wedding should not be excessive," she told Bruno when they finally sat down to discuss the details. "The people are excited, but they also need to see that we are rulers, not simply indulging in spectacle."


    Bruno smirked. "And here I thought you wanted a grand royal wedding."


    She gave him a knowing look. "A wise ruler knows when to display wealth and when to be practical. We will have a ceremony worthy of Elysea, but let us not forget¡ªwe have work to do after the wedding."


    Bruno chuckled. "You truly will be a queen in more than just title."


    Their wedding ceremony was planned for November 15th, five days after the coronation. It would be held in the same cathedral, ensuring continuity between Bruno''s ascension and his marriage.


    The guest list had already been finalized¡ªforeign dignitaries, Elysea''s nobility, military officials, and high-ranking members of the church. The people of Elysea would celebrate in the streets, with food and performances arranged in every major city.


    Bruno and Am¨¦lie would ride through the capital in a ceremonial carriage, allowing the people to see their new sovereigns before concluding the wedding with a royal banquet in the palace.


    Leclerc, reviewing the plans, grinned. "This will be the most important week in Elysea''s history. The people will speak of it for generations."


    Bruno exhaled, standing from his desk. "Then let''s make sure it''s one worth remembering."


    As the day of the coronation and wedding approached, the city was alive with anticipation. The nobles had gathered, the foreign guests had arrived, and security had been tightened.


    Bruno stood before a full-length mirror, dressed in the royal regalia of Elysea. The gold-threaded ceremonial cloak, the ornate breastplate, and the crown that would soon rest upon his head.


    Am¨¦lie, preparing in her own chambers, would soon walk beside him¡ªnot as a noblewoman, but as a queen.


    Everything had led to this.


    The future of Elysea was no longer in question.


    It was here.

 Chapter 71 The Foundation of the New Era

    The great hall of the royal palace was no longer a mere place of ceremony¡ªit had become the command center for Elysea''s transformation. Where once nobles gathered to flaunt their wealth, now royal administrators, military officers, and financiers met to draft the future of the kingdom.


    Prince Bruno stood at the head of a long table, maps, ledgers, and legal documents spread before him. Around him sat the key figures of his new government¡ªAntoine Leclerc, ever the strategist, leaned back with a smirk; Jean-Baptiste Moreau, recently reinstated as Finance Minister, studied figures with a sharp gaze; Captain Vallier, head of internal security, stood at attention, ever watchful.


    The air in the room was thick with anticipation. The old feudal order had been dismantled, but Bruno knew that laws on paper meant nothing without enforcement.


    Bruno tapped his fingers on the table. "Report."


    Moreau was the first to speak, adjusting his spectacles. "The National Bank of Elysea has officially begun operations. We are consolidating currency reserves and setting regulations for loans and credit."


    Bruno nodded. "And the merchants? The nobility?"


    Moreau smirked. "Some grumbling, naturally. The nobility resents the fact that they can no longer demand arbitrary taxes from their subjects. The merchants fear regulation. But both sides are beginning to see the benefits. Trade is stabilizing, and debt restructuring has already begun."


    Leclerc chuckled. "In other words, they''re learning to obey."


    Bruno''s gaze sharpened. "They''ll have no choice."


    The kingdom''s economy had long been a tangled mess of noble privileges, fluctuating coinage, and unchecked trade monopolies. The National Bank was Bruno''s answer to centuries of financial chaos. But an economic foundation meant nothing without enforcement.


    Vallier crossed his arms. "The nobility is compliant, for now. But let''s not pretend they have been tamed completely. Some are gathering in private, murmuring about their ''stolen rights.''"


    Bruno smirked. "Then let them murmur. If they wish to challenge me, they will find their power as hollow as their threats."


    The Prefect system had stripped the nobility of independent governance, turning them into stewards of the state rather than rulers of their own domains. Bruno knew this would spark discontent, but he also knew something far more dangerous than noble conspiracies¡ªstagnation.


    He turned back to Moreau. "The industrial projects. How soon can we begin?"


    Moreau sighed, flipping through his ledgers. "Textile production is already expanding, but heavy industry¡ªsteel, machinery, shipbuilding¡ªwill require significant investments."


    Bruno leaned forward. "Then we begin now. We will not merely survive in this new world, Moreau¡ªwe will lead it."


    The morning sun bathed Notre-Dame d''Elysea in golden light. The towering cathedral, once a place of solemn reflection, had been transformed into the heart of a nation reborn.


    Thousands of citizens lined the streets outside, their cheers echoing through the capital. Inside, nobles, diplomats, and foreign dignitaries sat in carefully arranged seats, their expressions ranging from admiration to barely concealed unease.


    Prince Bruno walked down the long aisle, his royal regalia gleaming¡ªa deep blue and gold cloak draped over his shoulders, an ornate breastplate reflecting the morning light. At his side, Lady Am¨¦lie de Vauclerc, soon to be Queen of Elysea, moved with effortless grace, her presence no less commanding than his own.


    At the altar, the Archbishop of Elysea stood solemnly, the royal crown resting upon a velvet cushion. As Bruno approached, the murmurs in the cathedral ceased.


    The archbishop raised his hands. "Prince Bruno of Elysea, you stand before God and man, prepared to take the sacred oath. Do you vow to serve the realm, to uphold its laws, and to rule with justice and wisdom?"


    Bruno''s voice was steady, unyielding. "I vow it."


    The archbishop lifted the crown. "Then, by the will of Elysea, you shall be king."


    As the crown was placed upon his head, the great cathedral erupted in cheers, the bells ringing across the city. Bruno turned to face his people¡ªnot just as a ruler, but as the architect of a new Elysea.


    The kingdom had been reforged. And now, it was time to lead.


    If the coronation had been an event of state, then the wedding was a celebration of unity. The palace halls were alive with music, the grand ballroom filled with nobles and dignitaries feasting, dancing, and toasting to the royal couple.


    But while the court indulged in revelry, Bruno and Am¨¦lie had little time for idle festivities.


    Standing on one of the palace balconies, overlooking the glowing city, Bruno turned to Am¨¦lie. "You are now Queen of Elysea."


    She gave him a knowing smirk. "And you are now my king."


    Bruno exhaled, turning his gaze toward the city. "This is only the beginning, Am¨¦lie."


    She stepped beside him. "Then let us build something that will last."


    Bruno looked at her, truly looked at her, and for the first time in his life, he felt something unexpected¡ªcertainty.


    He had secured his throne.


    He had secured his queen.


    And now, he would secure Elysea''s future.


    Dawn had barely broken when Bruno summoned his council.


    The celebrations had ended, but the work had only just begun.


    As Leclerc, Moreau, Vallier, and his ministers gathered in the royal study, Bruno laid out the next phase of his plan.


    "Gentlemen, we have reshaped Elysea. Now, we must prepare for what comes next."


    Leclerc arched an eyebrow. "You speak as if war is imminent."


    Bruno. "No not war, I''m saying we just have to prepare for our future, because it''s going to be exhilarating."


    Moreau exhaled. "Ah¡­I see what you are saying, Your Highness¡ªOh, pardon me, Your Majesty." S§×ar?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Bruno nodded. "Don''t worry about that. Anyways, we will modernize our military, expand our infrastructure, and solidify our alliances. Our economy is stabilizing, but we will need more."


    He gestured toward the map of Europe spread across the table.


    "We must ensure Elysea is not just strong within, but respected beyond its borders."


    Vallier smirked. "What do you mean by that, Your Majesty?"


    Bruno''s gaze hardened. "It means that we have to expand and make Elysea an empire. In order to industrialize efficiently, we need resources that can''t be found in our home."


    A silence fell over the room.


    Then, slowly, Leclerc grinned. "Well, Your Majesty, it seems the true game is about to begin."


    Bruno leaned forward. "Then let''s play."

 Chapter 72 The Celebration

    The city of Elysee was alive in a way it hadn''t been in years. The streets, which had once seen war and revolution, were now filled with music, laughter, and celebration. Citizens, nobles, merchants, and soldiers alike gathered in every square, every alley, and every marketplace to celebrate the dawn of a new Elysea.


    King Bruno''s coronation had been a grand spectacle, a display of power and legitimacy, but the celebrations that followed were for the people. Bonfires were lit across the capital, free meals were served in the squares, and entertainers performed for the crowds.


    The nobility, housed in the royal palace, held a separate celebration¡ªone filled with extravagant feasts, performances, and endless toasts to their newly crowned king.


    Bruno, dressed in a formal but practical dark blue coat embroidered with golden thread, observed the city from the balcony of the royal palace. The capital was thriving, its people drinking, eating, and rejoicing in the security his rule had brought.


    Beside him, Queen Am¨¦lie stood with her usual poise, though her violet eyes carried a hint of amusement.


    "You''ve given them quite a reason to celebrate," she said, watching a group of children chasing after a performer juggling fire torches in the street below.


    Bruno smirked. "Let them have this moment. The kingdom has suffered long enough."


    Leclerc approached from behind, holding a goblet of wine. "It''s been a long time since the people of Elysea had a ruler they could trust, Your Majesty. You''ve given them stability, a future."


    Bruno took the goblet from Leclerc but did not drink. "A future we still have to build."


    Leclerc chuckled. "True, but for tonight, you should enjoy the fact that you are no longer a mere prince fighting for survival. You are now king. Even you deserve one evening of peace."


    Bruno exhaled, watching as fireworks burst in the night sky over the city. Perhaps, for just one night, he could allow himself to enjoy it.


    The great hall of the royal palace had been transformed into a grand banquet hall. A long table, stretching nearly the entire length of the room, was covered in silver plates, golden goblets, and the finest food Elysea could offer. Roasted pheasants, venison, fresh seafood, and spiced wine were served to the nobles who had gathered to celebrate.


    At the head of the table, King Bruno and Queen Am¨¦lie sat side by side, watching as the nobility drank and laughed. The room was filled with music, the sound of violins, flutes, and lutes blending seamlessly with the lively conversations.


    Berthold, seated a few chairs down, raised his goblet. "A toast! To our king and queen! May their reign be long and victorious!"


    The room erupted in cheers as goblets were raised high. "To King Bruno! To Queen Am¨¦lie! To Elysea!"


    Bruno lifted his goblet but only took a small sip before setting it down. He had little interest in drinking himself into a stupor when there was still much to be done.


    Am¨¦lie, ever composed, leaned toward him. "You still seem too focused for someone who should be celebrating."


    Bruno smirked slightly. "I am celebrating. Just in my own way."


    She arched an eyebrow. "By watching the room instead of enjoying yourself?"


    Bruno glanced at the nobles, some of whom were already inebriated, laughing loudly as they recounted old war stories and political gossip. He knew that many of them had once plotted against him, resisted his reforms, or doubted his ability to lead. sea??h th§× n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "They drink because they think the fight is over," he said. "I drink because I know it has only begun."


    Am¨¦lie smiled faintly. "Then I suppose it is a good thing they do not rule Elysea, and you do."


    Leclerc, now seated beside Bruno, took a sip of his wine before speaking. "Your Majesty, with all due respect, you should at least pretend to enjoy the evening. The nobles need to see their king as more than just a strategist and reformer¡ªthey need to see that he can be one of them when necessary."


    Bruno sighed but relented. He picked up his goblet and raised it, standing. The hall quieted slightly as all eyes turned toward him.


    "For years, Elysea has suffered. It has known war, chaos, revolution, and uncertainty. But today, that ends. Today, we move forward¡ªnot as nobles and commoners, not as factions and rivals, but as Elyseans. We are one nation, and together, we will make it stronger than ever before."


    Another round of cheers erupted. Bruno set down his goblet and sat once more, watching as the festivities continued.


    As the night stretched on, Bruno stepped outside onto one of the palace balconies, needing a moment of solitude. The cool night air was a welcome contrast to the warm, wine-filled atmosphere of the banquet hall.


    A moment later, Am¨¦lie joined him, her gown shimmering in the moonlight.


    "You''ve been watching the city all night," she observed.


    Bruno exhaled. "It''s a habit."


    She studied him for a moment before speaking again. "You''re already thinking about the next step, aren''t you?"


    Bruno nodded. "Always."


    Am¨¦lie leaned against the stone railing. "You intend to expand Elysea''s borders. To build an empire."


    Bruno turned to her. "You disagree?"


    She shook her head. "No. I understand it. Resources, industry, power¡ªwe will need all of it to secure our future. But you must know that expansion invites enemies. Elysea will not be the only one with ambitions."


    Bruno smirked. "Then we must be smarter than them."


    Am¨¦lie sighed but smiled slightly. "You truly do not rest, do you?"


    Bruno chuckled. "No. But you knew that when you married me."


    She laughed softly. "I did."


    For a moment, they stood in silence, watching the glow of Elysee beneath them. The city that had once been on the brink of ruin was now alive with hope, celebration, and the promise of a new era.


    Bruno turned to Am¨¦lie. "Are you ready for what comes next?"


    She met his gaze. "Always."


    Bruno smirked. "Good. Because tomorrow, we begin planning for the next step."


    As the first rays of sunlight crept over Elysea, the celebrations from the night before had finally died down. The city streets were littered with remnants of festivities¡ªdiscarded garlands, empty mugs, and banners swaying in the morning breeze.


    Inside the palace, however, work resumed immediately. The celebrations were over. Now, it was time to build.


    Bruno sat in his study, a new map laid before him. This time, it was not just of Elysea¡ªbut of the entire continent.


    Leclerc, Moreau, and Vallier entered, ready for their next orders.


    Bruno looked up, his expression firm. "Gentlemen, the party is over. Now, we shape Elysea''s destiny."


    Leclerc smirked. "Finally. I was getting tired of watching drunk nobles stumble around the palace."


    Bruno chuckled. "Then let''s get to work."


    Elysea''s next chapter was about to begin.

 Chapter 73 The Beginning of the Transformation

    The city of Elysee had finally quieted. The grand celebrations of the coronation and royal wedding had come to an end, and as the first light of dawn crept over the rooftops, the aftermath of the festivities was visible throughout the streets.


    Discarded garlands hung limply from lampposts, musicians packed up their instruments, and weary laborers began the task of cleaning up the remnants of feasts and celebrations. The people had enjoyed their moment of joy, but now, life would return to its usual rhythm¡ªthough under a new ruler, with new expectations.


    Inside the royal palace, the mood had already shifted from celebration to governance. King Bruno sat in his study, dressed in a simple dark tunic, a stark contrast to the regal attire of the previous night. The large wooden table before him was covered with maps, documents, and reports¡ªthe real work of a ruler.


    Across from him, Antoine Leclerc, Jean-Baptiste Moreau, and Captain Vallier sat in their respective seats, awaiting the first official council meeting under the newly crowned king. Sear?h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Bruno exhaled, running a hand through his hair before speaking.


    "The people have celebrated. The nobility has made their toasts. But none of that secures Elysea''s future. Now, we begin the real work."


    Moreau, the Finance Minister, adjusted his spectacles and leaned forward. "Your Majesty, the celebrations were a necessary gesture, but the treasury has suffered significantly. The cost of the coronation and wedding was enormous¡ªwhile the National Bank is stabilizing the economy, we must improve revenue collection to prevent future deficits."


    Bruno nodded. "Then let''s begin with tax reform. The nobility can no longer hoard wealth while the people carry the burden."


    Moreau smirked. "You''ll be making powerful enemies."


    Bruno smirked back. "They already despise me. That hasn''t stopped me before."


    Leclerc chuckled but quickly turned serious. "What do you propose, Your Majesty?"


    Bruno tapped a document on the table. "A standardized tax system. No more arbitrary fees imposed by individual lords. All taxation will be conducted by the state, through appointed Prefects overseeing each province."


    Moreau exhaled. "A centralized tax collection system will increase efficiency, but the nobility will resist¡ªthey see taxation as part of their right to rule."


    Bruno''s expression hardened. "Then they will learn that those days are over."


    Bruno turned to Moreau. "How soon can we expand our industrial base? If we want Elysea to compete with the great powers of Europe, we must move beyond agriculture and traditional craftsmanship."


    Moreau flipped through his notes. "Our textile production is already increasing thanks to the power loom, and large-scale steel manufacturing has begun. However, if we want true industrialization, we must invest in mining, shipbuilding, and mechanized production."


    Bruno nodded. "Then begin immediately. Allocate funds for industrial infrastructure¡ªfactories, railways, and machine workshops. If we do not advance now, we will fall behind."


    Moreau hesitated. "This will require massive capital investment. Investors will hesitate if they do not see immediate returns."


    Bruno''s gaze was firm. "Then the state will lead. Establish a National Industrial Fund¡ªuse it to finance the development of factories and transport networks. If private investors see the crown supporting industry, they will follow."


    Leclerc smirked. "A bold move. If it succeeds, Elysea will be unrecognizable in a decade."


    Bruno leaned forward. "That''s the plan."


    Vallier finally spoke, his arms crossed. "Your Majesty, while economic expansion is necessary, we must also focus on our military. If Elysea is to grow in strength, we must ensure that no external force threatens our development."


    Bruno nodded. "Agreed. The army must be modernized. Our current forces are still structured like a feudal army¡ªdependent on individual lords and their personal levies. That must change."


    Vallier smirked. "I was hoping you''d say that."


    Bruno placed a military reform proposal on the table. "We establish a standing professional army. No more noble-led regiments acting as independent factions. The crown will control recruitment, training, and supply."


    Vallier grinned. "This will give Elysea an army truly loyal to the state."


    Bruno continued, "Additionally, we must invest in modern weaponry¡ªartillery, muskets, and disciplined formations. The days of knights charging into battle are over."


    Moreau looked over the proposal. "This will be costly, Your Majesty."


    Bruno smirked. "Everything worthwhile is."


    Bruno turned to Leclerc. "What of our foreign standing? How do the other nations react to my coronation?"


    Leclerc folded his arms. "Germania has sent formal recognition, but they watch us cautiously. The Orosk is considering an alliance. The Eastern Sultanates are indifferent¡ªfor now."


    Bruno exhaled. "We need to expand our influence. If Elysea is to industrialize, we need resources. And resources mean one thing¡ªterritory."


    Leclerc raised an eyebrow. "You''re planning expansion already?"


    Bruno smirked. "Not through war¡ªnot yet. First, we consolidate trade agreements, ensuring Elysea has access to coal, iron, and other necessary materials."


    Moreau nodded. "Trade agreements will strengthen our economy before direct military action is even necessary."


    Bruno tapped the map. "Good. But be prepared¡ªif negotiations fail, we take what we need."


    As the meeting continued, the doors opened, and Queen Am¨¦lie entered, walking with her usual grace. The men at the table stood briefly, acknowledging her presence.


    She glanced at Bruno. "I assume you''re already reshaping the world?"


    Bruno smirked. "Just Elysea¡ªfor now."


    She took a seat beside him, scanning the documents. "I have received letters from several noble families¡ªsome eager to align themselves with the new court, others... hesitant."


    Bruno nodded. "Expected. Let them hesitate. The future waits for no one."


    Am¨¦lie turned to the council. "If the nobility resists, they must be shown that their survival depends on adaptation. The ones who embrace reform will thrive¡ªthe ones who resist will be left behind."


    Leclerc chuckled. "You truly did marry well, Your Majesty."


    Bruno smirked. "That was never in doubt."


    Bruno stood, looking over the map of Elysea. The coronation was over. The celebrations had ended.


    Now, the real work began.


    "From this day forward, we move with purpose," Bruno declared. "Elysea will no longer be a kingdom of outdated traditions and stagnant politics. We will be a nation of progress, strength, and order."


    The council members exchanged glances. They had followed Bruno this far¡ªnow, they would see just how far he intended to go.


    Bruno exhaled, placing his hands on the table. "Gentlemen, the next chapter of Elysea begins today."


    Leclerc smirked. "And something tells me it will be... unforgettable."


    Bruno chuckled. "Let''s get to work."


    And so, the transformation of Elysea truly began.

 Chapter 74 Prelude to the Imperial Conquest

    The transformation of Elysea had begun, but the real work was far from complete. In the days following King Bruno''s coronation and wedding, the Royal Council had moved swiftly to enact the reforms he had outlined. The first decrees had been signed, the National Bank had begun stabilizing the economy, and the military reforms were in motion.


    But Bruno knew that words on paper were not enough. If Elysea were to modernize, he needed more than laws¡ªhe needed results.


    Inside the royal study, Bruno sat at the head of a large oak table, reviewing stacks of financial reports and industrial projections. Across from him, Jean-Baptiste Moreau, the Minister of Finance, adjusted his spectacles as he prepared to deliver his latest assessment.


    "Your Majesty," Moreau began, "our first round of taxation reforms has been enacted in the capital and its surrounding regions. Revenue collection has improved by fifteen percent, but we''re encountering resistance from rural provinces still dominated by noble estates."


    Bruno tapped his fingers on the table. "What kind of resistance?"


    Moreau sighed. "Some landowners are using legal loopholes to avoid paying their share. Others are intimidating tax collectors, making it difficult to enforce the new system."


    Bruno exhaled sharply. "Send in state inspectors, accompanied by the Royal Guard if necessary. Make it clear¡ªtax evasion is treason. If they refuse to comply, we seize their estates and redistribute them to loyal industrialists and farmers willing to work under the new system."


    Moreau smirked. "That should get their attention."


    Bruno leaned forward. "It''s time they understand: Elysea belongs to those who serve it, not those who cling to outdated privileges."


    Moreau flipped through his notes. "Now, regarding industrialization¡ªour efforts are already yielding results. The textile mills in the south are increasing production, and our first steel foundries have begun operations near Montreval."


    Bruno nodded. "Good. But that''s not enough. Elysea cannot compete with the major powers unless we move beyond small-scale industrialization. We need mass production."


    Moreau hesitated. "That will require a major investment¡ªone that many noble financiers are unwilling to support."


    Bruno smirked. "Then we bypass them. Establish state-owned industries where private investors refuse to act. The crown will take direct control of key sectors¡ªsteel, railways, and shipbuilding."


    Moreau''s eyebrows rose slightly. "A bold strategy. It will work, but it places more burden on the treasury."


    Bruno exhaled. "Then we''ll make the nobles pay for it. If they won''t invest voluntarily, we increase their taxes and funnel that wealth into industry."


    Leclerc, who had been listening with amusement, chuckled. "Robbing the rich to build a new Elysea? I like it."


    Bruno smirked. "I don''t care if they like it or not¡ªas long as they comply."


    Bruno turned to Captain Vallier, who had been waiting patiently. "What''s the status of our military restructuring?"


    Vallier folded his arms. "The transition to a standing professional army has begun, but we face logistical challenges. Training men from scratch takes time, and we lack enough modern weaponry to fully equip them."


    Bruno frowned. "How much time?"


    Vallier sighed. "At least a year before we have a fully trained, modernized force. That''s assuming we can secure more firearms, artillery, and uniforms."


    Bruno glanced at Moreau. "Can the National Bank fund large-scale military production?"


    Moreau nodded slowly. "If we divert resources, yes. But if you want a fully modern army, we''ll need to import weapons while expanding domestic production."


    Bruno smirked. "Then we import what we must¡ªand once our industry catches up, we outproduce them."


    Leclerc leaned back. "And who do you intend to buy from?"


    Bruno pointed to the map spread across the table. "We establish trade agreements with the Orosk Empire for firearms and Germania for artillery blueprints. We''ll learn from them, then surpass them."


    Vallier grinned. "I like your confidence, Your Majesty."


    Bruno met his gaze. "Confidence is nothing without results, Captain. I intend to get them."


    Leclerc tapped the map. "Speaking of results¡ªdiplomatic negotiations are progressing, but some of our neighbors remain wary of Elysea''s sudden rise."


    Bruno smirked. "Let them watch. Soon, they''ll fear."


    Leclerc chuckled. "So, do you plan to charm them¡ªor pressure them?"


    Bruno leaned back. "Both. We begin by forging alliances with nations willing to trade resources with us. But for those who resist¡ªwe apply economic pressure, cutting off their access to Elysea''s growing industries."


    Moreau grinned. "Turn Elysea into a trade empire before they realize they depend on us."


    Bruno nodded. "Exactly."


    Leclerc smirked. "And when diplomacy fails?"


    Bruno''s eyes darkened. "Then we take what we need."


    As the meeting continued, the doors opened, and Queen Am¨¦lie entered, moving with calm authority.


    The council members stood briefly. She acknowledged them before taking a seat beside Bruno.


    She glanced at the documents spread across the table. "I see you''re already redrawing the future of Elysea."


    Bruno smirked. "Someone has to." sea??h th§× novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Am¨¦lie turned to Leclerc. "And what of the nobility''s response to these reforms?"


    Leclerc exhaled. "Some accept it, seeing no alternative. Others scheme in the shadows, hoping to reverse your policies."


    Am¨¦lie''s violet eyes glinted. "Then they should be reminded of their place."


    Bruno chuckled. "You sound like me."


    She smirked. "You married me, did you not?"


    Leclerc laughed. "Truly a perfect match."


    Bruno turned to Am¨¦lie. "You understand politics better than most¡ªwhat''s your assessment?"


    She leaned forward. "If Elysea is to grow, you need more than fear and ambition¡ªyou need loyalty. The people must see why they fight for you, why they work for you."


    Bruno studied her for a moment before nodding. "Then we make sure they do."


    Bruno stood, surveying the map of Elysea and beyond. The pieces were in motion.


    The economy was being restructured.


    The military was being rebuilt.


    The nobility was being reshaped¡ªor removed.


    And the world was beginning to take notice.


    Bruno exhaled, placing his hands on the table. "This is only the beginning."


    Leclerc smirked. "It''s going to be one hell of an era."


    Bruno chuckled. "Let''s make sure of it. Now, onto the next phase of our rise. It is now our time to expand in the Black Continent."

 Chapter 75 Preparation of Imperial Conquest

    The royal palace of Elysea was quiet in the early morning, but within its council chambers, the air was tense with purpose. King Bruno sat at the head of the long oak table, his gaze fixed on a detailed map of the Black Continent. Around him, his most trusted advisors¡ªAntoine Leclerc, Jean-Baptiste Moreau, and Captain Vallier¡ªstudied the map with equal intensity.


    The room was lit by flickering candlelight, the golden glow reflecting off scattered documents detailing trade routes, military capabilities, and political structures of the African kingdoms. Among them, one name stood out: The Empire of Tunis.


    It was a name that carried weight, a name that represented both opportunity and danger.


    Bruno exhaled, tapping his fingers against the table. "The future of Elysea lies beyond our borders," he said, his voice steady. "The powers of Europe are expanding, claiming lands, resources, and influence. If we do not act soon, we will be left behind."


    Leclerc smirked, leaning back in his chair. "So, we set our sights on Africa?"


    Bruno nodded. "Not immediately, but methodically. We do nothing without preparation. If we are to expand into the continent, we must understand it¡ªits rulers, its wealth, its weaknesses."


    Moreau adjusted his spectacles and flipped through a thick ledger. "The Empire of Tunis is the dominant force in the Black Continent. They control vast territories, oversee powerful trade routes, and maintain a standing army formidable enough to rival even some European nations."


    Vallier folded his arms. "Which means if we misstep, we could find ourselves at war with a superpower before we''re ready."


    Bruno smirked. "Which is why we don''t misstep."


    Moreau cleared his throat. "We have gathered intelligence from merchants, traders, and foreign diplomats who have traveled through Tunis. Their empire is vast, wealthy, and¡ªmost importantly¡ªpolitically fragmented. While their Sultan, Hassan III, holds supreme power, he is not without opposition. Several noble factions, tribal chieftains, and religious leaders hold influence over different regions."


    Bruno nodded. "Internal division can be exploited."


    Moreau continued. "Their economy thrives on gold, ivory, and spices, as well as extensive trade agreements with Germania, Orosk, and the Eastern Sultanates. Their ports are some of the busiest in the Mediterranean, and their navy, while not as advanced as European fleets, is large enough to be a serious threat."


    Leclerc raised an eyebrow. "How loyal are these trade partners? If we move into the region, will we be stepping on foreign toes?" Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Moreau flipped to another page in his notes. "Not immediately. Germania and Orosk are only interested in profitable trade. If we offer better terms, they may be willing to shift their alliances. The Eastern Sultanates, however, share religious ties with Tunis. They may be more difficult to sway."


    Bruno tapped the map where the Tunisian capital was marked. "And their military?"


    Vallier leaned forward. "They have a well-trained standing army, but it is not unified. Different regions have their own forces, some directly under the Sultan''s command, others under local warlords. Their cavalry is fearsome, and they have large numbers, but their weapons and tactics are behind the European standard. If it came to war, our advantage would be superior firepower, artillery, and disciplined formations."


    Bruno listened carefully, then turned to Leclerc. "Before we make any move, we need more than reports¡ªwe need eyes on the ground."


    Leclerc smirked. "Spies, then?"


    Bruno nodded. "Agents, merchants, diplomats¡ªanyone who can move through Tunisian society unnoticed. We must gather real intelligence. I want to know who their allies are, who their enemies are, and what their weaknesses are."


    Leclerc chuckled. "It will take time to infiltrate their networks."


    Bruno smirked. "Then we start now."


    Moreau steepled his fingers. "While we gather intelligence, there is another approach¡ªtrade. If we begin small, expanding our presence in North Africa through commerce rather than conquest, we can establish a foothold without direct conflict."


    Bruno nodded. "Go on."


    Moreau flipped to another set of documents. "Several independent city-states along the North African coast are not directly controlled by Tunis but exist within its sphere of influence. They trade with the empire but maintain a degree of autonomy. If we secure trade agreements with these states, we can weaken Tunis''s monopoly on regional commerce."


    Leclerc grinned. "Cut them off at the purse, and they''ll bleed without us firing a shot."


    Bruno smirked. "Exactly."


    Moreau continued, "We can start with grain, textiles, and manufactured goods. Elysea''s industrial expansion allows us to produce goods at a larger scale than these city-states. If we undercut Tunisian traders and flood the market with our goods, we could begin shifting loyalty toward Elysea."


    Bruno exhaled. "We proceed carefully. Offer fair terms, avoid direct confrontation¡ªbut ensure that our influence spreads. If we control their economy, we will control their politics."


    Vallier cleared his throat. "If we are moving into North African trade, we need to ensure naval superiority. The Tunisian navy, while not as advanced as ours, is numerous and well-supplied."


    Bruno turned back to the map. "What do you suggest?"


    Vallier gestured toward Corsica and Sardinia. "If we establish naval outposts on these islands, we can create supply stations for Elysean ships. This would allow us to control trade routes without relying on mainland ports."


    Bruno nodded. "Do we have the resources to begin construction?"


    Moreau sighed. "It will be costly, but if we prioritize our efforts, we can have fortified naval bases operational within a year."


    Bruno turned to Vallier. "Then make it happen. If Tunis tries to challenge us, we must be prepared to blockade their ports and cut off their trade."


    Bruno stood, surveying the expansion plans laid before him.


    Intelligence Operations ¨C Send spies and merchants to gather information on Tunis''s political factions, military strength, and trade dependencies.


    Trade Expansion ¨C Secure agreements with independent North African city-states to weaken Tunis''s economic influence.


    Naval Power Projection ¨C Build naval bases in Corsica and Sardinia to control the Mediterranean trade routes.


    Political Maneuvering ¨C Exploit internal rivalries within Tunis to divide its power structure.


    Military Preparedness ¨C Expand Elysea''s navy and modernize its army in case war becomes necessary.


    Bruno turned to his council. "This is how we move forward¡ªnot through reckless war, but through strategy, precision, and patience. If we play this correctly, we will not need to fight for control of Africa¡ªwe will have it handed to us."


    Leclerc smirked. "And if they resist?"


    Bruno''s eyes darkened. "Then we remind them why Elysea is not to be denied."


    A silence settled over the room, heavy with the weight of their ambition.


    Elysea''s march toward empire had begun. Not with war¡ªbut with preparation.

 Chapter 76 The Setup

    January 5, 1694


    The council reconvened in the royal palace, the morning sun casting long shadows over the chamber as King Bruno stood at the head of the table. The preparations for Elysea''s expansion into the Black Continent had begun, but now, the real work of intelligence gathering, strategic planning, and resource allocation had to be set in motion.


    Bruno''s gaze swept over his advisors¡ªAntoine Leclerc, Jean-Baptiste Moreau, and Captain Vallier¡ªall of whom had been tasked with gathering preliminary information about the Empire of Tunis and its surrounding regions. Reports had trickled in over the past week, giving them a broader understanding of the empire''s internal politics, economic dependencies, and military strengths.


    Bruno took a deep breath and leaned forward. "Give me an update. Where do we stand?"


    Leclerc was the first to speak. He adjusted his cuffs, his usual smirk present. "Our agents have already begun embedding themselves into Tunisian trade networks. A handful of merchants with Elysean ties have been sent to key coastal cities under the pretense of expanding business. They will report back on the local sentiment and identify which city-states might be open to trading with us directly, bypassing the empire''s control."


    Bruno nodded. "And what of our diplomatic efforts?"


    Leclerc''s smirk widened. "As expected, the Tunisian court is cautious. The Sultan''s advisors are aware that Elysea is strengthening its navy and expanding its industry, which makes them wary. However, they are not openly hostile¡ªyet. If we approach them too soon, they may perceive us as a threat."


    Bruno exhaled slowly. "Then we take our time. For now, we keep our presence subtle¡ªno overt moves, no unnecessary provocations."


    Leclerc nodded. "Understood. We''ll continue gathering intelligence on the Sultan''s key advisors and political opponents. If we can find internal dissent, we can exploit it."


    Bruno''s fingers tapped against the table. "Good. I want a full report on the power structure of the Tunisian court¡ªwho holds real influence, who is vulnerable, and who is expendable. Find out where their loyalty truly lies."


    Leclerc''s eyes glinted with approval. "Consider it done."


    Moreau, the Minister of Finance, cleared his throat before speaking. "Your Majesty, our push into North African trade is progressing. We have already begun negotiations with several independent city-states, particularly those in the western region that operate outside of Tunisian control."


    Bruno arched an eyebrow. "And their response?"


    Moreau smirked. "Mixed. Some see opportunity in aligning with us, while others fear retaliation from Tunis. However, our promise of competitive pricing and stable contracts is tempting. If we continue this approach, we will slowly erode Tunis''s economic dominance in the region."


    Bruno leaned forward. "Then press harder. Offer them better trade deals than Tunis ever could. We control manufactured goods, textiles, and processed materials¡ªthings their economy lacks. If we secure a strong economic foothold, their reliance on Tunisian markets will shrink."


    Moreau nodded. "We will also undercut Tunisian merchants by flooding the markets with Elysean goods. If we can lower prices while maintaining quality, the traders will come to us out of necessity."


    Leclerc chuckled. "Suffocate their trade without firing a single shot."


    Bruno smirked. "Exactly. Once their economy starts to weaken, their political influence will follow."


    Moreau flipped through his notes. "That being said, this approach will take time. It may be years before Tunis feels the full weight of our economic presence."


    Bruno crossed his arms. "That''s fine. We are not in a rush¡ªwe are in control."


    Vallier, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke. "Your Majesty, our naval expansion is progressing, but it will take at least a year to establish fully operational supply stations in Corsica and Sardinia. We have begun reinforcing our coastal defenses and expanding our shipbuilding efforts."


    Bruno nodded. "How soon can we begin patrolling the North African coast?"


    Vallier smirked. "Within the next six months, we can start deploying merchant convoys escorted by warships. This will allow us to protect our traders while also testing Tunisian responses."


    Bruno exhaled. "I don''t want direct confrontation¡ªnot yet. Keep our naval presence defensive for now. The moment Tunis believes we are actively seeking conflict, they will retaliate."


    Vallier nodded. "Understood. We''ll ensure our movements remain non-aggressive, but rest assured, if Tunis ever challenges us on the seas, we will be ready."


    Bruno''s expression darkened slightly. "If they do challenge us, we must ensure they regret it."


    Bruno turned back to Leclerc. "How are the nobles responding to our expansion plans?"


    Leclerc scoffed. "As expected, some are enthusiastic, eager to invest in new ventures and profit from overseas expansion. Others are cautious, still clinging to outdated feudal ideas. And, of course, there are those who resent losing influence over their own lands."


    Bruno smirked. "They will learn that Elysea does not belong to them¡ªit belongs to the future."


    Leclerc chuckled. "A poetic way of saying they have no choice."


    Bruno nodded. "Make sure they understand that investment in expansion is not optional. Those who embrace Elysea''s future will grow rich beyond measure. Those who resist will be left behind."


    Moreau smirked. "And what of the ones who openly oppose expansion?"


    Bruno''s expression hardened. "Then we give them a choice¡ªserve or step aside. If they refuse both, we will take from them what they failed to use."


    Leclerc nodded. "I''ll start identifying noble families that are reluctant and prepare alternative methods of persuasion."


    Bruno exhaled. "Do what you must."


    Bruno looked around the table, taking in the determined expressions of his advisors. The groundwork had been set.


    Spies and Merchants ¨C Infiltrating Tunisian society, gathering intelligence on power structures, trade networks, and internal conflicts.


    Economic Disruption ¨C Offering better trade deals to independent city-states, undercutting Tunisian merchants, and gaining control of key markets.


    Naval Expansion ¨C Establishing supply stations in Corsica and Sardinia, deploying escorted merchant convoys, and securing Elysea''s maritime strength. sea??h th§× ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Internal Politics ¨C Forcing Elysea''s nobility to adapt to the expansionist vision¡ªor be replaced.


    Bruno stood, his hands resting on the table. "This is how we proceed. Slowly. Methodically. Unstoppable."


    Leclerc smirked. "And when the time comes?"


    Bruno''s gaze darkened. "Then we will be ready to claim what is ours."


    The room fell into silence, heavy with the weight of their ambition. Elysea''s path toward empire had begun¡ªnot with conquest, but with control.


    And soon, the world would take notice.

 Chapter 77 A Year Later

    January 20, 1695.


    The Kingdom of Elysea had spent the last year laying the groundwork for its first steps beyond its borders. Through careful diplomacy, calculated trade expansion, and a steady naval buildup, Elysea had begun to insert itself into the Black Continent''s economy without direct conflict. Now, after months of careful negotiations, Elysea had been granted permission to establish an official trade delegation in the city of Carthage, one of the most important coastal hubs of the Empire of Tunis.


    It was not yet conquest, but it was the first official military and political presence of Elysea in foreign lands.


    The convoy had set sail from Elysea''s naval port at La Rochelle two weeks earlier. The fleet was modest¡ªfive warships and three heavily laden merchant vessels, carrying diplomats, merchants, and trade goods. However, it was the military escort that set this voyage apart from any other before it.


    For the first time, Elysea had sent troops to foreign soil.


    At the helm of the military contingent was General Armand Roux, a young and brilliant officer who had rapidly risen through the ranks. At twenty-six, he was already one of Elysea''s most formidable tactical minds, a man whose talent in strategy, discipline, and logistics had caught the attention of King Bruno himself. Though he had started his career as a mere captain, his natural leadership and keen intellect had earned him an accelerated promotion.


    His orders were clear¡ªescort the trade delegation, ensure their security, and establish a firm Elysean presence in Carthage. This was not a military invasion, nor was it a show of force¡ªbut the presence of Elysean troops alone would send a message.


    As the fleet approached the port of Carthage, Roux stood on the deck of HMS Triomphant, the lead warship, watching the distant shoreline. The city''s massive white limestone walls loomed in the distance, and beyond them, the grand spires and bustling markets of Carthage stretched toward the horizon.


    The Tunisian navy had already sent an escort of five galleys, shadowing the Elysean fleet to ensure no aggressive actions were taken. Roux could see the cannons along the fortified harbor, a silent warning that they were being watched carefully.


    By his side stood Minister Charles Dufort, Elysea''s newly appointed Minister of Foreign Affairs. A seasoned diplomat, Dufort had spent years negotiating trade deals across Europe. His role was to ensure that Elysea''s first official diplomatic mission to Tunis did not escalate into conflict.


    Dufort exhaled, adjusting the cuffs of his pristine coat. "A year ago, this would have been unthinkable," he murmured. "An Elysean military convoy in a Tunisian harbor."


    Roux smirked. "And a year from now, it may be commonplace."


    Dufort gave him a sideways glance. "Let''s ensure that we''re welcomed before we think of establishing permanence."


    Roux''s eyes remained on the approaching coastline. "We will be welcomed¡ªwhether they realize it or not."


    The Elysean convoy docked under the watchful gaze of Tunisian officials. The port was massive, filled with bustling trade ships, towering cranes, and workers unloading spices, ivory, textiles, and gold.


    As Roux disembarked, he could feel the weight of hundreds of eyes upon him. The Elysean troops¡ªfive hundred men, disciplined and clad in their pristine blue and gold uniforms¡ªmoved with precision, forming protective lines around the merchants and diplomats. Their presence was deliberate but non-threatening¡ªthey carried their muskets but did not march in formation, ensuring they appeared as escorts, not invaders.


    Waiting for them was a delegation of Tunisian officials, led by Vizier Ibrahim al-Farid, an advisor to Sultan Hassan III. The vizier, an older man dressed in elaborate silks, stepped forward, his expression neutral but wary.


    "Welcome to Carthage," he said smoothly in perfect Elysean. "The Sultan recognizes your king''s desire for closer ties and has granted your merchants permission to trade within our city."


    Dufort stepped forward, bowing slightly. "We are honored by the Sultan''s generosity. Elysea seeks partnership, not conflict."


    Al-Farid''s gaze flicked to Roux, taking in the presence of armed troops. "A most interesting escort for merchants."


    Roux met his gaze, unflinching. "Only to ensure their safety. The Mediterranean is unpredictable."


    The vizier''s lips twitched slightly in amusement. "Indeed."


    The Tunisian officials led the Elysean delegation through the city, allowing them to see firsthand the bustling heart of Carthage. It was a metropolis of grand markets, towering mosques, and fortified palaces.


    The Elysean delegation had been granted a large compound near the docks, where they would establish their first official trade office. Within the day, merchants began unloading their goods¡ªfine textiles, manufactured steel tools, and firearms¡ªall products superior to those commonly available in Tunisian markets.


    This was the first step¡ªslowly integrating Elysean products into the economy, making them indispensable.


    Despite the formal welcome, Roux remained cautious. He knew that not all in Carthage welcomed Elysea''s presence.


    While some Tunisian merchants saw opportunity, others saw a threat. And in the shadows, not all factions of the Sultan''s court approved of foreign influence.


    That night, as Roux and his officers sat in their quarters, an Elysean informant arrived, slipping into the compound undetected.


    "We have received word," the informant whispered. "Certain noble families in Tunis are displeased with your presence. There are rumors that some may attempt to sabotage trade negotiations."


    Roux leaned back in his chair. "Then we must be prepared."


    Dufort exhaled. "We should tread carefully. If we push too aggressively, the Sultan may reconsider our presence."


    Roux smirked. "I agree. We won''t push. We''ll simply make ourselves invaluable."


    Dufort frowned. "And how do you intend to do that?"


    Roux''s gaze darkened. "We ensure that every merchant who trades with us prospers. That every noble who aligns with us gains wealth. That every official who supports us rises in influence."


    He stood, crossing his arms.


    "This is not just about trade," he said. "It is about positioning ourselves within the very fabric of Tunisian society."


    The next day, the Elysean merchants began their operations, slowly introducing superior goods to the Carthaginian markets.


    Roux, meanwhile, ensured that his troops were seen but never oppressive¡ªhelping keep order at the docks, assisting local authorities, and proving that Elysean presence brought stability, not conflict.


    The true battle was not fought with muskets and cannons¡ªbut with gold, influence, and patience.


    Elysea had taken its first step into the Black Continent.


    And Roux knew that once a foothold was gained, the rest would follow.


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 Chapter 78 Slowly Planting Influence

    January 25, 1695.


    The Elysean Trade Delegation had spent five days settling into their new compound near the Carthaginian docks. Merchants unloaded crates of fine Elysean textiles, firearms, and steel goods, while soldiers remained stationed to ensure order. The Tunisian authorities had allowed their presence, but tensions remained.


    Now, it was time for the official negotiations to begin.


    Inside the Tunisian Ministry of Foreign Affairs


    The meeting was set within the Palace of the Grand Vizier, a lavish structure in the heart of Carthage. Intricate mosaics, golden chandeliers, and ornate calligraphy adorned the walls, a testament to Tunisian wealth and culture.


    Seated in the central chamber was Minister Charles Dufort, Elysea''s Minister of Foreign Affairs. Opposite him sat Grand Vizier Suleiman al-Mutazz, the Sultan''s chief foreign advisor. The vizier was a man in his late fifties, his beard neatly groomed, his sharp eyes watching Dufort carefully.


    Between them was a low wooden table, set with silver pitchers of rose water, bowls of dates and figs, and a carefully arranged map of the Mediterranean.


    Dufort took a sip of water before speaking. "Your Excellency, I thank you for granting us this audience. The Kingdom of Elysea wishes to establish a lasting and prosperous trade relationship with the Empire of Tunis."


    The vizier leaned back in his cushioned chair. "Elysea is ambitious. That much is clear. A year ago, your kingdom barely had a presence in the Mediterranean. Now you arrive with merchants, soldiers, and warships. Your king does not move without purpose."


    Dufort smiled diplomatically. "King Bruno believes in strength through commerce. Our presence here is not an act of aggression¡ªit is an opportunity."


    Suleiman exhaled slowly. "An opportunity, you say? And what does Elysea seek in return?"


    Dufort gestured to the map. "We propose a mutually beneficial trade agreement. Elysea produces manufactured goods of the highest quality¡ªfirearms, steel, textiles, and agricultural tools. Tunisian merchants would gain access to these products at exclusive rates, giving them an edge over competitors in the region."


    The vizier raised an eyebrow. "And in return?"


    Dufort tapped the southern portion of the map. "Elysea seeks access to gold, ivory, and spices¡ªresources that flow through Tunisian trade routes from the interior of the Black Continent. If we can secure a direct trade link, both our nations will prosper."


    The vizier stroked his beard. "That would mean bypassing some of our existing agreements with Germania and Orosk."


    Dufort nodded. "Which is why Elysea is prepared to offer something no other European power has."


    Suleiman''s gaze sharpened. "And what is that?"


    Dufort leaned forward slightly. "Weapons."


    A tense silence filled the room.


    Dufort continued, his voice measured. "Your armies are large, formidable¡ªbut many of your soldiers still wield outdated weapons. Elysea produces some of the most advanced muskets and artillery in Europe. In exchange for trade rights, we are willing to supply the Sultan''s forces with a steady stream of modern firearms, giving Tunis a military advantage over its rivals."


    Suleiman''s fingers tapped lightly against the table. "You seek to arm us?"


    Dufort smiled. "We seek to modernize you. Your Sultan''s domain is vast, but even the mightiest empire must evolve. The balance of power is shifting, and those who fall behind in warfare¡­ well, history does not favor them."


    Suleiman''s eyes narrowed slightly. "You speak boldly, Minister Dufort. And yet, you expect us to trust that Elysea provides these weapons without ulterior motive?"


    Dufort chuckled. "All trade has motive, Grand Vizier. But consider this¡ªif Elysea wished for conquest, we would not offer tools of war, we would simply bring them. Instead, we offer a partnership¡ªone that strengthens Tunis, rather than weakens it."


    Suleiman was silent for a long moment, his mind clearly weighing the offer.


    Finally, the vizier spoke. "Your proposal is intriguing. But Tunis does not act on impulse. Before we entertain your trade terms, we require assurances."


    Dufort nodded. "What sort of assurances?"


    Suleiman steepled his fingers. "First, Elysea must agree not to establish military outposts on our territory. We will not allow foreign powers to set up fortifications under the guise of commerce." sea??h th§× N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Dufort inclined his head. "Agreed. Elysea seeks economic ties, not territorial claims."


    Suleiman continued. "Second, if we are to accept Elysean weapons, we must have exclusive access to them within the Black Continent. We will not tolerate Elysea arming our enemies."


    Dufort smiled. "Elysea has no interest in destabilizing Tunisian authority. Consider it done."


    The vizier''s lips curled slightly. "Very well. In exchange, we will grant Elysean merchants access to our ports and markets, with reduced tariffs on your manufactured goods. Gold, ivory, and spices will be made available¡ªbut at fair exchange rates."


    Dufort extended his hand. "Then we have an understanding?"


    Suleiman studied him for a moment before clasping his hand. "We have the beginnings of one."


    As Dufort exited the palace, he was greeted by General Armand Roux, who had been waiting outside with a handful of officers.


    "How did it go?" Roux asked.


    Dufort smirked. "Better than expected. We have their interest."


    Roux nodded. "And their trust?"


    Dufort exhaled. "Trust? No. But respect? Perhaps."


    They began walking toward the Elysean compound. "They want exclusive access to our firearms, in exchange for lower tariffs and access to their trade routes."


    Roux chuckled. "So they fear us, but they also need us."


    Dufort smirked. "Precisely. And that is how Elysea takes root in Tunis."


    Roux glanced toward the harbor, where Elysean ships unloaded more trade goods. "Then it begins."


    Dufort nodded. "It does. But make no mistake¡ªthis is only the first step."


    With the initial trade agreement secured, Elysea had successfully established itself in Carthage.


    Next Steps:


    Secure the Trade Agreement: Finalize written contracts ensuring favorable terms for Elysean merchants.


    Increase Presence: Expand the number of merchants and introduce more Elysean goods into the Tunisian markets.


    Monitor Political Shifts: Keep track of Tunisian court politics, watching for factions that support or oppose Elysean influence.


    Establish a Military Exchange: Quietly integrate Elysean weapons into the Tunisian military, ensuring dependence on Elysean armaments.


    Elysea had planted its flag¡ªnot through conquest, but through control.


    And soon, the next move would be made.

 Chapter 79 A Deadly Scuffle

    For months, the Elysean delegation had solidified its presence in Carthage. Trade agreements were secured, markets filled with Elysean goods, and firearms quietly integrated into the Tunisian military. But beneath the surface of diplomacy, resentment was growing.


    The Elysean soldiers, who had been stationed in the city to escort merchants and diplomats, viewed the Tunisian people with barely concealed contempt. To them, this was a backward land, ruled by outdated traditions and an empire too proud to admit its decline.


    For the Tunisians, the Elysean presence felt suffocating. Their foreign guests, while not conquerors, carried an arrogance that was impossible to ignore. And when that arrogance turned to insults, the city''s patience finally snapped.


    It started as a dispute over a trade deal.


    The Grand Bazaar of Carthage was the beating heart of the city''s commerce¡ªa sprawling marketplace of silk, spices, and gold. It was where Elysean merchants and Tunisian traders negotiated their deals, but on this day, negotiations turned to violence.


    At the center of the tension stood Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud, a junior officer in the Elysean army assigned to oversee trade security. He was young, brash, and utterly convinced of Elysean superiority. He stood before a small group of Tunisian traders, his arms crossed, flanked by three Elysean soldiers, their muskets slung lazily over their shoulders.


    "This is robbery," growled Hassan al-Bakri, a respected Tunisian merchant, his hand tightening into a fist. "You sell us inferior steel at double the price your king promised. This is an insult!"


    Giraud smirked. "An insult? No, this is trade. Perhaps if your forges could produce something better, you wouldn''t need us."


    The gathered crowd murmured angrily. Hassan''s face darkened. "You Elyseans walk our streets as if you own them. You speak to us as if we are beggars, yet it is our gold that fills your ships. Show some respect, foreigner."


    One of Giraud''s men, Sergeant Michel Favreau, scoffed. "Respect? What have you given us to respect? Your city stinks of filth, your people grovel at the Sultan''s feet like sheep, and your army marches with weapons from another century. Elysea did you a favor by coming here."


    The murmurs turned to outraged shouts. Bystanders closed in, fists clenched, eyes burning with fury.


    Hassan took a step forward. "Take your words back, Elysean."


    Giraud laughed. "Or what? You''ll wave a scimitar at me? Go back to your tents in the desert, old man."


    That was the final straw.


    Hassan spat at Giraud''s feet.


    For a brief moment, silence hung in the air like a drawn blade. S§×arch* The n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Then, Giraud slapped Hassan across the face, sending the merchant stumbling. The crowd erupted.


    A stone flew through the air, striking one of the Elysean soldiers in the shoulder. Then another. Then a dozen more.


    "Back! Back!" Giraud shouted, drawing his sword. His men unslung their muskets, the steel barrels gleaming in the afternoon sun.


    Hassan, his face burning with rage, pointed at them. "Get them out of our city!"


    The crowd charged.


    The first gunshot cracked like thunder.


    A Tunisian boy, no older than fourteen, collapsed onto the cobblestone, blood pooling beneath him.


    Screams of horror filled the bazaar.


    Then all hell broke loose.


    Tunisian men and boys rushed the soldiers, wielding knives, sticks, and anything they could grab. Elysean troops opened fire, their muskets blasting into the charging crowd.


    A trader was shot in the chest, tumbling over a fruit cart. Another soldier was dragged down, his cries of pain drowned out as fists and boots beat him into silence.


    The streets turned red.


    Giraud barely had time to parry a dagger before a second man tackled him. He hit the ground hard, the world spinning. He glimpsed Favreau being dragged into an alley, his screams cut short.


    This was not a fight¡ªit was a massacre.


    By the time the city guard arrived to restore order, seven Elysean soldiers lay dead, their bodies stripped and bloodied. At least twenty Tunisians had been killed, dozens more wounded.


    The Grand Bazaar stood in ruins, stalls overturned, the scent of gunpowder and blood heavy in the air. The wounded moaned, their voices lost in the chaos.


    Word spread like wildfire.


    Elysean arrogance had led to bloodshed. Tunisian fury had answered in kind.


    At the Elysean compound, General Armand Roux received the news with a grim expression.


    Dufort, the Foreign Minister, was ashen-faced. "This is a disaster."


    Roux nodded. "Tunisian soldiers are mobilizing. If we don''t handle this now, it could mean war."


    Dufort turned to his aide. "Summon Grand Vizier Suleiman at once. We must negotiate before this escalates."


    The aide hesitated. "Your Excellency, I¡­ I don''t think they want to talk."


    Dufort clenched his jaw. "Then we must make them listen."


    The Palace of the Grand Vizier was in turmoil.


    Suleiman al-Mutazz paced furiously, his advisors whispering among themselves. A group of Tunisian commanders had gathered, their expressions dark.


    One of them, General Idris bin Rashid, slammed his fist on the table. "These foreigners must pay! They think they can murder our people without consequence? We should expel every Elysean from Tunisian soil!"


    A murmur of agreement spread through the room.


    Suleiman raised his hand for silence. "War with Elysea would be costly. Their army is stronger. Their ships outmatch ours. We cannot act in anger alone."


    General Rashid scowled. "Then what do you suggest?"


    Suleiman exhaled. "We will demand retribution. The soldiers responsible must be punished. If Elysea refuses, then we take action."


    The vizier turned to his aide. "Send a message to the Elysean delegation. They will answer for this crime."


    By nightfall, every Elysean soldier in Carthage was on high alert. The gates of their compound were barred, their muskets loaded.


    Dufort sat in his study, reading the formal demand from the Grand Vizier.


    Elysea was to hand over the officers responsible for the killings, or face expulsion from Tunisian territory.


    Roux entered, arms crossed. "They want blood."


    Dufort set the letter down. "Then we must decide¡­ do we give it to them?"


    The next move belonged to Elysea.


    And all of North Africa watched, waiting to see what they would do.

 Chapter 80 High Tension

    The city of Carthage was no longer calm.


    The Elysean compound was under lockdown, its iron gates shut, guards stationed at every entryway, muskets loaded and bayonets fixed. Outside the compound, Tunisian soldiers patrolled the streets, their presence heavier than before. Every man inside the Elysean delegation could feel it¡ªthe growing hostility, the seething resentment.


    Inside the compound, General Armand Roux stood in the dimly lit war room, his gloved hands pressed against the wooden table. Across from him, Foreign Minister Charles Dufort paced, his face lined with frustration.


    On the table lay the official demand from the Grand Vizier¡ªhand over the Elysean officers responsible for the bloodshed at the Grand Bazaar, or face expulsion from Tunisian lands.


    Dufort exhaled sharply. "This is an impossible demand."


    Roux''s eyes narrowed. "It''s a threat."


    Dufort stopped pacing, turning to face him. "And what would you have me do? Turn over our men to be butchered?"


    Roux''s jaw clenched. "We can''t let them dictate terms to us, Charles. If we surrender Giraud and his men, we set a precedent¡ªElysean soldiers become bargaining chips. Today, it''s this incident. Tomorrow, it''s another excuse. If we show weakness, we might as well pack up and leave North Africa altogether."


    Dufort rubbed his temples. "I understand that, Armand, but if we refuse outright, we risk war. And we are not ready for war."


    There was a heavy silence between them.


    They both knew the truth.


    Elysea was strong. Stronger than Tunis, militarily and technologically. But an outright conflict, here and now, would be a catastrophe. Elysea''s foothold in Carthage was small. Their men were outnumbered. Their supply lines stretched across the Mediterranean. They could not afford a prolonged struggle¡ªnot yet.


    A sharp knock at the door broke the silence.


    An aide entered, bowing slightly. "Your Excellencies, the Grand Vizier has arrived."


    Dufort straightened, his expression hardening. "Then let''s see where this leads."


    The Council Hall of the Elysean compound was cold, tense, and heavy with anticipation.


    Grand Vizier Suleiman al-Mutazz entered, flanked by two Tunisian guards, their hands resting on their scimitars. The vizier moved with calm, deliberate steps, his aged but sharp eyes scanning the room like a man who already knew the outcome of the conversation.


    Dufort and Roux stood at the opposite end of the table. Behind them, Elysean officers watched in silence, their hands resting on their sword hilts, muskets leaning against the walls.


    The Vizier took his seat.


    For a moment, no one spoke.


    Then, Suleiman broke the silence.


    "You have received our demands." His voice was steady, unyielding.


    Dufort nodded. "We have. But before we proceed further, let me ask you one thing, Grand Vizier¡ªdo you truly wish to see our nations at war?"


    Suleiman''s expression did not change. "It is not we who brought war to Carthage, Minister Dufort. It was your men who fired the first shot. It was your soldiers who killed our citizens in the streets of our own city."


    Dufort''s lips pressed into a thin line. "The situation escalated beyond control. Your people attacked our men first."


    Suleiman''s eyes flickered with a dangerous glint. "They attacked with stones and fists. Your men responded with gunpowder and steel. Tell me, Minister Dufort, do you believe this is justice?"


    Roux spoke before Dufort could answer. "Justice? Justice would have been preventing the attack in the first place. Justice would have been ensuring your citizens didn''t rise up against uniformed men protecting diplomatic interests."


    Suleiman''s calm mask cracked slightly, his fingers tightening against the armrest of his chair. "Protection? Your men insulted our people, mocked our traditions, called us uncivilized in our own streets. If this is your idea of protection, then we do not need it."


    A long, tense silence followed.


    Dufort sighed. "We cannot hand over our officers to be executed."


    Suleiman''s eyes narrowed. "Then our Sultan will have no choice but to expel every Elysean from our lands. That includes your merchants, your diplomats, and your soldiers. Your foothold in North Africa will be gone."


    Dufort''s heart pounded, but he forced himself to remain outwardly calm.


    If they lost Carthage, they lost everything they had spent a year building.


    He could not allow that to happen.


    "We can find another solution," Dufort said carefully.


    Suleiman leaned forward. "There is only one solution."


    Roux slammed his palm on the table. "You are making a mistake, Grand Vizier."


    Suleiman met his gaze, unflinching. "No, General Roux. It is Elysea that has made a mistake."


    The negotiations collapsed.


    Suleiman stood, his movements slow, deliberate. "You have until sundown tomorrow to deliver your decision. If you refuse to hand over your men, consider our agreement nullified."


    Dufort exhaled sharply, but nodded. "We will¡­ consider your request."


    Suleiman watched him for a long moment before turning on his heel and exiting the chamber.


    As the door slammed shut, Roux swore under his breath. "This is going to end in blood."


    Dufort sat back down, his fingers interlocked. His mind was racing.


    What options did they have?


    Hand over Giraud and the other officers. This would humiliate Elysea and set a precedent that would make them look weak in the eyes of their European rivals.


    Refuse outright. This would likely mean war, or at the very least, the complete loss of their trade agreements and foothold in Tunis.


    Negotiate a compromise. But would the Tunisians accept anything less than full punishment?


    Dufort turned to Roux. "If it comes to war¡­ are we prepared?"


    "We are well-prepared," Roux stated with absolute certainty. "We have the best weapons, and these Tunisians are equipped with primitive muskets and outdated tactics. If war comes, we will dominate them."


    Dufort exhaled sharply. "This isn''t about whether we can win, General." He ran a hand through his graying hair. "It''s about whether we should."


    Roux''s expression remained unreadable. "They have already declared their position. They demand our officers. They openly threaten to expel us. This is not diplomacy anymore. It is a power struggle."


    Dufort shook his head. "We came here to trade, not conquer."


    Roux''s voice darkened. "You came to trade. The king sent me to ensure Elysea takes what it needs."


    Silence fell over the room.


    Finally, Major Baptiste Laurent spoke, breaking the tension. "The Tunisian army is mobilizing. If we hesitate, we lose the initiative."


    Dufort sat back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. "This will mean the end of any diplomatic relations with Tunis."


    Roux smirked. "We don''t need relations. We need their land."


    Dufort''s lips pressed into a thin line. His eyes swept across the faces of the gathered men. "Then¡­ this is war."


    Roux nodded. "Then let''s prepare for war." sea??h th§× N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 81 Acting On Their Own

    The war room in the Elysean compound was silent, but the air was thick with anticipation. General Armand Roux stood at the head of the table, his hands gripping the edge as he stared at the assembled officers and ministers. The decision had been made.


    There would be no surrender. No negotiations. No retreat.


    Foreign Minister Charles Dufort ran a hand through his graying hair, exhaling sharply. He looked up at Major Baptiste Laurent, who had been one of the most vocal supporters of war.


    "This is madness," Dufort muttered. "We are acting without the King''s direct orders."


    Roux scoffed, his expression cold. "The King sent us here to secure Elysea''s future. I don''t need a written letter from Bruno to tell me that we are not handing over our men to be executed."


    Laurent nodded, arms crossed. "And even if we send a message now, by the time the King replies, the Tunisian army will have already surrounded us."


    Dufort clenched his jaw. The logic was sound, but that didn''t make it right. They were gambling with Elysea''s standing in the world. They were about to ignite a war that could reshape North Africa forever.


    A war King Bruno hadn''t approved.


    But Roux and his officers had already made their decision.


    March 21, 1695.


    The compound gates remained locked, but behind them, Elysean forces moved with urgency. Officers barked orders as men donned their blue and gold uniforms, checked their muskets, and secured their ammunition pouches.


    The artillery crews loaded cannons with grapeshot and solid iron balls, positioning them on the walls for when the inevitable counterattack came.


    In the officer''s tent, Roux, Laurent, and Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud stood over a detailed map of Carthage.


    "Our objective is clear," Roux said, tapping the Grand Bazaar district with his gloved finger. "We strike first."


    Laurent nodded. "A night assault. The Tunisians will not expect us to make the first move. They assume we are still negotiating."


    Roux smirked. "Then let''s make sure they never get the chance."


    The plan was simple:


    Seize the Grand Bazaar and the surrounding districts before dawn.


    Establish control of the main roads, cutting off reinforcements from the city garrison. S§×arch* The N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Force the Grand Vizier''s hand¡ªbefore Tunisian forces could fully mobilize.


    Dufort stood at the edge of the room, arms crossed. "You''re making a mistake."


    Roux didn''t even look at him. "You should be glad we''re solving this before it gets worse."


    Dufort sighed, knowing there was nothing left to say. The soldiers had already been given their orders.


    The decision was made.


    And at the stroke of midnight, Elysea marched.


    March 22, 1695.


    The first shots rang out just before dawn.


    Elysean grenadiers stormed through the narrow alleyways of the Bazaar District, their muskets raised, bayonets glinting under the lantern light.


    Tunisian watchmen barely had time to react before they were cut down. The sound of gunfire and screams filled the streets.


    The Grand Bazaar, once filled with merchants, spices, and silk, was now a battlefield.


    Elysean forces moved in tight formations, firing disciplined volleys into Tunisian guards rushing to defend the district.


    Tunisian soldiers, fighting on home territory, used the rooftops and alleyways to counterattack with muskets and curved swords.


    The Elysean artillery, positioned outside the marketplace, fired grapeshot into defensive positions, tearing through wooden barricades and stone walls.


    Captain Giraud, at the head of his men, cut through a line of Tunisian defenders with his sword drawn, stepping over the bodies of fallen soldiers as he advanced toward the heart of the district.


    "Push forward! Do not give them ground!" he shouted.


    The Elysean musketeers reloaded quickly, firing another deadly volley.


    One by one, the Tunisian defenses began to break.


    By sunrise, the Grand Bazaar belonged to Elysea.


    Inside the Palace of the Grand Vizier, the mood was grim.


    Suleiman al-Mutazz stood before a gathering of his top generals, his face dark with rage.


    A messenger rushed into the chamber, his robes torn and blood-stained. "My Lord! The Elyseans have taken the Bazaar! They are fortifying the district¡ªour soldiers are being slaughtered in the streets!"


    General Idris bin Rashid, his hands clenched into fists, stepped forward. "Enough! We must drive them out now! Send every available regiment into the city¡ªtonight, we reclaim Carthage!"


    Suleiman raised a hand. "No." His voice was cold, calculating.


    The generals fell silent.


    "We do not waste our men in reckless counterattacks," the Grand Vizier said. "We will let the foreigners take Carthage. Let them believe they have won."


    The room fell into a stunned silence.


    Rashid frowned. "My Lord¡­ you mean to abandon the city?"


    Suleiman''s lips curled into a knowing smirk. "No. We will let them take the city. And then¡­ we will burn it around them."


    The Tunisian generals exchanged glances of understanding.


    Suleiman turned to one of his aides. "Send word to the Sultan. Tell him the Elyseans have chosen war. It is time we remind them why no foreign power has ever conquered Tunis."


    The messenger bowed deeply and disappeared.


    The Tunisian army would not reclaim Carthage in a direct assault.


    They would make it a graveyard.


    March 23, 1695.


    The Elysean flag now flew over the Grand Bazaar.


    General Roux stood atop the ruins of a destroyed barricade, looking over the city.


    Captain Giraud, his uniform stained with blood and soot, approached.


    "We hold the Bazaar, General. The Tunisians are falling back."


    Roux smirked. "Good. Then we have won."


    But before Giraud could respond, a massive explosion erupted in the distance.


    A Tunisian supply depot¡ªset ablaze by their own retreating forces.


    Smoke billowed into the sky, casting an ominous shadow over Carthage.


    Dufort stood behind Roux, watching the fires spread.


    "They aren''t retreating," he murmured. "They''re setting a trap."


    Roux''s smirk faded. "What do you mean?"


    Before Dufort could respond, a thunderous explosion erupted from the eastern quarter of Carthage. A shockwave tore through the district, rattling windows and shaking the ground beneath them.


    A second explosion followed, this time near the docks. The Elysean warships in the harbor rocked violently as flames and debris soared into the air.


    Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud rushed into the war room, his uniform stained with soot and blood. "General! The Tunisians are blowing up the city! They''re destroying their own supply depots, their warehouses¡ªeverything!"


    Laurent paled. "They''re burning Carthage to the ground."

 Chapter 82 Easy Victory

    The city of Carthage had become a blazing inferno.


    Flames tore through the marketplace, the harbor, and the lower districts, consuming entire streets in a wave of destruction. Black smoke coiled into the sky, choking the air and casting an ominous shadow over the Elysean forces.


    Yet, amid the chaos, the soldiers of Elysea did not falter.


    General Armand Roux stood atop the city walls, his gaze locked on the burning skyline. His forces had the superior firepower, discipline, and technology. The Tunisian strategy was clear¡ªthey intended to destroy everything before it could fall into Elysean hands.


    But they had underestimated one thing.


    The resilience of Elysea''s army.


    At the harbor, chaos reigned.


    Tunisian saboteurs, disguised as dock workers, had set fire to supply depots, ammunition stockpiles, and even ships. The docks were engulfed in smoke, and several vessels had already been lost.


    But Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud would not let them have their victory.


    "Secure the port! No more fires!" Giraud roared as he led his men through the flames.


    His musketeers formed disciplined firing lines, cutting down Tunisian arsonists before they could ignite more destruction.


    One saboteur attempted to set fire to a moored Elysean warship, but a rifle shot rang out¡ªhis body collapsed into the water, blood mixing with the flames.


    Cannon crews redirected their guns, targeting the source of the attacks. Tunisian boats filled with gunpowder were intercepted before they could reach the fleet.


    Within an hour, the flames had been controlled and the Elysean fleet remained intact.


    Giraud, wiping soot from his face, turned to his officers. "The docks are secure. The city is still ours."


    At the Bazaar District, the Tunisian forces launched a desperate last counterattack. They knew the city was lost, but they fought to bleed Elysea as much as possible.


    General Roux, standing at the frontlines, commanded his troops with unwavering confidence.


    "Steady! Let them come!"


    The Tunisian warriors, clad in traditional armor and wielding curved swords, charged forward in waves. Their muskets, outdated and unreliable, fired sporadically, while their cavalry tried to break Elysean formations.


    But Elysea''s military superiority was undeniable.


    Volley fire rained down on the charging Tunisians. Each Elysean line fired in unison, cutting down ranks before they could even reach striking distance.


    Artillery positioned on the rooftops unleashed devastating grapeshot blasts, shredding through cavalry and infantry alike.


    Elite grenadiers launched explosives into the advancing troops, creating fiery eruptions that halted the momentum of the enemy charge.


    The Tunisian forces, outgunned and outmaneuvered, began to break.


    General Roux watched as their lines crumbled, his smirk returning. "Finish them."


    Elysean dragoons charged in, sabers flashing.


    The last remnants of the Tunisian army in Carthage were cut down, their bodies strewn across the bloodstained streets.


    The battle for the Bazaar District was over.


    Carthage now belonged to Elysea.


    By sunset, the last of the flames had been extinguished.


    The city lay in ruins, but it remained standing.


    The Tunisian army had failed to drive them out. Their scorched-earth strategy had only weakened their own position.


    Inside the Palace of the Grand Vizier, General Roux and Captain Giraud stood victorious.


    The palace was eerily quiet, the echoes of war still lingering beyond its walls. The once-pristine hallways, decorated with intricate mosaics and golden chandeliers, were now smeared with soot, blood, and the scars of battle. S§×arch* The n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    General Armand Roux stood at the center of the Grand Vizier''s audience chamber, his gloved hands resting on the pommel of his sword. His uniform, still stained with smoke and sweat, bore the unmistakable mark of battle.


    Beside him, Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud, his tunic torn and dirtied, glanced warily at the Tunisian officials who remained. Their faces were grim, their gazes filled with hatred, resignation, and bitter defiance.


    At the far end of the room, seated on his throne of blackwood and ivory, was Grand Vizier Suleiman al-Mutazz.


    Despite his loss, the man did not appear broken. His dark eyes, lined with exhaustion, remained cold and calculating. His fine robes were disheveled, his turban slightly askew, but he had not fled.


    Instead, he sat still¡ªwatching his conquerors with unwavering defiance.


    "It appears," Roux said, breaking the silence, "that the war is over."


    Suleiman exhaled slowly. "The war is never over, General Roux. Only battles end."


    Roux smirked. "Call it what you will, but Carthage belongs to Elysea now."


    The words hung in the air like a blade suspended above the room.


    One of the Tunisian nobles¡ªa man in his fifties, dressed in traditional robes¡ªstepped forward, his voice laced with contempt. "Do you think the Sultan will allow this to stand? Do you think our people will kneel to you?"


    Roux turned his piercing gaze toward him. "The Sultan may try to reclaim this city. Your people may resist. But if either of them does, we will do what we must to remind them why they failed the first time."


    Suleiman''s jaw tightened. "You speak of peace, but your words reek of conquest."


    Dufort, who had just arrived from the secured districts, sighed as he stepped forward. "It does not have to be conquest, Grand Vizier."


    Suleiman let out a quiet, bitter chuckle. "Tell me, Minister Dufort, does your king even know what his army has done in his name?"


    A beat of silence followed.


    Roux''s smirk faltered.


    Dufort''s expression remained unreadable. "Elysea has secured its position. That is all that matters now."


    Suleiman''s lips curled into a slight smirk. "Then you are either a liar or a fool. Your kingdom came for trade, and now you sit in my palace, dictating the terms of surrender. How long before your king realizes you have given him an empire he did not ask for?"


    "Oh, our King really intended on creating an empire."


    "Oh, your King really intended on creating an empire?" Suleiman murmured, voice filled with quiet mockery.


    "He may not have planned for it to happen this soon," Roux admitted, "but it doesn''t change the outcome."


    Suleiman exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "And so you believe that this city, this conquest, makes you rulers of North Africa?"


    "Pretty much, after all you are the strongest country in this continent but yet you were defeated by a small number of forces. That''s humiliating."

 Chapter 83 They did What?

    April 10, 1695 ¨C The Royal Palace of Elysea


    The grand dining hall of the Royal Palace of Elysea was bathed in the golden glow of midday sunlight, filtering through towering stained-glass windows. The long table, carved from the finest mahogany, was set with silver platters and crystal goblets filled with deep red wine. The scent of roasted lamb and freshly baked bread filled the air as servants moved quietly, attending to their duties.


    At the head of the table sat King Bruno de Elysea, dressed in a tailored navy-blue coat adorned with golden embroidery, his family crest gleaming on his chest. His sharp eyes surveyed the palace gardens beyond the arched windows as he cut into his meal with precision.


    Beside him sat Queen Am¨¦lie, her violet eyes glimmering with warmth as she elegantly sipped from her glass. She wore a light lavender gown with silver trimmings, her golden curls cascading over her shoulders. Unlike the King, who was focused on his meal, she was more interested in the conversation.


    "You seem rather preoccupied today," Am¨¦lie noted, setting down her glass. "Is it the railway expansion project, or something else troubling you?"


    Bruno sighed, glancing at her before taking a bite of his lamb. "Everything, really. The treasury is still stretched thin from our industrial expansion, and the opposition in the Royal Assembly keeps demanding that I slow down military reforms."


    Am¨¦lie smirked playfully, resting her chin on her hand. "And yet, despite all that, you still have the energy to keep the country running."


    Bruno chuckled. "It helps when my wife is doing half the work."


    Am¨¦lie''s smile widened. "Oh? So you''ve finally noticed."


    Bruno raised an eyebrow. "And what exactly have you been up to?"


    The Queen leaned back in her chair, casually twirling the stem of her wine glass between her fingers. "Let''s see¡­ In the past month, I''ve visited three major cities¡ªSaint-Michel, Valport, and Montreval¡ªto oversee the new railway expansions. The freight lines are already reducing travel time for goods, and within a year, we should see a significant increase in trade efficiency."


    Bruno nodded in approval. "Good. The railway network is crucial. Our factories need faster access to raw materials and ports."


    Am¨¦lie continued, "Speaking of factories, I also attended the opening of the new textile mill in Saint-Michel. The workers seem pleased with the conditions, and the production rate is already exceeding expectations."


    Bruno took a sip of his wine, his interest growing. "How many workers are employed there now?"


    "Roughly three thousand, and that number is expected to grow once full automation is introduced."


    Bruno tapped his fingers on the table. "That''s promising. And what of the hospitals?"


    Am¨¦lie brightened. "Ah, yes. I oversaw the inauguration of two new hospitals in Valport and Fontainebleau. One is specialized in infectious diseases, which should help curb the outbreaks we''ve had in the rural districts."


    Bruno''s smirk softened into a look of genuine admiration. "You''ve been busy."


    Am¨¦lie feigned surprise. "You mean to say you weren''t keeping track of my progress?" She playfully pouted. "How cruel."


    Bruno rolled his eyes with a chuckle. "I don''t doubt your capability. If anything, I should be worried that you''ll make me look incompetent."


    She laughed. "That''s not such a bad thing. Perhaps I should take over completely."


    Bruno grinned, shaking his head. "If I let you, I wouldn''t have anything to do."


    Am¨¦lie leaned forward, her tone suddenly more teasing. "Well, there''s one thing you could be doing."


    Bruno raised an eyebrow. "And what''s that?"


    She smirked. "We should have a child."


    Bruno nearly choked on his wine.


    He cleared his throat, giving her an incredulous look. "You really just say that in the middle of lunch?"


    Am¨¦lie giggled. "Oh, don''t act so shocked. It''s about time, don''t you think? A strong king needs an heir."


    Bruno sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "You make it sound like I''ve been avoiding it."


    She smirked. "Haven''t you?"


    Before Bruno could respond, the heavy oak doors to the dining hall swung open.


    Antoine Leclerc, the King''s Chief of Staff, strode in with urgency, his black military coat adorned with golden epaulets. His face, normally composed, was marked with tension.


    Bruno set down his utensils, already knowing that whatever Leclerc had to say wasn''t good. "This better be important, Antoine."


    Leclerc bowed slightly before speaking. "Pardon the interruption, Your Majesty, but we have received an urgent report from North Africa."


    Bruno frowned. "North Africa?" He paused, suddenly remembering. The delegation in Tunis. It had been months since he had last thought about it. He had been so consumed with domestic matters that the Elysean military presence in Carthage had slipped from his immediate concerns.


    Am¨¦lie, sensing the change in his demeanor, folded her hands in her lap. "What happened?"


    Leclerc cleared his throat. "Your Majesty¡­ Elysea is now in control of Carthage."


    Bruno''s eyes widened.


    A heavy silence filled the room.


    "¡­Excuse me?" Bruno leaned forward, his voice dangerously low. "We were meant to establish trade relations. Not conquer an entire city."


    Leclerc hesitated. "There was¡­ a conflict. The Tunisian forces attacked first. Our troops responded decisively under General Armand Roux''s command. After intense fighting, Carthage fell to Elysean control."


    Bruno exhaled sharply, his fingers tightening around the edge of the table. "How many casualties?"


    Leclerc glanced at his notes. "Approximately 4,000 Elysean soldiers lost, but Tunisian casualties are estimated at over 12,000, with thousands more wounded." S~ea??h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Bruno clenched his jaw. Damn it.


    This wasn''t how he had planned Elysea''s presence in Africa. He had expected minor disputes, but an all-out war? And worse¡ªno one had consulted him.


    Am¨¦lie reached for his hand, grounding him. "Bruno."


    He inhaled deeply, forcing himself to stay composed. "What is the situation now?"


    Leclerc continued, "General Roux and Minister Dufort have negotiated terms. Carthage is under Elysean control, but the Sultan of Tunis has accepted an agreement¡ªat least for now."


    Bruno''s gaze darkened. "For now." He already knew what that meant. This wasn''t over.


    Leclerc nodded. "The Sultan has not retaliated yet, but our spies suggest he is preparing a response. We expect military retaliation in the coming months."


    Bruno stood, his chair scraping against the polished marble floor. He walked to the window, staring out over the city of Versailles Elysea.


    For months, he had been focused on modernizing the kingdom, improving infrastructure, and strengthening the economy. Now, he had an empire to manage.


    He turned back to Leclerc. "Draft an immediate letter to General Roux. I want a full report¡ªevery decision he made, every order he gave, and why he thought it was within his authority to act without my approval."


    Leclerc bowed. "At once, Your Majesty."


    Bruno exhaled slowly. He had inherited a war he didn''t start.


    And now, he had to decide what to do with it.


    Am¨¦lie''s voice was soft but firm. "Bruno¡­ what will you do?"


    Bruno''s expression hardened. "First, I will remind my generals that I am still their King."


    Then, after a pause, he smirked.


    "And second?" Am¨¦lie asked.


    Bruno''s eyes gleamed with determination.


    "If we are to have an empire, we will do it properly."

 Chapter 84 Finishing What they Started

    April 11, 1695 ¨C The Royal Palace of Elysea


    The war room in the Royal Palace of Elysea was eerily quiet despite the weight of the discussion unfolding within its walls. A large map of North Africa stretched across the long oak table, its surface marked with Elysean military positions, trade routes, and areas of conflict. Around the table stood King Bruno de Elysea, Chief of Staff Antoine Leclerc, Foreign Minister Charles Dufort, and several high-ranking officers.


    The tension was palpable.


    Bruno stood at the head of the table, arms crossed, his gaze sharp as he studied the newly acquired reports from Carthage. His mind was racing, piecing together the events that had transpired while he was focused on domestic affairs.


    General Armand Roux had gone too far.


    Bruno had always trusted his generals to act decisively, but for them to launch a full-scale invasion without his explicit approval was not something he could ignore.


    Still, there was no undoing what had already been done.


    Carthage belonged to Elysea now.


    And that meant war with Tunis was only a matter of time.


    Bruno''s voice cut through the silence.


    "Walk me through it again," he ordered, his gaze locked onto Leclerc.


    Leclerc, ever composed, adjusted his coat before responding.


    "Months ago, our delegation, under Foreign Minister Dufort and General Roux, was sent to Tunis to establish trade relations. Initial talks with Grand Vizier Suleiman were successful¡ªTunis agreed to lower tariffs in exchange for exclusive access to our firearms."


    Bruno nodded. "I remember the reports."


    Leclerc continued, "However, tensions between our soldiers and the Tunisian people worsened. Our men¡ªparticularly the younger officers¡ªlooked down on them. This arrogance led to an altercation in the Grand Bazaar, where an Elysean officer insulted a merchant, resulting in a riot."


    Bruno exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. "And then?"


    Leclerc''s expression darkened. "The Elysean troops fired on the crowd. Tunisian soldiers retaliated. The situation escalated, and the Grand Vizier demanded the surrender of those responsible."


    Bruno''s jaw tightened.


    "And instead of resolving the matter diplomatically," Bruno said, voice edged with restrained fury, "Roux decided to launch a full invasion."


    Leclerc nodded. "He feared that handing over our officers would set a dangerous precedent. He claimed that if we showed weakness, our influence in North Africa would be finished."


    Bruno scoffed. "And so, instead of protecting our interests, he gave me a war."


    A heavy silence settled over the room.


    Finally, Dufort, who had been silent, spoke. "Your Majesty¡­ while I did not approve of Roux''s decision, I will not deny that we have won."


    Bruno narrowed his eyes. "At what cost?"


    Dufort hesitated. "Four thousand Elysean casualties. But we inflicted three times that number on the Tunisians. And most importantly, we control Carthage."


    Bruno stared at him, his expression unreadable.


    Dufort pressed on. "It may not have been your intention to expand our empire, but we have done so. If we abandon Carthage now, it will be seen as a sign of weakness. Other nations¡ªGermania, Orosk, even Iberia¡ªwill take advantage of our hesitation."


    Bruno didn''t immediately respond.


    Because he knew Dufort was right.


    Despite his frustration, despite the recklessness of his generals, the fact remained: Carthage was theirs.


    And the world was watching.


    Bruno turned his attention back to the map.


    The Tunisian forces had retreated inland, but reports suggested that Sultan Hassan III was preparing for war.


    "We have two choices," Leclerc said, voice measured. "We fortify Carthage and prepare for an inevitable counterattack¡ªor we move first."


    Bruno''s gaze hardened. "Roux''s foolishness has forced my hand. If we do nothing, the Sultan will regroup, amass his forces, and strike with everything he has."


    He turned to Dufort. "Send a message to the Sultan. Offer a formal negotiation."


    Dufort raised an eyebrow. "You want to negotiate?"


    Bruno smirked coldly. "We will give him the illusion of a choice. Offer peace¡ªbut on our terms. Carthage remains under Elysean control. If he accepts, we secure trade dominance in North Africa without further bloodshed." S~ea??h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "And if he refuses?" Leclerc asked.


    Bruno tapped the map, pointing toward the inland Tunisian strongholds.


    "Then we take his capital."


    The room fell silent.


    Everyone understood what Bruno was saying.


    If Tunis did not submit peacefully, Elysea would break the Sultanate.


    Am¨¦lie, who had been listening in silence, finally spoke.


    Bruno glanced at her. "What about him?"


    She met his gaze evenly. "He disobeyed you. Acted without your permission. And yet, you''re about to solidify his conquest."


    Bruno leaned back in his chair, his smirk returning. "Yes. And once this war is won, I will deal with him."


    Leclerc''s expression was unreadable. "You will remove him?"


    Bruno chuckled. "I will not remove him. But I will remind him who he serves."


    Roux had won a battle¡ªbut Bruno would win the war.


    Bruno rose from his seat, signaling the meeting''s conclusion.


    "Leclerc, have our best spies infiltrate Tunis. I want to know their every move."


    Leclerc nodded. "It will be done."


    Bruno turned to Dufort. "Draft the peace offer. Send envoys to the Sultan, but ensure that they report back immediately. If the Sultan refuses¡­ then we march."


    Dufort sighed but nodded. "Understood."


    Bruno''s gaze swept across the room, his mind already strategizing the next step.


    War had come to North Africa.


    And whether it ended with diplomacy or conquest¡ªElysea would emerge victorious.


    As the council dispersed, Am¨¦lie remained seated, watching her husband carefully.


    Bruno met her gaze. "You disapprove."


    She smirked slightly. "I think you enjoy this more than you admit."


    Bruno chuckled, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "I enjoy winning."


    She shook her head, but there was a trace of admiration in her expression.


    "You''re building an empire, Bruno."


    Bruno grinned.


    "I know."


    Am¨¦lie sighed, watching Bruno as he studied the map, his mind already moving several steps ahead. She had known from the beginning that he was ambitious, but now, his ambitions were shaping into something much greater¡ªsomething unstoppable.


    Bruno turned to Leclerc one last time. "We move carefully. If the Sultan rejects our peace terms, I want our armies ready to march within the month."


    Leclerc nodded. "Understood, Your Majesty."


    Bruno exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "Then let''s prepare for the inevitable."

 Chapter 85 Logical Decision

    April 20, 1695 ¨C The Palace of the Sultan, Tunis


    The grand halls of the Sultan''s palace were shrouded in a heavy silence. Sultan Hassan III sat upon his elevated throne, his dark eyes fixed on the scroll laid open before him¡ªthe Elysean peace terms. Around him, his most trusted advisors, generals, and scholars stood in tense silence, waiting for his decision.


    The past weeks had been a disaster. Carthage had fallen. The Grand Vizier''s strategy to burn the city around the Elyseans had failed to break them. Their forces had held firm, their technology superior, their discipline unwavering. It was clear to any rational mind that a direct war against Elysea was unwinnable.


    The Sultan clenched his jaw. He hated this moment. He had spent his entire reign maintaining the independence of his realm, resisting the growing influence of European powers in North Africa. And now, he was being forced to make a decision that no ruler wished to make.


    Submission.


    His generals had failed him. His army, though vast, had proven obsolete against the disciplined firepower of the Elysean war machine. His navy was outmatched by their superior warships. Even if he mustered every warrior from the interior, every man capable of bearing arms, they would only be throwing themselves into a massacre.


    And yet, surrendering outright would be the end of his dynasty.


    He needed to salvage what he could.


    He needed to negotiate from a position of weakness, but without appearing weak.


    The Sultan lifted his gaze to Grand Vizier Suleiman al-Mutazz, who stood at his right side. The older man bore the signs of recent struggles¡ªthe exhaustion in his features, the deep lines of worry carved into his expression.


    "You have read the terms, Grand Vizier. What do you make of them?" the Sultan asked, his voice calm but heavy.


    Suleiman inhaled slowly. "Your Majesty¡­ we cannot defeat them. We must accept this reality."


    A murmur ran through the gathered court.


    "Cowardice," General Idris bin Rashid spat. "We still have men! We still have swords! If we fight, we fight to the last!"


    "To what end?" Suleiman shot back, his voice cutting through the room. "You saw what happened in Carthage. Their weapons tear through us before we can even reach them. Their cannons shatter stone walls like clay. Their warships dominate the sea. What do you propose, General? That we march every man, woman, and child to their deaths?"


    Idris scowled but said nothing.


    Suleiman turned back to the Sultan. "Your Majesty, we must accept this peace. But we must not accept it blindly."


    Hassan III exhaled sharply. "Explain."


    "If we agree to their terms without negotiation, we become nothing more than vassals in all but name. We must push for conditions that allow us to retain dignity and strength. If we must concede, then let us do so in a way that secures our survival."


    The Sultan ran a hand through his beard, contemplating. Then he turned to the court scribe.


    "Read the terms again."


    The scribe unrolled the Elysean scroll and cleared his throat.


    "In the interest of lasting peace between the Kingdom of Elysea and the Sultanate of Tunis, the following terms are proposed:


    Carthage remains under Elysean control, ensuring their right to govern the city''s trade and administration.


    The Sultanate of Tunis will recognize Elysea''s territorial acquisition and will not attempt to reclaim it through military action.


    Tunisian merchants will have access to Carthage under Elysean oversight, with adjusted tariffs ensuring fair trade between both nations.


    Elysea will station a limited number of troops in Carthage to secure its holdings but will not advance further into Tunisian lands.


    In return, Elysea will provide military and economic support to the Sultanate, offering modern weaponry, financial aid, and industrial knowledge to strengthen its internal stability.


    An agreement of mutual cooperation will be established, preventing Tunis from forming military alliances with hostile European powers without prior consultation with Elysea.


    Tunis remains sovereign and its ruling authority will not be challenged or influenced by Elysea''s governance."


    The hall remained silent as the terms settled over them.


    The Sultan''s fingers tapped the armrest of his throne. "They wish to control Carthage indefinitely," he mused.


    Suleiman nodded. "That much was expected. It is the price we pay for losing the war." Sear?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    The Sultan exhaled slowly. "And the clause about military and economic aid?"


    The Grand Vizier''s expression darkened. "It is a clever move on their part. They will arm us, but in doing so, they will ensure we become dependent on their technology. If we accept their weapons, we ensure that our army will forever rely on Elysean steel and gunpowder."


    "Which means they have power over us," the Sultan muttered.


    Suleiman inclined his head. "Precisely. But if we refuse, we are left weak, vulnerable to further exploitation by other European nations."


    The Sultan turned his gaze to his generals. "Can we afford another war?"


    General Idris was silent.


    The answer was obvious.


    They could not.


    Hassan III exhaled through his nose, his mind made up. "We will accept the terms, but we will negotiate further on two points."


    Suleiman leaned forward. "Which ones, Your Majesty?"


    "The stationing of their troops," the Sultan declared. "They may control Carthage, but I will not allow their soldiers to spread further into our lands. Their garrisons must remain within the city limits."


    "And the second?"


    "The trade agreement," the Sultan continued. "If they are to control Carthage''s ports, we must secure favorable trade terms for Tunisian merchants. If we must accept their rule over the city, then we must ensure our economy is not strangled by their tariffs."


    Suleiman nodded approvingly. "A wise decision, Your Majesty. We will demand an amendment to the terms before we sign."


    The Sultan straightened on his throne. "Then summon the Elysean envoys. We will conclude this matter."


    April 22, 1695 ¨C The Elysean Embassy, Tunis


    The Elysean delegation stood before the Sultan''s court, their expressions composed but attentive. Foreign Minister Charles Dufort, representing King Bruno, had arrived personally to oversee the finalization of the treaty.


    As the translated negotiations began, the revised terms were presented.


    Dufort listened carefully, nodding in acknowledgment. When the Sultan finished his counterproposal, the Elysean minister smiled slightly.


    "These are reasonable adjustments," Dufort admitted. "Elysea has no interest in spreading beyond Carthage. We accept your condition regarding our troops."


    The Sultan gave a curt nod. "And the trade terms?"


    Dufort exhaled. "I will send word to my king, but I suspect he will find them agreeable."


    The room fell silent.


    For the first time since the war began, there was no hostility¡ªonly an understanding of power and survival.


    Sultan Hassan III''s fingers tightened against his throne. He hated this, but he knew it was the best possible outcome.


    Finally, he nodded.


    "It is settled."


    A treaty was drafted and signed.


    The war was over.


    Carthage belonged to Elysea.


    Tunis remained sovereign¡ªbut forever changed.

 Chapter 86 Becoming an Empire

    April 25, 1695 ¨C The Royal Palace of Elysea


    The grand chamber of the Elysean war room was filled with quiet murmurs as ministers, generals, and high-ranking officials took their seats. At the head of the table stood King Bruno de Elysea, his sharp gaze fixed on the parchment before him¡ªthe official treaty signed by Sultan Hassan III.


    It was over.


    The war had ended without another battle.


    Elysea had won.


    Bruno leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming against the polished oak table. He had read the treaty twice already, yet he still felt the weight of its implications.


    Elysea now held Carthage, one of the most important trade hubs in North Africa. The Sultan, though forced into this agreement, had retained his throne, ensuring some level of stability in the region. Elysea''s military presence would be confined to Carthage, but their economic and political influence would stretch far beyond the city''s walls.


    And most importantly, no other European power would be allowed to claim Tunisian territory without consulting Elysea first.


    It was a victory.


    But it was also a warning.


    Elysea had just become an empire.


    Bruno exhaled through his nose, shifting his gaze to Chief of Staff Antoine Leclerc, who sat beside him.


    "The war is over," Bruno stated, his voice even. "But the real work begins now."


    Leclerc nodded, adjusting the papers in front of him. "Carthage is ours, but stabilizing it will take time. The transition from Tunisian to Elysean rule will not be easy."


    Foreign Minister Charles Dufort leaned forward. "The treaty allows Tunisian merchants to continue operating in the city under Elysean oversight, but resentment remains high. The people of Carthage may have stopped fighting, but that does not mean they accept us."


    Bruno smirked. "Then we will give them a reason to."


    Leclerc raised an eyebrow. "What do you propose, Your Majesty?"


    Bruno tapped the table. "We need to secure their loyalty through prosperity. If we want them to see Elysea as a force of stability rather than occupation, we must invest in the city. Expand the port, improve infrastructure, and enforce fair trade policies. Give them roads, jobs, and industry."


    Leclerc nodded slowly. "A blend of military strength and economic persuasion."


    "Precisely," Bruno confirmed. "And we will begin by reopening the markets."


    Dufort frowned slightly. "The city is still reeling from the war. There are shortages¡ªfood, medicine, basic supplies. If we open the markets too soon, we risk chaos."


    Bruno met his gaze. "Then we control the supply chain. We send Elysean merchants first, set fixed prices, and regulate trade carefully. The Tunisians must see that commerce thrives under our rule, not suffers."


    Leclerc exhaled. "This will take time."


    Bruno smirked. "We have time. And more importantly, we have control."


    The room fell into silence as the weight of Bruno''s words settled over them.


    Elysea had done what no other European power had managed before¡ªsecuring a foothold in North Africa without prolonged war. But now, they had to hold it.


    Bruno turned to Leclerc. "Draft a plan. I want a full proposal on how we integrate Carthage into our empire while maintaining stability."


    Leclerc inclined his head. "It will be done." S§×arch* The n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Bruno then shifted his gaze to Dufort. "Begin diplomatic correspondence with the Sultan. Keep the peace stable. If he believes we are willing partners rather than conquerors, he will be less inclined to seek revenge."


    Dufort hesitated before nodding. "Understood."


    Finally, Bruno addressed the military. "General Roux is still in Carthage. He defied my orders, but his victory has placed us in a position of strength. He will remain there for now, ensuring order is kept."


    Leclerc''s lips pressed into a thin line. "And when the city is secured?"


    Bruno''s expression darkened. "Then I will deal with him personally."


    Roux had made a bold move. He had won a battle, but in doing so, he had forced Elysea''s hand into empire-building faster than anticipated. Bruno had no intention of removing him immediately¡ªhe was too valuable¡ªbut he would make sure Roux never acted beyond his authority again.


    The council dispersed, leaving Bruno alone with Am¨¦lie.


    She studied him carefully, arms crossed. "You''re thinking ahead again."


    Bruno chuckled. "Always."


    She smirked, walking over to his side. "An empire, Bruno. Do you ever stop to consider what that means?"


    Bruno looked up at her, his expression unreadable. "It means we win."


    She shook her head but smiled. "Then let''s hope you''re ready for what comes next."


    Bruno exhaled, glancing back at the map of North Africa.


    He was ready.


    And soon, the world would know it.


    April 30, 1695


    The streets of Carthage were filled with quiet tension. The banners of Elysea hung from key government buildings, their golden lions fluttering in the Mediterranean breeze. Soldiers patrolled in formation, their blue-and-gold uniforms a constant reminder of who now ruled the city.


    Despite the victory, the air still carried an undercurrent of resistance.


    General Armand Roux stood on the balcony of the Governor''s Palace, surveying the streets below. The city had stopped burning, but the scars of battle remained. Rubble still littered the alleyways, buildings stood half-collapsed, and the markets¡ªonce vibrant and bustling¡ªremained eerily quiet.


    It would take time.


    But time was something he had.


    A knock at the door drew his attention.


    "Enter."


    Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud stepped inside, saluting. "General, reports from the city."


    Roux gestured for him to continue.


    "The markets are beginning to reopen, but there is resistance to Elysean merchants. Many locals refuse to do business with us."


    Roux smirked. "That will change. Hunger and desperation make for excellent teachers."


    Giraud hesitated before speaking again. "We have also identified potential agitators¡ªformer officers of the Tunisian army who have remained in the city. They are rallying small groups, spreading anti-Elysean sentiment."


    Roux exhaled. "Keep them under surveillance. If they become a threat, remove them."


    Giraud nodded. "Understood."


    Roux turned back to the city, watching as an Elysean supply convoy rolled through the main street, escorted by mounted dragoons.


    This was his city now.


    And he would keep it in order.


    For Elysea.


    For King Bruno.


    And for the empire that was only just beginning to rise.

 Chapter 87 Plans on Expanding Deeper into Africa

    September 3, 1695 ¨C The Royal Palace of Elysea


    King Bruno de Elysea stood in the war room, eyes fixed on the massive map spread across the table. His finger traced a route from Carthage down into the heart of Africa. The room was silent, save for the quiet crackle of the fireplace and the rustling of parchment.


    Across from him stood General Armand Roux, his posture rigid, waiting for orders. He had seen this look in the king''s eyes before¡ªBruno was planning something big.


    "Carthage is just the beginning," Bruno said, tapping a specific region further south. "We expand from here."


    Roux''s gaze followed the king''s hand. "These territories are unexplored by any European power. What makes them valuable?"


    Bruno leaned forward. "Gold. Diamonds. Minerals. Wealth beyond what Germania, Orosk, or Iberia even suspect. If we move fast, we claim it all before they realize what they''re missing."


    Roux considered the plan. "We''ll need a proper strategy. A full-scale invasion would be too costly, and we don''t know the land."


    Bruno nodded. "We''re not charging in blindly. Start by sending scouts. We need maps, we need to know which tribes live there, who their leaders are, and how they operate. Once we understand the region, we move carefully."


    Roux understood immediately. "And if they resist?"


    "Diplomacy first," Bruno said. "Offer them trade, protection, and stability. If they agree, they benefit. If not¡­" His expression hardened. "We remove obstacles as necessary."


    Roux nodded. "I''ll assemble the men. Scouts will leave within the week, and supply chains will be planned accordingly."


    Bruno smirked. "Good. Because once we claim these lands, Elysea won''t just be another kingdom. We will be an empire."


    As Roux left to carry out his orders, Bruno remained in the war room, his fingers resting on the map. He knew exactly where the richest lands were, thanks to knowledge from his past life. But revealing that would be foolish¡ªno one could ever know.


    ***


    October 5th.


    General Armand Roux stepped off the ship, boots landing firmly on Carthage''s bustling docks. The salty sea air mixed with the dry desert winds, creating a unique scent that was becoming all too familiar. Around him, the port was alive¡ªmerchants bartering in various languages, dockworkers hauling goods, and Elysean soldiers patrolling in crisp blue-and-gold uniforms.


    Carthage was no longer just a city¡ªit was the foundation of Elysea''s expansion into Africa. And Roux had a mission to carry out.


    Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud, his trusted second-in-command, approached with a salute. "General, the troops are assembled. The officers are waiting for your orders."


    Roux nodded. "Any news from the scouts?"


    "Yes," Giraud said, handing him a report. "They''ve mapped trade routes and identified several tribes. Some are open to negotiation, others are wary."


    Roux expected as much. "Arrange a meeting with their leaders. We need their cooperation."


    Giraud made a note. "What about the outposts?"


    "Three established so far. They''re being fortified, and we''re training the men to avoid unnecessary conflicts with the locals," Giraud explained.


    Roux nodded in approval. "Good. We need to make sure our presence is seen as an opportunity, not an invasion."


    Inside the command tent, Roux studied a map. "Our next step is to establish a continuous supply line from Carthage to the outposts. If we don''t have logistics, we have nothing."


    Giraud hesitated. "We''ve had issues with bandits attacking supply convoys."


    Roux didn''t hesitate. "Increase patrols. And offer some of the tribes payment to protect our shipments. If they have a stake in our success, they''ll defend it."


    A messenger rushed into the tent, breathless. "General! Scouts just returned. They found gold deposits near the Zemari tribal lands."


    Roux''s eyes sharpened. "Gold?"


    "Yes, sir. A large deposit. Possibly untouched."


    The officers in the tent exchanged glances. This changed everything.


    "Gather the officers," Roux ordered. "We need a plan."


    Moments later, the officers assembled, the atmosphere tense. Roux wasted no time.


    "This gold deposit could make Elysea rich beyond imagination. But we must act carefully. If the locals realize its value, they may resist. If rival nations hear about it, they will come for it."


    Giraud spoke up. "What''s the approach?"


    "We secure the area quietly," Roux said. "No sudden movements. First, we build relations with the Zemari. Gain their trust. If they accept our protection, we control the gold."


    "And if they refuse?" one officer asked. S§×ar?h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Roux''s expression darkened. "Then we take it by force."


    The room was silent for a moment. Then, one by one, the officers nodded.


    Elysea''s expansion was now a race against time. If they succeeded, they would be unstoppable. If they failed, the European powers watching them would move in to claim Africa for themselves.


    Failure was not an option.


    October 20, 1695 ¨C Elysean Outpost, South of Carthage


    The newly established outpost was bustling with activity. Soldiers reinforced wooden palisades, workers dug wells, and caravans carried supplies from Carthage.


    General Roux rode through the encampment, inspecting progress. Giraud approached on horseback. "Our envoys reached the Zemari," he reported. "Their chief is willing to meet, but he''s cautious."


    Roux smirked. "Good. He should be. But let''s make sure he knows what''s at stake."


    Later that evening, under a torchlit tent, Roux sat across from Chief Dumari of the Zemari tribe. The chief was an older man, his sharp eyes scanning the Elysean officers around him.


    "You come with weapons," Dumari said. "But you speak of peace."


    Roux smiled slightly. "Weapons are necessary in this world, Chief Dumari. But we did not come to fight. We came to offer something better."


    Dumari leaned back. "And what does Elysea offer?"


    "Protection," Roux said. "Trade. Medicine. Stability." He paused, then added, "Your people have lived here for generations. But times are changing. Other powers are watching Africa. If they come, they will not ask for cooperation. They will take."


    Dumari frowned. "And you will not?"


    Roux''s smile didn''t fade. "No. Because we want your people as allies, not subjects."


    Dumari studied him for a long moment. "And the gold? You know of it, don''t you?"


    Roux didn''t flinch. "We do. And we are willing to share its benefits. Your people can prosper. You can be part of something greater."


    The chief was silent, considering. Finally, he nodded. "I will discuss with my elders. We will decide."


    Roux knew he had planted the seed. Now, it was only a matter of time.


    October 25, 1695 ¨C Carthage


    Back in Carthage, Roux sent his report to King Bruno.


    [To His Majesty, King Bruno of Elysea,


    The Zemari tribe is considering our offer. We have secured key trade routes, and the gold deposit is within reach. Expansion is proceeding as planned.


    ]


    As the courier departed with the message, Roux exhaled.


    They were making history.


    And soon, all of Africa would know the name of Elysea.

 Chapter 88 Neighbors Noticing the Change

    The room fell silent as the gravity of the situation sunk in. Friedrich''s gaze hardened, reflecting his resolve.


    "We cannot allow Elysea to dominate Africa and dictate terms in a region so rich in resources. We must assert our own power and claim what is rightfully within our reach through any means necessary."


    General Weber, a seasoned military leader, added, "Our naval presence in the Mediterranean must be expanded immediately. We should also consider establishing fortified outposts along the African coast to safeguard our interests and project our strength."


    The king nodded in agreement. "Prepare the fleets and draft plans for these outposts. We will not shy away from using force if necessary. Africa''s wealth is crucial for Germania''s future, and we must secure it for our people."


    October 12, 1695 ¨C The Kingdom of Orosk


    In the stark, cold halls of the Oroskian Royal Palace, Queen Anastasia met with her advisors. The news of Elysea''s ambitious expansion had reached her ears, sparking concerns about the implications for Orosk''s strategic interests.


    "Elysea''s maneuvers could disrupt the balance of power in Africa and threaten our access to essential resources," explained Lord Ivanovich, the Foreign Minister. "Their military outposts and trade with local tribes could soon overshadow our influence in the region."


    Queen Anastasia''s expression was one of calculated concern. "Orosk must respond decisively. We will support any local tribes opposing Elysea''s expansion and supply them with arms. If necessary, we will not hesitate to deploy our own forces to protect our interests and assert our dominance."


    Lord Ivanovich nodded, his expression grim. "I will arrange for immediate military support for the tribes and seek to undermine Elysea''s alliances in the region. Africa is a land rich with potential, and Orosk must not be left behind in the scramble for its resources."


    October 15, 1695 ¨C The Iberian Kingdom


    King Alfonso VI of Iberia convened a meeting with his Council of Ministers in the sunlit war room of the Iberian Palace. The discussion focused on Elysea''s recent expansion into North Africa and its implications for Iberia''s strategic interests.


    "Elysea is making aggressive moves in Africa, establishing alliances with local tribes and securing resource-rich territories," noted Foreign Minister Garcia, looking over the maps and reports. "This expansion threatens our own ambitions in the region and could hinder our access to vital trade routes."


    King Alfonso leaned over the map, his finger tracing the areas where Elysean influence was growing. "We must counter their expansion with our own. Iberia has historical claims in North Africa that we must defend and expand upon. Prepare for a military expedition to secure these claims and show that Iberia will not be overshadowed."


    Garcia acknowledged the directive. "I will coordinate with our ambassadors to fortify our alliances in Africa and ensure that our military is ready to intervene. We will make it clear that Iberia is a dominant force to be respected and feared."


    ***


    November 20, 1695 ¨C The Royal Palace of Elysea


    The cold winds of November swept through the capital of Elysea, signaling the arrival of winter. Inside the Royal Palace, preparations for Christmas were in full swing. Servants decorated the halls with garlands and candles, while workers set up large evergreen trees in the main hall.


    King Bruno sat at his desk, reviewing reports while the sounds of preparations filled the corridors outside. His mind remained occupied with Africa¡ªtrade routes, fortifications, and expansion plans. Even as Christmas approached, he couldn''t afford to slow down.


    A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.


    "Come in," Bruno said, setting down his quill.


    Queen Am¨¦lie entered, dressed in a simple but elegant gown. She glanced at the documents spread across his desk and sighed. "Even now, you''re working?"


    Bruno leaned back in his chair. "There''s still a lot to do."


    "You promised you''d focus on the celebrations," she reminded him. "At least for a few days."


    Bruno sighed, rubbing his temples. "I know. But the expansion isn''t going to stop just because it''s Christmas."


    Am¨¦lie crossed her arms. "No one is saying to stop it. But if you don''t take a break, how do you expect the people to enjoy the season? If their king is too busy to celebrate, what message does that send?" Sear?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Bruno thought for a moment before nodding. "Fine. I''ll set aside time for the preparations."


    She smirked. "Good. Because the palace is already being decorated, and I want you to see it."


    With some reluctance, Bruno followed her out into the hall. The servants had done a fine job¡ªthe great hall was filled with evergreen wreaths, red ribbons, and golden ornaments. Tables were being set for the upcoming feast, while the kitchen staff hurriedly prepared dishes for the nobles and commoners alike.


    "This year''s feast will be bigger than the last," Am¨¦lie said. "We''re incorporating spices from our African trade into the menu. It''ll be a statement¡ªour empire is growing, and the people will taste the benefits."


    Bruno nodded approvingly. "Smart. It reinforces the idea that our expansion is for Elysea''s prosperity."


    Am¨¦lie continued, "There will also be a public gathering in the square. We''re organizing a gift distribution for the poor. You should be there when it happens."


    Bruno raised an eyebrow. "A gift distribution?"


    "Yes," she said. "If we want support for our policies, we need to keep the people happy. Show them that the monarchy cares."


    Bruno couldn''t argue with that logic. "Fine. I''ll make a speech as well. Something short, just to remind them that Elysea''s future is bright."


    Am¨¦lie smiled, satisfied. "I knew you''d see reason."


    That evening, the two of them sat by the fireplace in their private quarters. A servant brought mulled wine, and for the first time in weeks, Bruno allowed himself to relax.


    "After Christmas, it''ll be back to work," he said.


    Am¨¦lie rolled her eyes. "Obviously. But for now, enjoy this."


    Bruno chuckled. "Fine. But only for now."


    The fire crackled softly as Bruno took a sip of his wine, the warmth spreading through his chest. Am¨¦lie leaned against him, her presence comforting in the quiet evening.


    "For now," she repeated, smiling. "But I know you¡ªyou''re already thinking about what comes next."


    Bruno smirked. "You''re not wrong."


    She sighed, shaking her head. "Just don''t let expansion consume you entirely. Even kings need to rest."


    Bruno glanced at the flickering flames. "Rest is a luxury I can''t afford for long."

 Chapter 89 Christmas is Coming

    December 1, 1695 ¨C The Royal Palace of Elysea


    Winter had fully set in, and the streets of the capital were dusted with snow. The chill in the air didn''t stop the city from preparing for the grandest Christmas celebration in Elysea''s history. Festive decorations lined the streets, markets bustled with activity, and workers hurriedly assembled a grand stage in the city square.


    Inside the Royal Palace, King Bruno sat in the council chamber, surrounded by his ministers and advisors. He had summoned them to discuss his latest directive¡ªone that would shape the way Christmas was celebrated in the kingdom for years to come.


    "I have made my decision," Bruno announced, glancing at the officials seated around the long wooden table. "This year, we will introduce mandatory Christmas bonuses for all workers, funded by their employers."


    The ministers exchanged glances, some nodding in approval, while others looked hesitant.


    Chief of Staff, Antoine leaned forward. "Your Majesty, while I understand the sentiment behind this, do you believe the merchants and factory owners will comply willingly?"


    "They will," Bruno said firmly. "Because we will make it a royal decree. Every employer¡ªwhether they own a factory, a shop, or an agricultural estate¡ªmust give their workers a Christmas bonus equal to one week''s wages. This will improve morale, increase spending, and ensure that everyone benefits from the kingdom''s growing prosperity."


    Finance Minister Moreau adjusted his spectacles. "This will put a strain on some businesses, especially smaller ones."


    Bruno anticipated this argument. "Then we will provide tax deductions for those who comply. Any business that follows the mandate will receive reductions in their yearly tax obligations. That way, it becomes a win-win."


    Several ministers nodded at the clever compromise.


    "What about enforcement?" asked Labor Minister Gauntier. "Some employers may try to find ways to avoid it."


    Bruno tapped his fingers on the table. "The local magistrates and tax collectors will oversee compliance. Workers will be encouraged to report violations, and those who refuse to comply without valid reason will face penalties, including fines or temporary business closures."


    Defense Minister Beaulieu chuckled. "I imagine some nobles won''t be happy about this."


    Bruno smirked. "They never are. But they will follow the law." S§×arch* The nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    The ministers exchanged glances once more before nodding. The decree was sound, and with the growing power of the Elysean economy, it was a logical next step.


    December 5, 1695 ¨C Elysea''s Christmas Decrees


    By the end of the week, town criers across the kingdom announced King Bruno''s new policies:


    Mandatory Christmas Bonuses ¨C All employers must provide their workers with a bonus equal to one week''s wages, with tax deductions for compliance.


    Public Christmas Feasts ¨C Every city and town would host a free Christmas feast, partially funded by the monarchy.


    Gift Distribution for the Poor ¨C The kingdom''s wealthiest families were required to contribute to a fund that would provide food, clothes, and gifts to the less fortunate.


    Official Christmas Market Regulations ¨C Special tax exemptions were given to merchants selling goods at Christmas markets to encourage trade and affordability.


    The kingdom buzzed with excitement. The common folk were overjoyed at the news, celebrating their king''s generosity, while the merchants, though grumbling at first, quickly saw the benefits of increased trade.


    December 10, 1695. At the palace courtyard.


    Bruno and Queen Am¨¦lie stood on the balcony of the palace, looking down at the preparations in the courtyard below. Workers were setting up long wooden tables where hundreds of people would soon gather for the grand Christmas feast.


    Am¨¦lie smiled as she watched the scene. "You''ve made this Christmas something truly special for the people."


    Bruno crossed his arms. "They''ve worked hard to build this kingdom. It''s only right they share in its success."


    She turned to him. "And yet, your mind is still elsewhere."


    Bruno sighed. She wasn''t wrong. Even with all the celebrations, his thoughts often drifted back to Africa. The expansion was going well, but he knew Germania, Orosk, and Iberia were watching.


    "I can''t afford to be careless," he admitted. "Our enemies won''t wait for Christmas to pass before making their next move."


    Am¨¦lie took his hand. "That may be true, but for now, enjoy what you''ve built. The people look up to you, and they deserve to see their king celebrating with them."


    Bruno exhaled and nodded. "You''re right. Tomorrow, I''ll put aside my worries."


    December 15, 1695.


    The city square of Elysea was unrecognizable from just a few weeks ago. It had transformed into a vibrant Christmas market, with dozens of stalls selling everything from roasted nuts to handwoven blankets. The air was filled with the scent of freshly baked bread, spiced cider, and roasted meats.


    Bruno, dressed in a regal winter coat, walked through the marketplace with Am¨¦lie and his advisors. The people bowed as he passed, offering smiles and cheers.


    A group of children ran past, laughing, their hands full of sweets distributed by merchants following the king''s decree. Nearby, a baker proudly displayed a loaf of bread stamped with the royal crest, a symbol of the holiday spirit encouraged by the monarchy.


    "It''s a sight to behold," Finance Minister L¨¦on commented. "This market alone will boost our economy for months."


    Bruno smirked. "And the people get to enjoy themselves in the process."


    As they continued walking, an old woman approached and curtsied. "Your Majesty," she said, her voice filled with emotion. "I''ve lived many years, but I''ve never seen a Christmas like this. Thank you."


    Bruno nodded. "Enjoy the holiday. And eat well."


    December 24.


    The grand hall of the palace was filled with laughter and music. Nobles, merchants, and commoners alike gathered for the grand Christmas Eve feast. Massive tables overflowed with food¡ªroast boar, spiced wines, pastries, and exotic fruits from Africa.


    At the head of the hall, Bruno raised a glass. "To Elysea," he declared. "May we continue to grow stronger together."


    The hall erupted in cheers, and the celebration continued late into the night.


    For once, Bruno allowed himself to relax.


    Tomorrow would bring new challenges.


    But for tonight, it was Christmas.

 Chapter 90 The Christmas

    December 25, 1695.


    The sun had barely risen when the bells of Elysea''s cathedral rang through the city, marking the beginning of Christmas Day. The streets were still covered in a thick blanket of snow, but warmth radiated from every home, every shop, and every hall where families gathered to celebrate the holiday.


    Inside the Royal Palace, the morning was just as lively. Servants hurried through the halls, carrying trays of food and gifts, while musicians played soft carols in the background. The great hall was already prepared for another feast, one meant for the nobles, generals, and high-ranking officials who would attend later in the evening.


    But for now, King Bruno and Queen Am¨¦lie were enjoying a rare moment of peace in their private quarters.


    Bruno stretched as he sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes. "It''s already Christmas morning?"


    Am¨¦lie, still lying beside him, chuckled. "It is. And for once, you don''t have a council meeting to attend."


    Bruno smirked. "Not yet, at least."


    She rolled her eyes before sitting up and wrapping a warm shawl around her shoulders. "Come on, we should go see the gifts."


    Christmas Morning Traditions


    By the time they stepped out into the hallway, the palace was already buzzing with excitement. Every year, on Christmas morning, the royal family participated in a tradition where they exchanged gifts not only with each other but also with the palace staff.


    The grand Christmas tree in the reception hall was surrounded by presents, all neatly arranged in different sections¡ªsome for the royal family, some for the palace workers, and a separate pile meant to be distributed to orphanages and the less fortunate.


    As Bruno and Am¨¦lie entered the hall, the servants gathered, standing respectfully to the side. The royal steward, an elderly man named Lambert, cleared his throat and addressed the crowd. "As is tradition, His Majesty and Her Majesty will personally distribute the first gifts of the day."


    Bruno nodded and picked up the first wrapped package, handing it to one of the younger footmen. "A year of hard work deserves a reward. Enjoy your holiday."


    One by one, the gifts were handed out¡ªwarm coats for the guards, new tools for the kitchen staff, and handcrafted jewelry for the maids. Each servant received something thoughtful, ensuring they felt recognized for their efforts throughout the year.


    Am¨¦lie smiled as she handed a small box to a maid who had only recently joined the palace. "You''ve been wonderful this year. Keep up the good work."


    The maid''s eyes widened in surprise as she unwrapped the gift¡ªa silver brooch shaped like a snowflake. She bowed deeply. "Thank you, Your Majesty."


    The exchange continued for nearly an hour until every gift had been handed out. The final set of presents, meant for the city''s orphanages, would be taken by royal guards later in the afternoon.


    Bruno crossed his arms, satisfied. "It''s good to see everyone smiling."


    Am¨¦lie nodded. "It''s the one time of the year where we can truly focus on the people instead of politics." S§×ar?h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Bruno chuckled. "I''d rather deal with this than a council meeting any day."


    After breakfast, the royal couple decided to take a short trip outside the palace to witness the celebrations firsthand. Bruno and Am¨¦lie, dressed in thick fur-lined cloaks, rode through the snow-covered streets in an open carriage.


    The city square was even more lively than the night before. Children played in the snow, merchants handed out small treats, and the scent of roasted meat filled the air. At the center of the square, a large crowd gathered near a makeshift stage where the city''s choir performed Christmas hymns.


    Bruno watched with interest. "They''ve really outdone themselves this year."


    Am¨¦lie smiled. "The people are happy. Your policies have made a real difference."


    A group of children ran up to the carriage, waving excitedly. "Merry Christmas, Your Majesty!"


    Bruno reached into his coat and pulled out a handful of silver coins, tossing them into the crowd. The children scrambled to catch them, laughing as they cheered.


    Nearby, a baker approached the carriage with a tray of freshly baked pastries. "Your Majesty, would you like to try one?"


    Bruno accepted a piece, taking a bite. It was warm, soft, and flavored with cinnamon and honey. He nodded approvingly. "Delicious."


    The baker beamed. "An honor, Your Majesty."


    Am¨¦lie leaned over and took a bite of her own. "I think we''ll need to bring some of these back to the palace."


    The couple continued their ride through the city, observing how each neighborhood celebrated in its own way. In the wealthier districts, nobles hosted grand feasts and elegant dances, while in the poorer areas, communal meals brought families together in warmth and laughter.


    Bruno knew that despite the celebrations, the kingdom still had its struggles. But for today, all of that could wait.


    By evening, the palace was filled with nobles, officers, and high-ranking officials, all gathered for the grand Christmas banquet. The long dining tables were covered with lavish dishes¡ªroast venison, spiced wine, honey-glazed fruits, and freshly baked bread.


    Bruno sat at the head of the table, Am¨¦lie beside him. As the meal began, the conversations ranged from trade policies to military affairs, but Bruno quickly shut down any talk of politics.


    "Tonight is not for work," he said firmly. "Enjoy yourselves."


    His words were met with laughter and approval.


    Throughout the night, music played, dancers performed, and the palace echoed with the sounds of celebration. Officers toasted to victories, nobles exchanged gifts, and the servants, granted the evening off, joined in the festivities.


    At one point, Am¨¦lie pulled Bruno onto the dance floor, much to his reluctance.


    "I''m not much of a dancer," he muttered.


    She smirked. "You''re the king. They''ll think you''re perfect no matter how bad you are."


    Bruno sighed but followed her lead. The music was lively, and soon enough, he found himself caught up in the rhythm. The court cheered, and even Bruno had to admit¡ªit was a rare moment of enjoyment.


    As the feast wound down and guests began to retire for the night, Bruno and Am¨¦lie stepped onto the palace balcony, looking down at the city. The streets were still lit with lanterns, and distant laughter carried through the air.


    Bruno exhaled, feeling the weight of the day settle in. "It was a good Christmas."


    Am¨¦lie leaned against him. "One of the best."


    He turned to her. "Thank you for reminding me to slow down."


    She smiled. "You needed it."


    For a moment, there was nothing but silence between them as they watched the snowfall.


    Then, Bruno smirked. "Tomorrow, it''s back to work."


    Am¨¦lie sighed, shaking her head. "Of course it is."


    Bruno wrapped an arm around her. "But for now, let''s enjoy what''s left of the night."


    As the last of the Christmas bells rang through the city, King Bruno and Queen Am¨¦lie stood together, knowing that while challenges lay ahead, for this one day, peace and joy reigned in Elysea.

 Chapter 91 A Day After Christmas

    December 26, 1695.


    The first light of dawn crept through the windows of the Royal Palace of Elysea. The grand halls, once filled with music and laughter the night before, were now quiet, save for the occasional sounds of servants tidying up after the grand festivities.


    King Bruno stretched as he sat up in bed, rubbing his temples. His body felt sluggish from the amount of food and wine he had indulged in the previous night. He glanced over to his side, where Am¨¦lie still lay, her breathing soft and steady. She had been the one to convince him to truly enjoy the holiday, and for once, he had allowed himself to let go of his worries.


    But now, Christmas was over.


    Bruno exhaled and carefully got out of bed, not wanting to wake his wife. He washed his face with cold water from a nearby basin and dressed in a simple tunic before stepping into the hall.


    Outside, the palace was slowly coming back to life. Servants were already at work clearing the remnants of the feast, polishing the silverware, and ensuring everything was back in order. Some nobles who had stayed overnight were beginning to leave, their carriages lining up at the main entrance.


    Bruno made his way to his private study, where a stack of reports awaited him. Even during Christmas, the affairs of the kingdom had not paused.


    Bruno sat at his desk and opened the first document, a report from the African colonies. General Roux had sent an update on the progress in Carthage, detailing the construction of additional outposts and new trade agreements with local tribes. However, there were also reports of resistance in some regions, particularly from tribal leaders who were not eager to cooperate.


    Bruno frowned. He had expected some opposition, but the details suggested that outside forces might be influencing these tribes¡ªperhaps Germania, Orosk, or Iberia, who had been watching Elysea''s expansion with growing concern.


    A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.


    "Come in," Bruno said.


    The door opened, and Chief Minister Antoine stepped inside. "Your Majesty, I hope you had a restful Christmas."


    Bruno smirked. "For the most part. But now it''s back to business."


    Antoine placed a few more documents on the desk. "Reports from the African territories, as well as economic updates from the mainland. The new Christmas policies were well received, but there are some complaints from the nobility and merchants about the mandatory bonuses."


    Bruno expected this. "How serious are these complaints?"


    Antoine adjusted his spectacles. "Some merchants claim they suffered losses, but based on our treasury records, trade and spending actually increased because of the bonuses. The common folk spent more, which benefited businesses overall. I suspect these complaints are simply nobles trying to avoid sharing their wealth."


    Bruno leaned back in his chair. "Then we don''t change anything. If anything, this proves that the policy worked."


    Antoine nodded. "Very well, Your Majesty."


    Bruno tapped his fingers on the desk. "What about our military preparations? Have there been any unusual movements from Germania, Orosk, or Iberia?"


    Antoine hesitated. "There have been reports of increased naval activity from Germania in the Mediterranean. They haven''t made any aggressive moves yet, but it''s clear they are positioning themselves for something."


    Bruno narrowed his eyes. "They''re testing the waters. Keep an eye on them. If they start interfering with our supply routes, we''ll need to respond."


    Antoine bowed. "Understood, Your Majesty."


    Later that day, Bruno decided to visit the military barracks in the capital. The soldiers had also celebrated Christmas, but training and readiness were never neglected.


    As he arrived, he was met by General Auguste, the commander of the city''s garrison. The older man saluted. "Your Majesty, to what do we owe the honor?"


    Bruno surveyed the soldiers practicing in the courtyard, their movements crisp despite the cold air. "I wanted to see how our forces are doing. With the situation in Africa and the growing tension in Europe, I need to know we''re prepared."


    General Auguste nodded. "Our men are disciplined and ready, Your Majesty. We''ve increased recruitment efforts, and the new training methods have improved their efficiency."


    Bruno walked past a group of soldiers practicing their aim with the bolt-action rifle. "Good. We may need them sooner than expected."


    As they continued their inspection, Bruno observed the various units¡ªinfantry, cavalry, and artillery crews. The kingdom''s military was strong, but he knew that if Germania or Iberia launched a coordinated attack, Elysea would need every advantage it could get.


    Bruno turned back to Auguste. "Make sure the officers are preparing their men for all scenarios. We don''t know when the next war will come, but I''d rather be ready before it does."


    The general saluted. "As you command, Your Majesty."


    By the time Bruno returned to the palace, the sun was already setting, casting a golden glow over the snow-covered rooftops. The city was still lively, with people enjoying the final moments of the holiday season before returning to their normal routines.


    Inside his private quarters, Am¨¦lie was already waiting for him, a book in her hands. She looked up as he entered. "You were gone all day."


    Bruno sat beside her with a sigh. "I had to check on a few things. The kingdom doesn''t stop just because Christmas is over."


    She placed the book aside and studied him. "You''re thinking about Africa."


    Bruno nodded. "We''re making progress, but there are signs that our enemies are preparing to interfere. Germania''s moving their fleets, and some of the local tribes are starting to resist."


    Am¨¦lie reached out and took his hand. "You knew this wouldn''t be easy. But you''ve always been good at staying ahead of your enemies."


    Bruno smirked. "I hope you''re right."


    For a moment, they sat in silence. The warmth of the fireplace flickered across the room, casting soft shadows.


    Am¨¦lie broke the silence. "Tomorrow, what''s your plan?"


    Bruno leaned back. "I''ll meet with the council and go over our next moves. We need to strengthen our naval presence in Africa and ensure our trade routes remain secure. If our rivals are preparing to act, we need to be one step ahead."


    She nodded. "And after that?"


    Bruno chuckled. "After that, I''ll try to have dinner with my wife before she accuses me of being married to my work."


    Am¨¦lie laughed. "I''ll hold you to that."


    As the night deepened, Bruno allowed himself a moment of calm. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, but for now, he could rest, if only for a little while.


    S§×arch* The Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 92 The Beginning of the Year

    December 31, 1695.


    The morning sun barely peeked over the horizon when the streets of Elysea began to stir. Vendors were setting up their stalls, city officials oversaw the final preparations for the New Year''s Eve festivities, and the town square was already filling with people eager to catch a glimpse of the royal couple.


    Inside the Royal Palace, King Bruno finished adjusting the cuffs of his coat while Queen Am¨¦lie inspected her reflection in the mirror. She was dressed in a refined yet simple winter gown, lined with fur to ward off the cold.


    Bruno glanced at her. "Are you ready for a long day?"


    She smirked. "I should be asking you that. You''ll have to smile and wave at people all day."


    Bruno let out a chuckle. "A small price to pay if it keeps the people loyal."


    The schedule was packed¡ªvisits to orphanages, alms-giving at churches, an inspection of public works, and finally, a grand procession through the city. It was a tradition for the ruling monarch to be seen among the people on the last day of the year, and Bruno intended to make a statement.


    By mid-morning, the royal carriage rolled through the palace gates, flanked by mounted guards and draped in Elysea''s banners. The streets were lined with citizens who cheered as they passed, waving small flags and throwing flower petals in their path.


    The first stop was Saint Eloise''s Orphanage, one of the largest in the city. Run by a group of nuns, the orphanage housed over a hundred children who had lost their parents to war, disease, or poverty.


    As Bruno and Am¨¦lie stepped out of the carriage, a group of children gathered at the entrance, their faces filled with both excitement and nervousness.


    Mother Elise, the head of the orphanage, curtsied deeply. "Your Majesties, it is an honor to have you here."


    Bruno smiled warmly. "The honor is ours, Mother Elise. We wanted to end the year with those who deserve the most kindness."


    Am¨¦lie knelt beside a young girl who clutched a worn-out doll. "What''s your name?"


    The girl hesitated before whispering, "Marie."


    Am¨¦lie smiled, reaching into a small pouch and pulling out a beautifully carved wooden horse. "This is for you, Marie."


    Marie''s eyes widened, and she took the gift with both hands, staring at it as if it were the most precious thing in the world.


    Bruno motioned to one of his attendants, who began distributing gifts¡ªnew clothes, toys, and books¡ªwhile another handed out loaves of bread and dried fruits.


    "You will all be receiving new blankets as well," Bruno announced, addressing the children. "No one in Elysea should suffer from the cold, least of all its future generation."


    The nuns and children alike expressed their gratitude, and after a short conversation with Mother Elise about improving funding for orphanages, Bruno and Am¨¦lie moved on to their next destination.


    The grand cathedral of Elysea stood at the heart of the city, its bells ringing out as the royal carriage approached. In front of the church, hundreds of commoners gathered, hoping to receive the king''s blessing¡ªand the much-anticipated coin distributions.


    Baskets filled with gold and silver coins were brought forward, each marked with the royal insignia. Bruno personally handed out the first few coins, shaking hands and exchanging a few words with those who approached.


    An elderly man, wrapped in tattered clothing, bowed deeply before him. "Your Majesty, may the heavens bless you."


    Bruno placed a coin in the man''s palm. "Use it well. May next year bring you fortune."


    Nearby, Am¨¦lie spoke with a group of women who were collecting donations for a local shelter.


    "We''ve received more than usual this year, Your Majesty," one of them said gratefully.


    Am¨¦lie nodded. "The kingdom is growing stronger, and with it, so should its people."


    The almsgiving continued for nearly an hour, with Bruno and Am¨¦lie personally overseeing the distribution of funds to the needy.


    After a short break, the royal procession moved to one of the newly completed aqueducts, a project Bruno had pushed for earlier in the year. Clean water was now reaching more areas of the city, reducing disease and improving sanitation.


    A group of engineers and city officials awaited their arrival.


    "The aqueducts are functioning as expected, Your Majesty," one of the engineers reported. "Next year, we can begin expanding to the outskirts."


    Bruno inspected the structure, nodding in approval. "Good. The people must see that their labor is rewarded. A kingdom that does not invest in its people will not last."


    Nearby, workers paused their labor to bow as the king passed. Bruno approached one of them, a man covered in dust and sweat.


    "How is the work?" Bruno asked.


    The man straightened up, surprised to be addressed directly. "Difficult, but necessary, Your Majesty."


    Bruno patted him on the shoulder. "Your efforts are building a stronger Elysea." sea??h th§× N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    After ensuring that future funding for the aqueducts was secured, Bruno and Am¨¦lie moved on to the final event of the day¡ªthe grand parade.


    As evening approached, the streets of Elysea were packed with citizens awaiting the royal procession. Torches and lanterns illuminated the city, giving it a golden glow as banners waved in the night breeze.


    Bruno and Am¨¦lie rode in an open carriage, waving to the cheering crowds as music filled the air. The parade featured decorated floats, soldiers in full regalia, and guild members showcasing their trades.


    At the city square, a massive bonfire was lit, marking the transition into the new year''s celebrations. The people sang, danced, and shared drinks, the atmosphere filled with joy and anticipation for the coming year.


    Bruno and Am¨¦lie stepped onto a platform, overlooking the crowd.


    Bruno raised his hand, signaling for silence.


    "My people!" he called out, his voice carrying over the square. "Tonight, we celebrate not just the passing of another year, but the strength of our kingdom! Elysea has grown, our cities have prospered, and our people stand united!"


    The crowd erupted in cheers.


    "This new year will bring challenges, but we will face them together! For Elysea! For the future!"


    The cheers grew louder, and as the fireworks began to light up the sky, Bruno turned to Am¨¦lie, who smiled at him.


    "You''ve done well today," she said softly.


    Bruno exhaled, taking in the moment. "So have you."


    As the fireworks painted the sky in gold and silver, King Bruno and Queen Am¨¦lie stood together, knowing that a new year¡ªand new trials¡ªawaited them.


    But for this one night, they allowed themselves to revel in the moment, celebrating alongside the people they ruled.

 Chapter 93 A Tranquil Day Before Politics

    January 1, 1696


    The new year had arrived, but unlike the roaring celebrations of the previous night, the first morning of 1696 was quiet. The streets of Elysea were empty, save for a few early risers sweeping away the remnants of fireworks and confetti. The scent of burnt wood from the bonfire still lingered in the crisp winter air, mixing with the occasional aroma of freshly baked bread from the bakeries preparing for the day ahead.


    Inside the Royal Palace, everything was unusually still. Most of the servants had been given the morning off after working tirelessly through the holiday season. Even the palace guards, though still on duty, moved with less urgency than usual.


    King Bruno lay in bed, his body still exhausted from the previous day''s activities. The warmth of the blankets and the faint crackling of the fireplace made it tempting to stay put. He turned his head slightly, glancing at Am¨¦lie, who was still fast asleep beside him, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.


    For a moment, Bruno allowed himself to simply enjoy the peace. There were no meetings, no pressing reports, no urgent matters demanding his attention¡ªat least not yet.


    He exhaled softly and closed his eyes again, deciding he could afford a little more rest.


    By the time Bruno finally got out of bed, the sun had risen higher, casting golden light through the palace windows. He stretched, rolling his shoulders to shake off the grogginess before dressing in a comfortable tunic and trousers.


    He made his way to the private dining hall, where Am¨¦lie was already seated, sipping from a cup of tea. She looked up as he entered and smirked.


    "Look at that, the king is finally awake," she teased.


    Bruno chuckled as he sat down across from her. "Even kings deserve a little extra sleep after a long day."


    Am¨¦lie raised an eyebrow. "And yet, you''re usually the first one awake, even after the longest nights." S§×ar?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Bruno poured himself a cup of coffee. "I suppose I wanted to savor the quiet."


    A servant entered, carrying a tray of warm pastries, fresh fruit, and eggs. Bruno took a piece of buttered bread and leaned back in his chair, watching as Am¨¦lie cut a small piece of fruit with a delicate grace that never ceased to amuse him.


    For a while, neither of them spoke. The morning was slow, unhurried¡ªa rare luxury in their lives.


    Finally, Am¨¦lie broke the silence. "What do you want to do today?"


    Bruno raised an eyebrow. "Do I have a choice?"


    She smirked. "Not really. I was thinking we should take a walk in the gardens, maybe visit the royal kitchens. The chefs have been experimenting with new recipes from the African colonies."


    Bruno took a sip of his coffee. "And you want to be the first to taste them?"


    "Obviously."


    He chuckled. "Fine. A quiet day it is, then."


    Despite the cold, the palace gardens still held their beauty. The evergreen trees stood tall, their leaves untouched by winter''s grasp, while the stone paths were dusted with a light layer of snow.


    Bruno and Am¨¦lie walked side by side, their steps slow and unhurried. Occasionally, a passing servant would bow before them, but otherwise, they were left alone.


    "You know," Am¨¦lie mused, "it''s strange seeing the city so still after the celebrations last night."


    Bruno nodded. "Everyone''s probably still in bed, recovering."


    She smirked. "Including the king?"


    He chuckled. "Almost."


    They reached a small stone bench near the center of the garden, where a small pond, now partially frozen, reflected the pale blue sky. Bruno sat down, watching as a few birds fluttered around, searching for food.


    Am¨¦lie sat beside him and sighed contentedly. "Sometimes I wonder how different things would be if we weren''t¡­ well, us."


    Bruno glanced at her. "What do you mean?"


    She gave a small smile. "If we weren''t king and queen. If we were just an ordinary couple, living in the city, running a small shop or a bakery."


    Bruno chuckled. "You would be terrible at running a shop."


    Am¨¦lie gasped in mock offense. "Excuse me?"


    "You''d drive away customers by giving them unsolicited advice about their personal lives."


    She narrowed her eyes. "And you would be terrible at taking orders from customers."


    Bruno smirked. "That''s true."


    They both laughed, the idea of an ordinary life amusing yet oddly comforting.


    After a moment, Am¨¦lie leaned her head against Bruno''s shoulder. "Still, as tiring as our roles are, I wouldn''t trade this life for anything."


    Bruno placed a hand over hers. "Neither would I."


    After their walk, they made their way to the royal kitchens, where the head chef, Monsieur Lavigne, was overseeing the preparation of several dishes.


    The moment he saw them enter, he bowed deeply. "Your Majesties! What an honor to have you here!"


    Am¨¦lie smiled. "We heard you were trying new recipes."


    Lavigne beamed with excitement. "Yes, indeed! With the recent expansion of trade, we''ve acquired new spices, particularly from the African colonies. Would Your Majesties like to try some samples?"


    Bruno and Am¨¦lie exchanged a glance before nodding.


    Within moments, a variety of small dishes were presented before them¡ªa stew infused with fragrant spices, grilled meat seasoned with a rich blend of herbs, and a dessert made from tropical fruits.


    Am¨¦lie took a bite of the dessert first and her eyes widened. "This is incredible!"


    Bruno tried a piece of the grilled meat and nodded in approval. "You''ve outdone yourself, Lavigne."


    The chef beamed with pride. "Thank you, Your Majesty!"


    They spent nearly an hour sampling different dishes, discussing which ones could be included in future royal feasts.


    As night fell, Bruno and Am¨¦lie returned to their private quarters, where a warm fire was already crackling in the hearth. The day had been peaceful, refreshing even.


    Bruno stretched as he sat on the couch, while Am¨¦lie curled up beside him, a book in her lap.


    For a while, they simply enjoyed the quiet, the only sound being the soft flicker of the flames.


    Then, Am¨¦lie turned to him. "I know you''ll be back to work tomorrow."


    Bruno sighed. "You know me too well."


    She smirked. "Of course. Just promise me you won''t overwork yourself."


    Bruno smirked. "I''ll try."


    She playfully nudged him. "No, promise."


    Bruno chuckled before wrapping an arm around her. "Fine. I promise."


    Satisfied, Am¨¦lie leaned against him, and they sat there in comfortable silence, enjoying one last moment of peace before the responsibilities of the new year came rushing back.

 Chapter 94 Deep in the African Interior

    February 10, 1696.


    General Armand Roux adjusted his coat as he peered through his spyglass. The landscape stretched before him¡ªrolling hills, thick jungles, and a scattering of villages that were nothing more than dots in the vast, uncharted territory. The humid air clung to his skin, far different from the cold winds of Elysea.


    He lowered the spyglass and turned to Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud, his second-in-command.


    "Any word from the scouts?" Roux asked.


    Giraud shook his head. "Nothing unusual, General. They reported a few scattered settlements ahead. No sign of hostility."


    Roux exhaled. His forces had been steadily moving deeper into the interior for weeks, establishing trading posts and securing alliances with tribes willing to cooperate with Elysea. Most had been receptive¡ªeither out of interest in trade or a desire for protection against rival clans.


    But not all tribes were welcoming.


    "Keep the men sharp," Roux said. "We don''t know what''s beyond those hills."


    Giraud nodded and rode off to relay the orders.


    The column of soldiers, nearly 1,000 men strong, continued forward, their wagons carrying supplies, machine guns, and crates of ammunition. Most of the soldiers carried bolt-action rifles, but there were also artillery pieces in the rear of the formation. Elysea''s military had never ventured this far inland before, and while they had expected resistance, the days had passed quietly.


    Too quietly.


    The sun had just begun to set when the first arrow whistled through the air.


    It struck one of the leading cavalrymen in the throat, and he tumbled from his horse, gurgling on his own blood. Before anyone could react, another soldier collapsed, an arrow lodged in his chest.


    "AMBUSH!" someone shouted.


    Then the jungle erupted.


    Hundreds¡ªno, thousands¡ªof warriors poured out from the dense foliage, their bodies painted in war paint, their weapons crude but deadly. Some were on horseback, their animals thundering down the slope, while others ran on foot, bows drawn and spears raised.


    "Form battle lines!" Roux bellowed, drawing his saber.


    The Elysean soldiers scrambled into position. The front lines knelt, raising their bolt-action rifles, while the second line stood behind them. Gunners rushed to set up the machine guns, while officers shouted orders to hold steady.


    "FIRE!" Roux roared.


    A volley of rifle fire cracked through the air, mowing down the first wave of charging cavalry. Horses collapsed, throwing their riders, while warriors were torn apart by the storm of bullets. The Gatling guns opened up next, their rotating barrels spitting out rounds at a terrifying rate.


    The attack faltered for a moment. The bodies of fallen warriors and horses littered the ground.


    But they kept coming.


    Arrows rained down upon the Elysean lines, striking soldiers in the arms, legs, and necks. Shields and crude armor protected some of the attackers, allowing them to close the distance before being cut down.


    A soldier next to Roux cried out, an arrow piercing his eye before he fell backward. Another screamed as a spear impaled his thigh, pinning him to the ground.


    "Hold your fire! Reload!" Giraud shouted.


    The soldiers chambered new rounds as the next wave of warriors surged forward. Some had managed to get close enough to hurl spears at the Elysean line. A lieutenant took a spear to the chest, stumbling backward with a choked gasp.


    "Keep firing!" Roux ordered.


    The machine guns rattled again, cutting through the advancing ranks. But no matter how many they killed, more warriors replaced them. It was unlike any battle Roux had faced. These men fought with sheer ferocity, unafraid of death, determined to overrun them.


    "Artillery!" Roux shouted.


    A team of gunners swung a field cannon into position and loaded a shell. A second later, it roared, sending an explosive round into the densest part of the enemy charge. The ground erupted in a fiery explosion, sending bodies flying.


    Yet they still kept coming.


    Within minutes, the warriors reached the front lines. The Elysean soldiers fought desperately, swinging their bayonets, using their rifles as clubs when they ran out of bullets. The air was thick with the smell of gunpowder, blood, and sweat.


    A massive warrior lunged at Roux with a curved blade, his face contorted in rage. Roux barely dodged the strike, countering with a slash from his saber. The blade cut deep into the man''s side, but he didn''t go down immediately. Instead, he grabbed Roux''s wrist, trying to wrench the sword from his grasp.


    Roux snarled, drew his revolver with his free hand, and fired point-blank into the warrior''s chest. The man stumbled back, finally collapsing.


    To his right, Giraud was locked in a brutal struggle, parrying blows with his saber before driving it into an enemy''s stomach. Nearby, an Elysean officer had been knocked to the ground, warriors surrounding him. Before they could deliver the final blow, another soldier fired his rifle into the group, scattering them.


    "General!" Giraud shouted. "We need to break their momentum!"


    Roux surveyed the battlefield. The Elysean formation was holding, but barely. The sheer number of attackers was overwhelming, and they were losing men faster than expected. If they didn''t do something soon, they would be overrun.


    "Push them back!" Roux shouted. "Grenades! Use grenades!"


    The soldiers pulled pin after pin, tossing grenades into the densest parts of the enemy ranks. Explosions rocked the battlefield, sending limbs and debris flying. The shock of the blasts forced the warriors to stagger back, giving the Elyseans a brief opening.


    "Charge!" Roux bellowed. Sear?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    With bayonets fixed, the Elysean soldiers surged forward, using their superior weaponry to force the attackers into retreat. Warriors were cut down at close range, unable to match the discipline and firepower of the European troops.


    Slowly, the tide began to turn.


    An hour later, the battlefield was littered with bodies. The jungle was painted red with blood, the air still thick with the stench of gunpowder and death.


    Roux stood in the center of the carnage, his uniform stained with dirt and blood. His men were battered, exhausted, but victorious.


    They had lost at least 200 men, with many more wounded. But the enemy had suffered far worse.


    Giraud limped over, pressing a cloth against a cut on his arm. "We still don''t know who they were," he said, gesturing to the fallen warriors.


    Roux looked down at one of the bodies. The warrior''s face was painted, his clothing adorned with tribal symbols Roux didn''t recognize.


    "They fought like devils," Roux muttered.


    Giraud nodded. "And they had no fear."


    Roux exhaled. "Whoever they are, they wanted us dead. We need to find out why."


    He turned to his men. "Search the bodies. Look for anything that might tell us who they are."

 Chapter 95 Looking for Lead

    The battlefield was still littered with corpses, the air thick with the stench of blood and gunpowder. The Elysean soldiers moved through the carnage, searching bodies for anything that could identify their attackers. General Armand Roux stood in the center, his uniform stained with dirt and dried blood, his saber still caked with gore.


    Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud approached, a strip of cloth pressed against the wound on his arm. "We found something, General."


    Roux turned. "What is it?"


    Giraud held out a piece of parchment, covered in strange markings. "It was tucked inside the tunic of one of the fallen warriors. It doesn''t match any of the known tribes we''ve dealt with before."


    Roux took the parchment and examined it. The symbols were unfamiliar, but they were carefully drawn, not random scrawlings. "This isn''t just some unorganized warband," Roux muttered. "This was coordinated."


    Giraud nodded. "And it wasn''t just one tribe. Some of the warriors bore different insignias. This was a coalition."


    That complicated things. If multiple tribes were uniting against Elysea, their campaign would face more resistance than anticipated. Roux turned to his men. "Did we take any prisoners?"


    "Only a few, General," Giraud replied. "Most fought to the death."


    Roux exhaled sharply. These warriors had no fear of dying. That meant interrogation wouldn''t be easy. "Have the prisoners bound and brought back to camp. We''ll question them once they''ve had time to sweat."


    As the soldiers carried out his orders, Roux turned to the distant hills. Somewhere out there, the enemy was regrouping. And he intended to find them before they struck again.


    By midday, scouts returned with valuable intelligence. They had discovered a trail leading deep into the jungle, marked with the same tribal symbols found on the warriors.


    Roux wasted no time. "We move immediately."


    With 800 men still combat-ready, the Elysean force pushed forward, following the tracks left behind by the retreating enemy. The march was grueling. The jungle was thick, the air humid, and visibility was low. But they pressed on, their rifles at the ready. sea??h th§× N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    After hours of marching, a scout returned, panting. "General, we found something. A village, hidden in the hills."


    Roux''s eyes narrowed. "How many warriors?"


    "Hard to say, sir. We counted at least a few hundred. But there could be more inside the huts."


    That was enough.


    "Prepare to attack," Roux ordered.


    Nightfall gave them the cover they needed. The Elysean soldiers crept into position around the village, using the dense foliage as concealment. The village itself was large¡ªdozens of huts, wooden watchtowers, and a central meeting hall that appeared to be the heart of the settlement.


    Through his spyglass, Roux spotted warriors moving about, some carrying weapons, others tending to wounded men¡ªsurvivors from the last battle.


    "They''re not expecting us," Giraud whispered.


    "Then let''s make sure they never see it coming," Roux replied.


    He signaled to his officers. Within moments, machine guns were set up, their barrels aimed at the main thoroughfare of the village. Soldiers took positions along the treeline, rifles ready.


    Then, Roux raised his hand.


    "Fire."


    The night exploded with gunfire. The first volley tore through the village, cutting down warriors before they could react. The watchtowers collapsed as bullets shredded the wooden supports.


    Panic spread through the enemy ranks. Some tried to mount a defense, but before they could even raise their bows, the Gatling guns unleashed hell upon them.


    The villagers screamed, running for cover. Some warriors attempted to rally, forming a defensive line, but Elysean artillery spoke next. A shell crashed into the center of the village, sending fire and debris flying.


    "Advance!" Roux commanded.


    The Elysean infantry surged forward, bayonets fixed. Warriors who tried to resist were gunned down, while others fled in terror.


    Roux led the charge himself, cutting down an enemy warrior with his saber before spinning to fire his revolver at another. His soldiers moved efficiently, storming huts and securing captives.


    Giraud wrestled with an enemy in the middle of the street, using the butt of his rifle to break the warrior''s jaw before driving his bayonet into his chest.


    Gunfire echoed through the village as the last remnants of resistance were crushed. By the time the smoke cleared, bodies littered the ground, and the flames from burning huts illuminated the battlefield.


    The village had fallen.


    Roux wiped his brow, his breathing heavy. Around him, the Elysean soldiers rounded up the survivors¡ªmostly women and children, but also dozens of warriors who had surrendered after the battle was lost.


    "Lock them up," Roux ordered. "We''ll find out who they are and why they attacked us."


    As the prisoners were gathered, Roux noticed something strange. Some of the warriors bore markings that were different from the others. Different insignias. Different armor.


    Giraud noticed it too. "These men weren''t from the same tribe," he murmured.


    Roux''s expression darkened. This wasn''t a random uprising. Someone was uniting the tribes against them.


    And he intended to find out who.


    The battlefield still smoldered as Elysean soldiers moved through the wreckage, rounding up prisoners and tending to their wounded. The sun had long since set, and the eerie glow of burning huts cast flickering shadows across the jungle. The cries of the dying and the low murmurs of soldiers filled the air, mixing with the distant sounds of the jungle creatures.


    Roux turned to Giraud. "We need to find out where they came from. Have the scouts look for any tracks leading away from here."


    Giraud nodded and quickly relayed the orders. Soon, groups of scouts disappeared into the darkness, lanterns flickering as they searched for any sign of where the remaining enemy forces had fled.


    Meanwhile, Roux examined the captured warriors. There were over sixty of them¡ªhardened fighters with strong builds, their bodies covered in scars and war paint. Despite being bound in chains, they sat with their heads held high, their eyes filled with hatred.


    One of the prisoners, a broad-shouldered man with tribal tattoos across his chest, glared at Roux. His jaw was clenched, his muscles tense. Roux could tell that these men had no intention of speaking.


    "We won''t get anything from them," Giraud muttered. "Even if we had a translator, they wouldn''t talk. They look ready to die rather than give up anything useful."


    Roux sighed. "Then we''ll let their actions speak for them."


    He motioned for his men to inspect the prisoners'' clothing, weapons, and markings. The Elysean soldiers stripped away crude leather armor, examined arrowheads, and searched for anything that could hint at the origins of these warriors.


    After several minutes, one of the officers approached. "General, some of these men have different markings. Different armor styles, different weapons."


    Roux studied the prisoners closely. Some had curved swords, others carried bows with unique fletching on their arrows. The patterns painted on their skin weren''t uniform¡ªthere were distinct differences between them.


    "These are different tribes," Giraud said, realization dawning. "They don''t just look different; they fight differently. Whoever brought them together didn''t just rally one group¡ªhe united warriors who normally wouldn''t even fight alongside each other."


    Roux''s grip tightened on his saber. "That means there''s a leader¡ªa central figure organizing these attacks."

 Chapter 96 Interrogating the Prisoners

    February 12, 1696.


    The prisoners sat bound in the center of the Elysean military encampment, their hands and feet shackled together. Their bodies bore wounds from the previous battle, but their expressions remained defiant. The jungle surrounding them was quiet, save for the distant rustling of leaves and the occasional murmur from the Elysean soldiers preparing for the next phase of the campaign.


    General Armand Roux stood before them, his face impassive. He had seen men like these before¡ªwarriors who refused to break, who clung to their beliefs no matter the suffering inflicted upon them. But Roux was not a man who tolerated wasted time. He needed answers.


    Beside him stood Chief Ibara, leader of one of the allied tribes that had sworn loyalty to Elysea. His people had suffered at the hands of these warbands as well, and he had no love for them. The captured warriors glared at him, their eyes filled with hatred.


    "They will not speak to you," Ibara said in a low tone. "They see you as invaders, as demons in their lands."


    Roux exhaled, glancing at Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud. "Then we''ll have to make them speak."


    Giraud nodded and motioned for the soldiers to begin.


    The first prisoner was dragged forward¡ªa young warrior with dark eyes that burned with rage. Two Elysean soldiers forced him to his knees, holding him in place.


    Ibara stepped forward, speaking in his native tongue. "Who is leading you? Why are your people gathering to fight against us?"


    The prisoner spat at his feet.


    One of the soldiers responded by striking him across the face with the butt of his rifle, sending him sprawling onto the dirt. The prisoner coughed, a trickle of blood running from his mouth, but he didn''t utter a word.


    Roux crossed his arms. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way."


    The prisoner only smirked.


    Roux sighed. "Very well." He nodded to the soldiers.


    One of them retrieved a heated iron rod from a nearby fire pit. The metal glowed red-hot, the heat distorting the air around it. The prisoner''s smirk faltered slightly.


    The soldier grabbed the warrior''s arm and pressed the searing metal against his skin. A loud, agonized scream tore through the camp as the smell of burning flesh filled the air.


    The other prisoners flinched, some looking away, but none spoke.


    Roux stepped closer, crouching so that he was eye level with the writhing man. "You have courage, I''ll give you that. But courage means nothing when your flesh is being melted away."


    The prisoner panted heavily, his body trembling from the pain, but he remained silent.


    Roux straightened. "Next."


    Another warrior was dragged forward. This one was older, perhaps in his forties, his body scarred from many battles.


    "We know there''s a leader uniting your tribes," Roux said. "Give me a name."


    The warrior remained silent.


    Ibara studied him. "This one has seen many wars. He is not like the young one. He knows what suffering is."


    Roux signaled for another method. Two soldiers approached, carrying a bucket of water and a cloth.


    The prisoner''s eyes darkened as he realized what was coming.


    Giraud knelt beside him. "You will tell us what we want to know. Or you will drown over and over again until your body begs for the end."


    The cloth was wrapped around the warrior''s face, and water was poured over it. The prisoner thrashed violently as the water seeped into his nose and mouth, his lungs burning for air.


    After thirty seconds, the soldiers stopped. The man coughed violently, gasping for breath.


    "Again," Roux ordered.


    More water. More thrashing. More coughing.


    By the fourth time, the man''s body sagged, his breathing shallow. His lips trembled.


    Ibara leaned down and spoke in his language. "Tell them what they want to know. Your gods will not save you."


    The prisoner coughed again, then, finally, spoke. His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.


    Ibara turned to Roux. "He says the one leading them is called N''kosi. He is no ordinary chief. They say he is chosen by the gods, that he cannot be killed."


    Roux''s expression remained cold. "Where is he?"


    Ibara repeated the question in the native tongue.


    The warrior hesitated, his body shaking.


    Giraud pulled his revolver and pressed the barrel to the prisoner''s forehead. "Where?"


    The prisoner swallowed hard, then muttered a single word.


    Ibara turned to Roux. "A fortress. Deep in the jungle, beyond the great river. He says that is where N''kosi gathers his armies."


    Roux nodded, then looked at the prisoner. "You could have saved yourself much suffering."


    The warrior spat blood onto the ground, glaring at Roux with defiance still in his eyes.


    Roux sighed. "Kill him."


    Giraud pulled the trigger.


    The prisoner slumped to the ground, lifeless.


    The other prisoners tensed, some glancing at each other. Fear had begun to creep into their hardened expressions.


    Roux stepped forward, his voice calm. "Tell me more about this fortress, and I might spare the rest of you."


    A few moments of silence passed. Then, another prisoner spoke.


    Ibara translated. "They say it is hidden between the twin mountains. A place sacred to their ancestors. The warriors who fight for N''kosi believe they are fighting for something greater than their tribes."


    Roux absorbed the information, nodding. "So, this isn''t just about us. This is about something much bigger."


    Ibara crossed his arms. "N''kosi is not just a warlord. He is a prophet to them. That is why they do not fear death."


    Roux turned to Giraud. "Get the map."


    A soldier brought forward a large map of the region, spreading it on a nearby crate. Ibara pointed to a rough location beyond the river, where the twin mountains were marked.


    "There," he said. "That is where he waits."


    Roux studied the map carefully. The terrain would be difficult. Thick jungle, high mountains, and unknown numbers of warriors waiting for them.


    He exhaled. "Then that is where we go next."


    He turned to his men. "Double the guards on the prisoners. Have the rest of them marched back to our camp. We''ll use them if we need more information."


    As the soldiers carried out his orders, Roux looked toward the jungle once more.


    He had his answer.


    Now, he had his next target. S§×ar?h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 97 Chasing the Target

    February 14, 1696.


    The Elysean expedition moved before dawn, the dense jungle ahead swallowing their columns as they marched toward the twin mountains where N''kosi''s fortress lay. The warriors they had interrogated had given them enough information to plan a route, but the thick vegetation, the humid air, and the unseen dangers of the terrain made every step treacherous.


    General Armand Roux led the column from horseback, his saber strapped to his side, his revolver loaded and ready. Beside him, Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud rode with a map in his hands, periodically glancing at the markings made the night before.


    Chief Ibara and his warriors marched alongside the Elyseans, guiding them through paths that had been long forgotten by foreigners.


    Roux knew this march wouldn''t be easy. The deeper they moved into enemy territory, the more exposed they became. N''kosi''s forces had the advantage here¡ªthey knew the terrain, the choke points, the hidden paths. Roux expected resistance long before they reached the fortress itself.


    "Eyes sharp," Roux called to his men. "They know we''re coming."


    The soldiers, nearly 700 men strong after the previous battles, gripped their rifles tightly. They had already seen what these tribal warriors were capable of.


    Hours passed in tense silence. The jungle was alive with the sounds of insects and distant animal calls, but there were no signs of enemy movement.


    Then, as they reached a narrow valley between two steep ridges, the first shot rang out.


    A rifle cracked from somewhere ahead, and a soldier collapsed with a hole in his chest.


    "AMBUSH!" Giraud bellowed. Sear?h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Arrows and musket fire rained down from the jungle canopy. The Elyseans dove for cover, returning fire as best they could. But the enemy was well-positioned, using the natural cover of the trees and the high ground to pick off soldiers.


    Roux dismounted and pulled his revolver. "Get the machine guns up! Suppressive fire on the ridges!"


    The gunners scrambled into position, setting up the Gatling guns on elevated ground. The barrels spun, sending a wall of bullets into the tree lines above.


    The enemy fire wavered as warriors fell from the branches, their bodies crashing into the undergrowth below.


    A loud war cry erupted from ahead, and suddenly, dozens of warriors charged from the treeline, wielding spears and swords, rushing the Elysean line.


    "Hold the line!" Roux shouted.


    The soldiers braced, fixing bayonets as the wave of enemies crashed into them. The sound of steel meeting flesh echoed through the valley. The fighting was brutal, close-quarters and desperate.


    A soldier was impaled by a spear before he could react, blood spilling onto the ground. Another was dragged into the undergrowth, screaming.


    Roux fired his revolver into the face of a charging warrior before slashing another across the chest with his saber. Giraud fought beside him, driving his bayonet through an attacker''s ribs and twisting it free.


    The Elysean formation, though staggered by the initial charge, began to push back. The disciplined riflemen cut down the warriors at close range, while the machine guns continued to suppress those still hidden in the jungle.


    Chief Ibara''s warriors fought fiercely alongside the Elyseans, hacking down enemies with curved blades, their own war cries mixing with the chaos of battle.


    Slowly, the enemy''s momentum faltered. The charge had failed.


    Roux seized the moment. "Advance! Push them back!"


    The soldiers surged forward, bayonets flashing as they forced the attackers to retreat. The enemy scattered, disappearing into the jungle, leaving behind bodies and broken weapons.


    The battle had lasted only minutes, but the damage was clear. Several Elysean soldiers lay dead, with even more wounded.


    Giraud wiped the blood from his face. "They''re testing us."


    Roux nodded grimly. "And now they know we''re coming."


    After gathering the wounded and securing the valley, Roux ordered the march to continue. They had to keep moving.


    As they advanced, scouts discovered abandoned camps and hidden supply caches in the jungle¡ªsigns that the enemy had been preparing for a prolonged fight.


    At one such camp, they found something more valuable: documents written in tribal script, along with crude maps marking key locations within the fortress.


    Ibara examined them carefully. "These markings¡­ they indicate pathways leading into the stronghold. If these are accurate, there may be hidden entrances."


    Roux studied the maps. If they could find a way in without charging directly into fortified defenses, it would save them hundreds of men.


    "This could be our way in," Roux muttered. "But we need more intelligence."


    That meant another raid.


    By nightfall, the Elyseans had tracked another enemy encampment¡ªa forward base supplying the fortress.


    This time, Roux planned a swift and brutal attack.


    He positioned his troops carefully, using the thick jungle to mask their approach. The camp, lit only by torches, was home to at least a hundred enemy warriors.


    Too many to take quietly.


    At Roux''s signal, the machine guns opened fire. Warriors collapsed before they could react, their bodies riddled with bullets. The Elyseans stormed the camp, cutting down any who resisted.


    The battle was over within minutes.


    The prisoners captured here proved more useful than the last. After another round of questioning¡ªthis time with fewer restraints on Elysean methods¡ªone of them revealed the existence of a hidden tunnel leading into the fortress.


    Roux turned to Ibara. "Can your men confirm this?"


    Ibara nodded. "There are old caves in the mountain. If they''ve turned one into a tunnel, it would be well-hidden."


    Roux exhaled. "Then that''s how we get inside."


    With the new intelligence, Roux called a war council. The fortress could no longer be taken with brute force alone¡ªit was too well-defended.


    Instead, a small force would infiltrate through the hidden tunnel and open the gates from within, allowing the main army to storm the fortress.


    Giraud glanced at the map. "It''s risky."


    Roux nodded. "But it''s our best chance."


    As the soldiers sharpened their blades and prepared their weapons, Roux looked toward the distant peaks where N''kosi waited.


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    This war wasn''t just about conquest anymore.


    This was about ending a threat that could consume all of Elysea''s holdings in Africa.


    And Roux would not stop until the fortress fell.

 Chapter 98 The Battle That Would Unlock Africa

    February 16, 1696.


    The jungle night was eerily silent, save for the distant crackling of torches atop the fortress walls. General Armand Roux stood at the edge of a ridge, peering down at the enemy stronghold through his spyglass. Between the twin mountains, carved into the rock and reinforced with sharpened wooden barricades, stood the heart of the rebellion¡ªthe fortress of N''kosi.


    Through the scope, Roux could see warriors patrolling the walls, their movements careful but unaware of the Elysean forces lurking beyond the treeline. From this distance, it was clear that they were prepared for a siege. The outer defenses were thick, the main gate reinforced with massive wooden beams, and additional guard towers lined the cliffside paths. The enemy expected an attack, but they didn''t know when it would come.


    Lowering the spyglass, Roux turned to Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud. "The fortress is well-defended. We''ll take heavy losses if we strike head-on."


    Giraud nodded grimly. "We need an opening."


    "We have one." Roux glanced at Chief Ibara, who had been crouched nearby. The tribal leader had provided vital intelligence on the fortress''s weaknesses. "Your men found the hidden passage?" sea??h th§× novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Ibara nodded. "It leads beneath the fortress, an old escape tunnel long abandoned by my people. It will take you inside."


    Roux turned to Giraud. "Take a unit of forty men and our best infiltrators. Get inside and open that gate. The rest of us will wait for the signal." Stay connected via My Virtual Library Empire


    Giraud saluted. "Consider it done."


    Roux took a deep breath, then turned back to the jungle. His army¡ªjust under 700 men, bolstered by Ibara''s warriors¡ªlay in wait. This battle would decide the fate of Elysea''s expansion into the heart of the continent.


    And they would not lose.


    Giraud led his team through the dense undergrowth, moving swiftly but cautiously. The tunnel entrance was hidden behind a collapsed section of rock, overgrown with vines and foliage. Ibara''s scouts had cleared it just enough for them to squeeze through.


    Inside, the air was damp and musty, the walls of the tunnel slick with condensation. The passage sloped downward before opening into a narrow corridor, just tall enough for them to crouch-walk.


    Ibara whispered, "We are close. The chamber ahead connects to the lower storage rooms."


    Giraud raised a fist, signaling for silence. They reached a wooden door at the tunnel''s end. Pressing his ear against it, he could hear muffled voices¡ªguards stationed on the other side.


    He turned to his men and signaled.


    Two Elysean soldiers stepped forward, blades drawn. With practiced precision, they pushed the door open just enough to slip inside. Within seconds, the dull sounds of choking and a brief struggle echoed through the corridor.


    A moment later, the door opened fully.


    The guards were dead, their bodies slumped against the walls.


    Giraud and his men slipped inside. The fortress was waking up to the sounds of war horns, signaling that their forces outside had been spotted. There was no more time for stealth.


    "Move," Giraud whispered. "We need to get to the gate."


    They pressed forward, cutting down any guards they encountered, using the chaos of the fortress''s sudden alert to their advantage. The sounds of cannon fire outside shook the stone walls, debris falling from the ceilings.


    Then, they reached their destination.


    The gate controls were housed in a small tower near the entrance. The mechanism was a large wooden crank, secured with iron reinforcements. A handful of guards stood watch.


    "Take them," Giraud ordered.


    The Elyseans surged forward, gunfire echoing through the chamber. Within moments, the guards were dead.


    Giraud grabbed the crank and pulled.


    With a heavy groan, the fortress gates creaked open.


    Outside, Roux saw the gates swing open and didn''t hesitate.


    "Charge!"


    The Elysean army surged forward.


    Artillery roared as cannons sent shells crashing into the fortress walls, tearing gaps into the defenses. Gatling guns unleashed suppressive fire, cutting down warriors along the battlements.


    The first wave of Elysean infantry stormed through the breach, bayonets gleaming in the firelight. The enemy fought desperately, their spears and muskets flashing in the chaos, but the disciplined formations of the Elyseans overwhelmed them.


    Inside the fortress, warriors scrambled to regroup, but the infiltrators had already sown confusion. Giraud and his men held their position at the gate, picking off defenders as the main force poured inside.


    Roux stormed through the breach, his saber flashing as he cut down an enemy trying to flee. He moved swiftly, his eyes scanning for the central stronghold.


    N''kosi would be inside.


    ***


    The great hall of the fortress burned, its walls splattered with the blood of fallen warriors. The heavy scent of smoke and death filled the air as the last defenders stood their ground. At the far end of the chamber, atop the stone steps leading to the central throne, N''kosi stood like a figure carved from iron. His dark eyes burned with hatred, his muscles tensed, his obsidian-tipped spear clenched in his fist.


    The warlord''s personal guard flanked him¡ªhulking warriors clad in hardened leather and bone-plated armor, their shields painted with the symbols of their ancestors. Their faces were streaked with war paint, their weapons raised in unwavering defiance. They knew they would not survive this night. And yet, none of them fled.


    General Armand Roux stepped forward, his saber slick with blood, his uniform tattered from the battle outside. He could not understand the words N''kosi shouted, but he didn''t need to. The warlord''s stance, the fury in his eyes, the way his grip tightened on his spear¡ªRoux understood the message clearly.


    There would be no surrender.


    The two men locked eyes, an unspoken understanding passing between them. This was the end.


    N''kosi roared, the sound raw and primal, echoing through the burning hall. He slammed the butt of his spear against the stone floor, and his guards, driven by a final surge of rage, charged.


    Roux barely had time to react before one of the warriors lunged at him, swinging a curved blade. He parried the blow with his saber, the force of the impact rattling his arm. Another enemy came from the side, a massive warrior wielding a club reinforced with iron spikes. Roux twisted away just as the weapon crashed down, splintering the floorboards where he had stood a second before.


    The chamber erupted into chaos. Elysean soldiers stormed in behind Roux, meeting the warlord''s personal guard in brutal close-quarters combat. Giraud fired his revolver point-blank into an enemy''s chest, sending him sprawling backward. Ibara and his warriors crashed into the fight with their own blades, hacking and slashing as the defenders fought like cornered beasts.


    Roux ducked beneath another swing, then drove his saber upward, piercing his attacker''s gut. The warrior grunted, blood gurgling from his lips as he fell. But there was no time to rest¡ªN''kosi himself was coming.


    The warlord surged forward, spear aimed directly at Roux''s heart.


    Roux barely managed to twist aside, the blade slicing through the air inches from his ribs. N''kosi was relentless, striking again and again, forcing Roux back with each powerful thrust. The general barely kept pace, dodging and parrying, but he knew he couldn''t keep this up forever.


    N''kosi was fast. Too fast.


    A sharp pain lanced through Roux''s arm as the warlord''s spear grazed him, slicing through his coat and drawing blood. Roux hissed, gritting his teeth as he fought to keep his footing.


    He needed an opening.


    Giraud, spotting the struggle, aimed his revolver. The shot rang out, striking N''kosi''s shoulder. The warlord staggered, but instead of falling, he turned to Giraud with a look of pure fury.


    With a guttural growl, N''kosi hurled his spear.


    Giraud barely had time to react before the weapon buried itself in his side.


    The captain gasped, blood bubbling at his lips as he stumbled backward, his revolver slipping from his grasp.


    Roux''s eyes widened in shock¡ªbut that was his opening.


    With a roar, he lunged forward, driving his saber deep into N''kosi''s chest.


    The warlord''s breath hitched. His body jerked as the blade sank past flesh, past bone, into his heart. His eyes, once burning with fury, flickered with something else¡ªshock. For a brief moment, he seemed almost confused, as if he had never truly believed this moment would come.


    Then, with a final exhale, he collapsed.


    The chamber fell silent.


    The last of N''kosi''s guards, seeing their leader fall, hesitated. Some fought on in blind rage, only to be cut down seconds later. Others dropped their weapons, their will to fight shattered.


    The battle was over.


    Roux pulled his saber free, watching as the warlord''s lifeless body slumped against the stone floor. Blood pooled beneath him, soaking into the cracks. The self-proclaimed immortal, the so-called chosen warrior of the gods, lay dead at his feet.


    Outside, the Elysean flag was already being raised above the fortress walls. The fortress of the rebellion had fallen.


    And they cheered.

 Chapter 99 Securing the Empire

    February 17, 1696.


    The fortress of N''kosi had fallen. His warriors were dead, captured, or scattered into the jungle, and his so-called divine leadership had been shattered by cold steel and gunpowder. Yet, General Armand Roux knew that this was only the first step in a much larger conquest.


    The morning after the battle, Roux gathered his officers and Chief Ibara in the ruined war hall of the fortress. The Elysean flag now hung where N''kosi''s banners once stood. Maps of the surrounding regions were unrolled across a crude wooden table, detailing the known kingdoms, tribal coalitions, and uncharted lands that stretched across the northern half of the continent.


    Roux traced his finger along the map, eyes narrowing as he spoke.


    "This fortress was the heart of the rebellion, but the war is not over. There are other warlords, other kings, and chieftains who will either fight us or submit. I want them to do the latter, but if they resist, we will make them regret it."


    Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud, his side still bandaged from the wound N''kosi had given him, smirked. "Then it''s time we bring Elysean civilization to these lands properly."


    Ibara studied the map, pointing to the western regions where the great rivers split into many fertile lands. "Many of the lesser chiefs will surrender if they see your strength. They feared N''kosi because he promised them unity, but now he is dead, and his dream has burned. They will follow the next power that offers stability."


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    Roux nodded. "Then we march at once."


    Thus, the conquest began.


    March ¨C The Fall of the Lower Warlords


    The first to fall were the remnants of N''kosi''s former allies¡ªtribal warlords who had pledged their loyalty to him but lacked his strength. Their villages and strongholds were isolated, their forces scattered after the fall of the fortress.


    Roux wasted no time.


    Using the remaining 650 Elysean soldiers, bolstered by Ibara''s warriors, he launched a systematic campaign against these holdouts. The strategy was swift and brutal¡ªmarch, surround, and destroy.


    Many villages, upon hearing of N''kosi''s demise, surrendered immediately. Chiefs swore loyalty to the Elysean Empire, pledging their warriors in exchange for protection and trade. Those who refused to yield met a grim fate.


    The Elysean army, armed with bolt-action rifles, artillery, and Gatling guns, annihilated any tribal warriors who dared take up arms against them. Battles that would have once lasted hours or days were over in minutes. A well-trained line of soldiers with rifles could wipe out entire warbands before they got within striking distance.


    By the end of March, over twenty warlords had fallen, and their people were absorbed into the expanding Elysean territories.


    May ¨C The Kingdoms of the Great River


    By late spring, the campaign had reached the Great River Kingdoms. These were not just small warbands or scattered villages¡ªthese were established city-states, rich with trade, agriculture, and armies of their own.


    The largest of them was Tumbira, a fortified kingdom along the riverbanks. Its ruler, King Chisomo, had been watching the Elysean advance with growing alarm. He had no illusions about what was coming.


    When Roux''s forces reached the outskirts of Tumbira, King Chisomo sent emissaries, hoping to negotiate. But Roux had no interest in negotiations. He knew that if he let these kingdoms remain independent, they could one day unite against Elysea''s rule.


    The siege of Tumbira lasted five days.


    Unlike the previous battles, Tumbira had walls¡ªhigh stone battlements, reinforced gates, and trained warriors. But walls meant little against Elysean artillery. Howitzers pounded the defenses, sending chunks of stone and bodies flying. Gatling guns raked across the parapets, tearing apart archers before they could fire an arrow.


    By the third day, a breach had been made. By the fifth day, Elysean troops stormed the city, cutting down any resistance they found. King Chisomo was dragged from his palace and brought before Roux.


    The choice was simple: submission or execution.


    Chisomo, seeing the bodies of his warriors littering the streets, chose submission. His remaining forces were absorbed into the Elysean ranks, and his kingdom was annexed.


    With Tumbira''s fall, the rest of the Great River Kingdoms capitulated without a fight. The remaining kings swore fealty to Elysea rather than face the same fate.


    July ¨C The Last Bastions of Resistance


    By mid-year, the entire western half of the upper continent had fallen under Elysean control. The remaining regions to the east, however, still had strong resistance.


    One of the last holdouts was the Ivory Confederation, a powerful alliance of trade cities and nomadic warrior clans. Unlike the previous enemies, these people knew of modern weapons¡ªsome had even obtained European muskets through trade with the Iberians.


    Their leader, High Lord Mandala, had prepared for war long before the Elyseans arrived.


    When Roux''s forces approached the Confederation''s largest city, they met an actual army¡ªa force of over 8,000 warriors, many of them armed with muskets, cannons, and even cavalry.


    It was the largest battle of the campaign.


    On July 22nd, 1696, the Elysean army, now numbering 12,000 strong with native auxiliaries, met the Confederation on the open plains near Lake Mazuri.


    Mandala''s warriors charged with a ferocity unlike anything Roux had seen before. Cavalry swept in from the flanks, while musketeers unleashed volleys of fire. The battlefield was chaos¡ªsmoke, gunfire, and the screams of dying men filled the air.


    By nightfall, the Confederation''s forces were broken. Mandala was captured while attempting to flee, and his army was wiped out.


    With the Confederation''s collapse, the last major resistance in the northern half of the continent was gone. sea??h th§× Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    By the end of 1696, the Elysean banner flew over every major city, kingdom, and tribal land north of the equator.


    Some regions had fallen through sheer military might, others through diplomatic subjugation. The conquered territories were divided into provinces, each ruled by an Elysean-appointed governor, with native chieftains acting as local administrators.


    Trade flourished under the new rule. Roads were built. Forts were established. Factories began appearing along the rivers, using native labor to fuel Elysea''s growing wealth.


    "The Emperor would be pleased with the result," General Roux muttered.

 Chapter 100 Celebratory Victory at Carthage

    September 1696.


    The city of Carthage, now a vital colonial stronghold of the Elysean Empire, stood as a beacon of European power on the African continent. Two months after the final conquest of the northern half of the continent, General Armand Roux arrived in Carthage for a grand victory celebration.


    The city had been transformed under Elysean rule¡ªforts, stone roads, and factories had been established, ensuring that Carthage was not just a military outpost but a thriving economic hub. The docks were filled with merchant ships, bringing goods and supplies from Elysea and exporting gold, ivory, and spices from the newly conquered territories. Soldiers and officials walked proudly through the streets, their uniforms pristine, their posture confident. They were no longer just conquerors¡ªthey were rulers.


    The streets of Carthage were lined with banners bearing the Elysean eagle, and the people¡ªElysean settlers, merchants, and even the native populace¡ªgathered to witness the grand victory parade.


    At the center of the spectacle was General Armand Roux, dressed in full military regalia, riding a black warhorse. His blue and gold uniform bore the medals awarded by the Emperor himself, and his saber hung at his side¡ªa weapon that had tasted more blood than he cared to count.


    Behind him marched thousands of soldiers, their polished rifles glinting in the midday sun. The drums beat in unison, their thunderous rhythm echoing off the stone walls of the city. The crowd cheered as the troops marched past¡ªthough some of the native inhabitants watched in silence, their expressions unreadable.


    At the rear of the procession, prisoners of war were paraded through the streets. These were the chieftains, warriors, and nobles of the conquered kingdoms¡ªstripped of their weapons, their heads bowed in defeat. Some would be sent to Elysea as captives; others would be kept as bargaining pieces to ensure the obedience of their people.


    Roux glanced at them briefly but said nothing. The message was clear: resistance was futile.


    Later that evening, the governor''s palace was the site of an extravagant banquet in Roux''s honor. The massive stone hall, built in the style of Elysean architecture, was adorned with golden chandeliers and long banquet tables laden with food¡ªroasted meats, exotic fruits, and fine Elysean wine.


    The city''s most influential figures were present¡ªmilitary officers, colonial governors, merchants, and aristocrats. Even a few native rulers who had submitted to Elysea were given seats, though they were treated more like guests of necessity than equals.


    Governor Louis Marchand, the highest-ranking Elysean official in Carthage, raised a glass as the banquet reached its height.


    "To General Armand Roux, the man who has expanded our Empire, crushed the rebels, and brought Elysean order to these wild lands! Let us drink to his victory!"


    The hall erupted in applause as the glasses clinked, and the celebrations continued.


    Roux accepted the toast with a nod, but as he sipped his wine, his mind wandered. The war had been won¡ªbut ruling would be another challenge entirely.


    As the banquet progressed, Roux excused himself and was escorted to the governor''s war room, where his most trusted officers, including Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud and Chief Ibara, awaited.


    On the table before them lay an updated map of the continent, now marked with Elysean provinces. The conquest had been swift, but keeping such a vast land under control would require constant military presence.


    Governor Marchand entered the room, closing the doors behind him. His expression was serious. "The Emperor is pleased with your success, General. He has approved additional funds and reinforcements to secure our new territories."


    "That is good news," Roux said, though his tone remained cautious. "But there is unrest in the newly annexed provinces. Not everyone accepts our rule."


    Marchand nodded. "There have been small uprisings in the Great River Kingdoms. Even with their kings swearing loyalty, some factions refuse to accept their defeat."


    Giraud leaned forward. "Should we crush them immediately? Make an example out of them?"


    Roux thought for a moment. "Not yet. If we react too harshly, we risk pushing more people into rebellion. We need to be strategic." Enjoy exclusive adventures from My Virtual Library Empire


    Ibara, who had remained silent, finally spoke. "Your empire is strong, but strength alone will not hold these lands. My people respect power, but they also respect leaders who understand them."


    Roux studied the map, his fingers tracing the newly claimed territories. "Then we will do both. We will continue expanding our settlements, enforce strict military rule, but also use local rulers to keep the population in check."


    Marchand smirked. "A wise approach, General."


    Roux exhaled. "This is only the beginning."


    The next morning, as Roux rode through Carthage, he observed the daily life under Elysean rule.


    Elysean settlers were arriving from the homeland, building homes, shops, and businesses.


    Native merchants traded in the markets, adapting to the new economy.


    Factories operated near the docks, processing resources for export.


    Soldiers patrolled the streets, maintaining order.


    Though the city was stable, Roux knew that beneath the surface, resentment still burned in some hearts.


    As he reached the military headquarters, an officer approached. "General, a message from the King. He wishes for you to return to Elysea within the next month."


    Roux took the sealed letter, opening it carefully.


    The King had summoned him back to receive his reward for the conquest.


    He smirked slightly. He would enjoy the trip home¡ªbut he knew he would return.


    The Elysean Kingdom had taken half of the continent, but there was still more land to claim.


    And Roux would ensure that it belonged to Elysea.


    As he stood on the balcony of the governor''s palace, looking over the bustling streets of Carthage, Roux felt the weight of both his accomplishments and the challenges that lay ahead. The military had done its part¡ªconquering, subjugating, and expanding the empire''s reach¡ªbut now came the harder part: governing.


    Below, the city moved with a rhythm shaped by Elysean influence. Soldiers patrolled the streets, ensuring order among the settlers and native merchants. The markets were lively, with traders from both the homeland and the annexed territories bartering over spices, ivory, and gold. Along the docks, merchant ships carried Elysea''s wealth across the sea, strengthening the empire''s economy with each shipment.


    Roux exhaled, stepping back from the railing. The conquest had been swift, but there were still areas of resistance¡ªpockets of rebellion that refused to accept Elysean rule. They were scattered, disorganized, and ultimately doomed, but if left unchecked, they could become a problem.


    A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.


    "Enter," Roux said.


    Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud stepped in, his uniform crisp, his expression serious. "General, we''ve received reports from the western frontier. Some of the native factions are resisting our rule. Small skirmishes, but they''re not backing down."


    Roux narrowed his eyes. "How many incidents?"


    Giraud set a stack of reports on the table. "At least six in the past two weeks. Isolated attacks on patrols, traders, and supply lines. No large-scale uprisings yet, but they''re testing our control."


    Roux picked up one of the reports, scanning the details. The rebels had no real chance of driving Elysea out, but they could disrupt the empire''s grip if they were left unchecked.


    "Any captured insurgents?" Roux asked.


    "A few. They refuse to speak."


    Roux smirked. "They always do at first."


    Giraud nodded. "What are your orders, General?"


    "Double patrols in the western regions," Roux instructed. "I want fortifications built along our key roads and settlements. If they want to fight, we''ll make sure they bleed for every inch of ground they think they can take."


    "And the prisoners?"


    Roux set down the report and met Giraud''s gaze. "Make an example of them."


    Giraud smirked. "Understood." S~ea??h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 101 The Marshall

    The Royal Palace in Elysea was filled with military officers, noble dignitaries, and government officials, all gathered for an important announcement from King Bruno. The empire had expanded further than ever before, and with that came the need for recognition and rewards for those who had made it happen.


    General Armand Roux stood among them, freshly arrived from Carthage after months of consolidating Elysea''s rule in the conquered territories. He wasn''t entirely comfortable in the grand halls of the palace, far removed from the battlefields where he felt most at home. But today was about honoring the empire''s military, and Roux knew he was at the center of it.


    A hush fell over the crowd as the doors of the throne room opened. Trumpets sounded, and King Bruno entered, dressed in his formal robes, with a confident and composed expression. He stepped toward the throne and addressed the assembled court.


    "Today, we take an important step forward for our empire. Our armies have achieved great victories, expanding Elysea''s reach across the seas. Those who have fought and bled for this empire deserve recognition, not just in words, but in action."


    The room remained silent, waiting for the King to continue.


    "To ensure that those who serve Elysea with distinction are honored properly, I am establishing the Elysean Legion of Honor. This will be the highest military distinction in our empire, awarded to those who have displayed exceptional bravery and leadership."


    There was murmuring among the nobles and officers. While medals and titles were nothing new, the way King Bruno spoke suggested that this would be something greater.


    "The first recipient of this honor," the King said, looking directly at Roux, "is General Armand Roux."


    All eyes turned to Roux as the room erupted into applause. The general stood still, waiting for the formal call.


    "Step forward, General," Bruno commanded.


    Roux approached the throne and knelt.


    The King gestured toward a velvet cushion held by a court official, on which lay a golden medal, marked with the emblem of Elysea''s imperial eagle surrounded by a laurel wreath.


    "This medal represents more than just past victories," Bruno stated. "It is a symbol of our empire''s strength, of the men who fight for it, and of the new order we are building."


    The King pinned the medal onto Roux''s chest.


    "Rise, Marshal of the Empire, Armand Roux."


    Roux rose to his feet, his expression unreadable. He had expected an honor, perhaps a title, but Marshal of the Empire was something far greater. It was a newly created rank, one that placed him above all other generals and gave him direct authority over Elysea''s military operations, both in the homeland and overseas.


    The court applauded again, but Roux could see some of the older nobility exchanging glances. This new rank meant that power was shifting¡ªnot just to him, but to the military as a whole.


    Bruno continued. "From this day forward, the rank of Marshal will be reserved for those whose service goes beyond mere duty. It is not inherited. It is not given for status. It is earned."


    The King then turned back to the assembled officers. "Furthermore, the Legion of Honor will be awarded not just to Marshals, but to officers and soldiers who distinguish themselves in battle. These men will receive rewards beyond medals¡ªthey will be granted land, wealth, and noble status."


    At this, the murmurs among the nobility grew louder. Titles had always belonged to the aristocracy, but now, the King was declaring that military service could elevate a commoner to nobility. This was a major shift in Elysea''s power structure.


    Bruno ignored the murmurs and continued. "Our empire is built on conquest and discipline. We cannot afford to cling to outdated traditions. Those who fight for Elysea should be rewarded accordingly."


    He turned back to Roux. "As Marshal of the Empire, you will oversee the expansion and organization of our military forces. You will have command over all colonial armies and the authority to restructure our forces as you see fit."


    Roux nodded. "I understand, Your Majesty."


    Bruno gave a small smile. "Then let us drink to your success."


    That night, the palace hosted a large banquet in Roux''s honor. The grand hall was filled with military officers, government officials, and foreign dignitaries. A long table stretched down the center, covered in fine food and drink.


    Roux sat near the head of the table, with King Bruno seated beside him. Around them, the conversation was lively, though Roux noted that some of the older noble families seemed uneasy. The introduction of the Legion of Honor and the rank of Marshal was a shift in Elysea''s power dynamics¡ªone that did not sit well with everyone.


    Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud leaned in from across the table. "So, the first Marshal of Elysea," he said with a smirk. "That''s quite the promotion."


    Roux took a sip of his wine. "The King wants the military to have a stronger role in the empire."


    Giraud nodded. "Giving land and noble status to officers and soldiers¡­ That will change everything."


    Roux knew he was right. This wasn''t just about rewarding service. It was about securing loyalty. A man who had fought and bled for the empire and was then given land and wealth would be far more loyal than a noble who had inherited his power.


    Bruno, overhearing their conversation, spoke up. "The nobility fears change," he said, "but change is necessary."


    Roux looked at the King. "And what will happen when they resist it?"


    Bruno smirked. "Then we remind them who truly holds power."


    Roux glanced around the banquet hall. He could see the tension among some of the aristocrats. The military was rising in status, and some of them didn''t like it.


    But that was not Roux''s concern. His duty was clear¡ªexpand the empire, strengthen the army, and ensure Elysea remained dominant.


    As the banquet continued, Roux listened as the King and his ministers discussed further military expansions. Settlements were being planned in the newly conquered territories, and new laws were being drafted to govern them. The war for the continent was not over¡ªit had simply entered a new phase. S~ea??h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    By the time the night ended, Roux understood his next mission. As Marshal of the Empire, he would oversee not just military campaigns, but the long-term control of Elysea''s vast new lands.


    He had won battles. He had crushed rebellions.


    Now, he would build an empire that would last.


    And if anyone dared challenge it, they would be reminded why Elysea was not to be defied.

 Chapter 102 New Frontier

    King Bruno sat in his office, a large map of the world spread out before him. The red ink of Elysea''s territories now stretched across the northern half of Africa, marking the empire''s latest conquests. The campaign had been a success beyond expectation, bringing in vast tracts of land, resources, and trade routes. However, it was not enough.


    The empire had to grow further.


    Sitting across from him was Antoine Leclerc, his Chief of Staff, a man known for his sharp political mind and his ability to turn military victories into lasting dominance. He had been instrumental in managing the African conquest''s administrative aspects¡ªsetting up governors, drafting colonial policies, and ensuring that the new territories were properly integrated into the empire.


    Bruno tapped the western portion of the map. "We''ve secured the resources of Africa, but we need more. If Elysea is to dominate the world, we must expand into Pan-America."


    Leclerc studied the map carefully. In this world, the lands west of Elysea were vastly different from the North American continent that Bruno had known in his past life. Instead of large, unified nations stretching from coast to coast, Pan-America was a collection of scattered colonial settlements, indigenous tribes, and small European forts. No single power had consolidated control. S~ea??h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "This region is¡­ fragmented," Leclerc observed. "Unlike Africa, there are no major kingdoms¡ªonly small outposts, settlements, and local rulers fighting among themselves."


    Bruno nodded. "Exactly. And that is why it is ripe for the taking."


    The resources of Pan-America were unknown, but if it was anything like the world Bruno had come from, there would be untapped gold, timber, and fertile lands. It would not only expand Elysea''s reach but also secure key trade routes in the western hemisphere.


    Leclerc rubbed his chin. "A direct invasion?"


    Bruno shook his head. "No. We do not know the full extent of what lies in these lands. We send a military expedition first. A colonial vanguard."


    Leclerc leaned forward, intrigued. "How many men?"


    "At least 5,000 troops¡ªtrained, well-armed, and supplied. They will land on the eastern coast and push inward, securing key locations. Settlements, forts, and trade posts will be established to form a permanent Elysean presence. But for this task, we need someone who understands war and conquest."


    Leclerc smirked. "You already have someone in mind."


    Bruno nodded. "Marshal Armand Roux."


    That evening, General Roux was summoned to the palace once more. He arrived dressed in his new uniform, the insignia of Marshal of the Empire freshly embroidered on his coat. He had barely begun organizing the consolidation of Africa, and now he was being called in again.


    Bruno wasted no time. As Roux stood before him and Leclerc, the King gestured to the map.


    "You have crushed the resistance in Africa and secured the empire''s hold over the continent," Bruno began. "Now, I need you to do the same in the West."


    Roux raised an eyebrow, looking at the marked regions of Pan-America. "The West?"


    Bruno nodded. "Pan-America is a land of opportunity, but it is divided. Small settlements, minor colonial powers, and warring native factions. There is no true authority there. We are going to change that."


    Roux examined the map closely. "The terrain will be difficult, and we have no established bases there."


    Leclerc chimed in. "Which is why you will be leading a colonial expeditionary force¡ª5,000 of Elysea''s finest troops, warships for transport, and supplies to establish a permanent colony."


    Roux crossed his arms. "And the objective?"


    Bruno''s voice was firm. "Establish Elysean rule in Pan-America. Subjugate the local settlements, establish forts, and eliminate any resistance. We are not there to trade; we are there to rule."


    Roux gave a small smirk. "Sounds like Africa all over again."


    Bruno smirked back. "Except this time, we start with the advantage."


    Within a week, the preparations for the Elysean Expeditionary Force were underway. The docks of Port Solenne, Elysea''s largest naval base, were alive with activity. Warships were being loaded with supplies¡ªcannons, crates of muskets, gunpowder, rations, and tools for building forts.


    Roux personally oversaw the selection of his men. This was no mere exploratory mission; this was the foundation of a future colony. He chose experienced officers, men who had fought with him in Africa and understood colonial warfare.


    Alongside him, Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud was placed in command of the cavalry and rapid deployment forces. His role would be to scout ahead, identify key areas, and ensure swift military victories.


    "Five thousand men," Giraud mused as they observed the preparations. "It''s a small force for an entire continent."


    Roux nodded. "We won''t conquer it in a day. But if we establish forts and alliances, the conquest will happen naturally. We will divide and conquer, as always."


    In addition to soldiers, the expedition included engineers to build roads and settlements, merchants to establish trade routes, and diplomats to negotiate with any colonial powers they might encounter.


    But there was one rule that Roux made clear: Elysean rule was absolute. There would be no compromises.


    By the end of the month, the expedition fleet¡ªthirty warships and transport vessels¡ªwas ready.


    Before they set sail, Roux met with King Bruno one last time.


    Bruno stood at the palace balcony, watching the military preparations below. Roux joined him, both men looking at the sight before them.


    "This is the beginning of something greater," Bruno said.


    Roux nodded. "A new empire."


    Bruno turned to him. "Remember, the continent as we know of is not yet unified. We must strike before the other powers realize what we are doing. Expand our presence. If any of the local colonial forces stand against you¡ªcrush them. If any native factions resist¡ªannihilate them."


    Roux nodded. "Understood."


    Bruno placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "This will be your legacy as much as mine, Roux. Make Elysea proud."


    With that, Roux departed for the docks.


    On November 3, 1696, the Elysean Expeditionary Force set sail from Port Solenne, heading westward toward the uncharted lands of Pan-America.


    The journey would take weeks, and the future of their conquest was uncertain.


    But Roux was certain of one thing:


    By the time they were finished, Pan-America would belong to Elysea.

 Chapter 103 Arrival at Fort Saint-Louis

    February 1697 .


    After three grueling months at sea, the Elysean Expeditionary Force finally spotted land. The coast of Pan-America stretched before them¡ªa vast, untamed land of dense forests, rolling hills, and winding rivers. But their destination was not the wilderness.


    Their fleet was headed for Fort Saint-Louis, the only known Elysean settlement in the region. It was supposed to be their foothold on the continent, a functioning outpost that would serve as their staging ground for expansion.


    But as their warships approached, something felt off.


    First Sight of the Fort


    Marshal Armand Roux stood at the bow of the lead ship, his eyes narrowing as he examined the fort through his spyglass. The wooden walls were intact, but there was no movement¡ªno sign of soldiers on the watchtowers, no patrols along the walls. The fort''s flag, though still present, hung limp and faded.


    Beside him, Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud frowned. "It doesn''t look abandoned, but it doesn''t look well-maintained either."


    Roux lowered the spyglass. "Something isn''t right."


    The ships slowed as they neared the shoreline, their sails lowering. Cannons remained primed, and soldiers stood ready on deck, muskets loaded. S§×ar?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Then, as if sensing their presence, a single cannon fired from the fort.


    The shot missed entirely, splashing harmlessly into the water.


    A Misunderstanding


    The Elysean fleet immediately prepared for combat. Officers barked orders, men rushed to battle positions, and the cannons were aimed at the fort. But before Roux could give the order to return fire, a small rowboat emerged from the fort''s dock, making its way toward them.


    Through the spyglass, Roux could see Elysean uniforms.


    "Hold fire," Roux ordered.


    A few minutes later, the rowboat reached them, and a ragged-looking officer climbed aboard. His uniform was faded, his boots were worn, and his face was lined with exhaustion. He snapped into a salute despite his disheveled appearance.


    "Lieutenant Adrien Vasseur, commanding officer of Fort Saint-Louis!" The man''s voice was hoarse.


    Roux studied him carefully. "Your fort just fired on us."


    Vasseur looked embarrassed. "That was¡­ a mistake. We had no idea what was happening. No word from the mainland in nearly a year, and when we saw an entire fleet, we feared the worst."


    Giraud scoffed. "You thought we were here to invade our own fort?"


    Vasseur straightened. "For all we knew, the fort had been forgotten. We''ve been left on our own, with dwindling supplies and no reinforcements."


    Roux exhaled, glancing back at the fort. He had expected an organized outpost, but this was turning into a liability.


    "We''ll discuss the state of your fort soon," Roux said. "For now, tell your men to stand down. We are taking over."


    Vasseur hesitated but nodded. "Yes, Marshal."


    By the afternoon, the fleet had docked, and the soldiers disembarked. Fort Saint-Louis, though still standing, was in a state of disrepair. The wooden palisades were rotting in places, the cannon emplacements rusted, and the supply stores nearly empty.


    The garrison was in no better condition. The remaining 200 soldiers were thin, underfed, and poorly equipped. Most of them had never seen battle, and the few that had looked exhausted.


    As Roux walked through the fort, his frustration grew.


    "This place is a disgrace," he muttered.


    Giraud nodded. "If this was supposed to be Elysea''s stronghold in Pan-America, it''s no wonder no one took us seriously here."


    Inside the fort''s main hall, Roux sat at a wooden table with Vasseur, his officers, and representatives of the existing garrison. A map of the surrounding land was spread out before them.


    "I want answers," Roux said. "How did this fort fall into such neglect?"


    Vasseur sighed. "We were supposed to receive supply shipments every six months, but after the last one never arrived, we realized something was wrong. We sent a ship back to Elysea to request reinforcements, but it never returned."


    Roux frowned. "And the native tribes?"


    Vasseur''s face darkened. "At first, we maintained decent relations with the local tribes. We traded, and some even saw us as useful allies. But when supplies started running low, tensions rose. Some tribes began raiding our outposts, taking what little we had left."


    Roux exchanged glances with Giraud.


    "So you''ve been cut off, under constant threat, and barely surviving," Roux summarized.


    Vasseur nodded grimly. "Yes, Marshal. We held the fort, but just barely."


    Roux leaned back in his chair, thinking. This was worse than he had expected. The fort was not a stronghold¡ªit was a forgotten relic. It had no strategic value in its current state.


    But it could be rebuilt.


    "From this moment on," Roux declared, "Fort Saint-Louis is the headquarters of the Elysean expansion in Pan-America. We will restore order, build new fortifications, and expand our presence."


    He turned to Vasseur. "You will remain in command of the fort''s existing garrison. You will assist our engineers in rebuilding and oversee recruitment from the local settlers." Discover more content at My Virtual Library Empire


    Vasseur''s eyes widened. "You mean¡­ we''re not being replaced?"


    "You''re being reinforced," Roux corrected. "But you are expected to perform now that you have the resources to do so."


    Vasseur straightened. "Yes, Marshal!"


    Roux then turned to Giraud. "Take a detachment of cavalry and scout the surrounding region. Find out which tribes are hostile and which ones can be turned into allies. If we are to expand, we need intelligence."


    Giraud smirked. "Finally, something to do."


    Lastly, Roux addressed the entire assembly.


    "We are not here to struggle. We are here to conquer. Within the year, I want new settlements, strongholds, and roads leading inland. Pan-America will belong to Elysea, and this fort is only the beginning."


    The officers saluted. The mood in the fort had shifted from hopelessness to purpose.


    Roux looked around one last time. There was work to be done.


    But soon, Elysea would rule the West.


    The next morning, the reconstruction of Fort Saint-Louis began. Soldiers and engineers worked tirelessly, tearing down rotting wooden palisades and replacing them with sturdier logs. Cannon emplacements were repaired, and stockpiles of gunpowder and ammunition were restocked from the fleet''s supplies.


    Roux personally inspected every aspect of the fort, ensuring that it would no longer be a symbol of neglect but a bastion of Elysean power in Pan-America. The barracks were reinforced, food rations were distributed, and officers were assigned to train the garrisoned troops into a force worthy of the empire.


    Meanwhile, Giraud and his cavalry detachment rode out into the wilderness, seeking intelligence on the surrounding tribes and foreign settlements. Roux knew that the fort alone would not be enough¡ªElysea needed to expand further inland.


    As he stood atop the fort''s main watchtower, overseeing the renewed activity, Roux allowed himself a rare moment of satisfaction.


    Elysea had finally arrived in Pan-America.


    And this time, they would not be forgotten.

 Chapter 104 What to Know in the Land

    The hammering of nails, the chopping of timber, and the shouting of orders filled the air as Fort Saint-Louis came to life once more. The once-neglected outpost was now a bustling center of activity, with soldiers and engineers working tirelessly to rebuild its walls, reinforce its gates, and restore its weapon emplacements. The Elysean Expeditionary Force had wasted no time in turning what had been a forgotten relic into the first stronghold of their new conquest.


    Marshal Armand Roux stood at the center of it all, watching as teams of laborers hauled supplies from the ships. Fresh lumber, barrels of gunpowder, crates of muskets, and iron reinforcements were being unloaded and taken straight into the fort. Every hour, the fort''s defenses grew stronger. Sear?h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Continue your story on My Virtual Library Empire


    But fixing the fort was only the first step. Understanding the land was just as important.


    Inside the Command Hall


    Roux sat inside the fort''s command hall, a crude but functional wooden structure reinforced with stone. It was sparsely furnished¡ªjust a few wooden chairs, a table, and maps of the region. In front of him stood Lieutenant Adrien Vasseur, the man who had kept Fort Saint-Louis standing despite its dire situation.


    Vasseur still looked exhausted, but now, with a fresh uniform, food in his belly, and an army at his back, he was more composed than before.


    Roux gestured to the chair in front of him. "Sit."


    Vasseur hesitated before nodding and taking a seat. Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud stood nearby, arms crossed, listening intently.


    "I need information," Roux began, tapping his fingers on the table. "We didn''t sail across the ocean just to sit inside this fort. You''ve been here for a year. Tell me about this land."


    Vasseur took a deep breath before speaking. "Pan-America is¡­ wild. Vast forests, mountains, rivers¡ªmore land than any empire has claimed. But unlike Africa, there are no great kingdoms. Just scattered settlements, tribes, and a few foreign outposts."


    Roux nodded. "And what of the native tribes?"


    Vasseur''s expression darkened. "There are many. Some are small, isolated groups that don''t concern us. Others are larger confederations, powerful enough to control vast regions. Some of them were friendly at first, willing to trade. But when our supplies stopped coming, they lost faith in us. Others¡ªparticularly the warrior clans inland¡ªalways saw us as invaders."


    Giraud smirked. "I assume we''ll be dealing with them soon."


    Roux ignored him and leaned forward. "Which tribes are the strongest?"


    Vasseur reached for a map on the table, unrolling it. It was old and faded, but it showed what little was known of the land. He pointed to a region to the northwest.


    "The Akunza Confederation is the most powerful in this region. They control the trade routes along the rivers. Their warriors are skilled¡ªmuskets, horses, and iron weapons, likely obtained from Iberian traders."


    Roux frowned. "And the Europeans?"


    Vasseur nodded. "The Iberians have a few forts along the coast to the south, but their presence is weak. The Britannians have their own colony further north, but they''re struggling. Neither has made serious efforts to push inland. The land is too dangerous, and they lack the manpower."


    Roux smirked. "Then we will succeed where they failed."


    Roux tapped the map. "Tell me about the land itself. Resources, trade goods, anything of value."


    Vasseur sighed. "We haven''t explored much, but from what we''ve gathered, there''s gold in the rivers, timber in the forests, and rich farmland waiting to be claimed. The problem is getting people to settle here. Right now, it''s all wilderness."


    Roux nodded. "That will change. We''ll send for settlers from Elysea once we establish order. But first, we secure the land."


    Vasseur leaned back. "Marshal, I won''t lie to you. This place will not be easy to tame. The tribes are unpredictable, the land is harsh, and the other European powers¡ªthough weak¡ªwill not ignore us forever."


    Roux smirked. "I don''t expect it to be easy, Lieutenant. I expect it to be war."


    With the information gathered, Roux laid out his immediate plan for expansion.


    Fort Saint-Louis must be secured. The outer walls would be reinforced with stone and iron, watchtowers would be built, and supply lines established.


    Scouting operations would begin immediately. Giraud and his cavalry would push inland, mapping the rivers, hills, and forests. They would determine where the next settlements and fortifications should be built.


    Tribes would be divided and conquered. The weaker ones would be brought under Elysean rule through diplomacy or intimidation. The hostile ones would be eliminated.


    European rivals would be monitored. The Albionites and Iberians were not threats yet, but that could change. Roux needed to know their movements.


    That afternoon, drills began for the Fort''s garrison. The thin, underfed soldiers who had once struggled to hold Saint-Louis were given proper training, discipline, and weapons.


    Roux watched as the men lined up in formation, muskets at the ready. A sergeant barked orders, and volleys of gunfire rang out over the fort.


    Vasseur stood beside Roux. "They''ll need time."


    "They don''t have time," Roux said coldly. "They either become soldiers now, or they die when the fighting begins."


    Giraud rode back into the fort later that evening, his cavalry detachment returning from a brief scouting mission.


    "We found a few scattered villages to the west," he reported. "No warriors, just farmers. They might be useful."


    Roux nodded. "Send emissaries. If they join us peacefully, they will be protected. If not¡­"


    Giraud grinned. "Then they will burn."


    Just before sundown, a scout came running into the fort. His uniform was torn, and he was out of breath.


    "Marshal!" he gasped. "One of our patrols was ambushed! We lost five men!"


    Roux''s expression hardened. The war had already begun.


    "Who?" he demanded.


    "We don''t know," the scout admitted. "But the attack was quick¡ªarrows, spears, and a few muskets. The survivors said they saw war paint."


    Vasseur cursed. "The Akunza Confederation."


    Roux clenched his fists. "Then they have just made their first mistake."


    He turned to his officers. "Prepare the men. We will send them a message they will never forget."


    The following morning, Elysea''s first military campaign in Pan-America was set into motion.


    With 300 elite soldiers, cavalry scouts, and local guides, Roux led his first strike force inland. Their mission was clear¡ªfind the enemy, crush them, and establish Elysean dominance.

 Chapter 1 - 1: The Beginning of an End

    In Washington D.C. January 2025, United States of America.


    A convoy composed of four Black Escalades were driving down the road as it headed towards the White House.


    In one of those SUVs was a man in a tailored suit, looking out of the window as he watched the scenery pass by.


    "ETA to the White House is five minutes, Mr. Secretary," said his Chief of Staff.


    Ethan simply nodded, his eyes fixed on the window. He remained silent throughout the trip as he preferred being quiet and avoiding unnecessary talk with his staff. For him, it wasn''t efficient. He''d only talk to them if there are important matters that needed to be discussed.


    The Chief of Staff knew that all too well, because he conducted his research before becoming his Chief of Staff after his predecessor retired due to old age.


    Ethan Cross, a thirty-six-year-old single man, born into a middle-class family in Massachusetts. He demonstrated brilliance from an early age. By the time he was 18, he had already earned a full scholarship to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT), where he pursued a degree in Mechanical Engineering. While at MIT, Ethan''s intellect and drive quickly set him apart. At just 20, he designed a prototype of a highly efficient thermoelectric generator capable of converting waste heat into usable electricity at unprecedented levels of efficiency. This invention won him the prestigious Lemelson-MIT Student Prize, and his work was featured in leading scientific journals.


    By 22, Ethan had completed his Master''s degree, focusing on sustainable energy systems, and followed it with a PhD in Advanced Manufacturing by the age of 25. During his doctoral studies, he invented a modular robotic system for automated factory lines, dramatically improving efficiency and reducing operational costs for manufacturers globally.


    After completing his PhD, Ethan founded CrossTech Innovations, a company that specialized in green technology and advanced robotics. By 27, he had developed a self-healing material for infrastructure, earning him international acclaim and lucrative contracts with the Department of Transportation and private engineering firms.


    At 30, Ethan''s breakthroughs in renewable energy storage and transmission systems led to the widespread adoption of his patented high-density batteries, which became a cornerstone of the renewable energy revolution in the United States. Dubbed the "King of Technology," he had earned global recognition for his unparalleled contributions to engineering and science.


    Despite his achievements, Ethan grew increasingly frustrated with the slow adoption of advanced technologies due to bureaucratic inertia. Determined to make a difference, he entered politics at 32, running for Congress in his home district in Massachusetts. His campaign focused on the intersection of technology, policy, and public welfare. With a grassroots approach and a clear vision, Ethan won the election by a landslide.


    As a congressman, Ethan introduced and championed several transformative bills. His "Clean Grid Act," which allocated federal funding to modernize the nation''s power grid with renewable energy integration, passed with bipartisan support and led to a 30% reduction in greenhouse gas emissions within five years. He also spearheaded the "Automation Workforce Transition Program," which provided training and resources to workers displaced by automation, ensuring that technological progress didn''t leave anyone behind.


    At 35, Ethan was elected to the U.S. Senate, becoming one of the youngest senators in modern history. His tenure was marked by impressive legislative accomplishments, including the "Advanced Infrastructure Resilience Act," which prioritized the modernization and protection of critical infrastructure against natural disasters and cyberattacks. This legislation allocated billions in federal funding for the development of smart infrastructure systems, incorporating real-time monitoring, adaptive response technologies, and robust disaster recovery protocols. S~ea??h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Ethan''s ability to bridge the gap between technological innovation and effective governance earned him respect across the political spectrum. His pragmatic approach and relentless drive caught the attention of the President, who nominated him for the role of Secretary of Energy.


    At 36, Ethan Cross was confirmed as Secretary of Energy, becoming the youngest person ever to hold the position. In this role, he launched the "American Energy Renaissance Initiative," which accelerated the adoption of renewable energy technologies, advanced nuclear reactors, and carbon capture systems. Under his leadership, the United States achieved energy independence while leading the global fight against climate change.


    All in all, he was good on paper, and everyone working for him was pleased and honored to be a part of his team.


    As the Chief of Staff was about to ask a question, Ethan suddenly shouted.


    "Truck!"


    Ethan''s sudden shout startled everyone in the vehicle. His Chief of Staff turned to look, only to see what Ethan had already noticed¡ªa large truck barreling down the intersecting road at an impossibly high speed. It was heading straight for their convoy.


    The driver of the Escalade slammed on the brakes and attempted to swerve, but it was too late. The truck, seemingly out of control, crashed directly into Ethan''s side of the vehicle with a deafening impact.


    The world blurred into chaos as metal crumpled and glass shattered. Ethan''s body was jolted violently against the door. The force of the collision was so immense that it left no chance for survival.


    Instantly, darkness enveloped him.


    ***


    "So this is what death looked like huh?" Ethan mumbled, and his words seemed to echo in the dark space. He couldn''t see anything, not even his body.


    It felt like it was just his mind in all of the vastness of space. He was not a firm believer of religion where when you die, you either would go down to hell or up in heaven. And he confirmed it just right now, that those didn''t exist. It turned out it was true.


    However, he doesn''t like the idea of being contained in this space for possibly forever.


    As he remembered, there is always a light at the end of the tunnel. So Ethan strained his senses, searching for any sign of light in the overwhelming darkness. Seconds stretched into minutes, and the silence pressed down on him like an infinite weight. He clung to the faint hope that something, anything, would change.


    And then, it happened. A pinprick of light appeared in the distance, faint and barely noticeable at first, but growing brighter and larger with every passing second. Instinctively, Ethan moved¡ªor rather, willed himself¡ªtoward it. The light seemed to pull him forward, and the surrounding darkness began to peel away.


    The light enveloped Ethan, and he felt an odd sensation, like his consciousness was being compressed and then expanded all at once. His thoughts blurred as the brightness consumed him, and when it faded, he found himself lying on a bed.


    Ethan Cross blinked, his vision adjusting to the dim light of an unfamiliar room. The ceiling above him was vaulted, with wooden beams crisscrossing in an intricate design. The scent of salt and seaweed wafted in through a partially open window, where the gentle murmur of waves could be heard. He wasn''t in a hospital, nor was he surrounded by the sterile beeping of medical equipment.


    Instead, he was in a spacious yet rustic chamber, furnished with ornate but slightly worn furniture. A large, wooden wardrobe stood against one wall, and a faded rug covered the stone floor. The bed he was lying on was enormous, draped in silk sheets that felt luxurious against his skin.


    Confusion swept over him. He instinctively glanced down at his hands and froze. They weren''t his hands. These were softer, paler, and... younger. He scrambled out of bed, his legs wobbly beneath him, and staggered toward a nearby mirror.


    The face staring back at him was not his own.


    "What the¡ª" he muttered, his voice catching in his throat. His reflection showed a young man, perhaps no older than twenty, with striking blond hair, delicate features, and piercing blue eyes.


    As panic began to set in, his head throbbed, and suddenly, memories that weren''t his flooded his mind.


    He was Prince Bruno de Elysea, the youngest son of King Aldred of the Elysea Kingdom. A notorious troublemaker, Bruno was infamous for his ineptitude in everything he touched¡ªpolitics, swordsmanship, diplomacy, and even court etiquette. The court gossiped about his scandals endlessly, from botched royal decrees to public embarrassments. His father, frustrated and exasperated, had sent him to govern the remote island of Corse, hoping the responsibility would shape him into something resembling a competent heir.


    But Corse was no paradise. The island was isolated, its people disillusioned, and its economy stagnant. Bruno had been here for months, achieving nothing of note. His mere presence was seen as a punishment by the locals, who regarded him with disdain.


    And to add, he wasn''t sent alone to this island. They brought with him advisors that would help him govern the island, and they were the only ones keeping the island running as Bruno delegated the task to them.


    Suddenly¡ªthere was a knock on the door.


    "Your Highness, are you awake?"


    The voice seemed to belong to a middle-aged man, and surprisingly, he recognized the voice. It came from his Chief Advisor, Antoine Leclerc.


    Ethan composed himself and then spoke in a composed manner. "I am awake, come in."


    The door creaked as it opened and then Antoine stepped in. His guess was correct, he was a middle-aged man with greying hair. He was wearing a suit that is similar to what was used in the French aristocracy in the 19th century, the usual tailcoat, waistcoat, breeches, and cravat.


    "Your Highness, good morning. I hope you are doing well," Antoine said formally.


    "Good morning," Ethan replied in a usual manner. He doesn''t know how the Prince would react in this scenario but he was sure that this was a proper one when receiving someone.


    "Your Highness, as you know, our island was recently bought from a foreign country, and most of the locals are still loyal to their former ruler. Yesterday in the evening, they ambushed one of our garrisons in the south, killed a lot of our soldiers and took our rifles, gunpowers, even cannons. My fellow council members believe that they are going to mount an offensive soon and it will be dangerous for us to stay here."


    Ethan analyzed what Antoine had just said and then cross-referenced them to his memory. He was right. The Kingdom of Elysea had bought the island of Corse from the country of Genova because the Kingdom of Genova couldn''t maintain holding it and it offers a strategic advantage as it sits in the middle of the Ligurian Sea.. But the actual reason was that there were revolutionaries in the island that wanted to be independent from the Genovan rule.


    After all, Corse was an island, and the Kingdom of Genova was a maritime country located on the mainland continent. It''s 138 nautical miles away from the Genovan mainland, making it difficult for them to maintain control and supply lines.


    The people of Corse didn''t see the Elysean government as liberators¡ªthey viewed them as another colonial power, no different from Genova.


    The revolutionaries were well-organized and fiercely loyal to their cause, fueled by years of neglect and a desire for self-rule. Which made Antoine''s report all the more troubling. The ambush meant the revolutionaries were becoming more audacious. If they had acquired Elysean cannons and rifles, they were preparing for something larger than sporadic skirmishes.


    Ethan realized how troubling his position is: if the revolutionaries succeeded in pushing Elysea out, it would not only humiliate the Kingdom of Elysea but also himself. If he were to fail in quelling a rebellion, that would possibly be the end of his legitimacy as a member of the royal family. And he wouldn''t want that.


    This was his second life, and he wanted to live longer. He was still unsatisfied with his previous life. He wanted to build a family and retire. He couldn''t do that if he died in this world, and there is no guarantee that he''d be reborn.


    The only way for him to solve this is to fight.


    "Antoine. How many soldiers do we currently have on the island?"


    Antoine looked hesitant. "Your Highness, we have approximately two hundred soldiers stationed here, most of whom are inexperienced. Many were reassigned here as punishment for insubordination or incompetence in other posts. Morale is... poor."


    Ethan nodded grimly. That explained a lot. Sending undisciplined or disgraced soldiers to a volatile region was a recipe for disaster.


    "And the revolutionaries? Do we have an estimate of their numbers?"


    "We believe their forces range between three to four hundred men, though they lack formal training and heavy weaponry¡ªat least until now. With the cannons and rifles they''ve stolen, their advantage grows."


    "What''s the state of our supply lines? Food, ammunition, reinforcements?"


    "Our supplies are limited. The nearest Elysean port is over a hundred miles away, and bad weather often delays shipments. As for reinforcements... I fear the court in Elysea sees this island as a low priority. So there''s not much to expect from them."


    Ethan clicked his tongue after hearing that. He was really in a tight spot. Then¡ªan idea came up.


    "What about our navy?"


    "We have a two ship-of-the-line ship at the Port of Loretto," Antoine replied.


    Ethan smiled. "Good, I want you to assemble the officers at three o''clock in the afternoon, preferably those who have fought the rebel army, the captain of those two ships, and the rest of the advisors."


    Antoine was taken aback from the prince''s words. He didn''t expect that the prince would be so hands-on in this matter. He anticipated that the prince would immediately evacuate the island and give it to the rebels but he was wrong. It seemed that the prince had turned over a new life, but this change was still unexpected.


    "As you wish, Your Highness¡­"

 Chapter 2 - 2: Taking Control

    The only good thing that he had found ever since he transmigrated was that there''s a watch that tells time. For Ethan, it was a convenient tool as it helped him organize his agenda ahead of time.


    And speaking of time, he transmigrated at approximately 9 a.m in the year CE 1689. Yes, they do have calendars here and it was also convenient that it follows the Gregorian calendar.


    Fifteen minutes after Antoine left his bedroom, Ethan went to the prince''s study room where he found a treasure trove of information. First thing he picked up was a long rolled parchment. He untied the string that held it together and carefully unrolled it across the desk. To his surprise, it was a world map. Ethan''s eyes scanned the parchment intently, his sharp mind quickly identifying the continents, oceans, and geographical features. They were strikingly similar to the map of Earth he remembered from his previous life. However, the names of countries, kingdoms, and cities were entirely different.


    Elysea was located in what he recognized as Western Europe, occupying much of the region where France would have been. The nearby Kingdom of Genova aligned with Italy, and to the north were vast lands under the Kingdom of Albion, which bore a striking resemblance to the United Kingdom. Across the oceans were other familiar but renamed continents: vast lands resembling the Americas, dense forests in regions akin to Africa, and mountainous ranges in territories that mirrored Asia.


    The realization that the geography was the same but the history and names were different sent a shiver down Ethan''s spine. This isn''t Earth, but it''s eerily close.


    This world, while backward in terms of technology, followed many of the same patterns he had studied in history books. Wars over resources, territorial expansion, and the slow but inevitable march toward industrialization. The books he found on the shelves further confirmed this. The era was firmly Renaissance¡ªadvances in the arts, rudimentary sciences, and the slow decline of feudal systems were all evident.


    But one book, in particular, caught his eye. Titled The Principles of Natural Sciences, it was authored by someone named Leopold Venslar. Ethan opened it and read the contents.


    The pages were filled with basic but budding ideas about chemistry, mechanics, and astronomy. Concepts like the conservation of energy and rudimentary schematics for early steam engines were scribbled alongside elegant illustrations.


    "This era is on the cusp of industrialization," Ethan muttered to himself, flipping through the pages. "If this Venslar is publishing theories like these, then someone will eventually take the next step."


    The thought sent a thrill through him. "What if I took that step first?"


    He had a knowledge of modern science, he could definitely make an efficient steam engine, introduce the basic oxygen process method which would mass-produce steel, and even create basic electricity generators using Faraday''s principles. These advancements could catapult the world into the industrial age centuries ahead of its natural course. But the implications were enormous. S§×ar?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    But then he paused, his thoughts turning cautious. Wouldn''t that attract the wrong kind of attention?


    Bringing technological advances to a world entrenched in monarchies, religious authorities, and conservative nobles could destabilize everything. Innovators like him could be seen as threats. Jealous rivals could sabotage his work. Worse, opposing factions might target him directly.


    So what he needed to do was to gain political power, that way he''d be able to enact changes without much opposition. Sure, granted he was a royal prince but given the history of Prince Bruno, his position was precarious at best. His reputation as a failure made it unlikely that anyone would take him seriously, and any moves he made could easily be dismissed or undermined by those in power. To gain the leverage he needed, Ethan would have to rebuild Prince Bruno''s reputation¡ªand fast.


    And the only way for him to do that was to start quelling the rebellion in the Corse island, bring stability after, and then improve the way of life of the people. In his mind, a plan was already forming.


    ***


    At three o''clock, Ethan entered the council chamber to find the officers, ship captains, and advisors assembled. The atmosphere was tense; many of them were clearly skeptical, their expressions ranging from bored to mildly hostile. Ethan knew they expected the same bumbling behavior that had defined Prince Bruno.


    Instead, Ethan projected confidence. "Thank you all for coming. I won''t waste your time with platitudes. Let''s get straight to business."


    He unrolled the map of Corse on the table and began marking key points. "As for our latest intelligence report, the rebels are on the other island Sardinia. All the rebel forces moved into that island the moment we claimed Corse. There is a fort called Cervo that they used in which all of the rebel forces are staying. I believe that if we siege that fort, we will defeat the rebel forces. Does anyone concur?"


    Not a single one protested as it was the right intelligence. They knew that rebels were gathering their forces in the Fort of Cervo, and it was their staging point when they were raiding the island of Corse.


    Antoine hesitated and spoke. "Your Highness, while a direct assault on Fort Cervo might cripple the rebellion, it is a fortified position. The rebels have cannons, stolen weapons, and the advantage of high ground. An ill-prepared siege could result in significant casualties¡ªor worse, outright failure."


    "Not when we have the right strategy we won''t," Ethan winked confidently. "The strategy is that we raise the number of forces, ideally about 1,000. We train them and ship them to the island of Sardinia where they are going to mount a siege to the fort in a wide-arc formation. That way, we will have the fort completely surrounded as what''s behind the fort is the sea, where the two ships of the line will be positioned and bombard the fort."


    The military officers studied the plan the prince had proposed and it was reasonably sound.


    "But how are we going to raise the number of our troops? I only told you earlier, Your Highness, that we only have 200 and the government in Sanctum won''t send more."


    "It''s simple, we hire locals. They are an Elysian now the moment we bought the island from the Genova," Ethan answered.


    "What about the weapons?" Antoine added.


    "We are going to build them," Ethan answered again.


    Antoine folded his arms and gave Ethan a skeptical look. "Your Highness, this is something you can''t simply decide on a whim. Forgive me, but the task of building weapons, training locals, and executing a siege is not as simple as saying it aloud. The resources, logistics, and time required for such an endeavor¡ª"


    "Antoine, I understand your concerns, and I appreciate your dedication to pointing out potential challenges. But let me remind you, I''m the one giving orders here. If you believe my plan is flawed, you''re welcome to offer constructive alternatives. If not, I suggest you focus on making this plan succeed."


    Antoine''s mouth tightened."With all due respect, Your Highness, this abrupt change in demeanor is... uncharacteristic. Until now, you have¡ª"


    "Been a failure," Ethan finished bluntly. "A prince unworthy of the title, correct?"


    Antoine flinched, not expecting Ethan to acknowledge it so directly. The other officers in the room shifted uncomfortably.


    Ethan leaned forward, his piercing gaze locking onto Antoine. "I''m not blind to my reputation. I have been a disgrace, an embarrassment to the crown, and a liability to this kingdom. But I am no longer that man. If you believe I''m unfit to lead, then say so outright, and I''ll relieve you of your duties. Otherwise, follow my lead. This rebellion won''t wait for us to argue."


    Antoine hesitated, clearly torn between his ingrained impressions of Prince Bruno and the commanding presence now before him. Finally, he sighed and bowed his head slightly.


    "As you wish, Your Highness. I will see to it that your orders are carried out."


    "Good," Ethan said, his tone softening but still firm. "Then let''s discuss the specifics. First, recruiting locals. The people of Corse have been treated as second-class since we came here. If we offer fair wages and treat them with respect, they''ll fight for us. I''ll personally draft an announcement to address their concerns and inspire loyalty."


    He turned to one of the officers. "Captain¡­what''s your name?"


    "Duval sir, Captain Duval," he replied.


    "Captain Duval, I want you to oversee the recruitment process. Can you do that?"


    "Of course, Your Highness," Duval replied.


    Ethan continued, addressing Antoine directly. "As for the weapons, we have blacksmiths and craftsmen here on Corse. I want them organized as I will have a task for them. Who can volunteer to do this part?"


    "Me, Your Highness," one of the advisors raised his hand.


    "Ah you¡­Mr. Brent. Very well, you handle it."


    "That will be all for now. As for you Antoine, I need to speak with you in private, come to my office after this," Ethan ordered.


    "Uhm¡­yes¡­Your Highness."

 Chapter 3 - 3: Asserting Dominance

    After concluding the meeting, Ethan¡ªor rather Bruno, was in his office at this estate. He tidied up his room, making sure that everything looked pleasing to anyone''s eyes. After all, most of the future meetings with important figures would be held in this room.


    Not long after, there was a knock on the door.


    "Your Highness, this is Antoine, may I enter?"


    Bruno quickly sat behind the table and prepared himself with the encounter.


    "Come in," Bruno permitted.


    Seconds after, Antoine opened the door and stepped inside. He walked toward the front of the table, and kneeled before him.


    "Your Highness, you ordered me to come visit you after the meeting. Here I am, what is that you wish to discuss with me."


    "Nothing, I just want us to have a personal discussion," Ethan revealed.


    Hearing that, Antoine looked up to meet the prince in the eye but¡ª.


    "When did I told you to raise your head?" Bruno asked sharply.


    Antoine''s eyes widened slightly in shock. He did notice that Prince Bruno''s personality has taken a 180 degree turn, but not to this extent. Nevertheless, he quickly lowered his gaze and spoke.


    "I apologize for my impertinence, Your Highness. I meant no disrespect when I looked upon you," Antoine said.


    Ethan¡ªor rather Bruno, was pleased to hear that from Antoine. In order for him to effectively rule this realm, Ethan knew he needed to establish authority. Respect was essential, but authority was paramount. If he wanted to implement reforms, crush the rebellion, and gain the support of his subjects, it had to start with his inner circle recognizing his authority. Antoine was the first test.


    "You''ve served this estate and this position longer than I have, Antoine," Bruno began and continued. "Tell me, what do you think of me? Speak honestly. I won''t punish you for your candor."


    Antoine hesitated. He was torn between his instincts to protect himself and his duty to answer the prince truthfully. Finally, he decided to tread carefully.


    "Your Highness, you have always been... a man of charm and potential, though I fear that potential has not been realized. Your recent actions today suggest a... change, one that I hope is genuine and lasting."


    Bruno smirked slightly. The diplomatic response was expected, but it also reflected Antoine''s doubt. "Fair enough. And what would you say if I told you that everything you thought about me before was true¡ªbut from now on, I will show you the leader this island needs?"


    Antoine''s eyes flickered with confusion but quickly returned to their subservient downcast position.


    "I would say, Your Highness, that actions speak louder than words. If you prove yourself, I will gladly follow you."


    Bruno leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk and clasping his hands together.


    "Good¡­then how about another question? What would you follow first? My orders or the king''s orders?"


    Antoine hesitated for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. He had served the Elysean crown for many years, navigating the treacherous waters of court politics and royal mandates. He knew this question was a trap¡ªno matter how he answered, it carried risks.


    Finally, he responded carefully, "Your Highness, with respect to the hierarchy of authority, I would have to prioritize the King''s orders, as he is the supreme ruler of our land. However, I am also bound to follow your commands as you are the appointed governor of this island."


    Bruno''s eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward slightly. "Wrong answer, Antoine."


    Antoine''s head snapped up in surprise before he quickly lowered his gaze again, realizing the weight of his misstep. "Your Highness, I meant no¡ª"


    "Enough," Bruno interrupted firmly. "Let me make this perfectly clear, Antoine. The King may sit on his throne in Elysea, far removed from the realities of this island, but I am the one who stands at the helm here. I know the situation firsthand¡ªthe rebellion, the people''s grievances, the resources we have at our disposal. Any order from the mainland is made without credible understanding of what we face."


    Antoine''s lips tightened, but he remained silent as Ethan continued.


    "You were sent here to assist me in governing Corse, not to act as a messenger boy for the court. If you place the King''s hypothetical orders above my direct commands in this region, you undermine not only me but the stability of this entire operation. Is that clear?" S~ea??h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Antoine bowed his head even lower, his voice subdued but steady. "Crystal clear, Your Highness. I apologize for my earlier response. I will follow your orders without hesitation."


    "Good." Bruno''s tone softened, but the intensity in his eyes remained. "Understand this, Antoine. If we are to succeed, I need loyalty, not lip service. If you ever find yourself questioning my authority again, I expect you to voice it here, in private, where we can resolve it. But in public, my word is law. Do you understand?"


    "Yes, Your Highness," Antoine said, his voice more resolute now. "Your orders will take precedence."


    Bruno leaned back in his chair, satisfied. "Very well. You may rise."


    Antoine stood, his posture straight but his expression guarded.


    "Now, let''s set aside our personal discussion and let''s talk about the domain of Corse. You have heard of my plan earlier right? My plan to raise troops? It''s going to cost money implementing it due to us having to pay wages on the new recruits. What is the current situation of this island''s coffers?"


    Antoine hesitated before answering, his expression grim. "Your Highness, the coffers are in bad shape. We are running low on funds."


    Bruno''s eyes narrowed. "Why is it low? Is it due to mismanagement of funds, corruption, or something else?"


    Antoine sighed deeply, as if the weight of the island''s problems rested on his shoulders. "Your Highness, the issue is not corruption¡ªat least not entirely. It''s that this domain is inherently poor. There''s very little economic activity on the island. Agriculture is meager due to the rocky terrain, trade is minimal because of our isolated position, and what little wealth is generated is unevenly distributed. Simply put, there''s not much money circulating in Corse."


    Bruno''s sharp mind went into overdrive. "That doesn''t explain the entire picture, Antoine. How many people live on this island?"


    "Approximately 25,000, Your Highness," Antoine replied cautiously.


    "And how many of them are paying taxes?"


    Antoine hesitated, clearly reluctant to answer. "About 35 percent, Your Highness."


    Bruno''s brow furrowed. "And the other 65 percent?"


    "They are members of the nobility," Antoine explained, his tone defensive. "As per the agreements made during the transition of power, they are exempt from taxes. It was a concession made to ensure the nobles would not revolt against the new Elysean leadership and to keep them¡ªand their servants¡ªloyal."


    Bruno''s expression darkened. "So, let me summarize. The majority of the wealth on this island is concentrated in the hands of the nobility, yet they pay nothing. Meanwhile, the poorest¡ªthose who are struggling to survive¡ªare burdened with high taxes?"


    Antoine nodded reluctantly. "Yes, Your Highness. The nobles hold the land, the resources, and control over their serfs. The high taxes on the commoners were seen as the only way to sustain the administration and military presence here."


    Bruno leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he considered the situation. "Antoine, this arrangement is unsustainable. If we want to raise funds and stabilize this island, we must tax the nobility."


    Antoine''s eyes widened in alarm. "Your Highness, I must caution you. Attempting to tax the nobility would be seen as a direct affront to their privileges. It could incite rebellion among them, and if they rebel, they could rally their servants and destabilize the entire region."


    "I understand the risks. But consider this: without funds, we cannot raise an army, pay wages, or ensure the island''s security. If we allow the status quo to continue, we''ll lose Corse to the rebellion, and the nobles will lose everything anyway. The time for half-measures is over."


    Antoine hesitated but finally asked, "And if the nobles refuse to comply with a tax decree?"


    Bruno smiled. "Then by law, I have the authority to confiscate their properties and redistribute them to the Crown. Let them complain to the King if they wish. I''ll justify it as a wartime necessity to secure the island. Besides, nobles are far less likely to rebel if they know I''m willing to strip them of everything."


    Antoine looked uneasy but acknowledged the logic. "It''s a bold move, Your Highness. But what if they appeal to the King directly?"


    "Did you just forget what we talked about earlier?" Bruno reminded him sternly. "I am the ruler of this domain, not the king who was in the mainland."


    "I did not forget, but Your Highness, you must know that we are still on a plan of exterminating the rebels. If we anger the nobles of this island, then there is a possibility of them joining the rebels."


    "Then in that case, they will become enemies of the state. Their betrayal would justify even harsher measures. I am not na?ve, Antoine. I know that walking this path invites risk, but inaction invites defeat. Corse cannot remain stagnant under the weight of greed and privilege."


    Antoine''s face paled at Bruno''s unrelenting tone, but he said nothing. The prince''s transformation was undeniable. This was no longer the bumbling and inept Bruno de Elysea; this was someone with a clear vision and an iron will.


    "Antoine, the nobility may hold power, but their power is not absolute. They rely on the Crown for legitimacy, on their lands for income, and on their servants for survival. If they oppose this decree, we will expose their greed to the people. Public sentiment, properly guided, can be a weapon as powerful as any sword. The peasants already bear the weight of taxation. If they see the nobles resisting a fair system, resentment will turn into anger. That anger will isolate the nobles."


    Antoine hesitated but nodded slowly. "You''re proposing a gamble, Your Highness. If the nobles comply, we secure funds and stability. If they resist, we risk unrest, but you seem prepared to face that."


    "It''s a gamble that I will confidently win," Bruno smirked. "Later tonight, I will draft the decree. We will implement it tomorrow, along with other decrees that will stimulate growth in this god forsaken island."

 Chapter 4 - 4: Reactions

    A day later.


    Bruno, seated at the head of the table, idly tapped a fork against his plate as he awaited breakfast. When the servants brought out his meal, he was pleasantly surprised. The plate held a perfectly fried egg, its edges crisp and golden, paired with a generous serving of mashed potatoes seasoned with herbs.


    He took a cautious bite, expecting blandness, but was instead greeted with a surprisingly rich and satisfying flavor.


    "Not bad at all," he muttered under his breath. For an era devoid of modern culinary techniques, the taste exceeded his expectations.


    After finishing his meal, Bruno thanked the servants¡ªa gesture that left them momentarily stunned before they hurriedly bowed and retreated. He made his way to his office, where a daunting stack of papers awaited him on the desk. Each sheet represented a piece of the reforms he had drafted the night before.


    Bruno sat down and reviewed the documents one final time, ensuring the language was both clear and firm. These decrees would not only reform the island but also test the limits of his authority. The reforms touched on taxation, infrastructure, trade, and public welfare¡ªmeasures that, if successful, could transform Corse from a backwater into a thriving hub.


    As he was engrossed in his review, a knock echoed from the heavy oak door.


    "Enter," Bruno commanded without looking up.


    Antoine stepped in, bowing respectfully before standing at attention. "Good morning, Your Highness."


    Bruno gestured for him to come closer and pointed to the stack of papers. "Antoine, these are the decrees I have drafted. They detail the tax reforms and policies we discussed yesterday, as well as several additional measures I believe are necessary for the betterment of this island."


    Antoine stepped forward and hesitantly took the stack of papers. He flipped through the first few pages, his expression growing more apprehensive with each one.


    "Your Highness, these are... ambitious. May I ask what your expectations are for their implementation?"


    Bruno leaned back in his chair, his sharp gaze meeting Antoine''s. "I expect them to be implemented in full. I understand that there will be resistance, particularly from the nobility. If that happens, I want to be informed immediately. I will deal with them personally."


    "Personally, Your Highness?" Antoine repeated.


    Bruno smirked. "Yes, Antoine. The nobles must learn that I am not here to indulge their sense of entitlement. If they refuse to comply, they will face the consequences. Their wealth, their estates¡ªeverything they hold dear¡ªis contingent on the Crown''s favor. Remind them of that if necessary."


    Antoine hesitated before nodding. "As you wish, Your Highness. I will ensure these decrees reach the appropriate parties and begin the process of enforcement. But... may I ask, what if the commoners misunderstand the reforms and fear further burdens?"


    Bruno''s smirk softened into a thoughtful expression. "A fair question. I''ve prepared an announcement to be read in every town square. It emphasizes that these reforms are designed to relieve the commoners'' burdens by ensuring a more equitable distribution of taxes. It also outlines plans for infrastructure projects that will create jobs and improve their quality of life."


    Antoine nodded, seemingly reassured. "I understand, Your Highness. I will oversee this personally and report back to you with updates."


    Bruno simply nodded in satisfaction and watched Antoine left his office.


    With that, it was a waiting game. He''d expect that there''d be response within a week, so let''s give them that.


    ***


    A week later, Bruno sat at his desk, flipping through reports of the reforms being disseminated across Corse. The initial feedback from the commoners had been cautiously optimistic. The promise of reduced taxes and infrastructure improvements had kindled a flicker of hope among them, though many remained skeptical of the nobility''s compliance. Bruno was keenly aware that the true challenge lay not with the peasants but with the aristocracy.


    As expected, Antoine arrived with a report in hand, his face etched with worry. He entered the room and bowed deeply before approaching the desk.


    "Your Highness," Antoine began with a tense tone.


    "I bring news regarding the nobles'' reaction to your reforms."


    Bruno set the papers aside and leaned back in his chair. "Speak freely, Antoine. I assume they didn''t take kindly to being asked to part with their privileges."


    Antoine hesitated, then began, "Your assumption is correct, Your Highness. The nobles find the reforms... outrageous. Many have outright refused to comply. Some have even branded the decrees as ''illegal'' and claim you are overstepping your authority as governor of Corse."


    Bruno''s expression remained neutral, though his eyes gleamed with a calculated sharpness. "And what, precisely, are their grievances?"


    Antoine unfolded the report, scanning its contents before responding. "Their primary complaints center on the taxation decree. They argue that exempting the nobility from taxes has been a long-standing tradition and that your reforms threaten the social order. Some have even begun rallying support among their peers, claiming that your policies will destabilize the island."


    Bruno raised an eyebrow. "Rallying support? Do you mean they are conspiring against me?" S~ea??h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Not openly, Your Highness," Antoine clarified. "But I fear that if their dissatisfaction is allowed to fester, it could escalate into organized opposition."


    Bruno tapped a finger on the desk, his mind racing through the potential scenarios. "And what of the commoners? How have they reacted to the nobles'' defiance?"


    Antoine''s expression shifted slightly. "Interestingly, Your Highness, the commoners seem to be growing increasingly vocal in their support of the reforms. Word has spread that you intend to alleviate their burdens, and many see the nobles'' resistance as proof of their greed. There is talk of demonstrations in some villages, with peasants gathering to express their approval of your policies."


    A faint smirk crossed Bruno''s lips. "So, the nobles are losing the people''s favor. Good. That will make it easier to isolate them if it comes to that."


    Antoine looked uneasy. "Your Highness, while the commoners'' support is promising, I must caution you against relying solely on their sentiment. The nobles still control vast resources, including armed retainers. If they choose to escalate this into a direct confrontation, we may find ourselves outnumbered."


    "Hmm," Bruno stroked his chin as he contemplated.


    "Your Highness, what are you planning?"


    "I want you to arrange something for me, Antoine. A formal event, I want you to invite all the nobles. And give me every paper about them, records and documentation and such."


    "I can do that, but why?" Antoine asked.


    "You''ll see."

 Chapter 5 - 5: The Conviction

    The date was CE September 5th, 1689. It''s been eight days since he had reincarnated in this world.


    And from the last eight days, he was starting to miss the convenience of the modern world.


    When he was on break, he would usually browse the internet using his phone. He would watch documentaries, movies, funny videos, et cetera to entertain himself. But in this world, instead of smartphones, they have books. Although it''s not that bad, he found it painfully slow compared to the instant access to information he was accustomed to. Books required time and effort to read, and they offered limited scope compared to the vast repository of knowledge he once had at his fingertips.


    Bruno leaned back in his chair, staring at the stack of leather-bound volumes on his desk. Some were historical records of Corse, others were treatises on governance and economics. He had gone through several over the past week, forcing himself to adapt to this slower pace of research.


    "It''s like living in a world with dial-up internet," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. S§×ar?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Nevertheless, he was making progress in the governance of Corse. Even though the reforms aren''t being received fairly by the nobles, he had a high hope of turning them to his side. After all, he has plans for them. But he''d expect it will happen in two to three weeks as his massive request can''t be procured by Antoine within the week.


    A soft knock interrupted his thoughts.


    "Enter," Bruno called out.


    The door creaked open, and Antoine stepped in, bowing respectfully as always.


    "Your Highness, about your order of recruiting the locals and the blacksmiths, and the craftsmen."


    Bruno raised his brows, he certainly remembered ordering Antoine about that.


    "Yes?"


    "They have answered your call, Your Highness. They are in the city square of Loretto as we speak."


    Bruno''s brows rose slightly in surprise as he processed Antoine''s words.


    "They''re waiting now? At this moment?" Bruno asked, his tone carrying a hint of disbelief.


    "Yes, Your Highness. They await your presence in the city square," Antoine confirmed, his tone respectful but slightly urgent.


    Bruno pushed back his chair and stood abruptly. "Why didn''t you inform me sooner?"


    Antoine hesitated. "I thought you would prefer to review the preparations beforehand, but it seems they''ve arrived earlier than expected."


    Bruno sighed, quickly moving toward the coat stand by the door. He hastily grabbed his overcoat, shrugging it on while speaking.


    "No matter. I''ll meet them immediately. These are the first steps toward rebuilding Corse, and I won''t let them think I''m disinterested."


    Antoine nodded, clearly relieved at Bruno''s decisiveness. "Shall I arrange your escort, Your Highness?"


    Bruno waved a hand dismissively as he adjusted his coat. "No need for formality. Just ensure the guards are present for order. I''ll speak to the recruits first, then address the blacksmiths and craftsmen."


    "As you wish, Your Highness," Antoine said, bowing before stepping aside to let Bruno pass.


    ***


    Fifteen minutes later. Bruno was inside the horse-drawn carriage. He looked out the window and saw the gathered recruits in the city square of Loretto. Fortunately, the city square was large enough to accommodate their numbers.


    He smiled at the sight, and was delighted. He has a potential of 1000 recruits, and if successfully integrated into the Corse''s armed forces, his forces would increase 500 percent.


    Still, he had doubts about the recruits. After all, they are locals, and their loyalty


    might waver if they believed the nobility or the rebellion could offer them more. Bruno was acutely aware of human nature¡ªloyalty often hinged on practical concerns rather than ideals. Security, sustenance, and the promise of a better future could turn even the most skeptical into steadfast supporters.


    As the carriage came to a stop, Bruno adjusted his coat, and before he could get out. Antoine spoke.


    "Your Highness. On the platform, you''ll meet the General of the Army of Corse. His name is Berthold."


    "Berthold? I didn''t see him in the meeting a week ago," Bruno glanced over his shoulder, looking at Antoine.


    "That was because he was sick, Your Highness. Now he is well, and will be able to see you," Antoine said.


    Bruno nodded. "Very well. I''ll see him."


    Bruno stepped out of the carriage, his boots clicking against the cobblestones as he adjusted his coat. The murmurs of the recruits intensified, their gazes fixed on him.


    It was clear that for many of them, this was their first glimpse of the governor of Corse. Bruno''s sharp, commanding presence, combined with his youthful yet regal appearance, seemed to make an impression.


    The recruits, a mix of young men and seasoned workers, stood in uneven rows. Their expressions ranged from hopeful to cautious, but all eyes were drawn to the figure descending the steps of the carriage. Behind them, soldiers of Elysea stood at attention, their polished armor and disciplined stance creating an imposing backdrop.


    Bruno''s gaze shifted to the platform at the center of the square, where a man stood waiting. Berthold, the General of the Army of Corse, was a broad-shouldered man in his forties, with sharp features and graying hair that framed his face. His posture was upright and commanding, but as Bruno approached, Berthold bowed deeply.


    "Your Highness," Berthold greeted, his voice resonant and respectful. "It is an honor to finally meet you."


    Bruno offered a slight nod, taking in the man''s demeanor. "Berthold, I trust you''ve been informed of the reforms and our plans to bolster the defense of this island?"


    "Yes, Your Highness," Berthold replied. "I have been briefed by Antoine, and I am prepared to lend my full support to your efforts. The recruits are assembled. They await your words."


    After that, Berthold excused himself and gave the floor to Bruno, who scanned the sea of faces before him. For a moment, there was silence, and after that moment, Bruno spoke.


    "Good day. I am Prince Bruno de Elysea, son of King Aldred of the Kingdom of Elysea," Bruno introduced himself first and continued. "For many of you, there are questions as to why a foreign prince is ruling over your land? The reason is simple and I think all of you know that answer."


    When the recruits heard the last part of Bruno''s words, they were reactions, gritting their teeth, clenching their fist, et cetera.


    Bruno allowed the murmurs and visible frustration in the crowd to simmer for a moment before raising a hand to silence them.


    "Yes, you know why you are here. You know why your former ruler sold you to Elysea," he said, his tone taking on an edge of empathy. "The Kingdom of Genova abandoned you. They saw this island not as a home but as a burden. They took your labor, your resources, and your loyalty, and in the end, they discarded you to save themselves."


    The crowd''s gritted teeth and clenched fists tightened, but this time, the anger wasn''t directed at Bruno. It was aimed at the injustice they had endured.


    "But hear me now," Bruno continued, his voice rising with conviction, "that is not how the Kingdom of Elysea will treat you. From this moment forward, you are no longer forgotten or neglected. You are not Genovese anymore. You are Elysean. And as Elyseans, you will be treated with the respect and dignity that comes with it."


    Some in the crowd exchanged skeptical glances, while others looked intrigued. Bruno took a step forward, his tone softening but still commanding attention.


    "I won''t lie to you," he said. "There are those who refuse to accept this change. Rebels from the other island threaten your way of life. They do not fight for you¡ªthey fight for their own ambitions, and they will not stop until they have thrown this island into chaos. But I tell you this: Corse is part of Elysea. That is the law, and that is the reality. This island will not bow to those who seek to destroy it."


    The recruits stood in silence, their gazes fixed on Bruno as he continued.


    "I cannot protect this island alone," he said. "I need your help. You are here because you''ve been given a choice¡ªa choice to stand for something greater than yourselves. To defend your families, your homes, and your future. If you join the army, you will not be thrown into battle as expendable pawns. You will be trained, equipped, and treated as equals to any soldier of Elysea."


    Bruno''s voice carried a promise, one that he knew would resonate with those struggling to survive. "You are promised fair wages and benefits if you join. That promise will be honored. You will not go hungry. Your families will not be abandoned. Serve with loyalty, and you will be rewarded with security and opportunity."


    He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle over the crowd. Then, with a determined look, he declared.


    "This is your island. This is your home. Together, we will defend it. Together, we will rebuild it. Together, we will create a future that the Kingdom of Genova never gave you."


    The crowd remained quiet for a moment, processing his words. Then, slowly but steadily, murmurs of approval began to ripple through the recruits. A few nodded, their skepticism giving way to cautious optimism. Others looked to their peers, seeking confirmation of their own resolve.


    And one of them¡ªsuddenly did the unexpected.


    "Long live Prince Bruno de Elysea!"


    The shout came from a young man standing near the front of the crowd. His declaration echoed across the square, and for a moment, silence followed as everyone processed the words. Then, as if ignited by his courage, others began to join in.


    "Long live the Prince!"


    "Long live the Prince!"


    The chants grew louder, spreading through the crowd like wildfire. Bruno stood still, his hands clasped behind his back, letting the wave of approval wash over him. He didn''t smile, but a flicker of satisfaction crossed his face.


    This was what he needed¡ªnot blind devotion but the first seeds of loyalty. Loyalty born not from fear or obligation but from hope and a shared sense of purpose.


    Bruno then stepped back, and stood next to Berthold. "I''ll leave you with the process of recruitment."


    "Consider it done, Your Highness. And it was a beautiful speech," Berthold commented.


    Bruno scoffed inwardly. Now the recruits are secured, the problem now is arming them up. They don''t have surplus weapons and ammunition to equip every single recruit. But of course, he already had that covered.


    It''s time to meet the blacksmiths and the craftsmen.

 Chapter 6 - 6: Meeting the Blacksmiths

    Bruno stepped off the platform and left the recruits to Berthold. He walked over to Antoine who bowed as soon as he neared him.


    "Your Highness. That was a good speech. I must admit, it was moving," Antoine commented.


    "Don''t flatter me Antoine. All I did was a simple speech. Now, I want to meet the blacksmiths and the craftsmen."


    "They are in a different venue, Your Highness," Antoine said.


    "Where are they?" Bruno asked.


    "They are in the Artisan Guild Hall near the southern edge of Loretto, Your Highness," Antoine replied promptly. "I took the liberty of preparing a carriage for you."


    "Good. Let''s not waste any time," Bruno said, brushing past Antoine toward the waiting carriage. S~ea??h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Antoine followed closely, signaling the guards to maintain formation. Bruno climbed into the carriage, and Antoine joined him inside, seating himself opposite the prince. The coachman snapped the reins, and the carriage rolled forward, the cobblestone streets of Loretto passing by in a blur.


    Ten minutes later, the carriage pulled to a stop in front of a modest but well-maintained building. The Artisan Guild Hall was constructed of sturdy timber and stone, its facade decorated with carved symbols representing various trades. A small group of guards stood outside, their presence ensuring order.


    Bruno stepped out of the carriage, his boots crunching against the gravel path. Antoine led the way to the entrance, where a guild representative greeted them with a nervous bow.


    "Your Highness, it is an honor to have you here. The craftsmen and blacksmiths are assembled inside," the representative said, gesturing toward the hall.


    Bruno nodded and entered. The interior was a large, open space with high ceilings and wooden beams. Several rows of tables were set up, and around them stood men and women of varying ages, At the far end of the hall, a forge crackled with low flames, its heat radiating into the room.


    As Bruno strode to the center, the murmurs of conversation faded. He glanced around, noting the calloused hands and work-worn attire of the people before him. These were skilled artisans, the backbone of Corse''s economy and, potentially, its military.


    "Good day," Bruno began. "I am Prince Bruno de Elysea, governor of Corse. I have come to speak with you about a matter that concerns the future of this island¡ªand your role in it."


    The room remained silent, the craftsmen and blacksmiths listening intently.


    "As you are aware, Corse faces threats both internal and external. Rebellion festers in the shadows, and those who seek to destabilize our home grow bolder by the day. To secure our future, we must prepare¡ªthis includes arming and equipping our forces. Now, raise your hand to those who have experience on making a gun, specifically, this gun¡­"


    Bruno beckoned of the soldiers standing watch nearby to hand over his musket. He took the musket handed to him by one of the guards. It was a rifle musket, eerily similar to the M1777 Charleville musket he remembered studying during his previous life. He examined the weapon, his fingers running over the smooth wood and polished metal. Despite its old design, it was still an effective weapon for the time.


    "Excellent," he said. "Now, let me ask another question. Are any of you familiar with the concept of improving this design? Perhaps making it more reliable, faster to load, or more accurate?"


    A few hesitant murmurs spread through the crowd, but only a couple of hands remained raised. Bruno took note of their faces.


    "Good," he said, lowering the musket and handing it back to the soldier. "But the weapon I just showed you, has some problems. Reloading takes too long, especially in battle. Soldiers must carefully pour powder, ram a ball, and prime the pan. It is a process that leaves them vulnerable. Imagine a weapon that eliminates this cumbersome process¡ªa weapon with cartridges that ignite instantly using a percussion cap."


    Most of the craftsmen looked at each other, intrigued by the concept. A blacksmith in his fifties with a thick beard stepped forward.


    "May I speak, Your Highness?"


    "Yes you may," Matthew permitted.


    "Your Highness, what is a percussion cap?"


    "A good question. The percussion cap is a small, metal container¡ªusually made of copper or brass¡ªthat holds a chemical compound called fulminate of mercury. When struck by a hammer, it creates a spark that ignites the gunpowder inside the cartridge. This system replaces the flintlock, which is less reliable and slower to use."


    The blacksmith stroked his beard thoughtfully. "And this would eliminate the need to prime the pan?"


    Bruno nodded. "Exactly. It simplifies the loading process, allowing a soldier to fire more quickly and under harsher conditions, like rain or high humidity."


    "How are we going to make that?" he followed with another question.


    "I have a design here with me, drawn on paper," Bruno pulled a neatly rolled piece of paper from his coat and handed it to the blacksmith. The man carefully unrolled it, revealing a detailed sketch of a percussion cap system. The design included annotations outlining the materials required, the dimensions of the cap, and the modifications needed for existing muskets to accommodate the new firing mechanism.


    The blacksmith''s eyes narrowed as he studied the drawing. "This is... intricate," he said, tracing his finger along the sketch. "We''ll need precise tools for this, and access to certain materials we don''t usually work with¡ªcopper, for instance."


    Bruno nodded, expecting the concern. "I''ve already considered that. My Chief of Staff will ensure you have the necessary resources, including copper, mercury, and any additional tools you might need. Also, not only we are going to change the firing mechanism, we are going to need to build at least 1000 rifles."


    Bruno paused to let his words sink in. The room was silent except for the occasional crackle of the forge in the background. The craftsmen exchanged uncertain glances, but a glimmer of determination began to show in their eyes.


    One of the younger blacksmiths, a wiry man with soot-streaked hands, stepped forward.


    "Your Highness, building 1,000 rifles from scratch, especially with this new mechanism, will take time. We can certainly adapt the existing muskets first to use the percussion cap system, but creating new ones... it''s an ambitious goal."


    "I understand the enormity of the task," Bruno replied, his tone firm yet encouraging. "That is why we will work in phases. First, modify the existing muskets to use the percussion caps. This will give our soldiers an immediate advantage. Then, we will begin production of entirely new rifles based on an improved design.


    The older blacksmith who had first spoken nodded thoughtfully. "That approach makes sense, Your Highness. Modifying the muskets will be faster, and it''ll give us time to perfect the new design."


    "I appreciate your enthusiasm. Now that that''s settled, let''s discuss the potential problem we might face. We may have new rifles in the future but it''s useless without gunpowder. Good thing, I have an idea in mind."

 Chapter 7 - 7: The New Process for Creating Gunpowder

    Bruno''s gaze swept across the room, observing the craftsmen and blacksmiths exchanging uncertain glances. Finally, after a long pause, a single hand hesitantly rose from the back of the room.


    It belonged to a wiry man in his late thirties, his face weathered and marked by soot and faint scars. His sharp eyes stood out against his otherwise unassuming appearance. The room quieted as all eyes turned toward him.


    "You, step forward."


    The man wove through the crowd carefully. When he reached the front, he bowed deeply.


    "Your Highness, I am Elias Moreau, a practitioner of alchemy."


    Bruno raised an eyebrow. "And what exactly is your experience in this field, Elias?"


    Elias straightened his posture. "Your Highness, I studied alchemy under Master Gregor in the city of Bellavance for nearly a decade. My focus was primarily on metallurgy, potion-making, and explosives. Since returning to Corse, I''ve used my skills for practical purposes¡ªtreating ailments, crafting specialized alloys, and, occasionally, creating small quantities of gunpowder for local hunters."


    Bruno nodded, impressed by the man''s credentials. "Then you are precisely the person I was hoping to find."


    The room murmured softly at the prince''s words, but Bruno raised a hand to silence them. "Elias, I would like to speak with you privately. Follow me."


    Elias bowed again. "As you command, Your Highness."


    Bruno turned to Antoine, who was standing nearby. "Antoine, ensure the craftsmen and blacksmiths are given further instructions regarding the rifle modifications and production timelines. I will rejoin you shortly."


    Antoine nodded. "Understood, Your Highness."


    Bruno gestured for Elias to follow him as he moved toward a side room, away from the crowd. The room was modest, furnished with a sturdy table and a few chairs. Bruno closed the door behind them, ensuring their conversation would remain private.


    "Please, have a seat," Bruno said, gesturing to one of the chairs as he took his own.


    Elias complied, sitting with a mix of deference and curiosity. "How may I serve you, Your Highness?"


    "I want you to answer this question of mine," Bruno said as he took his seat. "How do you create gunpowder?"


    Bruno asked the question in hopes of identifying the method the people used in this world. If it''s the same as his previous world in history, then everything would be easy from here on out. But if it''s different, he''ll adapt accordingly.


    "Your Highness, gunpowder is made by mixing three things¡ªsaltpeter, sulfur, and charcoal. Saltpeter is the most important; it''s what makes the mixture burn quickly. Sulfur helps it catch fire easier, and charcoal is what burns to make the explosion. The amounts have to be just right, or it won''t work well."


    Bruno nodded, appreciating the simplicity of the explanation. It aligned with what he already knew, though he noted the practical focus of Elias''s experience rather than a theoretical understanding.


    "And where do you get these materials?" Bruno asked again.


    "Saltpeter is the hardest to find," Elias admitted. "Here in Corse, we get it from manure¡ªanimal waste. It takes time to collect and refine. Sulfur comes from rocky deposits, mostly near old volcanoes. There isn''t a lot of it, but we can find enough if we dig. Charcoal''s easy¡ªmade from burning hardwood in the right way, and there''s plenty of that near Loretto."


    Bruno''s mind raced as he considered the challenges. Saltpeter production would be slow, but scaling it up was possible. Sulfur might require mining operations, and charcoal was already a straightforward process.


    But there is a way to simplify things. The Haber-Bosch process had revolutionized the production of nitrogen-based compounds in his previous life. Though it wouldn''t be possible to replicate the exact process in this era, the fundamental idea could serve as a foundation for improving saltpeter production.


    He turned his attention back to Elias, leaning forward slightly. "Elias, the method you described¡ªusing manure to extract saltpeter¡ªis effective but slow. What if I told you there''s a way to produce it faster and in larger quantities, bypassing the need to wait for natural deposits to form?"


    Elias blinked, intrigued but skeptical. "Faster? Your Highness, how would that be possible?"


    Bruno hesitated, simplifying his explanation to avoid overwhelming the alchemist. "In my studies, I learned of a method where nitrogen is extracted from the air itself and converted into compounds like saltpeter. The air around us is filled with nitrogen¡ªit''s abundant. The trick lies in finding a way to bond it with other elements to create something usable."


    Elias frowned, visibly trying to grasp the concept. "Drawing nitrogen from the air?"


    "That''s correct," Bruno affirmed, leaning slightly forward. "In essence, the process involves taking nitrogen from the air and combining it with hydrogen to produce ammonia, which can then be further processed into compounds like saltpeter." S§×arch* The N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Elias nodded slowly, his interest clearly piqued. "And how would this work, Your Highness? What are the steps?"


    Bruno decided to keep the explanation simple, focusing on the practical elements that could be adapted with the resources available. "First, nitrogen must be captured from the air. This is achieved by compressing air in a controlled environment. At high pressure and temperature, the nitrogen can be made to react with hydrogen."


    "Hydrogen?" Elias asked, furrowing his brow.


    "Hydrogen can be obtained from water," Bruno explained. "By separating water into its components using heat or other methods, you can isolate hydrogen. Once you have both nitrogen and hydrogen, they are brought together in a reaction chamber. Under high heat and pressure, with the aid of a catalyst¡ªtypically iron¡ªthey bond to form ammonia."


    Elias leaned back, absorbing the information. "This ammonia¡­ you say it can be turned into saltpeter?"


    "Exactly," Bruno confirmed. "Ammonia can be processed into nitric acid, and from there, it can react with certain compounds to create saltpeter. This eliminates the need to rely solely on manure or natural deposits, allowing production to scale up significantly."


    Elias remained silent for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "This sounds revolutionary, Your Highness. But such high temperatures and pressures¡ªare they achievable with the tools we have?"


    "We will create the tools. In fact, I have the blueprint for it. And I want you to lead a team that will make the tools and equipment needed for such a process. I have here the detailed step-by-step on how to create it. Can you do it?"


    "I will try, Your Highness," Elias replied with a tone of uncertainty.


    "I will ask again, can you do it?" Bruno repeated his question.


    "I can do it, Your Highness," Elias replied, this time with conviction.


    Bruno leaned back in his chair, a faint smile on his face. "Good. That''s the conviction I need."

 Chapter 8 - 8: Sense of Progress

    The date was CE September 19th, 1689. The skies over Loretto were heavy with clouds, casting a gray pall over the bustling city. Bruno stood on the balcony of the governor''s estate, his gaze fixed on the training grounds below.


    The newly recruited soldiers, a mix of locals and Elysean officers, moved in coordinated drills. The clatter of wooden practice rifles and the bark of commands echoed through the air. Bruno observed them closely, noting the progress in their discipline and formation. While their movements were still rough, there was an undeniable improvement compared to two weeks prior.


    Antoine approached from behind, his boots clicking softly against the stone floor. "Your Highness, the integration appears to be progressing well. The locals are adapting faster than expected."


    Bruno nodded, his expression thoughtful. "It''s a good start, but there''s still work to be done. Many of them lack the confidence and precision of seasoned soldiers. They''ll need time."


    Antoine hesitated before speaking again. "Shall I arrange for an inspection of their drills, Your Highness?"


    "Not yet," Bruno replied. "Let Berthold continue his training regimen without interference. I''ll observe from here for now." Sear?h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Antoine inclined his head. "As you wish, Your Highness."


    Bruno''s attention shifted to the far side of the grounds, where blacksmiths and craftsmen were hard at work modifying the existing muskets. Smoke billowed from makeshift forges, and the rhythmic clang of hammers filled the air. Despite the challenges, progress was steady.


    "Any updates on the rifle modifications?" Bruno asked, not turning from his vantage point.


    Antoine unfolded a piece of parchment. "The craftsmen have successfully converted two hundred muskets to the percussion cap system. They''re on track to complete the remaining modifications within the next three weeks. Production of the new rifles will begin shortly thereafter."


    Bruno allowed a faint smile to cross his lips. "Good."


    Later that afternoon, Bruno visited the outskirts of Loretto, where the Haber-Bosch equipment was being constructed. The site was a hive of activity, with workers hauling materials and assembling the massive structures under Elias Moreau''s supervision.


    The framework of the reaction chamber stood tall, its iron supports gleaming in the dim light. Nearby, blacksmiths and alchemists collaborated to craft the high-pressure valves and fittings required for the process. Crates of raw materials¡ªiron, copper, and other metals¡ªwere stacked neatly to one side, ready for use.


    Elias approached Bruno, wiping sweat from his brow. "Your Highness, I wasn''t expecting you today."


    Bruno surveyed the progress, his expression neutral but his tone encouraging. "I wanted to see how things are coming along. You''ve made significant progress."


    Elias nodded, a hint of pride in his voice. "The foundation is complete, and we''ve started assembling the reaction chamber. The catalyst preparation is underway, but it''s delicate work. The iron must be refined and shaped precisely."


    "What about the compressors?" Bruno asked, gesturing to a partially assembled structure nearby.


    "They''re the most challenging part," Elias admitted. "Creating a device capable of maintaining the necessary pressure is no small task. But with the blacksmiths'' expertise, we''re making headway. Of course, it''s all thanks to your knowledge, Your Highness. I didn''t expect science to progress by leaps and bounds in the capital."


    Bruno placed a hand on his shoulder, and squeezed it gently. He couldn''t tell the truth that he was from the modern world, so he nodded in acknowledgement.


    "And the materials? Do you have everything you need?" he added.


    "For now, yes," Elias replied. "The supplies from the mines near Loretto have been sufficient. But if production scales up, we''ll need to secure additional sources."


    "Very well. Tell me if you need anything, I''ll provide it as soon as possible," Bruno assured him.


    ***


    Two days later, September 21st. Antoine entered Bruno''s study, carrying a hefty stack of documents bound together with twine. His face bore the telltale signs of long nights and early mornings¡ªdark circles under his eyes and a slight slump in his usually upright posture. Still, he maintained his characteristic composure, bowing respectfully as he approached Bruno''s desk.


    "Your Highness," Antoine began, placing the documents on the desk. "These are the compiled records of all the noble families currently residing in Corse. As per your request, I''ve included their lineages, estates, wealth assessments, record complaints from the peasants, and political alignments."


    Bruno glanced at the stack, his eyebrows raising slightly. "That''s¡­ more than I expected," he admitted. He reached for the top document and opened it, scanning the contents. "How long did this take you?"


    "Several days," Antoine replied evenly. "It required cross-referencing records from the local archives with information provided by the noble families themselves. Some were less cooperative than others."


    Bruno looked up, his expression softening. "Antoine, you''ve been working tirelessly. Between managing the recruits, coordinating with the craftsmen, and now this¡­ I''ve overburdened you."


    Antoine waved a hand dismissively. "It''s my duty, Your Highness. Ensuring the success of your endeavors is a responsibility I take pride in."


    "Even so, you''re not made of iron," Bruno said, leaning back in his chair. "You should take some time to rest."


    Antoine allowed a faint smile. "Rest will come, Your Highness, but not before we''ve secured Corse''s stability. Besides, I find purpose in my work. It''s satisfying to see progress being made."


    Bruno smiled, appreciating his dedication.


    "What do you plan on this, Your Highness?"


    "Before we get into that, let me ask you something¡ªdo you think these nobles hate me for the reforms I''ve implemented?"


    Antoine hesitated, carefully choosing his words. "Hate is a strong term, Your Highness, but there is undeniable resentment among them. Your reforms threaten their traditional privileges, their way of life. Many see you as an outsider imposing foreign ideas upon their land."


    Bruno nodded slowly, absorbing the answer. "So, they do hate me."


    "Yes," Antoine admitted. "To varying degrees, but the sentiment is there."


    Bruno tapped his fingers on the desk, his expression unreadable. "And yet, they remain quiet. They grumble, but they''ve taken no overt action against me."


    "Not yet," Antoine clarified. "But that could change. Resentment has a way of festering, especially when left unaddressed."


    Bruno sat forward, his gaze sharpening. "How long will it take to organize a formal gathering with these nobles?"


    Antoine straightened, already prepared with an answer. "Given the logistics of summoning them, arranging accommodations, and preparing the venue, it will take at least another week, possibly two. I''ll ensure it''s done within that timeframe."


    "Good," Bruno said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Make it happen. Send out invitations under the pretense of fostering dialogue and unity. Frame it as an opportunity for them to voice their concerns."


    Antoine raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "You''re planning to address their grievances directly?"


    Bruno chuckled lightly. "Something like that."


    "And your actual plan, Your Highness?" Antoine pressed, his curiosity evident. "How do you intend to handle them?"


    Bruno leaned back, his gaze drifting toward the window as if considering the distant horizon. "I intend to turn them to my side."


    Antoine tilted his head slightly. "And how will you achieve that when all of them hate you?"


    "Just watch," Bruno smirked.

 Chapter 9 - 9: The Nobles Gathering

    September 25th, 1689.


    Inside the grand estate of House Vallier, one of the most prominent noble families in Corse, a gathering of influential landowners and aristocrats convened in secrecy. The room was filled with the scent of burning candles and aged wood, the dim lighting casting long shadows over the tense faces of the attendees.


    Lord Vallier, a man in his fifties with sharp features and a commanding presence, stood at the head of the long oak table.


    "This cannot continue," Vallier began, his tone laced with frustration. "This so-called governor has imposed reforms that strip us of our privileges and diminish our influence. What are we if not the guardians of Corse''s traditions?"


    A murmur of agreement rippled through the room.


    Count Duval, a stout man with a ruddy complexion, leaned forward, his fist pounding lightly on the table. "He''s treating us like peasants! Taxing our lands, restricting our authority over our own estates, and now this¡­ nonsense about arming the locals. Locals, mind you, who should be working our fields, not training with rifles."


    Lady Genevieve, a shrewd and calculating figure, raised an eyebrow. "And yet, none of us have acted. Words will do nothing to stop him."


    "Then what do you propose?" Vallier asked, his eyes narrowing. "Do we march against the Elysean army stationed here? Or perhaps align ourselves with the rebels who lurk in the shadows?"


    The room fell silent for a moment as the weight of the suggestion hung in the air. Some nobles shifted uncomfortably in their chairs, while others exchanged knowing glances.


    A younger noble, Lord Renard, spoke hesitantly. "Joining the rebels¡­ is it truly wise? If this rebellion fails, any association with them would mark us as traitors to the Elysean crown. Our titles, our lands¡ªeverything would be forfeit."


    "And if we do nothing?" Duval countered, his voice rising. "Do you truly believe this prince will stop at his reforms? No. He seeks to dismantle the very foundation of our authority. He''ll leave us as figureheads, powerless and irrelevant."


    "I''m not suggesting we align with the rebels," Genevieve interjected. "But perhaps¡­ we let them weaken the prince''s position. If his forces are stretched thin, we may have an opportunity to negotiate from a position of strength."


    "Negotiate?" Duval sneered. "With a man who refuses to acknowledge our rightful place? You''re a fool if you think he''ll listen."


    Another voice cut through the argument¡ªa calm tone from Baron Lavigne, a middle-aged noble.


    "We must tread carefully. An outright rebellion will bring nothing but ruin. If we act too boldly, the crown itself will intervene, and we''ll face the wrath of Elysea."


    Vallier nodded slowly, acknowledging Lavigne''s point. "Then what do you suggest, Baron?"


    "We wait," Lavigne replied. "We observe the prince''s moves and gauge his strength. For now, we maintain our neutrality. If his reforms falter, we''ll have our chance to assert ourselves."


    "That''s cowardice," Duval spat. "We''re allowing him to consolidate power while we sit idle."


    "It''s strategy," Lavigne shot back, his tone unyielding. "Charging blindly into conflict will only hasten our downfall."


    At the far end of the table, a previously silent figure stirred. Marquis Adrien.


    "What if we played both sides?"


    The room turned to him, curious and wary.


    Adrien continued. "We support the prince outwardly, attending his gatherings, complying with his reforms¡­ but we keep channels open with the rebels. That way, whichever side prevails, we ensure our survival."


    "Deceitful," Vallier muttered, though he didn''t dismiss the idea outright.


    "Practical," Adrien corrected. "The prince is no fool. He''ll know we resent him, but if we appear cooperative, we can buy ourselves time."


    "And what of those who refuse to take a side?" Renard asked, glancing around the room. "There are those among us who are content to let the prince rule, so long as he doesn''t threaten their immediate interests."


    "Cowards," Duval growled.


    "Or survivors," Lavigne countered. "Not everyone is willing to risk everything. And also, I assumed that you all received a letter of invitation to His Highness''s estate?"


    The room fell silent as Baron Lavigne''s question hung in the air. One by one, the nobles exchanged wary glances.


    "Yes, I received it," Count Duval admitted begrudgingly, tossing the parchment onto the table as if it offended him. "Arrived this morning. An invitation to a formal gathering, as if we''re expected to fawn over his reforms like loyal subjects."


    Marquis Adrien smirked, leaning back in his chair. "I received mine as well. Charming wording, isn''t it? A chance for dialogue and unity, he says. How very diplomatic of him."


    Lady Genevieve''s fingers tapped lightly against the polished wood of the table. "Diplomatic, or calculated? He''s not summoning us out of goodwill. The question is, what does he intend to achieve by bringing us together?"


    "Isn''t it obvious?" Duval growled. "It''s a trap. He means to corner us, coerce us into supporting his reforms. Perhaps even to humiliate us publicly. The man is consolidating his power, and this gathering is just another move in his game."


    "Not everyone is so convinced," Renard interjected cautiously. "It could simply be a gesture of goodwill¡ªa way to familiarize himself with the local aristocracy and extend an olive branch. The Elysean crown wouldn''t allow him to act recklessly, not while their reputation is on the line."


    Duval scoffed. "Naive. He doesn''t need to act recklessly when he can undermine us with a smile and a toast. The reforms aren''t even fully implemented yet because we''ve managed to block them. This gathering is his way of breaking through that barrier."


    "Or," Adrien said smoothly, "it''s an opportunity. If we attend, we can gauge his intentions more clearly. We''ll have the advantage of observing him directly, perhaps even swaying him toward compromises." Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Compromises?" Duval''s voice rose, his face reddening. "You think this boy will compromise? He''s already shown us he has no respect for our traditions. He''ll smile and nod while tightening the noose around our necks."


    Lady Genevieve raised a hand, silencing the rising tension. "Enough. Speculation won''t get us anywhere. The fact remains: this invitation places us in a precarious position. Refusing it outright would be seen as an act of defiance, perhaps even treasonous. But attending could leave us vulnerable to his manipulations."


    Baron Lavigne, who had been quietly observing the debate, finally spoke. "Then we must tread carefully. Those who attend should do so with measured words and guarded intentions. The prince is no fool, but neither are we. If he seeks to force our hand, we''ll present a united front and refuse to bow. However, if there is room for negotiation¡­"


    "Negotiate?" Duval cut in sharply. "We have nothing to negotiate. We should remain firm in our opposition."


    Genevieve sighed, her patience wearing thin. "Firm opposition will mean little if the crown intervenes. We cannot act in isolation, nor can we afford to appear disloyal to Elysea."


    Renard nodded. "She''s right. If we overplay our hand, we risk losing everything. Attending the gathering is not an act of submission¡ªit''s a strategic move. We gather information, we listen, and we decide our next steps from a position of knowledge."


    Adrien''s smirk widened. "Finally, a voice of reason. And while we''re gathering information, we should also plant seeds of doubt in the prince''s mind. Subtle suggestions, carefully placed. Make him question the loyalty of his officers, the stability of his reforms. Keep him on the defensive."


    Duval''s glare swept across the room, but even he seemed to sense the futility of outright refusal. With a begrudging grunt, he relented. "Fine. But mark my words¡ªthis prince isn''t to be underestimated. If he thinks he can outmaneuver us, he''ll find we''re not so easily swayed."


    Vallier, who had remained silent for much of the discussion, finally spoke. "Then it''s settled. We''ll attend the gathering, but we''ll do so on our terms. No declarations, no alliances¡ªonly observation. And if the prince attempts to coerce us, we''ll make it clear that Corse is not his to rule unchallenged."


    The nobles nodded in agreement, and the meeting concluded. One by one, the nobles filed out, and those who remained are the nobles who strongly opposed the prince.


    "We cannot simply wait and watch, as some of the others suggest. This governor intends to strip us of everything we''ve built. Sitting idly by will only hasten our demise," Count Duval said, breaking the silence.


    Lord Vallier, still seated at the head of the table, nodded. "I agree. The prince''s so-called reforms are designed to dismantle our authority. We need leverage¡ªsomething that forces him to reconsider his position or brings him to his knees."


    "And leverage," Lady Genevieve added, her sharp gaze flicking between the others, "does not come from compliance or negotiation. It comes from strength."


    Marquis Adrien leaned forward, a sly smile playing at his lips. "Strength¡­ or alliances. The rebels remain active, despite the Elysean forces stationed here. Their numbers grow with each passing month. Desperation is a powerful motivator, and the prince''s reforms have only fueled their anger."


    "You''re suggesting we align with common rabble?" Duval spat, his disdain palpable.


    "Not align," Adrien corrected smoothly. "Use them. The rebels are a tool¡ªone we can wield to weaken the prince''s position. Let them disrupt his plans, stretch his forces thin. When the time comes, we''ll strike decisively."


    Baron Lavigne, who had remained quiet thus far, finally spoke. "This conversation, since earlier, is dangerously treading into treason, I will not take part in anything. I will take my leave."

 Chapter 10 - 10: Start of Confrontation

    September 27th, 1689


    Marquis Adrien reclined in the plush interior of his horse-drawn carriage, the rhythmic clatter of hooves on the cobblestone road soothing in its familiarity. His wife, Camille, sat opposite him, her hands delicately folded on her lap, while their daughter, Sophie, leaned against her mother, gazing absentmindedly out the window. The family had embarked on this journey to Count Duval''s estate, a meeting that Adrien deemed vital in coordinating their efforts against the prince''s increasingly oppressive rule.


    The carriage rocked gently as it traversed the uneven path leading through the countryside. Camille glanced at Adrien, her expression tinged with unease.


    "Adrien, are you certain this meeting is wise?" she asked softly.


    He smirked, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored coat. "Wise or not, it is necessary. Duval may lack tact, but his influence among the nobility is undeniable. If we are to counter the prince, we need his support."


    Camille sighed, clearly unconvinced but unwilling to press the matter further.


    The carriage slowed suddenly, the steady rhythm of the horses interrupted by the sharp call of the driver.


    "Whoa! Whoa there!" the coachman shouted.


    Adrien frowned, leaning forward. "What''s the matter now?"


    The carriage came to a complete stop. Curious, Adrien slid open the window, expecting to see a fallen tree or some other mundane obstacle. Instead, his eyes widened in disbelief.


    Elysean soldiers surrounded the carriage, muskets raised and trained on him.


    "What is the meaning of this?" Adrien demanded with an indignant tone. "Do you realize who I am? This is a noble''s carriage, not some criminal''s wagon!"


    One of the soldiers, a tall man with a grim face and a captain''s insignia, stepped forward.


    "Marquis Adrien, by order of His Highness, Prince Bruno de Elysea, you are to step out of the carriage immediately. Your compliance is not a request."


    Adrien''s jaw tightened, his anger simmering. "You dare point weapons at my family and me? This is an outrage! I will not take orders from a mere soldier. Lower your muskets at once, or I will see to it that you''re all court-martialed for this blatant act of disrespect!"


    The captain''s expression did not waver. "Step out of the carriage, Marquis. Now."


    Adrien''s lips curled into a sneer. "Do you think you can intimidate me? I will do no such thing."


    The captain motioned with his hand, and two soldiers moved forward. Adrien barely had time to register the movement before the door was yanked open.


    "Unhand me, you insolent¡ª!" Adrien''s protest was cut short as one of the soldiers grabbed him by the arm and dragged him out of the carriage.


    He struggled, his polished boots scraping against the ground as he tried to wrench free. "You fools! Do you know who you''re laying hands on?"


    The soldiers didn''t respond. One of them raised the stock of his musket and drove it into Adrien''s stomach with a dull thud. The blow forced the air from his lungs, and he collapsed to his knees, gasping.


    "Adrien!" Camille cried, leaning out of the carriage.


    "Stay where you are, madam," the captain ordered coldly.


    Ignoring her cries, the soldiers opened the carriage door fully and pulled Camille and Sophie out. Camille resisted, but her strength was no match for the soldiers. Sophie clung to her mother, tears streaming down her face as she was forced away from the safety of the carriage.


    "Let go of them!" Adrien rasped, his voice hoarse with pain. He tried to rise, but another soldier shoved him back down, pinning him in place.


    The captain approached, standing over Adrien with a disdainful look. "Marquis Adrien, you are under investigation for activities deemed treasonous against the Elysean Crown. You will be escorted to Loretto for questioning. Any further resistance will be met with force."


    Adrien glared up at him, his pride refusing to yield even in the face of humiliation. "This is an outrage," he spat. "You''ll regret this, all of you. When the nobility hears of this, they''ll¡ª"


    A sharp kick to his ribs silenced him. The world blurred around him as pain flared in his side.


    "Secure them," the captain ordered.


    Ropes were brought out, and Adrien''s hands were bound behind his back. Camille and Sophie were similarly restrained, though the soldiers were gentler with them, seemingly hesitant to harm the women.


    Adrien''s vision began to dim, his strength failing as the pain and humiliation took their toll. The last thing he heard before losing consciousness was Sophie''s sobs and Camille''s frantic pleas.


    ***


    Marquis Adrien groaned softly as he regained consciousness, his head pounding and his body aching from the rough handling he had endured. Darkness surrounded him, and for a moment, panic set in. He tried to move but found his hands and feet tightly bound with coarse rope. His mouth was gagged, the taste of rough fabric bitter on his tongue.


    The air was thick and unpleasant, reeking of damp earth and sweat. As his senses adjusted, he realized that a cloth was wrapped over his head, completely obscuring his vision. His breathing quickened, and the ropes dug painfully into his skin as he instinctively tried to free himself.


    Footsteps echoed faintly, growing louder with each passing second. Adrien''s heart raced, the sound bringing with it a wave of dread. The footsteps stopped just in front of him, and for a moment, there was only silence. Then, without warning, the cloth over his head was yanked off.


    Blinking rapidly, Adrien''s eyes adjusted to the dim light of the room. His surroundings were stark and unwelcoming¡ªstone walls, a single flickering lantern hanging overhead, and a sturdy wooden table positioned a few feet away. But it wasn''t the room that caught his attention.


    Standing before him, arms crossed and gaze sharp, was none other than Prince Bruno de Elysea.


    The marquis''s breath hitched. For the first time, the sheer magnitude of his predicament dawned on him. This was no mere arrest¡ªthis was a confrontation he had never anticipated.


    The prince''s expression was unreadable, his piercing eyes fixed on Adrien.


    Adrien was the first to break the silence, his voice hoarse but defiant. "Where is my family? What have you done with them?"


    Bruno tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Your family is safe¡­ for now."


    "For now?" Adrien growled, his anger momentarily overshadowing his fear. "How dare you¡ª"


    The prince''s raised hand silenced him instantly. "I wouldn''t finish that sentence if I were you, Marquis," Bruno said coldly. "Your family''s safety depends entirely on your cooperation."


    Adrien''s jaw tightened, his pride warring with his growing sense of dread. "What do you want from me?"


    Bruno stepped closer, his boots clicking against the stone floor. He stopped just short of Adrien, looming over the bound noble. "Answers," he said simply. "And your cooperation. Fail to give me either, and the consequences will extend far beyond this room."


    Adrien glared at him.


    "You think you can intimidate me?" he spat. "I am a marquis of Corse. My bloodline¡ª"


    "Your bloodline means nothing," Bruno interrupted sharply, his voice cutting through Adrien''s protests like a blade. "You stand accused of treason, and your title will not shield you from the consequences of your actions."


    "Treason? With what evidence?" sea??h th§× N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Well, you have been very vocal about the reforms I am implementing, and you even hosted a banquet with your fellow nobles."


    "I hosted a banquet, yes," Adrien said carefully. "A gathering among peers is hardly treason. Since when is discussing the plight of our estates a crime?"


    Bruno''s gaze hardened, and he leaned forward slightly, his presence looming.


    "You misunderstand, Marquis. Your gatherings are not the issue. It is the intent behind them. You''re not simply lamenting the plight of your estates; you''re conspiring to undermine the authority of this administration. That, Marquis, is treason."


    Adrien''s jaw clenched, his mind scrambling for a way to rebut without incriminating himself further.


    "Conspiracy? That''s a bold accusation, Your Highness, and one that requires proof."


    Bruno''s smirk returned, faint but menacing.


    "Proof?" He gestured toward the table, where a thick folder of parchment sat. "I have documents, Marquis¡ªletters exchanged with Count Duval, messages intercepted between your trusted stewards and known rebel sympathizers. I took an interest in you the moment I read your file. It''s a good thing to know your enemy."


    Adrien''s confidence faltered, his eyes flicking to the folder. He forced a scoff, masking his unease.


    "Letters can be forged. Accusations can be fabricated. You''re grasping at straws, Prince Bruno."


    Bruno chuckled, a sound devoid of humor. "Perhaps. Or perhaps I am merely holding back the evidence that would convict you in the eyes of the Elysean Crown. You should hope, Marquis, that I remain merciful. Because, if I lose my patience, you won''t even get a trial and the worst possible scenario could happen to your family. It''s your choice. Now, shall we get started?"

 Chapter 11 - 11: Interrogation

    Marquis Adrien caved in with a nod.


    "Good," Bruno smiled coldly. "We will begin with your accomplices. I am sure that you are not the only one who shares resentment and then suggests that you go against your government, right? I want their names."


    Adrien''s face hardened, the brief flicker of defeat from earlier replaced by a steely resolve. He pressed his lips together, his silence speaking louder than any words could. His eyes bore into Bruno, defiance clear in his posture despite his bound state.


    Bruno raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. He began to pace slowly in front of Adrien, his boots clicking against the cold stone floor with each deliberate step.


    "Silent treatment, is it?" Bruno asked. He stopped and turned to face Adrien directly. "Do you think this will earn you some kind of moral victory? Or are you under the illusion that your silence will protect the others?"


    Adrien''s jaw tightened, his breathing steady but tense. He refused to answer, his gaze unwavering.


    Bruno let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as if dealing with a petulant child. "You nobles are all the same," he said, his voice laced with disdain. "So quick to demand respect and loyalty from those beneath you, yet so eager to conspire against your own sovereign when it suits your whims."


    When Adrien remained mute, Bruno leaned in closer, his eyes narrowing. "Tell me, Marquis, do you love your family?"


    Adrien''s eyes flickered for a fraction of a second, betraying the crack in his fa?ade. It was enough for Bruno to see.


    Bruno smiled faintly, but it was a smile devoid of warmth. "Your wife, Camille. A refined woman, elegant in her demeanor. And Sophie¡­ your daughter. So young, so innocent." He paused, letting the words sink in. "I imagine you would do anything to keep them safe. Am I wrong?"


    Adrien''s silence stretched for a moment longer, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. His eyes darted to the floor, then back to Bruno. For the first time, there was a glimmer of fear in his expression¡ªa fear that gnawed at the edges of his pride.


    "I''ll ask again," Bruno said, his voice soft but unyielding. "Do you love your family?"


    Adrien swallowed hard, his throat dry. The image of Camille and Sophie, terrified and at the mercy of Elysean soldiers, flashed in his mind.


    "I¡­" His voice cracked, but he quickly steeled himself, forcing a facade of defiance. "You wouldn''t dare harm them. It would turn the nobility against you."


    Bruno tilted his head, his expression coldly amused. "Oh, Marquis, you misunderstand me. I have no desire to harm them. In fact, their safety is entirely in your hands. Their fate is tied to your cooperation¡ªor lack thereof."


    Adrien''s breathing quickened, and his mind raced. He knew he was cornered, and the fear that had crept onto his face now spread through his entire being. For all his bluster, he was a man who cherished his family above all else, and the thought of their suffering crushed his resistance.


    Bruno leaned back, giving Adrien a moment to absorb his predicament. "So, I''ll ask one last time," he said firmly. "Who are your accomplices? I want their names."


    "You promise that if I tell you who my accomplice is, you will let me and my family go?" Adrien asked, his voice strained, barely above a whisper.


    "You have my word. Cooperate, abide by the reforms, and live as a loyal citizen of the Kingdom of Elysea. Your family will remain unharmed, and you will be allowed to return to them."


    Adrien hesitated, doubt clouding his face. His lips pressed together in a thin line, and his breathing was shallow, uneven. He wanted to believe the prince''s assurances, but the nagging thought of betrayal lingered. Could Bruno, a man who had orchestrated his capture and humiliation, truly be trusted?


    Bruno observed the Marquis closely, the flicker of doubt not lost on him. He stepped forward and spoke to him.


    "Adrien," he said, using the Marquis''s first name for the first time. "You''re not the first noble to find themselves at a crossroads, and you won''t be the last. But make no mistake¡ªyour actions now will determine the future of your family. You can cling to your pride and gamble with their safety, or you can choose to protect them. The choice is yours."


    The weight of Bruno''s words settled heavily on Adrien''s chest. He glanced up at the prince, his own expression a mixture of fear and loathing. Every fiber of his being rebelled against surrendering to the man before him, but the image of his family suffering for his stubbornness was too much to bear.


    He exhaled shakily.


    "Count Duval," he said, the name falling from his lips like a stone. "He¡­ he has been the most vocal. He believes you will not stop until every noble in Corse is stripped of their power."


    "And the others?"


    Adrien hesitated again, his mind racing. He had crossed a line now¡ªthere was no going back. "Baron Vallier. Lady Genevieve. They were at the center of it, discussing ways to¡­ weaken your position."


    Bruno nodded, his expression betraying no emotion. "Good," he said simply. "Continue." S§×arch* The N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Adrien shifted uncomfortably, shame washing over him with every word. "Marquis Adrien Lavigne, though he has kept his involvement quiet. He''s¡­ cautious. And Renard¡ªLord Renard, but he''s hesitant. I don''t know how far he''s willing to go."


    Bruno remained silent for a moment, his piercing gaze fixed on Adrien as he processed the information. Finally, he nodded again and stepped back.


    "You''ve done the right thing, Adrien," he said calmly. "Your cooperation will ensure the safety of your family. But remember this¡ªif you think to deceive me, if you withhold any part of the truth, I will know. And should that happen, there will be no place for mercy."


    Adrien nodded weakly. "I''ve told you everything I know. So, you are going to start arresting them now?"


    Bruno shook his head. "Arrest them? No, that is no fun. I have plans for them."


    "What is it?"


    "You will see when you attend the banquet that I will host soon."

 Chapter 12 - 12: The Banquet

    October 13th, 1689. At Prince Bruno''s estate in Loretto.


    The day has arrived for the banquet Bruno had long intended. Lines of exquisite carriages, each adorned with the family crests of Corse''s most influential nobles, clattered to a halt at the grand entrance of the estate.


    Antoine stood at the entrance, offering polite nods and warm greetings as the nobles disembarked. His demeanor was welcoming, though his sharp eyes betrayed a readiness to act at the slightest sign of trouble. Behind him, a line of servants stood ready to guide the guests inside.


    "Lord Vallier, welcome," Antoine said smoothly as the older noble descended from his carriage.


    "Antoine," Vallier replied curtly, his tone cool. "It seems His Highness has spared no expense."


    "Indeed," Antoine replied with a polite smile, gesturing toward the entrance. "The prince values the presence of every esteemed guest."


    Inside the grand hall, the scene was nothing short of magnificent. Crystal chandeliers bathed the room in warm light, their glow reflecting off polished marble floors. Ornate tables, laden with silver platters of delicacies and fine Elysean wine, lined the room. A string quartet played softly in the corner.


    Lady Genevieve arrived shortly after, her calculating gaze sweeping the room as she entered.


    "Ah, Antoine," she said smoothly and continued. "I trust His Highness has something¡­ enlightening planned for tonight?"


    Antoine inclined his head. "The prince always has his ways of surprising us, my lady."


    Genevieve''s lips curled into a faint smile, though it didn''t reach her eyes. "Indeed." Sear?h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Count Duval was next, his broad frame filling the entrance as he descended from his carriage. He exchanged a few terse words with Antoine before entering, his face a mask of irritation. The nobles were clearly divided¡ªsome curious, others openly resentful, but all intrigued by what awaited them.


    At the far end of the hall, Prince Bruno stood atop a slightly elevated dais. His attire was impeccable, his high-collared coat embroidered with the gold insignia of the Elysean crown. His expression was calm, composed, but his piercing gaze swept over the room with purpose. This was his arena, and tonight, the nobles would play his game.


    Antoine approached the prince, leaning in slightly. "Your Highness, nearly all of the invited nobles have arrived. The banquet is proceeding as planned."


    "Good," Bruno replied. "Let them settle. I want them comfortable¡ªrelaxed, even."


    Antoine nodded and stepped back, blending seamlessly into the background.


    The banquet began in earnest. Servants moved deftly among the guests, offering glasses of wine and trays of hors d''oeuvres. Conversation hummed throughout the hall, with nobles exchanging pleasantries and veiled barbs.


    Meanwhile, Count Duval, who had been mingling with Lord Vallier and Lady Genevieve noticed something.


    "Where is Marquis Adrien?" Count Duval asked.


    Lord Vallier swiveled his head and looked for Adrien.


    "I don''t see him¡­is he not attending?"


    "That''s impossible, he had already expressed his intention of coming to the banquet," Lady Genevieve added. "Perhaps he is running late."


    "Anyways¡­that''s our lord sitting there. Look at him, he is just observing. What does he intend on gaining by hosting a banquet?" Count Duval said as his eyes were fixed on Bruno.


    "He intends to gain exactly what we''re doing now," Genevieve said coolly. "Talking. Wondering. Second-guessing ourselves. It''s a power play, plain and simple."


    Lord Vallier narrowed his eyes as he studied Bruno. "A power play, perhaps, but one with purpose. He didn''t summon us here for idle conversation or goodwill. He has a plan."


    Count Duval scoffed, swirling his wine with an annoyed flick of his wrist. "If his plan is to lecture us on loyalty and reforms, he''s wasting his breath. None of us are fools."


    "Careful, Duval," Genevieve warned softly. "You''re speaking loudly enough to be overheard."


    Duval waved her off dismissively. "Let them overhear. I''ve said nothing that isn''t true. The prince may believe he has the upper hand, but this banquet changes nothing."


    At that moment, the sound of a bell rang gently through the hall, drawing the attention of the nobles.


    A servant stepped forward and announced, "Your Highness will address the gathering shortly. We kindly ask all guests to find their places."


    The hum of conversation subsided as the nobles moved toward the arranged tables. Bruno remained on the dais, his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze sweeping over the room.


    As the guests settled, Lady Genevieve leaned toward Vallier. "Notice how he hasn''t mingled with anyone. He''s letting us stew in our own thoughts."


    "Or in our own fear," Vallier replied darkly.


    Duval, sitting across from them, muttered, "Let him try to intimidate us. I won''t yield."


    At the head of the room, Bruno finally stepped forward, his boots clicking softly against the polished marble. His piercing gaze met the eyes of several nobles before he spoke.


    "My esteemed guests. I welcome you all to this banquet¡ªa celebration, if you will, of the unity and strength of Corse under the Kingdom of Elysea."


    Some nobles exchanged wary glances, their skepticism clear.


    Bruno continued, undeterred. "Tonight, I intend to speak plainly. It is no secret that my reforms have sparked¡­ debate among the nobility. I have heard the whispers, the rumors, the dissent. And I have taken it upon myself to address these matters directly."


    Duval shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his earlier bravado faltering.


    Bruno''s gaze lingered on him briefly before sweeping across the room. "I believe in transparency. I believe that the path to a stronger Corse lies in cooperation and trust. But trust cannot thrive in the shadow of doubt and betrayal."


    A ripple of unease passed through the hall.


    "Which brings me to a matter of great importance," Bruno said, his voice hardening slightly. "There are those among us who have chosen to conspire against the crown. To resist the reforms that are meant to benefit not only Elysea but Corse itself. This is not speculation; this is fact."


    The room fell deathly silent. Genevieve''s hand tightened around her wine glass, while Vallier''s expression grew grim.


    Bruno stepped down from the dais, walking slowly toward the center of the room.


    "There was what you might call a whistleblower that blew the whistle about this treachery. Please introduce yourself."


    The hall was so silent that the faint clink of glasses being set down on tables echoed unnervingly. All eyes followed Prince Bruno''s gaze as he gestured toward the grand entrance. The doors creaked open, and every noble strained to see who would emerge.


    The sound of deliberate footsteps preceded the appearance of a figure that froze the gathered guests in their seats. Marquis Adrien stepped into the hall, flanked by two Elysean guards.


    Lord Vallier''s jaw dropped, his hand clutching the armrest of his chair as if for support.


    "It can''t be¡­" he whispered.


    Count Duval stiffened, his wine glass halting mid-air. His expression was a blend of disbelief and rising anger.


    "Adrien? What¡­ What is he doing here?"


    Lady Genevieve''s calculating mask faltered for a moment as her eyes narrowed.


    "He was supposed to be one of us," she muttered under her breath.


    Adrien stopped near the center of the room, his gaze briefly flickering over Vallier, Duval, and Genevieve before settling on Bruno. The prince''s expression remained calm, almost smug, as he looked down at the Marquis.


    "Marquis Adrien," Bruno said smoothly, his voice carrying effortlessly across the hall. "Thank you for joining us. I trust your presence here clears up any lingering doubts about the¡­ whistleblower I mentioned."


    A wave of murmurs swept through the room as nobles exchanged glances, some incredulous, others panicked. Adrien, however, stood silently, his hands clasped behind his back in a gesture of forced composure.


    "Now that he has arrived, let''s begin."

 Chapter 13 - 13: Name Calling

    "Marquis Adrien, you know who those traitors are, as you were part of them, correct?" Bruno began sharply.


    Adrien hesitated, his gaze fixed on the marble floor as every pair of eyes in the room bore into him. The silence was suffocating, broken only by the faint rustle of fabrics as the nobles shifted uncomfortably in their seats.


    Bruno took a deliberate step closer, his presence looming over the marquis. "You have already proven your cooperation, Adrien. Do not falter now. Speak."


    Adrien finally raised his head, his face pale but resolute. He opened his mouth, but the words seemed caught in his throat. The weight of betrayal hung heavy in the air, and the gathered nobles watched with bated breath, waiting for the axe to fall.


    "I¡­" Adrien began, his voice barely a whisper. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to meet Bruno''s unyielding gaze. "I will speak the truth, as I have promised."


    Lady Genevieve''s hand gripped the edge of the table so tightly her knuckles whitened. "What are you doing, Adrien?" she hissed, unable to stop herself.


    Adrien''s eyes flicked to her, regret flashing in them briefly. "What must be done, Genevieve."


    Bruno gestured for him to continue, his patience razor-thin. "Names, Adrien. Give me the names."


    Adrien inhaled deeply, his voice steady now as he spoke. "Lord Vallier. Count Duval. Lady Genevieve. These three have been at the forefront of the resistance."


    A gasp rippled through the hall, the nobles recoiling in shock. Vallier shot to his feet, his face contorted in fury.


    "This is slander! Lies spun by a coward to save his own skin!"


    Bruno raised a hand, silencing him effortlessly. "You will have your turn to speak, Lord Vallier. For now, I suggest you remain seated."


    Vallier glared at the prince but reluctantly sank back into his chair, muttering curses under his breath.


    Bruno turned back to Adrien, his tone demanding but measured. "Is that all, Marquis?"


    Adrien hesitated, his hesitation betraying that there was more to reveal. He swallowed hard, his gaze flickering to Vallier and Duval, who stared daggers at him.


    "There are others," he admitted, his voice lower now, as if hoping it wouldn''t carry. "Baron Lavigne was involved initially but withdrew from active discussions. And¡­ Renard. Lord Renard has expressed doubts but has not taken any overt action yet."


    Genevieve''s composure cracked, her face twisting in disdain. "You despicable worm," she spat, her voice trembling with barely suppressed rage. "You''ll condemn us all to save yourself?"


    Adrien''s face crumpled, guilt and shame written plainly across it. "I have no choice," he murmured.


    "I am sure prior to this event, there are other nobles who have joined your cause right?" Bruno asked.


    "There are," Adrien said and began calling out names.


    Prior to this banquet, Bruno had ordered the Marquis to act as though he had not been caught, to maintain his ties with the conspirators and stir their confidence. Adrien had reluctantly agreed, knowing that his compliance was the only way to ensure his family''s safety. Letters were written, discreet meetings held, and assurances given to the resistance that their plans remained secure.


    Unbeknownst to the conspirators, every move they made was meticulously documented and fed back to Bruno''s agents. By the time the banquet arrived, the prince had not only a list of names but a thorough understanding of the extent of their plotting.


    "Give me names," Bruno urged.


    Adrien''s breathing quickened as he looked across the room, his eyes scanning the faces of the gathered nobles. He hesitated again, knowing that every name he uttered would deepen the fissures in the noble class and condemn yet another ally. But he also knew that hesitation would only invite more suspicion¡ªand potentially, the wrath of Prince Bruno.


    Swallowing the lump in his throat, Adrien began to speak, his voice low and unsteady.


    "Lord Marcel of Pereth," he said, his gaze darting toward a middle-aged man seated near the end of the long banquet table. Marcel''s face turned pale, his eyes widening in disbelief.


    "What is this madness?" Marcel exclaimed, his voice trembling. "I''ve done no such thing!"


    Adrien ignored him, continuing with a shaky breath. "Baroness Elodie. She provided funding for the resistance under the guise of charitable contributions."


    Elodie, a stately woman with silver-streaked hair, froze in her seat. Her composed demeanor cracked as she gripped the edge of the table. "This is outrageous!" she snapped. "Adrien, you vile coward! You''ll lie and destroy lives to save your own hide?"


    Adrien winced at her words but pressed on. "Lord Bertram. He facilitated arms shipments to the rebels through his shipping company."


    Bertram, a portly man with flushed cheeks, shot to his feet, his voice booming. "Lies! These are baseless accusations! Your Highness, this man seeks to deceive you!"


    Bruno raised his hand, his expression calm but commanding. "Sit down, Lord Bertram. You will have the opportunity to address these claims, but not before Marquis Adrien has finished."


    Bertram reluctantly obeyed, though his fists clenched with fury.


    Adrien''s voice quivered as he continued. "Lady Sabine¡­ she was instrumental in coordinating communications between the conspirators and the rebels."


    Lady Sabine, seated near the center of the room, gasped audibly, her hand flying to her mouth. "I cannot believe this," she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. "Adrien, how could you?"


    Adrien couldn''t meet her gaze. He felt the weight of his betrayal like a crushing boulder on his chest, but he knew there was no turning back now.


    Bruno stepped forward, his piercing gaze sweeping over the accused nobles. "You see, my lords and ladies, the resistance is not a faceless entity. It is here, among us, woven into the very fabric of this room. And now that the web of deception has been unraveled, we will deal with it."


    With a flick of Bruno''s finger, the grand doors of the hall burst open, and a squadron of armed Elysean soldiers marched in.


    Their boots thudded against the marble floor, their muskets gleaming under the light of the chandeliers. The sight sent a ripple of shock and fear through the room.


    The nobles watched in stunned silence as the soldiers spread out, surrounding the hall.


    "By order of His Highness, Prince Bruno de Elysea," Berthold declared, his voice echoing through the room, "those named as conspirators against the crown are hereby placed under arrest."


    The tension snapped like a taut string.


    "You can''t do this!" Lord Marcel of Pereth shouted, his face a mix of indignation and panic. "I have done nothing to warrant this treatment!"


    Two soldiers approached him without hesitation, and grabbed him by the arm.


    As the soldiers grabbed him by the arms, Marcel struggled against their grip. "Unhand me! This is an outrage!"


    Baroness Elodie rose from her seat, her face flushed with anger. "You cannot arrest a noble of Elysea without evidence! This is a travesty of justice!"


    Her words were cut short as two soldiers gripped her arms firmly, pulling her from her chair. She resisted, her silver-streaked hair disheveled as she struggled against them, but it was futile. The soldiers did not flinch or respond to her protests.


    Lord Bertram, red-faced and shaking with fury, lashed out verbally as two soldiers approached him. "You dare touch me? Do you know who I am? This is an affront to the entire noble class!" His booming voice echoed across the hall, but it fell on deaf ears.


    One of the soldiers grabbed his arm, but Bertram attempted to pull away. With a swift motion, the second soldier seized his other arm, subduing him. His shouts devolved into curses as he was dragged toward the exit.


    Lady Sabine, trembling and tearful, pleaded as the soldiers neared her. "Please, Your Highness, I have children! They need me¡ªI beg you to reconsider!"


    Bruno''s expression remained impassive, his focus unwavering. He gave no indication that her words had even registered.


    The room was filled with the sounds of chairs scraping against the marble floor and the accused nobles'' desperate cries. Each plea was met with silence from the soldiers and indifference from Bruno, whose piercing gaze never wavered.


    Those nobles whose names weren''t called watched in silence, fearing that they might be next if they intervened..


    Lord Vallier stood defiantly as the soldiers reached him, his eyes blazing with anger. "You think this will break us? You think this show of force will make us bow to you?"


    The soldiers said nothing, their faces emotionless as they secured his hands behind his back. He strained against their grip but was swiftly overpowered.


    "This is tyranny!" Vallier bellowed as he was marched toward the door. "You will regret this, Bruno! The nobility will not stand for¡ª"


    His voice faded as the soldiers dragged him from the hall.


    Count Duval, his face contorted in rage, clenched his fists as the soldiers surrounded him. "You''re a coward, Bruno!" he spat. "Hiding behind your guards and your throne! If you were a true leader, you''d face us directly, not¡ª"


    A soldier stepped forward, grabbing him by the arm, and Duval''s tirade was cut short as he was hauled from his seat. He continued to shout insults as he was escorted out.


    Genevieve, ever composed even in the face of calamity, glared daggers at Bruno. "You may think you''ve won, Your Highness," she said icily as soldiers flanked her. "But this will not be forgotten."


    Bruno remained silent, his gaze locked on her until she was taken away.


    "Now then¡ªlet''s meet them outside," Bruno thought to himself. S§×arch* The N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 14 - 14: Loyalty or Death

    Outside the estate, the rounded-up nobles were filed in a row, their faces pale and drenched in anxiety as they stood under the watchful eyes of the Elysean soldiers. The night was eerily silent, broken only by the occasional shuffle of boots and the nervous murmurs of the accused.


    Prince Bruno de Elysea emerged from the estate''s grand entrance, flanked by his advisors and guards. The cold moonlight illuminated his stern expression, and his high-collared coat seemed to gleam with an almost otherworldly authority. He strode forward with purpose, stopping a few paces in front of the assembled nobles.


    "Lords and ladies of Corse," Bruno began, his voice steady and devoid of warmth. "You stand accused of treason against the crown¡ªa crime that strikes at the very heart of our kingdom''s unity and prosperity."


    The accused nobles exchanged panicked glances, some trembling, others stiff with defiance. None dared to interrupt.


    "Treason," Bruno continued, his piercing gaze sweeping over them, "is not merely an offense against the ruler. It is an offense against every loyal subject of Elysea. It is a betrayal of the trust placed in you as stewards of your lands and titles."


    He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in before delivering the blow. "The penalty for treason in the Kingdom of Elysea is death by firing squad. Furthermore, all properties, estates, and titles of the guilty will be confiscated by the crown."


    A collective gasp rippled through the line of nobles. Some stumbled backward, their faces contorted with fear and disbelief.


    "No!" Lord Marcel cried, his voice trembling. "This cannot be! I have served the two kingdoms faithfully¡ªthis is a mistake!"


    Baroness Elodie fell to her knees, tears streaming down her face. "Please, Your Highness! Have mercy! My family¡­ my children¡­ they depend on me!"


    Others joined in the chorus of desperation, their voices rising in a cacophony of pleas.


    "Your Highness, I beg you!" Lady Sabine sobbed, her hands clasped together. "Spare us, and we will dedicate our lives to your cause!"


    "Silence!" Bruno''s voice cut through their cries like a blade. The guards banged their musket stocks on the ground in unison, enforcing the prince''s command. The pleas died away, replaced by muffled sobs and strained breathing.


    Bruno''s gaze hardened as he looked down the line of condemned nobles. "You had your chance to stand with the crown, to support the reforms that would strengthen Corse and Elysea alike. Instead, you chose to conspire, to scheme, to betray. And now, you face the consequences of that choice."


    His tone was icy, unyielding, as he turned to the commanding officer of the soldiers. "Carry out the sentence."


    The officer snapped to attention and saluted. "Yes, Your Highness."


    The nobles erupted in a final, desperate chorus of protests. Lord Bertram struggled against his captors, shouting incoherently. Lady Genevieve, who had maintained a veneer of composure, finally cracked, screaming,


    "You can''t do this, Your Highness! You will answer for this injustice!"


    Bruno did not acknowledge her outburst. His expression remained impassive as he watched the soldiers prepare their rifles. The condemned were forced to their knees, their hands bound behind their backs.


    As the soldiers formed their firing line, the officer raised his sword, signaling his men to take aim.


    The nobles'' pleas grew quieter, some resigning themselves to their fate, others still muttering prayers or curses under their breath.


    The officer''s sword dropped.


    The night exploded with the deafening crack of musket fire, and the nobles fell, their voices silenced.


    Inside the estate, the muffled echo of musket fire reverberated through the grand hall, halting the quiet conversations among the remaining nobles. Their faces turned pale, their expressions shifting from discomfort to outright terror. Though none had seen the executions, the sound alone carried the weight of finality, leaving no doubt about the fate of those taken outside.


    A tense silence filled the room, broken only by the faint clink of a wine glass as someone''s trembling hand accidentally knocked it over. The nobles exchanged uneasy glances, many averting their eyes from each other as if any show of solidarity might mark them next for judgment.


    Prince Bruno re-entered the hall moments later, his boots echoing against the marble floor. The nobles instinctively turned to him, others had fearful expressions on their faces while some had a forced deference expression.


    Then¡ªseconds later¡ªthere was a shout from one of the nobles. sea??h th§× N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Long live the Prince! Long live Elysea!"


    The shout echoed through the grand hall like a spark igniting dry tinder. The noble who cried out¡ªa trembling man with sweat streaking his pale face¡ªraised his glass in a shaky toast. His voice was uneven but loud enough to carry, desperate in its tone.


    "Long live the Prince! Long live Elysea!"


    The hall fell into a tense silence, the nobles frozen as they weighed their options. Bruno''s icy gaze swept over the room, silently daring anyone to challenge the proclamation. The fear was palpable, an oppressive force pressing down on every soul present.


    Then, a second voice joined in, a younger noble seated near the back. "Long live Prince Bruno!" His cry was more resolute, though it carried the same undertone of fear.


    One by one, the others followed suit, their voices rising in an unsteady chorus:


    "Long live the Prince!"


    "Long live Elysea!"


    "Glory to the crown!"


    The nobles stood, raising their glasses in forced unity, their fear evident in their trembling hands and darting eyes. They chanted louder, their voices growing stronger not out of conviction but from the sheer terror of being the only one silent. To abstain was to risk drawing Bruno''s attention¡ªand potentially sharing the fate of those who had been taken outside.


    Bruno stood motionless, his expression as cold and unyielding as ever. He let the chant continue, the nobles'' voices growing more fervent as they sought to outdo one another in displays of loyalty.


    When he finally raised a gloved hand, the hall fell silent once more, the nobles'' voices tapering off into a nervous hush. His gaze lingered on them, his silence drawing out the tension until it was almost unbearable.


    "Your loyalty is noted," Bruno said at last. "But words alone will not ensure the prosperity of this kingdom. Loyalty must be demonstrated through action. Remember this."


    He allowed his words to sink in, the nobles nodding quickly, eager to show their compliance. Their fear had transformed into a desperate scramble for self-preservation, and Bruno knew it.


    Turning to his Chief of Staff, Antoine, he whispered.


    "Continue the banquet, tomorrow we will reorganize the island''s administrative system."


    "Yes Your Highness."

 Chapter 15 - 15: A Day After

    A day later, in Bruno''s estate. In his bedroom.


    Sunlight streamed through the windows, and the rays landed on his face, causing him to squint. Prince Bruno de Elysea stirred, his body slowly waking as his mind replayed the events of the previous night.


    The echoes of musket fire rang faintly in his memory, mingling with the desperate cries of the condemned nobles. His face remained impassive as he recalled the grim but necessary display of authority. There had been no room for hesitation, no space for mercy. Treason demanded consequences, and those consequences had solidified his power.


    He exhaled sharply, pushing the thoughts aside. The banquet, after the executions, had gone on without incident. The remaining nobles had sung his praises, their fear palpable, and their allegiance clearly declared. The fear he had instilled would linger, ensuring cooperation in the days to come.


    Bruno swung his legs over the edge of the bed, sitting up. The warmth of the sunlight did little to soften his resolve. Today, the real work began¡ªthe restructuring of Corse''s administrative system and the appointment of loyalists to key positions.


    Rising to his feet, he stretched briefly before summoning a servant. The attendant entered swiftly, bowing deeply before approaching to assist.


    "Prepare my bath," Bruno ordered, his tone even.


    "Yes, Your Highness," the servant replied, retreating to carry out the command.


    Moments later, Bruno immersed himself in the warm waters of the bath. The heat soothed his muscles, though his mind remained sharp, already calculating the day''s agenda.


    Once bathed and dressed in his usual attire¡ªa meticulously tailored high-collared coat adorned with the Elysean crown''s insignia¡ªBruno made his way to his office. His polished boots clicked against the tiled floor as he walked with purpose.


    The double doors to his office were already open, and inside, Antoine stood near the desk, a stack of documents in hand. His expression was composed but focused, as though he had been anticipating Bruno''s arrival.


    "Good morning, Your Highness," Antoine greeted, bowing slightly. "I trust you slept well."


    "Well enough," Bruno replied, stepping into the room and closing the doors behind him. "I see that you have arrived in my office early."


    "That''s because you willed it, Your Highness," Antoine let out a soft chuckle.


    "Let''s get to work then," Bruno said as he took his seat. "Do you remember what I told you yesterday?"


    "Administrative reforms?" Antoine recalled.


    "That''s correct, I want to reform the way the territory is being managed. What do you know about the current system in Corse in terms of administration?"


    "In simple words, feudalism."


    Bruno leaned back slightly in his chair, his fingers steepled as he absorbed Antoine''s succinct response.


    "Feudalism," Bruno repeated, his tone flat yet contemplative. "A system that has outlived its usefulness. The decentralization of power in Corse has bred inefficiency, corruption, and, as we witnessed last night, treason."


    Antoine nodded. "The nobles wield their authority unchecked in their respective territories, collecting taxes, enforcing laws, and maintaining their own small armies. It allows them too much autonomy, which in turn weakens the crown''s influence."


    Bruno''s eyes narrowed. "Precisely. Corse needs an administration that answers directly to the crown, not one that operates as a collection of independent fiefdoms. We will dismantle this outdated structure and replace it with one that centralizes authority."


    Antoine tilted his head slightly, curiosity glinting in his eyes. "Do you have a specific framework in mind, Your Highness?"


    Bruno leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk as he spoke. "A system of appointed governors and officials. Loyalists to the crown, tasked with overseeing Corse''s regions. They will report directly to the central government here in Loretto. Taxation, law enforcement, and military recruitment will be standardized under this system."


    Antoine nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Ambitious, but effective. Such a system would strip the remaining nobles of their power without requiring the sword¡ªa political victory as much as an administrative one. But the nobles that we executed, they have their small armies. What are we going to do with them?"


    Bruno''s gaze sharpened as Antoine posed the question. He stood from his chair, his hands clasped behind his back as he paced slowly across the room.


    "The small armies of the executed nobles must be dealt with swiftly and decisively. We cannot allow remnants of their power to linger, nor can we risk those forces becoming rallying points for discontent." S§×ar?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Antoine watched the prince intently. "Your Highness, are you suggesting disbanding them entirely?"


    Bruno turned, his piercing gaze locking onto Antoine. "Not entirely. That would be inefficient. Instead, we will integrate these forces into the royal army. Their leaders will be removed and replaced with officers loyal to the crown. The soldiers themselves will be given a choice: swear allegiance to Elysea or face dismissal."


    Antoine nodded thoughtfully, stroking his chin. "A pragmatic approach. It would bolster the strength of the royal army while neutralizing any potential threats. However, there may be resistance among the soldiers."


    Bruno''s lips curled into a faint, cold smile. "Resistance is expected, but it will be minimal. Their loyalty to their previous lords died with them. For most, survival and livelihood will outweigh rebellion."


    Antoine placed a document on the desk, sliding it toward the prince. "I''ve already taken the liberty of drafting a plan for the integration process. The officers we trust can oversee the transition, ensuring order and discipline."


    Bruno reviewed the document briefly, nodding in approval. "Good. Begin implementing this immediately. Start with the garrisons nearest Loretto and work outward. Ensure that the transition appears as seamless as possible to the common folk. I want this settled before we engage with the last threat."


    "The last threat being¡ª" Antoine paused and then remembered who Bruno was referring to. "You mean the rebels?"


    Bruno nodded in confirmation. "That''s right. A fight between our army and theirs is inevitable and is looming soon. We have to deal with them swiftly in order to regain peace and stability in the area. However¡ªit''s kind of weird that they haven''t made their move yet."


    "Perhaps they are preparing for something big?" Antoine said.


    Bruno sighed. "We shouldn''t talk about the rebels that much. They are nothing but nuisance. I am sure that when the day of confrontation comes, our army will emerge victorious. Speaking of the army, how are they?"


    "The locals are being integrated into our armed forces smoothly. Give it a month or two and we can send them in a campaign."


    "That''s better."

 Chapter 16 - 16: Overseeing the Progress

    November 1st, 1689 ¨C Loretto, Training Grounds


    Prince Bruno de Elysea stepped onto the hard-packed dirt of the training grounds, his polished boots crunching softly underfoot.


    Before him stood a formation of 500 men, their ranks perfectly aligned. Each soldier wore the standard-issue uniform of the Elysean army, and carried a standard-issue muskets.


    The army was meant to be 1,000 strong, but logistical delays had limited the availability of weapons, as blacksmiths and craftsmen worked tirelessly to fulfill the demand. Still, the discipline in the soldiers'' posture and the intensity in their eyes was enough to draw a faint nod of approval from Bruno.


    General Berthold approached briskly, his boots stirring dust as he came to stand beside the prince. He saluted crisply, his stern face betraying no sign of fatigue despite weeks of overseeing the troops'' training.


    "Your Highness," Berthold greeted. "The men are assembled and ready for inspection."


    Bruno scanned the lines of soldiers, his gaze sharp and evaluative. He stepped closer, observing the steadiness in their stances, the resolve etched into their expressions. Though fewer in number than intended, the men before him radiated readiness.


    "They look disciplined," Bruno remarked, his tone neutral but approving. "Though I understand the shortage of weaponry persists."


    Berthold inclined his head. "Yes, Your Highness. The blacksmiths and craftsmen are working around the clock, but production remains slower than expected. We are prioritizing quality over speed to avoid any equipment failures."


    Bruno nodded. "Good. I''d rather have half an army properly equipped than a full one ill-prepared. What is your assessment of their readiness, General?"


    Berthold''s chest swelled with pride as he answered confidently. "The men are ready, Your Highness. They''ve undergone rigorous drills, learned formation tactics, and are adept with the weapons we have so far. Morale is high, and discipline is holding firm."


    Bruno turned to face him directly, his piercing gaze locking onto the general. "They''ll need that discipline, General. On December 1st, we will march on the rebel base. I want this force to be sharp, unyielding, and prepared to crush their operations entirely. Can I rely on them to deliver?"


    Berthold straightened further, his tone firm. "Without question, Your Highness. They will not falter. Are we going to stick with the plan that you have drawn?"


    Bruno nodded. "That''s still the best plan we can draw given with our limited resources and time."


    Berthold inclined his head, his expression resolute. "Understood, Your Highness. We will focus on perfecting the execution of the plan during the remaining weeks. The officers are well-informed, and the men are showing promise in their drills."


    Bruno nodded before leaving the area.


    ***


    Thirty minutes later, he visited the alchemy workshop which is just five blocks away from the blacksmith workshop where the weapons are being manufactured.


    "Your Highness¡­I didn''t expect you''d visit so soon," Elias greeted him with a bow.


    "At ease Elias," Bruno said.


    Elias straightened, his hands still dusted with residue from his latest experiment. The alchemy workshop was bustling, its shelves lined with vials of various substances, and the air heavy with the scent of sulfur and ammonia.


    The rhythmic hum of machinery filled the room, emanating from the corner where the Haber-Bosch reactor stood¡ªa massive contraption of pipes and valves that dominated the space.


    "I wanted to see the progress myself," Bruno continued, his sharp eyes scanning the workshop. "How are the operations proceeding? Have you managed to stabilize the process?"


    Elias gestured toward the reactor, leading Bruno closer. "We''ve made significant strides, Your Highness. The reactor is running efficiently, and we''ve begun producing ammonia in quantities sufficient for your planned operations."


    Bruno examined the machine closely, his hands clasped behind his back. The reactor hissed softly, a controlled release of pressure escaping from its valves.


    "Good, ammonia production is key to ensuring we have the explosives and ammunition necessary for the campaign. How soon can we meet the required output?"


    "Given the current pace, we should be able to produce enough ammonium nitrate within two weeks to arm the artillery units and provide additional reserves. However, scaling up beyond that might require additional resources and manpower."


    Bruno nodded thoughtfully. "Two weeks will suffice for now. The blacksmiths and craftsmen are already under strain; we cannot afford delays on their end. Looks like after we exterminate the rebels, I''ll have to increase production."


    "By means of what?" Elias inquired.


    "By opening more workshops and factories. We are going to industrialize this island."


    Elias''s eyes widened briefly at the mention of industrializing the island, but he quickly composed himself.


    "A bold plan, Your Highness," he said. "Industrialization would not only enhance production but also cement Corse''s strategic importance within Elysea."


    Bruno nodded. "Precisely. After this campaign, I intend to reorganize Corse entirely¡ªnot just administratively but economically as well. We will no longer rely on antiquated systems. The island will become a hub of progress."


    "And it will be an honor to be a part of it¡­" Elias paused as he noticed Bruno walking over to the completed batch of ammonium nitrate.


    "Elias."


    "Yes, Your Highness?"


    "I want to do a test. I need enough ammonium nitrate to breach the gate of a fortified rebel stronghold. Something powerful enough to destroy both reinforced wood and iron."


    "How much do you need, Your Highness?"


    Bruno crossed his arms, thinking through the details of the intelligence reports. "The gate is approximately 3 meters tall, 2 meters wide, and 20 centimeters thick. Reinforced wood with iron bars. Assuming its tensile strength is around 50 MPa for the wood and considerably higher for the iron, I estimate we''ll need at least 5,000 kilojoules of energy to breach it."


    The explosive energy of ammonium nitrate is approximately 3.85 MJ/kg.


    Bruno began muttering aloud. "5,000 kilojoules divided by 3.85 megajoules per kilogram¡­ that''s approximately 1.3 kilograms of ammonium nitrate. Factoring inefficiencies and ensuring success, we should double that."


    He raised his head, meeting Elias''s gaze. "Prepare 3 kilograms of ammonium nitrate for the test."


    Elias blinked, visibly impressed by Bruno''s rapid computation. "Three kilograms? Understood, Your Highness."


    "When would you like this prepared?" Sear?h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Immediately," Bruno replied firmly. "I want a test conducted within the next two days. I will construct a gate to match the dimensions similar to the fort the rebels are hiding."


    Elias bowed deeply. "It will be done, Your Highness. I''ll begin the preparations immediately."

 Chapter 17 - 17: New Weapon

    An hour later.


    Prince Bruno de Elysea sat behind his polished oak desk, reviewing a set of documents when Antoine entered the room, bowing respectfully.


    "You called for me, Your Highness?" Antoine asked, his tone crisp and professional.


    Bruno looked up, his expression firm. "Antoine, I need you to commission the construction of a large wooden gate. Make it sturdy, reinforced with iron, similar to the gates used in fortified structures."


    Antoine raised an eyebrow, clearly curious. "May I ask what purpose this gate serves, Your Highness?"


    Bruno leaned back in his chair, folding his hands together. "It''s for a test. I need a structure that replicates the main gate of the rebel fort. This will be used to demonstrate a new weapon that we will deploy in the upcoming siege."


    Understanding the importance of the task, Antoine nodded. "Understood, Your Highness. I''ll coordinate with the carpenters and blacksmiths immediately. Is there anything else?"


    "Yes," Bruno said, his tone resolute. "Inform General Berthold. I want him and the soldiers present at the training grounds for the demonstration. They need to witness the power of this weapon firsthand."


    Antoine bowed again. "Consider it done, Your Highness. The gate will be ready in two days."


    Bruno nodded. "Good. Keep me informed of the progress."


    Antoine departed swiftly, already mentally preparing the list of tasks required to fulfill the prince''s orders.


    November 5th, 1689 ¨C Training Grounds


    Two days later, the training grounds were abuzz with activity. A massive wooden gate, reinforced with iron bars, now stood firmly erected at the far end of the field. Soldiers stood in formation nearby, murmuring among themselves as they eyed the strange structure.


    General Berthold stood to the side with Bruno, his arms crossed. "Your Highness, I must admit, I''m intrigued. This new weapon you speak of¡ªwhat exactly is it?"


    "You''ll see soon enough, General," Bruno replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "The soldiers need to understand the power we will bring to the battlefield."


    Nearby, Elias and his assistants carefully placed a clay container filled with ammonium nitrate against the base of the gate. A long fuse extended from the container, ready to be lit.


    Bruno turned to address the gathered soldiers.


    "Today, you will witness the strength of a new weapon. This is what will grant us the advantage in the coming siege. Watch closely."


    The soldiers fell silent, their eyes fixed on the setup.


    Bruno gestured toward Elias. "Proceed."


    Elias stepped forward, lighting the fuse with a torch. The hissing sound of the burning fuse filled the air as everyone instinctively took a step back, anticipation thickening the atmosphere.


    Moments later, the explosion rocked the training grounds. A deafening roar echoed across the field as the ammonium nitrate detonated, obliterating the gate in an instant. Splinters of wood and twisted iron flew in every direction, leaving behind a cloud of dust and a gaping hole where the gate had stood.


    The soldiers shielded their faces from the blast, their expressions were disbelief as the dust began to settle.


    General Berthold broke the stunned silence, his voice filled with astonishment. "Incredible. The rebels won''t stand a chance against this."


    Bruno turned to the soldiers, his gaze sharp. "This is the power we will wield against those who oppose the crown. With weapons like these, victory is assured."


    The soldiers erupted into cheers, their morale bolstered by the display. Bruno allowed himself a moment of satisfaction before turning to Elias.


    "Good work," he said. "Prepare more of these charges. We''ll need them ready for deployment."


    Elias nodded, still wide-eyed from the spectacle. "Yes, Your Highness."


    "We''ll revisit the plan a week before the siege," Bruno said to Berthold.


    "Yes Your Highness, I will be there, " Berthold bowed.


    Not far from the training grounds, a figure crouched low behind a dense thicket of bushes. His breath was shallow, and his heart raced as he observed the scene before him. The rebel spy, garbed in a simple cloak to blend with the common folk, had witnessed the explosion from his hidden vantage point. His eyes remained locked on the shattered remains of the gate, the splintered wood and twisted iron a testament to the weapon''s terrifying power.


    The cheers of the soldiers rang faintly in the distance, but to the spy, it was as though they were mocking him. The Elysean forces were no longer just a disciplined army¡ªthey had weapons of mass destruction at their disposal. The increase in their numbers and the sophistication of their new tools were signs that the rebels'' days of scattered resistance were nearing an end if nothing was done.


    His fingers tightened around the parchment he carried¡ªa map he had drawn detailing troop movements and resources around Loretto. Now, that map seemed incomplete, insignificant compared to the knowledge he had just gained.


    "This changes everything," he muttered to himself, his voice trembling. "If they bring that¡­ thing to Fort Cervo, our defenses won''t stand a chance."


    The spy knew he couldn''t linger. He had to get this information to Fort Cervo immediately. Every second spent hiding risked capture, and the rebels could not afford to lose this critical intelligence.


    He adjusted his hood, ensuring his face was concealed, and began his retreat, moving quickly but carefully through the underbrush. sea??h th§× NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Fort Cervo must know," he whispered, his resolve strengthening. "They need to prepare for this."


    The journey to Fort Cervo would take at least a day to get to the southern edge of the island and crossing would take another day. They still have time¡ªor not. He still hadn''t obtained one critical information, that is when they are going to attack.


    As he reached the edge of the forest and the faint outline of a village appeared in the distance, the spy slowed his pace. Villages were risky¡ªfilled with potential informants loyal to the crown. Still, he needed supplies for the journey ahead. Pulling his hood tighter, he steeled himself before stepping into the outskirts, blending into the waning hustle of villagers winding down their day.


    "Just keep moving," he whispered to himself. "Fort Cervo depends on this."

 Chapter 18 - 18: Fort of Cervo

    The early morning light illuminated Fort Cervo, perched on the rugged coastline of Sardinia. The fort, with its high stone walls and narrow watchtowers, bustled with activity as the rebels prepared for the inevitable battle. Soldiers marched in organized lines across the courtyard, and the clang of hammers echoed as blacksmiths worked tirelessly to forge weapons. Supply wagons rolled through the gates, carrying food, powder, and shot for the growing rebel force.


    At the gate, Paolo, the rebel spy, arrived after a grueling two-day journey. His cloak was caked with dirt, his face pale with exhaustion. As he approached the guards, they stepped forward, muskets in hand.


    "Identify yourself," one of the guards demanded, his tone sharp.


    Paolo raised his hands, his voice hoarse from days of travel. "It''s Paolo. I''ve returned from Loretto with urgent news for Commander Vittorio."


    The guards studied him for a moment before recognizing his face. They nodded and gestured him inside. "Follow us. The commander will want to hear this immediately."


    Paolo followed the guards through the courtyard. Around him, soldiers were sparring with wooden rifles, their movements stiff but improving under the guidance of experienced trainers. Large crates of ammunition were being unloaded by quartermasters, while others reinforced the fort''s walls with thick planks of wood and sheets of iron. The atmosphere was tense, with every person focused on their task.


    The guards led Paolo into the fort''s command room, a plain stone chamber dominated by a large wooden table covered in maps and notes. Around it stood several rebel leaders, their faces lined with fatigue and worry. At the head of the table was Commander Vittorio Salvi, a tall, broad-shouldered man with gray-streaked hair and a weathered face. His eyes narrowed as he noticed Paolo enter.


    "You''re back," Vittorio said. "What did you find in Loretto?"


    Paolo stepped forward, bowing slightly. "Commander, the Elysean army is preparing for an assault, and they''ve developed a weapon that could turn the tide of this war."


    Vittorio raised an eyebrow but said nothing, waiting for Paolo to continue. The other officers leaned in, their expressions grim.


    "They''ve created an explosive," Paolo explained, his voice urgent. "I saw it with my own eyes during a demonstration. They used it to destroy a massive wooden gate reinforced with iron. The explosion obliterated it completely. If they bring this weapon to Fort Cervo, our gates won''t hold."


    The room fell silent. Finally, Vittorio spoke. "What exactly are we dealing with? How is it used?"


    "It''s simple," Paolo replied. "They place a container filled with the explosive at the base of the target and light a fuse. The explosion is powerful enough to tear through anything in its path. It''s not like anything we''ve faced before."


    Vittorio''s jaw tightened. He turned to one of his officers, a young man named Rinaldo. "How are the gates holding up?"


    Rinaldo shook his head. "They''re solid, but if what Paolo says is true, they won''t withstand a blast like that."


    "Then reinforce them," Vittorio ordered. "Add more iron plating and strengthen the hinges. Use stone if you have to. I don''t care how it''s done¡ªjust make sure those gates hold."


    Rinaldo nodded and left the room to oversee the work. Vittorio turned back to Paolo. "What else did you see?"


    "Their numbers," Paolo continued. "They''ve mobilized about 500 men. Their soldiers are disciplined, well-trained, and equipped with standard-issue muskets."


    One of the officers, Antonio, frowned. "We only have a month to prepare. Do we have enough supplies to hold out?"


    "Our supplies are adequate for now," Vittorio replied. "But we''ll need to ration carefully. Antonio, make sure every wagon that comes in is accounted for. We can''t afford to waste anything." S§×arch* The n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Yes, Commander," Antonio said, already making notes.


    Another officer, Matteo, who oversaw the artillery, spoke up. "What about the cannons? If they bring those explosives, we''ll need to stop them before they reach the gates."


    "We have twelve cannons positioned along the walls," Matteo said. "But ammunition is limited. If we''re forced into a prolonged siege, we''ll run out."


    "That we can''t do. If we fail here, or if this fort fall to the enemy hands, there won''t be anyplace left for us to retreat to," Vittorio finished Matteo''s thought, his tone grim. "Fort Cervo is not just our stronghold; it''s our symbol of resistance. If it falls, so does the morale of every rebel still fighting."


    The room fell into a heavy silence as the officers absorbed the weight of his words. Vittorio turned to Paolo again. "Did you hear anything about their timeline? When are they planning to attack?"


    Paolo hesitated, his brow furrowing. "I couldn''t gather that information, Commander. I only know they are preparing diligently, and their morale is high. With their resources, I would estimate they could be ready to move in a few weeks."


    Vittorio grunted, clearly dissatisfied. "What are the possible approaches that they could make?"


    "Well, since we are on the other island, the only way for them to get us is through seaborne invasion. They will probably use their ships of the line or frigates to transport their troops and supplies. Once they establish a foothold near the coast, they could march directly toward Fort Cervo," Paolo explained. "The coastline around the fort is rugged, but there are a few landing spots that are accessible for a force of their size. If they''re well-coordinated, they could land undetected and move quickly."


    Vittorio nodded, his expression hardening as he digested the information. "Then we need to anticipate their movements and make their landing as costly as possible. Matteo, can we position some of our cannons to cover the likely landing points?"


    Matteo nodded. "Yes, Commander. We can move four of the twelve cannons closer to the shoreline. It''ll leave us lighter on artillery at the fort itself, but it should give us a chance to disrupt their landing."


    "Do it," Vittorio said decisively. "If we can slow them down or scatter their forces before they reach the fort, it''ll buy us precious time."


    Turning to Rinaldo, Vittorio continued, "I want a small detachment sent to scout the coastline. They''ll need to monitor those landing points and alert us the moment they see any movement. Choose men you trust, and make sure they know the risks."


    "Understood, Commander," Rinaldo said, leaving the room to carry out the orders.

 Chapter 19 - 19: The Confratation is Nearing

    At Prince Bruno''s Estate, all of the military staffers in the Island of Corse were gathered. Prominent figures such as Captain Duval, General Berthold, and other military officers.


    "Thank you for gathering here for this critical discussion," Bruno said, his eyes sweeping across the military personnel. "We have now a chance of crushing the rebellion that had plagued this island. Now, as for the plan, the two ships of the line that we have here will conduct naval bombardment off the coast of Cervo, where you will attract the main defenders of the fort to you. You will bombard their fort for two days, and they will think that we are simply bombarding them while our main troops will land near Cervo undetected through our frigates and breach the fort while the main forces are distracted."


    General Berthold leaned forward, his weathered face set with determination.


    "Your Highness, the plan is bold, but timing will be everything. If our landing party is detected prematurely, the defenders could regroup and repel the assault before we breach their gates."


    Bruno nodded. "Exactly why precision and coordination will be our priorities. Captain Duval," he turned to the navy officer, "your ships must maintain constant fire on the fort to ensure the enemy''s attention is entirely on the coast. The bombardment must appear relentless."


    Duval straightened, his uniform crisp as he replied. "Understood, Your Highness. We''ll keep their defenders pinned and disoriented. Our gunners are well-trained, and the ships'' crews are prepared."


    Bruno''s gaze shifted to Berthold. "General, your role is equally critical. You will lead the landing party. The moment the frigates drop anchor near the secondary landing site, you must move swiftly and silently. Speed will be our greatest weapon."


    Berthold gave a curt nod. "Consider it done, Your Highness. The men have been drilled extensively in stealth operations. We''ll strike before the enemy knows we''ve arrived."


    One of the younger officers raised his hand hesitantly. "Your Highness, what about their scouts along the coastline? If the rebels have patrols near the landing site, it could jeopardize the entire operation."


    Bruno acknowledged the concern with a slight tilt of his head. "I''ve considered that. We''ll deploy a small team of sharpshooters and scouts ahead of the landing party. Their task will be to neutralize any patrols quietly. They''ll clear the way for the main force."


    The officer nodded, reassured by the answer.


    Another voice spoke up¡ªCaptain Ricard, one of the artillery specialists. "What about the explosives, Your Highness? Will they be part of the landing force?"


    "Yes," Bruno confirmed. "Elias and his team have prepared charges specifically designed to breach the fort''s gates. These will be carried by the engineering detachment accompanying the main force. The gates must fall quickly to maintain the element of surprise."


    General Berthold spoke again. "I must say sir, I am duly impressed with the strategic planning that you have made. It''s easy but effective. Let''s just hope our plan survives enemy contact."


    "What are you talking about, General Berthold? No plan can survive enemy contact," Bruno replied, a faint smirk crossing his face. "But a good plan allows for adaptability. We have contingencies in place, and the men are trained to think and act decisively. That will be our strength."


    Berthold gave a slight nod, a look of respect flashing in his eyes. "As you say, Your Highness. I''ll make sure the men are ready to adjust as needed."


    Bruno turned his attention back to the table, where the map of Fort Cervo and the surrounding coastline lay spread out. He pointed to a marked section of the coastline, a narrow cove shielded by jagged cliffs. "This is where the frigates will anchor and deploy the landing party. The cove will provide cover, but the terrain is rough. The troops must move quickly and stay quiet."


    Captain Duval leaned forward, studying the map. "The ships of the line will maintain their positions here," he said, tracing his finger along the waters just off the fort''s main defenses. "The bombardment will draw their attention, but if the wind changes or visibility becomes poor, it could complicate our maneuvers."


    "That''s why timing is critical," Bruno interjected. "The landing force must coordinate with the naval bombardment. We cannot afford delays or miscommunication. The entire operation hinges on synchronization. That will be all. Make your final preparations and ensure our men are fully equipped and ready before the planned date."


    The officers nodded in unison, saluting sharply before filing out of the room, their faces set with determination. The sound of boots echoed against the stone walls as they dispersed to carry out their respective tasks. Only Antoine remained, who had been silent the entire discussion.


    "Antoine."


    "Yes Your Highness." S~ea??h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I''m curious, don''t we get an update from Elysea?" Bruno asked. He was curious about the development of the capital in the mainland but so far, ever since he was transmigrated in this world, there was no report regarding their situation.


    "There''s none Your Highness. I''m sure everything is alright over there. If something serious had happened, we would certainly be informed by our messengers," Antoine replied respectfully.


    "Is that so?" Bruno hummed in understanding. "My father has sent me to this island to prepare me for something unexpected, like you know my brothers not being able to ascend to the throne. I should give them updates of what''s happening over here."


    "That''s a wise decision, Your Highness," Antoine praised. "What would you like me to write?"


    Antoine tilted his head slightly, waiting for Bruno''s response.


    Bruno leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. "Write that we are on the verge of bringing order to Corse. The rebellion will be crushed. I want my father to know that, despite the limited military presence here, we have turned the tide. This achievement, I believe, is worthy of recognition."


    Antoine nodded, pulling out a small leather-bound notebook and a quill from his satchel. "Shall I emphasize your leadership and the strategic planning that made this possible, Your Highness?"


    Bruno waved a hand dismissively. "Focus on the results. Let the success of this campaign speak for itself. My father values outcomes, not words of self-praise."


    "As you wish, Your Highness," Antoine replied, dipping the quill into a small inkpot. "Anything else you''d like me to include?"


    "Ask him how he is," Bruno simply added. "Show him that I cared about him."


    "Very well, Your Highness."

 Chapter 20 - 20: The Confrontation Part 1

    December 31st, 1689 ¨C Off the Coast of Fort Cervo


    The sea was a vast, ink-black expanse as the two Elysean ships of the line approached the coastline under the cover of darkness. Their sails were furled, their masts cutting sharp silhouettes against the faint glow of the moonlight breaking through the clouds. Every lantern aboard had been extinguished, leaving the ships shrouded in near-total darkness as they glided silently across the calm waters. The crews moved with hushed precision, their boots muffled against the wooden decks as they prepared the cannons for the first volley.


    Onboard the lead ship, Elysea''s Pride, Captain Duval stood on the quarterdeck, his sharp eyes scanning the faint outline of Fort Cervo against the jagged cliffs. The imposing fortress loomed in the distance, its high stone walls faintly visible in the moonlight. The rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the rocky shoreline was the only noise that reached their ears.


    "Hold position," Duval murmured, his voice barely louder than a whisper. The helmsman adjusted the wheel, anchoring the ship in the designated spot. The second ship, Lionheart, followed suit, positioning itself parallel to the first. Both vessels now sat silently, their broadside cannons aimed squarely at the sleeping fort.


    On the ramparts of Fort Cervo, two rebel defenders patrolled the chemin de ronde, the narrow walkway atop the walls. One of them, a young man named Marco, clutched his musket tightly as he peered into the darkness. His companion, a grizzled veteran named Sergio, walked a few paces ahead, his steps slow and deliberate.


    "Anything out there?" Marco asked, his voice low. S~ea??h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Just the sea," Sergio replied gruffly, though his eyes never stopped scanning the horizon. "But don''t let your guard down. The Elyseans are cunning. They won''t announce their arrival."


    Marco nodded, his grip tightening on his weapon. The air was cold, and a biting wind whipped across the ramparts, carrying the salty tang of the sea. Just as Marco turned to glance at the cliffs behind them, a sudden flicker of light caught his eye.


    "What''s that?" he whispered, pointing toward the water.


    Sergio squinted, his heart sinking as he spotted the faint orange glow. The light grew brighter for a split second before a thunderous explosion ripped through the air. The ground beneath their feet trembled as the first cannonball struck the outer wall, sending a cascade of stone and debris flying into the courtyard below.


    The silence of the night shattered in an instant. Cannonballs from both Elysea''s Pride and Lionheart rained down on the fort, each shot accompanied by a blinding flash of light and a deafening roar. The once-peaceful sea erupted into chaos as plumes of smoke and fire rose into the night sky.


    Inside the fort, the rebels were jolted awake by the terrifying sounds of destruction. Men stumbled out of their barracks, half-dressed and disoriented, as the alarm bells began to toll. Commander Vittorio Salvi was among the first to emerge.


    "What''s happening?" he barked, his voice rising above the cacophony of cannon fire and shouting men.


    One of his officers, Rinaldo, ran toward him, his face pale. "The Elyseans are bombarding us from the sea, Commander! Two ships¡ªthey must have arrived under cover of darkness."


    Vittorio swore under his breath. "Get the cannons firing! Target those ships before they reduce this fort to rubble!"


    Rinaldo nodded and sprinted toward the artillery crews, who were already scrambling to load the fort''s twelve cannons. The massive guns, positioned strategically along the walls, roared to life, their muzzles spitting fire as they returned fire toward the Elysean ships. The booming echoes of the cannon blasts reverberated across the coastline, creating a deafening symphony of war.


    Onboard Elysea''s Pride, Captain Duval remained calm despite the chaos. He watched as cannonballs from the fort''s defenses splashed into the sea around them, some coming dangerously close but none finding their mark.


    "Steady, men!" Duval shouted over the noise. "Adjust the aim of the starboard guns! Focus on their artillery emplacements!"


    The gunners obeyed, their movements precise as they adjusted the elevation and trajectory of their cannons. Moments later, another volley was unleashed. The barrage struck the fort''s walls with devastating force, shattering stone and silencing one of the rebel cannons in a fiery explosion.


    Inside the fort, rubble and debris rained down on the defenders as they scrambled to reinforce their positions. Soldiers hauled sandbags and wooden barricades into place, their faces streaked with soot and sweat. Amid the chaos, Commander Vittorio shouted orders, his voice cutting through the din.


    "Rinaldo, get the wounded to the infirmary! Matteo, keep the remaining cannons firing! We must hold the line!"


    The Elyseans are attacking, does that mean this is the day that his spy warned him about a possible invasion from Corse.


    If that was the case, the ship of the line of the Elyseans must be distracting them from the land forces.


    "Don''t commit everything to those Elyseans'' warships!" Commander Vittorio barked, his voice cutting through the deafening roar of cannon fire and the chaos in the courtyard. "Man the main gate! If this is the invasion our spy warned us about, they''ll come by land while we''re distracted with their fleet!"


    The officers around him scrambled to carry out his orders. Rinaldo, wiping soot from his face, yelled to a group of soldiers who were hauling crates of ammunition. "You four! To the main gate now! Bring reinforcements to secure the barricades and make sure the gates hold!"


    The men nodded, dropping their loads and sprinting toward the gate with their weapons in hand. Meanwhile, Matteo continued to coordinate the cannon crews on the walls. "Reload! Faster! They''re focusing their fire on the western wall!" he shouted as another volley from the Elysean ships struck with a deafening explosion, sending stone fragments flying. One of the cannons tilted precariously from the impact, and Matteo cursed under his breath.


    Vittorio stood on the ramparts, his sword unsheathed, as he surveyed the scene below. Fires had broken out in several parts of the fort, and the wounded were being carried to the infirmary on makeshift stretchers. The Elysean bombardment showed no signs of slowing, and the rebels'' limited artillery was struggling to mount an effective counterattack.


    "Commander, the gate reinforcements are in position," Rinaldo reported, his voice strained as he arrived at Vittorio''s side.


    "That''s good. Now we try to defend ourselves against those ships."

 Chapter 21 - 21: The Confrontation Part 2

    The sun had risen and set twice since the Elysean ships began their relentless bombardment. Fort Cervo stood battered and bruised, its once-proud stone walls now pockmarked with gaping holes and smoldering debris. Smoke hung heavy in the air, a constant reminder of the devastation wrought by the cannon fire. Inside the fort, tension simmered as the rebels struggled to maintain order amidst the chaos.


    Commander Vittorio Salvi stood at the edge of the ramparts, his hands gripping the cold stone as he surveyed the damage. His face was lined with exhaustion, his eyes bloodshot from sleepless nights. Around him, the air was filled with the sounds of frantic activity¡ªsoldiers shouted orders, cannons roared intermittently, and the occasional scream of the wounded pierced the air.


    Behind him, a group of his officers had gathered, their expressions grim. Among them was Matteo, the head of the fort''s artillery, his face streaked with soot. Rinaldo, his second-in-command, looked equally weary but determined.


    "It''s been two days, Commander," Matteo said, his voice low but firm. "Two days of this constant bombardment, and still no sign of a landing party. What are they waiting for?"


    Vittorio didn''t answer immediately. His eyes remained fixed on the horizon, where the two Elysean ships loomed like ominous shadows against the morning sky. Their cannons continued to fire in coordinated salvos, each blast sending shockwaves through the fort.


    "They''re trying to wear us down," Vittorio said at last, his voice heavy with doubt. "Or perhaps this is their strategy. They want us to break before they even set foot on this island."


    "But what if they don''t plan to land at all?" Rinaldo interjected. "What if this is it? Just two ships sitting out there, pounding us into submission?"


    Matteo nodded in agreement. "If that''s the case, we need to act, Commander. We''ve been holding back our forces, keeping them at the main gate in case of an invasion that hasn''t come. Meanwhile, those ships are tearing this fort apart. We should reposition the cannons guarding the gate and focus our fire on the Elysean fleet."


    Vittorio turned to face his officers, his jaw clenched. "And if we do that, what happens if this is a feint? What happens if the moment we move our defenses, their troops land and take the fort from the inside?"


    The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of Vittorio''s words sinking in. Finally, Matteo spoke again, his tone insistent.


    "Commander, we can''t sit here and let them destroy us piece by piece. We''re running out of time, and those walls won''t hold much longer. If we don''t take the fight to those ships, there won''t be a fort left to defend." S§×arch* The n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    The room murmured in reluctant agreement. Vittorio''s gaze swept over his officers, each one looking to him for a decision. He exhaled slowly, then gave a nod.


    "Very well," he said, his voice steady. "Reposition the cannons from the main gate to the western wall. Target their lead ship first¡ªcripple it, and the second will be forced to retreat."


    Matteo saluted sharply. "Understood, Commander. I''ll oversee the repositioning myself."


    "Rinaldo," Vittorio continued, "keep a small detachment at the gate. If this is a feint, I want to be ready."


    "Yes, Commander," Rinaldo replied, already moving to relay the orders.


    The rebels worked with desperate urgency to reposition the cannons, hauling the massive guns and their ammunition across the fort. By late afternoon, six cannons were in place along the western wall, their barrels aimed squarely at the Elysean fleet. The crews were ready, their faces grim but determined.


    Vittorio stood behind Matteo, who barked orders to the gunners. "Range the target! Elevate by two degrees! On my mark, fire a volley!"


    The first volley thundered from the western wall, the recoil shaking the ground as six cannonballs hurtled toward the Elysea''s Pride. The lead ship rocked violently as one of the shots struck its hull, splintering wood and sending a plume of smoke into the air. A cheer rose from the rebels, their spirits lifted by the sight of the enemy taking damage.


    Onboard the Elysea''s Pride, Captain Duval steadied himself as the deck lurched beneath his feet. He glanced at the impact site, his expression unreadable.


    "They''ve finally decided to fight back," he remarked to his first mate.


    "Should we adjust our position, Captain?" the first mate asked.


    "No," Duval replied. "Maintain our course. Let them think they have the upper hand. Prepare the gunners for counterfire."


    The Elysean ships retaliated swiftly. Their broadsides roared to life, sending another devastating volley toward the fort. One of the rebel cannons was obliterated in the blast, its crew thrown to the ground by the force of the explosion. Smoke and fire filled the air as the battle raged on.


    "Reload! Keep firing!" Matteo shouted, his voice hoarse. The remaining cannons roared again, their shots finding their mark on the Elysea''s Pride. Another hit rocked the ship, and for a moment, it seemed as though the rebels might gain the upper hand.


    But the Elyseans were relentless. Their superior firepower and disciplined crews quickly turned the tide. The Lionheart joined the assault, focusing its fire on the western wall. The combined barrage was overwhelming, and the rebels began to falter.


    "Commander, we''re losing too many cannons!" Rinaldo shouted, rushing to Vittorio''s side. "We can''t keep this up!"


    Vittorio''s face was a mask of frustration. He knew Rinaldo was right¡ªthe fort''s defenses were crumbling under the relentless assault. But retreating wasn''t an option. Not yet.


    "Keep firing until I give the order to fall back," Vittorio said, his voice resolute. "We''ll make them pay for every inch."


    Captain Duval watched the flames consuming parts of Fort Cervo, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. "They''ve taken the bait," he said quietly.


    The first mate nodded. "Their cannons are concentrated on us now. The landing force should have no trouble moving into position."


    Duval''s smile widened. "Good. Let''s keep them distracted a little longer. Signal the Lionheart¡ªcontinue the bombardment."


    The first mate saluted and moved to relay the order. As the Elysea''s Pride unleashed another volley, Duval gazed at the distant fort, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.


    "The rebels won''t know what hit them," he murmured.


    ***


    Meanwhile, two frigates, carrying five hundred troops, reached the shore of Sardinia.

 Chapter 22 - 22: The Confrontation Part 3

    The crescent moon hung low in the sky, casting faint silver light over the rugged coastline of Sardinia. The jagged cliffs shielded a secluded cove where the two Elysean frigates, Shadow''s Edge and Seafarer, were anchored. The larger ships of the line, Elysea''s Pride and Lionheart, continued their bombardment of Fort Cervo in the distance, their cannon fire masking the movements of the landing forces.


    General Berthold stood on the deck of Shadow''s Edge, his arms crossed and his face set in grim determination. Around him, soldiers moved quietly, their boots muffled against the wooden planks.


    Berthold turned to his second-in-command, Captain Armand, a stout man with sharp eyes and a calm demeanor.


    "Are the men ready?" Berthold asked.


    "Yes, General," Armand replied. "The first wave is prepared to disembark. We''ve secured the sailboats to ferry the cannons and supplies ashore."


    Berthold nodded. "Good. The success of this operation depends on speed and silence. We can''t afford to alert the rebels before we''re in position."


    He turned to the troops assembled on the deck¡ªfive hundred men, their uniforms darkened with soot to blend into the shadows. Their faces were stoic, their weapons and gear secured to minimize noise. Behind them, small cannons, crates of ammunition, and barrels of ammonium nitrate were loaded onto the sailboats tethered to the frigate.


    "Listen closely," Berthold said, his voice cutting through the quiet. "This is not a fight for glory or recognition. This is a mission of precision and discipline. Our brothers on the ships are risking their lives to keep the rebels distracted. It''s our job to ensure that distraction is not in vain. We move quickly, we move quietly, and we hit them where it hurts. Understood?"


    A chorus of muted affirmations rippled through the ranks.


    Berthold raised a hand and pointed toward the shoreline. "Let''s move."


    The first wave of soldiers climbed into the sailboats. The boats, powered by long oars, glided silently toward the shore, their dark hulls blending seamlessly with the shadowy water. Berthold sat at the helm of the lead boat, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he scanned the shoreline for any signs of enemy scouts.


    The cove was narrow and sheltered, its rocky cliffs forming a natural barrier against prying eyes. As the boats reached the shore, the soldiers disembarked swiftly, their boots sinking into the damp sand. They moved to secure the area, their muskets at the ready.


    "Clear the perimeter," Berthold ordered in a hushed tone. "We can''t afford surprises."


    Scouts fanned out, disappearing into the surrounding vegetation. After several tense minutes, one of them returned, giving a silent signal that the area was secure.


    "Bring the cannons and supplies ashore," Berthold commanded.


    The next wave of boats arrived, carrying the first of the small cannons and crates of ammunition. Soldiers worked in near silence, hauling the heavy equipment onto the beach and covering it with tarpaulins to minimize its visibility. The ammonium nitrate barrels were handled with extreme care, their deadly contents too valuable¡ªand volatile¡ªto risk mishandling.


    As the final boat reached the shore, Berthold turned to Captain Armand. "We need to establish a staging area. Find a defensible position close to the fort but out of sight."


    Armand nodded and gestured to a group of officers. They unfolded a map of the area, illuminated by the faint glow of a shuttered lantern. Berthold leaned over the map, tracing a path with his finger.


    "There''s a cluster of trees here," he said, pointing to a spot less than a mile from the fort. "It''s close enough to stage the cannons for the assault but far enough to remain hidden. Use the natural cover to conceal our forces."


    "Understood, General," Armand replied. "I''ll lead the advance team."


    By the time the soldiers reached the designated area, the first hints of dawn were creeping over the horizon. The trees provided ample cover, their dense foliage shielding the troops from view. Soldiers worked quickly to establish the staging area, digging shallow trenches and camouflaging the cannons with branches and leaves.


    Berthold stood at the edge of the camp, his eyes fixed on the faint silhouette of Fort Cervo in the distance. The sound of cannon fire from the Elysean ships continued unabated, a constant reminder of the distraction that made their covert landing possible.


    "Status report," he said as Captain Armand approached.


    "All cannons are in position," Armand replied. "The ammonium nitrate has been secured, and the men are ready for further orders."


    Berthold nodded, his mind racing with the logistics of the assault. "Good. Have the engineers prepare the charges for the gate. We''ll move at nightfall."


    "Yes, General," Armand said before turning to relay the orders.


    As the day wore on, the soldiers remained hidden, their movements limited to avoid detection. Scouts reported back periodically, confirming that the rebels remained focused on the naval bombardment. Vittorio and his men had yet to realize that the real threat was now less than a mile away.


    In the staging area, the engineers worked methodically to prepare the ammonium nitrate charges. The barrels were fitted with fuses, their deadly contents carefully measured to ensure maximum effectiveness against the fort''s reinforced gate.


    Berthold inspected the preparations, his expression unreadable. "How long until the charges are ready?" he asked one of the engineers.


    "By nightfall, General," the engineer replied. "We''ll have everything ready for deployment." S~ea??h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Good," Berthold said. "Make sure the men know their roles. This assault must be flawless."


    As the sun dipped below the horizon, the soldiers gathered for a final briefing. Berthold stood before them, his voice steady and commanding.


    "This is it," he said. "The moment we''ve been preparing for. The rebels think their walls will protect them, but tonight, we''ll prove them wrong. Stay focused, stay disciplined, and follow your orders. Victory depends on each and every one of you."


    The soldiers responded with quiet determination, their resolve unshaken despite the risks ahead.


    As darkness fell over Sardinia, the Elysean forces prepared to strike. The naval bombardment continued, a relentless cacophony that masked the sounds of their final preparations. Berthold drew his sword, its blade gleaming faintly in the moonlight.


    "Move out," he ordered.


    The soldiers moved as one, their footsteps muffled by the soft forest floor. The cannons were hauled into position, and the charges were loaded onto makeshift sleds. Under the cover of night, the Elyseans began their march toward Fort Cervo, their eyes fixed on the prize that awaited them.

 Chapter 23 - 23: The Confrontation Part 4

    January 4th, 1690 ¨C The Outskirts of Fort Cervo.


    General Berthold crouched behind a cluster of bushes atop a small ridge overlooking the fort. In his hands, a pair of binoculars gleamed faintly. He raised them to his eyes, scanning the rebel stronghold.


    The fort was eerily quiet, save for the occasional shout of an order from within its battered walls. Smoke still curled from the damage wrought by the relentless naval bombardment, and Berthold could see rubble scattered across the courtyard. What caught his attention most was the main gate¡ªreinforced with iron, but conspicuously unguarded.


    He lowered the binoculars, his expression thoughtful but determined. "No sentries at the gate," he murmured, more to himself than to Captain Armand, who crouched beside him.


    "Perhaps the bombardment has them stretched thin," Armand suggested in a hushed tone. "They''ve likely committed their remaining forces to the walls and artillery emplacements."


    Berthold nodded, his mind racing. "It''s possible, but we can''t underestimate them. This could be a trap, though it''s a risk we must take."


    He turned to the engineers gathered behind them, their faces tense but resolute. Each man carried a carefully prepared barrel of ammonium nitrate, the fuses coiled neatly on top. Berthold motioned them forward.


    "Move to the gate. Keep low and stay silent. Set the charges at the base and wait for my signal to light the fuses."


    "Understood, General." S§×ar?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Berthold shifted his attention to Captain Armand. "I want sharpshooters positioned to cover the engineers. If the rebels spot them, I want those sentries silenced immediately."


    "Yes, General," Armand replied, motioning to a group of marksmen who were already taking up positions among the rocks and bushes.


    The engineers began their approach, their movements slow and deliberate. The barrels of explosives were strapped to sleds, which they dragged carefully across the uneven ground. The faint sound of their boots crunching against the dirt was barely audible over the distant thunder of cannon fire from the Elysean ships.


    Berthold watched through his binoculars as the engineers reached the edge of the fort''s shadow. The main gate loomed ahead, its heavy iron reinforcements glinting faintly in the moonlight. Still, there was no sign of movement¡ªno guards, no patrols. The fort seemed oblivious to the danger closing in.


    The engineers reached the gate without incident. The lead engineer motioned for his team to begin, and they set to work, positioning the barrels at key points along the base of the structure. They worked quickly but carefully, their hands steady despite the tension in the air. Once the barrels were in place, they uncoiled the fuses, stretching them to a safe distance.


    Berthold lowered the binoculars, his jaw tightening. "They''ve made it to the gate," he said quietly. "Now we wait."


    Unbeknownst to the Elyseans, Commander Vittorio Salvi stood atop the western wall, his eyes fixed on the distant flashes of cannon fire from the Elysean fleet. He had spent the past almost three days directing the fort''s defenses


    his focus entirely on the ships that had been pounding his stronghold into ruin. The idea of a land-based assault had crossed his mind, but with no reports of enemy movement on the ground, he had dismissed it as unlikely.


    "Commander," Rinaldo called out, approaching him with a hurried step. "The men are holding their positions, but we''ve lost another cannon on the western wall. The bombardment is relentless."


    Vittorio nodded grimly. "The Elyseans want us to break. We won''t give them that satisfaction."


    He glanced toward the main gate, his expression darkening. "Any word from the scouts near the perimeter?"


    "None, sir," Rinaldo replied. "It''s been quiet¡ªtoo quiet."


    Vittorio frowned, unease settling in his gut. He couldn''t shake the feeling that something was amiss, but the pressing threat of the naval bombardment demanded his attention.


    "Keep the men alert," he said finally. "We can''t afford to be caught off guard."


    At the base of the gate, the engineers finished securing the fuses. The barrels of ammonium nitrate were positioned strategically to maximize the blast''s impact. He glanced back toward the ridge, where Berthold and his men waited. He gave a silent thumbs-up, signaling that the charges were ready.


    Berthold acknowledged the signal with a nod. He turned to Captain Armand. "Order the sharpshooters to hold position. No one fires unless absolutely necessary. We need to maintain the element of surprise."


    "Yes, General," Armand replied, relaying the order.


    Berthold raised his hand, signaling for the engineers to retreat. One by one, they withdrew from the gate, moving with the same deliberate care they had shown on their approach. As they reached the cover of the ridge, the engineer approached Berthold, his face pale but composed.


    "The charges are set, General," he reported. "We''re ready to detonate on your command."


    Berthold placed a hand on the man''s shoulder. "Well done. Get your team into position and prepare for the next phase."


    Berthold turned to Captain Armand, his expression resolute. "Signal the artillery crews to be ready. Once the gate is down, we''ll need to move fast."


    Armand nodded, his face grim. "Understood, General."


    Berthold raised his hand once more.


    "Light the fuses."


    The engineering team sprang into action, igniting the fuses. The thin trails of flame snaked their way toward the barrels, casting faint, flickering light in the darkness.


    A deafening roar shattered the stillness of the night as the charges detonated. The ground shook violently, and a blinding flash of light illuminated the surrounding area. The gate was obliterated in an instant, the reinforced iron and heavy wood reduced to splinters and twisted shards. Smoke and dust billowed into the air, obscuring the gaping hole where the gate had once stood.


    Cheers erupted from the Elysean troops as the success of their operation became clear. Berthold raised his sword, his voice cutting through the chaos.


    "Move in! Secure the fort!"


    The soldiers surged forward, their muskets and bayonets at the ready. The element of surprise was theirs.

 Chapter 24 - 24: Battle in the Fort Cervo

    Commander Vittorio Salvi stood on the western wall, his eyes fixed on the Elysean ships that continued their relentless bombardment. Smoke and ash filled the air, and the vibrations from the cannon blasts had become almost rhythmic. His men were worn but holding the line, their focus pinned on the overwhelming naval assault.


    "Commander!" a panicked shout came from the direction of the courtyard.


    Vittorio turned sharply to see a runner sprinting toward him, his face pale and his uniform stained with sweat and grime.


    "What is it?" Vittorio barked, his voice sharp over the cacophony of cannon fire.


    "The main gate, sir! It''s been breached!" the soldier blurted, gasping for air.


    Vittorio''s stomach dropped. He grabbed the soldier by the shoulders. "What do you mean, breached? By what?"


    "There was an explosion, sir¡ªhuge! The gate is gone, completely destroyed. The Elyseans are pouring in from the rear!"


    The commander''s grip tightened. This was the attack he had feared, the one he had tried to prepare for but couldn''t pinpoint. His attention had been consumed by the ships at sea, and now the true threat had emerged from the shadows.


    "Sound the alarm!" Vittorio shouted. "Get everyone to the courtyard immediately! Secure the inner defenses!"


    The soldier saluted and sprinted off, his shouts echoing through the fort as the bells of alarm began to toll. Vittorio turned to Rinaldo, who had appeared at his side, his expression as grim as the situation demanded.


    "Rinaldo, take a detachment and fall back to the main gate. Slow them down at all costs. Matteo, keep the cannons firing on those ships; we can''t afford to let up there."


    Rinaldo nodded, drawing his sword. "Understood, Commander. I''ll do what I can."


    As Rinaldo hurried off with a group of soldiers, Vittorio clenched his fists. The Elyseans had played them perfectly. The naval bombardment was nothing more than a distraction, and now his forces were spread thin.


    "Matteo!" Vittorio barked, his voice cutting through the chaos.


    The artillery officer turned, his soot-streaked face filled with tension. "Commander?"


    "Divert two cannons to cover the courtyard! Aim them toward the inner gate, and have the crews ready to fire if the Elyseans push too far!"


    "But, sir, that will weaken our¡ª"


    "Do it now!" Vittorio snapped. "If we lose the courtyard, it''s over!"


    Matteo saluted and hurried off, shouting orders to his cannon crews.


    The once-calm interior of Fort Cervo had become a battlefield. Smoke from the exploded gate mixed with the chaos of Elysean troops pouring into the courtyard. General Berthold led the charge, his sword raised as his men fired controlled volleys into the disoriented rebels scrambling to form a defense.


    "Push forward!" Berthold shouted. "Take the courtyard and hold it!"


    The Elyseans moved with precision, their muskets firing in coordinated waves as bayonet-wielding soldiers advanced behind them. The rebels fought back fiercely, using whatever cover they could find amid the rubble and debris, but the suddenness of the attack had thrown them into disarray.


    Captain Armand approached Berthold, his own sword streaked with blood. "General, the engineers are setting up the cannons now. We''ll have additional firepower in minutes."


    "Good," Berthold replied. "Once the cannons are ready, focus on the remaining defenders near the inner gate. We can''t let them regroup."


    The Elysean engineers worked quickly, dragging small field cannons into position and loading them with grapeshot. As the first cannon roared to life, its deadly payload tore through a group of rebel soldiers attempting to rally near a supply cart. The rebels scattered, their morale beginning to waver.


    Rinaldo and his detachment arrived at the inner gate, their faces set with grim determination. He positioned his men along the makeshift barricades, hastily erected from crates and barrels. Muskets were raised, and the rebels prepared to hold their ground. S§×ar?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "They''re coming!" one of the soldiers shouted, pointing toward the smoke-filled courtyard.


    The first wave of Elysean soldiers emerged from the haze. Rinaldo gave the order to fire, and a volley of musket balls tore into the advancing line. Several Elyseans fell, but the rest pressed on, returning fire as they closed the distance.


    "Hold the line!" Rinaldo yelled. "Don''t let them break through!"


    The fighting was brutal and chaotic, with muskets firing at close range and bayonets clashing in vicious melees. Despite their determination, the rebels were outmatched. The Elyseans'' discipline and superior coordination began to turn the tide.


    From his position on the western wall, Vittorio could hear the sounds of the battle raging below. He clenched his jaw, his mind racing for a solution. The fort was crumbling, both literally and figuratively. If he didn''t act quickly, the Elyseans would overrun them completely.


    "Rinaldo won''t be able to hold for long," Vittorio muttered to himself. He turned to Matteo, who was overseeing the artillery crews.


    "Matteo, redirect fire to the courtyard! Target the Elyseans near the inner gate!"


    "Commander, if we do that, the ships¡ª"


    "The ships are the least of our problems right now!" Vittorio snapped. "Do it!"


    Matteo hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "Yes, Commander."


    The cannons on the western wall swiveled toward the courtyard, their crews working furiously to reload. Moments later, the thunderous booms of cannon fire echoed through the fort as the heavy projectiles crashed into the Elysean ranks. The blasts sent debris and bodies flying, temporarily slowing their advance.


    Those manning the cannons celebrated on their hit¡ª.


    Boom!


    The celebration was short-lived as the ground beneath the western wall shook violently. A deafening explosion followed, drowning out all other sounds. A direct hit from Elysea''s Pride had landed squarely on the cluster of cannons, obliterating them in an instant. Smoke and debris erupted into the air as splinters of wood and shards of metal rained down upon the rebels stationed nearby.


    Matteo was thrown backward by the force of the blast, his ears ringing and his vision swimming. He struggled to push himself up, coughing from the smoke that now enveloped the wall. Around him, the once-vibrant artillery crews lay scattered, some unmoving, others groaning in pain as they clutched their wounds.


    "Matteo!" Vittorio''s voice cut through the chaos as he scrambled to the fallen officer''s side. "Are you alive?"


    Matteo blinked, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused. "C-Commander... the cannons... they''re gone," he rasped.


    Vittorio''s face twisted in frustration. "I can see that! Can you stand?"


    Matteo nodded weakly, using Vittorio''s arm to steady himself. Around them, the western wall was in ruins. The last of their heavy artillery had been silenced, leaving the fort defenseless against the ships.


    "Pull back to the keep!" Vittorio ordered, his voice rising above the chaos. "There''s nothing more we can do here! All remaining forces, fall back to the inner defenses!"


    The rebels on the wall, those who could still move, obeyed the command. They scrambled down the crumbling staircases, their morale shattered by the loss of their cannons. Below, the courtyard was a scene of chaos. The Elyseans, emboldened by their naval support, pressed forward relentlessly, their muskets firing in disciplined volleys as they advanced on the inner gate.


    In the courtyard, Rinaldo continued to hold his position with the dwindling rebel forces. He shouted orders over the din of musket fire, his voice raw from exertion.


    "Reload! Aim for the officers! Slow them down!"


    The rebels fired another volley, but their numbers were thinning rapidly. The Elyseans, bolstered by their superior discipline and equipment, pushed forward like a tide that couldn''t be stopped. The rebel barricades, hastily constructed and poorly reinforced, were beginning to buckle under the pressure.


    "Rinaldo!" Vittorio''s voice reached him as the commander and a handful of survivors from the western wall rushed into the courtyard. "We need to regroup at the keep! The cannons are gone, and we can''t hold this position any longer!"


    Rinaldo turned, his face streaked with sweat and soot. "If we retreat now, they''ll overrun us before we can reach the keep¡ª"


    Boom!


    Another explosion erupted near the courtyard, and Rinaldo was caught from it.


    "Rinaldo!"

 Chapter 25 - 25: Last Step

    The once-proud fortress of Fort Cervo was now a shadow of its former self. Smoke rose from the crumbling walls, the acrid stench of gunpowder thick in the air. The courtyard was strewn with debris, shattered barricades, and the lifeless bodies of those who had given everything to defend the rebel stronghold. The surviving rebels had managed to fall back to the keep, their last refuge, but hope was dwindling.


    Inside the keep, Commander Vittorio Salvi stood in the dimly lit hall, his uniform torn and bloodied. The ragged remnants of his forces surrounded him, their faces etched with exhaustion and despair. The wounded were slumped against the walls, their groans filling the silence between the distant booms of Elysean cannon fire. Vittorio wiped the sweat and soot from his brow, his mind racing for a way out of the dire situation.


    "Barricade the doors," Vittorio ordered, his voice steady despite the chaos. "Use anything you can find¡ªtables, barrels, even rubble."


    The remaining soldiers moved quickly, dragging whatever they could find to fortify the massive wooden doors. Rinaldo, wounded but alive, leaned heavily against a broken spear for support, his face pale.


    "Commander," he said hoarsely, "we''re surrounded. There''s nowhere left to retreat."


    Vittorio clenched his fists, his gaze shifting to the narrow windows of the keep. Outside, through the thick smoke and haze, he could see the Elysean forces encircling them. Soldiers forming a line with muskets at the ready. Field cannons were being positioned strategically, their barrels aimed directly at the keep.


    Beyond the land forces, the ominous silhouettes of Elysea''s Pride and Lionheart loomed on the horizon. Their massive guns, which had already devastated the fort''s walls, now shifted their focus to the keep. Vittorio''s heart sank as he realized the full extent of their predicament.


    A trumpet blast shattered the tense silence, echoing across the battlefield. The Elysean forces halted their movements, and a single figure stepped forward from their ranks. General Berthold approached the keep with an escort of officers.


    "Rebels of Fort Cervo!" Berthold called out. "You have fought bravely, but the battle is over. Your defenses are shattered, your forces scattered, and your cannons silenced. Look around you¡ªthere is no escape."


    Inside the keep, Vittorio gritted his teeth as Berthold''s words carried through the air. His men exchanged nervous glances, the truth of the general''s statement sinking in.


    Berthold continued, his voice unwavering. "You are surrounded on all sides. My men hold every approach, and my cannons are trained on this keep. The ships behind me are ready to reduce it to rubble at my command. Surrender now, and I will grant you mercy. Resist, and you will all be buried beneath the ruins of this fortress."


    A heavy silence fell over the battlefield, broken only by the distant crackle of fire and the groans of the wounded. Vittorio turned to his men, their faces filled with fear and uncertainty.


    "Commander," Rinaldo said quietly, "we can''t hold out against that. If they fire on the keep... there''ll be nothing left."


    Vittorio''s jaw tightened. His mind raced as he weighed their options. Surrender meant the end of the rebellion on Corse, but continuing to fight would lead to certain death¡ªfor himself and every man under his command.


    Berthold raised his voice again. "I will give you until the count of ten to decide. Lay down your arms, and you will be treated as prisoners of war. Refuse, and I will show no quarter."


    The Elysean soldiers stood motionless, their muskets aimed at the keep. The cannons were loaded and ready, the gunners awaiting Berthold''s command. Even the distant ships seemed to hold their fire.


    "One!" Berthold began, his voice echoing.


    Inside the keep, Vittorio''s men shifted nervously, their fear palpable.


    "Two!"


    Vittorio took a deep breath, his heart pounding. Surrender felt like betrayal, but his men were looking to him for guidance¡ªfor a chance to live.


    "Three!"


    Vittorio clenched his fists, his gaze falling to Rinaldo, who gave him a faint, resigned nod.


    "Four!"


    The commander turned back to the doors, his decision weighing heavily on his shoulders.


    "Five!"


    Time was running out.


    "Six!"


    General Berthold''s voice echoed across the battlefield, firm and unyielding. Inside the keep, the rebels braced themselves, gripping their weapons tighter. Commander Vittorio Salvi stood unmoving, his eyes fixed on the shattered remnants of his once-proud fortress visible through the narrow windows. His mind was a storm of emotions¡ªrage, grief, and defiance.


    "Seven!" Berthold continued, his tone growing colder with each count.


    Rinaldo, leaning heavily against a broken spear, turned to Vittorio. His voice was faint but urgent.


    "Commander... please. We''ve done all we can. If we surrender, at least some of us might survive."


    Vittorio''s jaw tightened. His gaze swept over the faces of his men¡ªfaces streaked with blood, soot, and tears. These were men who had given everything to defend their home, their cause. To surrender now, after so much had been lost, felt like dishonoring their sacrifice. Yet, the logical part of him knew Rinaldo was right.


    "Eight!"


    "Commander!" a soldier near the barricaded door called out. "What are your orders?"


    "We have lost much," Vittorio said. "Our walls have crumbled, our cannons are silent, and many of our brothers lie dead. But if we surrender now, we hand the Elyseans the victory they have sought to steal with brute force. I cannot¡ªI will not¡ªgive them that satisfaction."


    "Commander¡ª" Rinaldo began, but Vittorio raised a hand to stop him.


    "They want us to kneel, to admit defeat. But we are Corseans. We do not kneel. If this is to be our end, then let it be on our terms. Let it be fighting."


    The room fell silent. For a brief moment, no one moved. Then, one by one, the men nodded, their resolve hardening despite the hopelessness of their situation. Rinaldo, though visibly pained, straightened as best he could and saluted.


    "Nine!" Berthold''s voice rang out, sharp and impatient. S~ea??h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Vittorio strode to the barricaded doors and turned to his men one last time. "Hold the line. Do not let them break us."


    "Ten!" Berthold called, his voice laced with finality. When no response came from the keep, he sighed disappointingly.


    He turned to his officers and gave a single nod.


    "So be it."


    Berthold raised his hand, signaling to the artillery crews. "Fire."


    The silence was shattered as the Elysean cannons roared to life. Explosive shells streaked through the air, slamming into the keep''s ancient stone walls with devastating force. The impact sent shockwaves through the structure, dislodging chunks of masonry and filling the air with dust and debris. Inside, the rebels staggered under the onslaught, shielding their faces from falling rubble.


    "Brace yourselves!" Vittorio shouted, his voice barely audible over the deafening bombardment.


    Outside, the Elysean musketeers advanced in disciplined lines, their weapons aimed at the windows and arrow slits. As soon as the cannons paused to reload, the muskets opened fire in unison, sending a deadly hail of lead into the keep. The rebels returned fire from their limited vantage points, but their numbers were too few, their weapons too scattered.


    Berthold stood at the forefront of his forces, his sword drawn. "Push forward!" he commanded. "The walls won''t hold much longer."


    The Elysean cannons unleashed another volley, this time targeting the weakened gate of the keep. The reinforced wood splintered under the repeated blows, and with a final, deafening crack, it gave way. Elysean soldiers surged forward, their bayonets gleaming in the faint light.


    "Hold the line!" Vittorio roared, his voice a rallying cry for his beleaguered men.


    The rebels met the Elyseans head-on in a chaotic melee. Muskets were fired at point-blank range, bayonets clashed against swords, and the narrow confines of the keep became a brutal battleground. Vittorio fought at the forefront, his blade cutting through the Elysean ranks with desperate fury. Around him, his men fought with everything they had, refusing to yield even as their numbers dwindled.


    Outside, the Elysean ships of the line adjusted their aim, their massive cannons targeting the upper levels of the keep. With a thunderous roar, they fired in unison, obliterating entire sections of the structure. The walls began to crumble, and the roof buckled under the relentless assault.


    "Commander!" Rinaldo shouted, blood streaming from a wound on his forehead. "The keep won''t hold!"


    Vittorio glanced around, taking in the devastation. The Elyseans were everywhere, their discipline and firepower overwhelming the last pockets of rebel resistance. Yet, even in the face of certain defeat, he refused to surrender.


    "We fight to the end!"

 Chapter 26 - 26: The Rebels are No More

    January 12th, 1690 ¨C Fort Cervo, Occupied by Elysean Forces.


    The air was crisp and carried the faint scent of salt from the nearby sea as Prince Bruno de Elysea stepped off his carriage. The prince, clad in a dark blue military coat adorned with silver trim, adjusted his gloves and surveyed the scene before him. Fort Cervo, once the defiant bastion of rebellion on Corse, now bore the scars of conquest. Its towering walls were blackened with soot, and the courtyard remained a patchwork of rubble and hastily cleared debris. Yet, the fort stood under Elysean control.


    Soldiers lined the path from the outer gates to the battered keep, their uniforms pristine despite the chaos that had transpired only a week prior. Muskets rested against their shoulders, and their boots gleamed in the morning sunlight. Their posture was impeccable, every man standing stiffly at attention as the prince passed, their eyes locked straight ahead. sea??h th§× nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Flanked by his personal guards, Bruno walked with measured steps, his polished boots crunching softly against the gravel. His expression was calm, almost indifferent, as if the destruction around him was merely an expected consequence of war. The soft murmur of a distant breeze and the faint creak of leather harnesses were the only sounds that accompanied him.


    At the far end of the path, in front of the keep''s crumbling fa?ade, General Berthold stood in sharp contrast to the ruins around him. His uniform bore the wear of battle¡ªa small tear on one sleeve, soot stains on the hem¡ªbut it was meticulously maintained. His sword hung at his side, its polished hilt catching the light, and his hands were clasped behind his back. Despite the exhaustion etched into his features, he radiated the composure of a seasoned commander.


    As the prince approached, the soldiers lining the path snapped to salute in perfect unison. Bruno''s expression remained unchanged, though he acknowledged their discipline with a subtle nod. His gaze shifted to Berthold, who stood resolute, his eyes fixed forward in anticipation.


    When Bruno stopped a few paces away, Berthold brought his heels together and bowed deeply, his voice crisp and authoritative as he spoke.


    "Your Highness, welcome to Fort Cervo. The rebellion has been crushed, and the fort is secure under Elysean control. All has been prepared for your inspection."


    Bruno regarded the general for a moment, his sharp eyes taking in every detail of the man who had orchestrated this victory.


    Then, with a faint smile, he replied, "Well done, General Berthold. Your efficiency and discipline are to be commended. Few could have achieved what you and your men have here."


    Berthold straightened, though he did not allow himself to appear overly proud. "Thank you, Your Highness. The men performed admirably. Their discipline and sacrifice were crucial in bringing this campaign to a swift conclusion."


    Bruno''s gaze drifted past Berthold to the keep, its damaged fa?ade standing as a grim reminder of the battle that had unfolded within. "The keep," he said, his tone contemplative. "Does it still stand as a symbol of defiance, or have we ensured its legacy is that of a failed rebellion?"


    "It stands only as a ruin now," Berthold replied. "The last remnants of resistance fell within these walls. The Rebels fought fiercely, but they were outmatched. Their commander, Vittorio Salvi, fought to the very end. He refused to surrender, even when all hope was lost."


    Bruno''s lips pressed into a thin line. "And his men?"


    "Most were killed in the fighting. The few who survived are being held as prisoners. They will await your orders regarding their fate."


    Bruno nodded absently, his thoughts momentarily elsewhere. Then, with a sharp turn, he gestured toward the keep. "Show me the aftermath. I want to see for myself the price of this victory."


    "Of course, Your Highness." Berthold turned and motioned for the prince to follow him toward the crumbling structure.


    As they approached the keep, the soldiers standing nearby saluted once more. The air grew heavier, the shadows of the ruined walls casting long stretches of darkness across the courtyard. The prince''s steps slowed as he crossed the threshold into the remnants of the rebel stronghold, his eyes scanning the scorched stone and scattered remnants of barricades.


    "Tell me, General," Bruno said, his voice cutting through the silence, "what do you make of these rebels? Are they fools, or do they possess something more dangerous¡ªconviction?"


    Berthold hesitated for a moment before answering. "They were not fools, Your Highness. They fought with the conviction of men who believed in their cause. But conviction alone does not win wars. Strategy and strength prevailed, as they always do."


    Bruno paused, resting a gloved hand on the jagged edge of a broken wall. "Conviction can be a dangerous thing, General. If it lingers, if it festers, it can spark another rebellion. We must ensure this island understands the futility of resistance."


    Berthold inclined his head. "Your Highness, the victory here has shattered their morale. Corse will be pacified, and any lingering resistance will be dealt with swiftly."


    The prince''s gaze lingered on the ruins for a moment longer before he turned to face Berthold. "See to it, General. I want Corse to remember this day not as a tragedy, but as a lesson in the unassailable strength of Elysea. Leave nothing to chance."


    "As you command, Your Highness," Berthold replied, his voice steady.


    Bruno''s eyes swept the courtyard once more before he took a step back, his expression inscrutable.


    "Let us finish this inspection. There is much to be done, and I have no intention of lingering in this place longer than necessary."


    "As for the prisoners of war, Your Highness? What are we to do about them?" General Berthold asked.


    "Hmm¡­" Bruno hummed as he contemplated. "Well, we can''t let them live, they are a symbol of rebellion. If we are to spare them, there will come a time where they will revolt if opportunity comes. So, execute them, General."


    "As you wish, Your Highness."

 Chapter 27 - 27: Two Years Later

    January 20th, 1690 ¨C Loretto, Capital of Corse


    Prince Bruno de Elysea stood atop the grand balcony of the Governor''s Palace in Loretto, overlooking the city square where hundreds had gathered. The people of Corse¡ªnobles, merchants, and common folk alike¡ªfilled the streets.


    Behind Bruno, members of his retinue stood in disciplined silence. General Berthold was among them, his posture rigid as he observed the restless crowd below. The victory at Fort Cervo had been decisive, and now it was time to cement Elysean authority over Corse.


    Bruno raised a hand, and the murmuring crowd fell into silence. His voice was firm, carrying across the square with an unwavering tone.


    "People of Corse, the rebellion has been crushed. The forces that sought to defy the rightful rule of Elysea have been annihilated, and Fort Cervo stands under our control. The traitors who led this futile uprising met their end, and those who followed them have paid the price for their disloyalty."


    A murmur spread through the crowd, but no one dared to speak against the prince. Bruno continued.


    "With this victory, order is restored. No longer will Corse be plagued by instability and treachery. Under my rule, you will have peace, prosperity, and security. The Elysean crown does not seek to destroy, but to unify. Those who accept this new order will thrive. Those who resist will share the fate of the rebels."


    He paused, scanning the crowd for any sign of dissent. The silence that followed was heavy, but it was the silence of resignation. Bruno gave a small nod.


    "From this day forward, Corse belongs fully to Elysea. It will be governed with strength and wisdom. Let today be the beginning of a new era¡ªone of stability, progress, and order."


    With that, Bruno stepped back, signaling the end of the proclamation. The soldiers lining the streets struck their muskets against the cobblestone in unison, a show of force and finality. The message was clear¡ªElysea had won, and Corse would kneel.


    ***


    Two years later, the landscape of Corse had changed drastically. What was once a region defined by instability and rebellion was now being transformed under Prince Bruno''s rule.


    One of the prince''s first major initiatives was the establishment of public schools across Corse. These institutions were modeled after the best learning centers in Elysea, focused on literacy, arithmetic, and vocational skills. Attendance was not yet mandatory, but incentives were put in place to encourage commoners to send their children. Scholarships were introduced for promising students, particularly in the fields of engineering, law, and finance¡ªall essential to the new order.


    Additionally, Bruno enacted legal reforms, consolidating local laws under Elysean governance. Courts were reorganized to prevent arbitrary rulings, ensuring uniformity in justice. Corrupt officials, many of whom had exploited the instability before Elysean control, were swiftly removed and replaced with more competent administrators.


    Bruno''s next major move was the monetary reform. The island''s previous fragmented system, where local merchants relied on a mix of bartering, foreign coins, and promissory notes, was replaced with a standardized Elysean currency.


    A new central mint was established in Loretto to produce gold and silver coins marked with Elysean insignias, eliminating reliance on foreign mints. This move stabilized the economy, reduced fraud, and facilitated large-scale trade. Banks, previously few and unregulated, were now under the supervision of the Elysean Bureau of Finance, ensuring consistency and security for investors.


    Bruno understood that true power came not just from military dominance but from economic and industrial strength. He directed funding toward infrastructure projects, including paved roads, bridges, and ports, ensuring that goods could move efficiently across the island.


    The largest transformation, however, came from the rise of industrial sites.


    One late afternoon, Bruno visited a steel production facility in the industrial sector outside Loretto. Dressed in a reinforced coat and wearing protective gloves, he stood at the observation platform, watching as workers operated massive Bessemer converters, turning molten iron into steel.


    The facility was one of many built under his orders, its blast furnaces roaring, emitting an intense glow as liquid metal poured into molds. Engineers and workers¡ªmany of whom had been trained through the newly established technical academies worked methodically.


    "Your Highness," one of the industrial supervisors, Julien Moreau, approached and bowed. "Production has increased significantly since last year. With the new furnaces, we expect a 20% rise in output by the end of this quarter."


    Bruno nodded, observing as workers used crane systems to transport the heavy steel beams. "And what of the labor force? Are they trained to maintain this pace?"


    Julien gestured toward a nearby section where younger workers were being supervised by skilled metallurgists.


    "We have integrated an apprenticeship program. Most of these men were farmhands before the reforms, but with proper training, they are becoming proficient steelworkers."


    Bruno walked further along the observation deck, glancing down at the rolling mills, where red-hot steel was being shaped into rails, beams, and machinery parts.


    "We are building an industry that will secure Elysea''s dominance for the next century," Bruno remarked. "Steel will not only be used for construction¡ªit will arm our fleets, strengthen our cannons, and ensure our railways expand across the empire."


    Julien nodded in agreement. "With this facility alone, we can now supply the navy, the rail projects, and major infrastructure expansions. Also we can export those excess steel to other nations, Your Highness."


    Bruno exhaled, pleased. "Good. The more self-sufficient Corse becomes, the stronger our grip on the region. Have the finance ministry oversee negotiations for exports. We will prioritize our own military and infrastructure first, but surplus production must not go to waste."


    Julien nodded. "Of course, Your Highness. The markets are eager, and with consistent output, we will be able to establish Corse as an industrial hub for the empire." Sear?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Bruno continued along the observation deck, his sharp gaze assessing the rows of rolling mills, the rhythmic pounding of steel against steel echoing through the facility. He turned to one of the engineers overseeing the molten steel pouring process.


    "How soon before we can produce specialized alloys?"


    The engineer, an older man with calloused hands and a soot-streaked coat, hesitated before answering. "If we refine our methods and acquire more skilled labor, we could begin producing high-carbon steel and ship-grade plating within months."


    "Very well, we will invite more."


    ***


    Later that week, Bruno visited another critical project¡ªthe steam engine production facility. Located near one of Corse''s coal mines, this facility was tasked with manufacturing steam locomotives, stationary engines, and naval propulsion systems.


    Bruno entered the cavernous assembly hall, where massive iron components were being bolted together by teams of mechanics and engineers.


    The air was thick with the scent of oil and coal, the sounds of hissing steam and grinding metal filling the space.


    Thomas Beaulieu, the facility''s lead engineer, approached and bowed. "Your Highness, welcome. We are currently assembling the second batch of steam engines for the upcoming rail expansion."


    Bruno walked past a row of half-built locomotives, each one in varying stages of completion. "What of naval engines? Have we made progress on steam-powered warships?"


    Beaulieu gestured toward a side section of the factory where a steam turbine prototype was being tested. "This model is still experimental, but once refined, it will be more efficient than sailmast. Your Highness, your genius in engineering always astounds me when I work on those machines. You came up with everything. Is the capital already that advanced?"


    Bruno shook his head. "No, I don''t think the capital has something that we have here. For now, in this world, we are the only place where industrialization is present. Keep up the good work."


    While Bruno was inspecting the site, Antoine ran towards him.


    "Your Highness!"


    Bruno glanced over his shoulder and saw Antoine.


    "Antoine," he said, fully turning towards him. "What is it?"


    "Your Highness¡ªI have urgent news! There is an Elysean Fleet heading towards the port."


    "Did you just say Elysean fleet?" Bruno repeated. For almost three years, Bruno hasn''t had any contact with the mainland, and this is the first time that he might establish one.


    After all, what he was doing here was a test to see if he is a capable ruler. Well, if he can present to the crown that he had increased the economy, the way of life, and infrastructure. He could land himself a spot to the crown.


    Though not that he wanted the crown. He wanted recognition of his works, and if they were going to recall him to the capital, he would refuse and stay on the island.


    "Your Highness? What should we do?"


    "Well, Antoine, there is only one thing we can do. Let''s welcome them," Bruno replied.

 Chapter 28 - 28: Unusual Welcome

    January 10th, 1693 ¨C Port of Loretto, Corse.


    Bruno stood atop the fortified balcony of the Governor''s Mansion, his hands resting on the stone railing as his eyes remained fixed on the horizon. The air was crisp, the salty breeze from the sea carrying the distant sound of rolling waves. Behind him, Antoine and several high-ranking government officials, military officers, and industrial magnates gathered.


    The Elysean fleet¡ªover twenty ships of the line¡ªwas approaching the harbor of Loretto. It was an imposing sight, their towering masts cutting through the morning haze, their hulls gleaming under the sun. Bruno had waited nearly three years for word from the mainland, and now, at last, it had come.


    Yet, something was wrong.


    The fleet had not entered the port in a staggered approach. Instead, the warships formed a line, sailing broadside to the city¡ªa classic battle formation. The maneuver sent a cold chill down Bruno''s spine. His brows furrowed as he studied the alignment of the ships.


    "What are they doing?" he muttered.


    Antoine, standing beside him, frowned. "That''s not a ceremonial approach. That''s¡ª"


    Captain Duval, one of Corse''s senior naval officers, stiffened as he observed the fleet through his spyglass. His face drained of color as realization dawned on him.


    "That''s a broadside formation," Duval said, lowering the spyglass. "They only do that when they''re about to open fire."


    Bruno snapped his gaze to Duval. "Are you certain?"


    "Yes," Duval said gravely. "And if I''m not mistaken¡ª"


    Boom.


    A deafening roar shattered the uneasy silence.


    The Elysean fleet had fired.


    A volley of cannon fire tore through the air, their projectiles streaking toward the harbor like black meteors. Seconds later, impact¡ªthe first shots slammed into the two ships of the line stationed in the port, both flying the Elysean flag.


    The Pride was struck amidships, its hull splitting apart as a series of explosions erupted from within. The shockwave sent sailors and dockworkers hurtling into the water. The second ship, Lionheart, took a full broadside to its stern, its masts snapping like twigs, debris raining down onto the deck.


    Panic erupted.


    The port descended into chaos as the cannonballs struck the warehouses, merchant ships, and supply depots along the docks. Civilians screamed and ran for their lives. sea??h th§× Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Smoke billowed into the sky as fires broke out across the harbor.


    Bruno''s eyes widened in disbelief.


    "They''re firing on us?" Antoine choked out, his voice laced with shock.


    Bruno whipped around, his gaze snapping to Captain Duval.


    "This isn''t a misunderstanding," he said coldly. "This is an attack."


    Duval nodded grimly. "They are treating us as enemies."


    "General Berthold, ready your men for defense! Man the coastal artillery!"


    Berthold, who had been standing near the back, immediately snapped to action.


    Moments later, the soldiers of Elysea stationed in Loretto stood before him professionally despite cannonballs landing near them.


    "All soldiers, to your posts! Coastal batteries, prepare to fire! Form defensive lines!"


    They sprang into motion. Officers barked orders, soldiers rushed toward pre-positioned cannons along the harbor, and lookout posts signaled the alarm. Church bells began to toll, warning the rest of the city that an attack was underway.


    Meanwhile, another thunderous volley crashed into the port. Cannonballs splintered wooden piers, obliterated merchant vessels, and sent flaming debris soaring through the air. The warehouses that stored food, munitions, and coal for the industrial facilities erupted into fireballs, their rooftops collapsing under the sheer force of the bombardment.


    Bruno turned back to the horizon, his heart pounding as the Elysean fleet reloaded for another barrage.


    "This wasn''t a diplomatic envoy," he muttered under his breath. "This was an execution."


    Antoine grabbed his shoulder, his face stricken with urgency.


    "Your Highness, we need to get you out of here! The city is not defensible against this kind of firepower!"


    Bruno clenched his fists. He wanted to fight, to rally his forces and make a stand¡ªbut against an entire battle fleet? They won''t have a fighting chance within the firing range of those ships of the line.


    General Berthold returned to the balcony and reported.


    "Your Highness¡­all our fighting forces in Loretto are mobilized and are taking up defensive positions as we speak."


    "Very well, they''ll hold their position and buy us time," Bruno replied, his eyes fixed to General Berthold.


    "What are you planning, Your Highness?"


    "I plan a retreat to the next city. Loretto won''t be able to stop the fleet, they are going to just fire upon us relentlessly."


    "You are giving up the city?" Antoine chimed in.


    "I am not talking to you Antoine, refrain from doing such a reaction, I am talking to a military officer here," Bruno chided him with a cursory glance.


    "Nevertheless," Bruno continued. "We are going to give up Loretto. I''m sure you are aware of why."


    "I know, Your Highness, Loretto is not equipped to protect itself from naval invasion," General Berthold acknowledged.


    "We are going to mobilize our elite battalion, they''ll come with us to the next city," Bruno announced.


    Elite battalion is a part of the Corse Army equipped with the latest iterations of rifles and cannons. They were the best of the best, handpicked by Bruno and Berthold. They are the last line of defense.


    "Understood, Your Highness. I''ll have them mobilize," General Berthold said firmly.


    "Let''s leave!"


    ***


    Admiral Lucien Vaubert stood on the quarterdeck of his flagship, watching through his spyglass as the city of Loretto burned. The smoke from the dockyards, warehouses, and shattered buildings spiraled into the sky, forming a dark cloud over the once-thriving port. The rhythmic boom of cannon fire echoed across the waves as another volley was unleashed from the fleet, further reducing the Corsican capital to ruins.


    Vaubert''s grip tightened on the brass casing of the spyglass as he swept his gaze over the futile defenses of the city. The coastal artillery fired back, but their return fire was sporadic, disorganized. The few batteries that remained operational struggled to match the overwhelming firepower of the twenty ships of the line under his command.


    He lowered the spyglass, exhaling slowly.


    "They are resisting more than expected, Admiral."


    The voice belonged to Captain Armand Renoux, the commander of the gunnery crews of the flagship.


    "It doesn''t matter, they will fall, and so does Prince Bruno de Elysea."

 Chapter 29 - 29: Why are they Attacking?

    January 11th, 1693 ¨C Port of Loretto, Corse.


    Admiral Lucien Vaubert stood on the smoldering ruins of the main dockyard, surrounded by his officers and a contingent of heavily armed marines. The port was under complete Elysean control. Flames still licked at the remains of warehouses, and charred bodies floated near the wreckage of merchant ships. Soldiers patrolled the harbor, extinguishing fires where possible and executing any remaining resistance fighters. The once-bustling port was now a scene of devastation.


    Two Corse Elysean soldiers, Private Gaspard and Corporal Jean, were dragged before the Admiral. Their faces were bruised and swollen, blood trickling from fresh wounds. Their arms were bound tightly behind their backs with coarse ropes. The marines forced them to their knees on the cobblestone pier, their heads bowed from exhaustion and pain.


    Vaubert stepped forward, his polished boots crunching on broken glass and splintered wood. He eyed the two prisoners with cold indifference before speaking in a measured tone.


    "Raise their heads. I want them to look me in the eye."


    The guards complied, roughly jerking the prisoners upright. Gaspard winced as the movement aggravated a deep gash across his temple. Jean coughed, spitting blood onto the stone at his feet, but his gaze was defiant as it met the Admiral''s. Sear?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Why?" Jean rasped, his voice raw. "Why are you doing this? We are Elysean soldiers¡ªloyal to the crown! This is our homeland! Prince Bruno de Elysea himself governs this island in the name of Elysea. You are attacking your own people! This... this is treason!"


    The Admiral said nothing at first. His cold blue eyes bore into Jean''s, unflinching. After a long silence, Vaubert finally spoke.


    "The crown you speak of no longer exists."


    Jean and Gaspard froze, confusion and disbelief crossing their battered faces.


    "What... what are you saying?" Gaspard stammered. "What do you mean? The crown no longer exists? What happened to the capital? To the King?"


    Vaubert exhaled slowly, taking a step closer to the prisoners.


    "Elysea is no longer ruled by monarchs. The Revolution has swept across the empire. The monarchy was overthrown over a year ago. The King and his family have been executed. In their place, a new government has risen¡ªthe Republic of Elysea. I serve that Republic, not your so-called Prince."


    Jean''s eyes widened in shock. He shook his head in disbelief. "Impossible... no. You''re lying. The King, the royal family¡ªthey would never fall! We would have heard of this! The capital can''t¡ª"


    "It already has," Vaubert interrupted coldly. "While your Prince was here playing at governance, the true battle for Elysea was fought and won. The old order is dead."


    Gaspard snarled through gritted teeth. "This is treason! You betray your ancestors, your blood, your honor! You serve murderers and usurpers! We serve only the crown!"


    Vaubert raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by the outburst. He gave a subtle nod to Captain Renoux, who stepped forward with his musket.


    "I''ll ask you only once," Vaubert said, his tone devoid of emotion. "Where has your Prince retreated to? You''ve seen what our fleet can do. Surrendering him to us will save countless lives. If you value your people, you will tell me."


    Jean spat onto the ground near Vaubert''s feet. "We serve only the crown. You''ll get nothing from us."


    Gaspard nodded in solidarity. "We''ll die before betraying His Highness."


    Vaubert sighed softly, as if disappointed by their answer. He took a step back and folded his hands behind his back.


    "As you wish."


    Without another word, Captain Renoux raised his musket, aiming at Jean''s head. The corporal met his gaze with defiant pride, refusing to flinch.


    "Vive le Roi," Jean whispered.


    The musket roared, the shot echoing across the desolate port. Jean''s body crumpled to the ground, his blood pooling beneath him.


    Gaspard tensed, his breathing ragged, but his resolve did not waver. Renoux calmly reloaded the musket as the Admiral watched impassively.


    "May you burn in hell for this," Gaspard growled. "The Republic will never hold Corse. Prince Bruno will return, and you''ll pay for this betrayal."


    Renoux raised the musket again and pulled the trigger. Another deafening crack echoed through the harbor. Gaspard fell beside his comrade, his lifeless eyes staring at the sky.


    The Admiral turned to his officers. "Dispose of the bodies. Ensure the soldiers see what happens to those who defy the Republic."


    Renoux saluted. "Yes, Admiral."


    As the marines dragged the corpses away, Vaubert returned to the edge of the pier, gazing out at the horizon. His thoughts drifted to Prince Bruno.


    He was given a mission from the National Government. Kill Prince Bruno de Elysea so that the resurrection of the monarchy would never be possible.


    The only way for the Republic to live is for every symbol of the old monarchy to be erased. Vaubert knew this mission was more than a military conquest¡ªit was an execution order for the last remaining heir with any claim to the Elysean throne.


    He turned to Captain Renoux.


    "Prepare scouting detachments. I want patrols moving inland within the hour. Our priority is to track and corner Prince Bruno. He cannot escape."


    Renoux saluted sharply. "Understood, Admiral. What should be done with any resistance groups or settlements we encounter?"


    "Destroy them if they refuse to cooperate. Burn any village that harbors royalist sympathizers. Send a message to the people of Corse: the age of kings is over. The Republic will not tolerate rebellion."


    Renoux nodded and strode off to relay the orders. The marines began forming squads, preparing to move through the surrounding countryside. Vaubert observed the organized efficiency with cold satisfaction. The port was already being fortified to serve as a base of operations, supply chains established to fuel the inland campaign.


    Prince Bruno and his entourage rode hard along the coastal road leading away from the burning city. Smoke from Loretto stretched high into the sky, a grim marker of the naval bombardment that had shattered their defenses. Soldiers from the elite battalion flanked the prince, their rifles at the ready, scanning the terrain for ambushes.


    General Berthold rode alongside Bruno, his jaw clenched in frustration. "They overwhelmed us too quickly. We didn''t even have a chance to engage them properly, Your Highness."


    "We were never meant to win that battle, General," Bruno replied. "Loretto was always vulnerable to a naval assault. Now that we know what we''re facing, we''ll prepare differently. This fight isn''t over."


    Antoine rode up from the rear of the formation, his face pale. "Your Highness, what do we do if the Elysean fleet pursues us? They might push deeper inland."


    Bruno''s eyes hardened. "Let them. They will not find us unprepared again. We''ll regroup at Mont Verdain and fortify our position there. From that high ground, their fleet''s cannons won''t be able to reach us. If they want this island, they''ll have to march through every inch of it¡ªand they''ll pay dearly for every step."


    General Berthold nodded. "We can buy time. Our industrial sites are spread across the countryside, and with the elite battalion leading our forces, we can create a defensive network."


    "I know¡ªand they won''t even know what will happen. Anyways¡­why are they attacking us in the first place?" Bruno asked.


    "Something must have happened in the mainland. We have had no news about it for almost three years. Things might have changed," Antoine replied.


    "Well I guess we will have to interrogate one of their soldiers," Bruno said.

 Chapter 30 - 30: The Prelude to Siege

    The sun was beginning to set by the time Prince Bruno and his entourage reached Mont Verdain. The city, perched high atop a rocky plateau, stood as one of Corse''s last true strongholds. Its thick stone walls, reinforced under Bruno''s orders during the early stages of industrial reform, loomed over the surrounding countryside. Towers equipped with cannons overlooked the approach road, and guards patrolled the battlements with vigilance. The gates, made from iron and oak, were sealed tight until Bruno''s arrival was confirmed by the sentries.


    "Open the gates!" an officer shouted from the walls.


    The heavy gates groaned as they swung inward, allowing the column of soldiers, wagons, and horsemen to enter. Bruno led the group through the entrance, taking in the sight of bustling activity within the city. Civilians were hurriedly fortifying homes and businesses. Blacksmiths hammered away at spare parts for artillery, while squads of soldiers inspected their rifles and ammunition in preparation for the coming siege.


    Bruno dismounted his horse near the main square, where a crowd of local officials and officers awaited him. General Berthold followed closely behind, his boots striking the cobblestones with a sense of urgency.


    "Your Highness," Governor Emil DuPont greeted with a deep bow. "We received word of the attack on Loretto. The situation sounds dire. How long until the enemy reaches us?"


    Bruno waved him off, his mind already working on the next steps. "They''ll likely move cautiously at first, assessing the terrain and our defenses. We have time, but not much. We must make Mont Verdain a fortress they''ll regret approaching."


    He turned to General Berthold. "Begin reinforcing the walls. I want every cannon and piece of artillery we have on the perimeter. Train the new recruits immediately¡ªriflemen on the walls, sharpshooters positioned in the towers."


    "Yes, Your Highness," Berthold said before saluting and moving to carry out the orders.


    Bruno addressed Governor DuPont next. "How are our food supplies and ammunition reserves?"


    "We have enough provisions to last three months under siege," DuPont replied. "Our ammunition stores, however, could be better. Some shipments were lost at the port when the fleet attacked."


    "It''s fine," Bruno said, turning his gaze to Berthold. "Once the elite battalion arrives, I want them ready to begin patrol rotations around the outer perimeter. I don''t want the enemy to catch us unawares. We will hold Mont Verdain at all costs."


    "Understood, Your Highness," Berthold replied with a firm nod. "The battalion should reach us by morning. Once they do, we''ll establish forward outposts and expand our surveillance range."


    Bruno exhaled deeply, his mind already calculating the moves the Republic''s forces might take. He glanced at the bustling square once more. Soldiers and civilians alike moved with a sense of purpose. Fear was in their eyes, but so was determination.


    Antoine approached, wiping sweat from his brow after helping coordinate the supply teams. "Your Highness, the eastern gate defenses are being reinforced as we speak. I also spoke with the head engineers. They''ve accelerated production on additional barricades and mobile artillery platforms."


    "Good," Bruno said. "We''ll need everything ready by the time the Republic sends its scouts. Once they locate our position, we can expect their main force to follow shortly after."


    Antoine hesitated before continuing. "Your Highness... what of the civilians who cannot fight? Should we begin evacuating them to safer locations outside the city?"


    Bruno shook his head. "There is no safer location, Antoine. If we scatter our people, they''ll be picked off one by one. Mont Verdain is our stronghold, and it will remain their refuge. As long as we control the high ground, we can outlast the siege. The enemy has power, but they cannot hold these mountains."


    Antoine sighed but nodded in agreement. "Understood. I''ll coordinate additional shelters for non-combatants within the inner district."


    Bruno gave a brief nod of approval. "Make it happen."


    By the time darkness fully enveloped the plateau, Mont Verdain''s defenses were fully mobilized. Fires burned steadily in the watchtowers, casting a warm glow over the rugged terrain. Soldiers patrolled the parapets, their rifles gleaming under the moonlight. Artillery crews stood by their cannons, watchful and alert.


    General Berthold climbed the eastern watchtower, where Bruno stood overlooking the plains. In the distance, the faint flickers of distant campfires could be seen¡ªadvanced scouts from the Republic''s forces.


    "They''re here," Berthold said quietly, following Bruno''s gaze.


    Bruno nodded. "Scouts first, then the full force. They won''t attack without knowing the terrain." Sear?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Berthold crossed his arms. "They''ll probe our defenses, looking for weak points. We need to show them there are none."


    "We will," Bruno replied. His tone was calm but resolute. "Let them come. This city isn''t Loretto. If they expect to march in uncontested, they''ll find themselves bleeding for every inch."


    Several miles from Mont Verdain, the Republic''s scouting detachment reported back to their commander, Captain Julien Renoux. He examined a rough map of the region, his brow furrowing as the scouts described the fortified city.


    "High walls, reinforced artillery positions... a natural fortress," one scout explained. "They''ve fortified every approach to the plateau. Getting siege equipment up there will be a nightmare."


    Renoux frowned. "Typical royalist arrogance. They think their high ground makes them untouchable."


    The scout hesitated. "With respect, Captain, it might. Mont Verdain is designed for a prolonged siege. Even with our fleet controlling the coast, taking that city will cost us dearly."


    Renoux slammed a fist onto the map table. "Damn that prince... He''s more of a threat than we expected. The Admiral will need to know."


    He turned to his aide. "Send a message to Admiral Vaubert. Inform him that Mont Verdain is heavily fortified. We''ll need additional artillery if we want to break this siege quickly."


    The aide saluted and rushed off to deliver the report. Renoux gazed toward the distant mountain, its shadow looming ominously under the moonlight.


    "Enjoy your fortress while you can, Prince Bruno," he muttered. "The Republic always finds a way."


    Meanwhile, Bruno peered in his spyglass and sighed. "Tomorrow, they''ll attack."

 Chapter 31 - 31: Siege Preparations

    At dawn, the sound of marching boots echoed down the winding mountain road. The elite battalion, two hundred strong, approached Mont Verdain with disciplined precision. These were the best-trained and best-equipped soldiers on the island, personally organized under Bruno''s command. They were clad in durable uniforms with reinforced leather padding. Slung across their shoulders were semi-bolt action rifles, a weapon designed and produced under Bruno''s industrial reforms.


    Leading the battalion was Captain Auguste Vallier, a battle-hardened officer with sharp eyes and a calm demeanor. He raised his hand, signaling the column to halt as they reached the main gate. A sentry on the wall gave a confirming shout.


    "Open the gates!"


    The iron-and-oak gates creaked open, revealing a contingent of Mont Verdain soldiers waiting inside. Prince Bruno stood at the forefront, flanked by General Berthold and Governor DuPont. Captain Vallier dismounted from his horse, approached Bruno, and bowed respectfully.


    "Your Highness," Vallier said with reverence. "The elite battalion reports as ordered. We''ve come prepared to defend the city."


    Bruno smiled faintly and extended his hand for a firm handshake. "Thank you, Captain Vallier. You''ve arrived just in time. We face an enemy unlike anything we''ve dealt with before."


    "I''ve heard the reports, Your Highness," Vallier said, straightening his posture. "The Elysean fleet bombarded Loretto and captured it. I still don''t understand why they would fire upon an Elysean prince or even their own soldiers stationed there."


    "Neither do I," Bruno replied, his voice steady but cold. "Something has changed in the mainland. And I intend on finding that out."


    Captain Vallier nodded thoughtfully at Prince Bruno''s words. He removed his gloves and adjusted the rifle slung across his back as the soldiers around them began dispersing to their positions on the walls and towers.


    "I''ll have my officers set up observation points around the eastern ridge," Vallier continued. "If the enemy sends scouts, we''ll catch them before they get too close."


    "Good," Bruno said, glancing at General Berthold. "Coordinate with Berthold and ensure the sharpshooters have overlapping firing angles. I don''t want any blind spots in our defenses. The Republic soldiers are moving cautiously, but they''ll test our walls before committing to a full assault."


    Berthold nodded in agreement. "We''ve positioned heavy artillery on the northern towers, Your Highness. If their cannons enter range, we''ll counterfire immediately."


    "That''s exactly what we need," Bruno replied. His gaze shifted to the bustling square, where blacksmiths continued working on spare parts for artillery and barricades. Civilians moved supplies into underground storage areas, while engineers inspected the reinforced walls.


    Governor DuPont approached, wiping sweat from his brow. "Your Highness, additional grain shipments have arrived from the nearby farms. We''ll be able to extend our food reserves by another two months if rationed properly."


    "Excellent, Governor. Ensure the distribution centers are secure. The last thing we need is panic or sabotage disrupting supplies," Bruno ordered.


    "As you command, Your Highness," DuPont replied, bowing slightly before hurrying away.


    Bruno turned back to Vallier and Berthold. "We''ll hold this city as long as necessary. If they expect us to surrender quickly, they''ll be sorely disappointed."


    Bruno stood atop the eastern watchtower, his spyglass raised as he surveyed the plains below. The enemy had begun to appear on the horizon. Their forces moved in disciplined formation, infantry columns stretching across the landscape like a dark wave. Artillery units followed closely behind, their cannons glinting under the midday sun.


    "They''re setting up siege positions," Berthold muttered beside him. He pointed to a series of wagons being unloaded near a ridge. "Those artillery crews are building emplacements. Once those guns are in place, they''ll start bombarding our walls."


    Bruno nodded, lowering the spyglass. "They''re wasting no time. They''ll likely probe our defenses tonight, looking for weak points. We''ll need to respond aggressively."


    "We''ll keep patrols along the walls throughout the night," Vallier suggested. "If they attempt a surprise attack, we''ll drive them back."


    Bruno''s expression darkened as he watched the enemy forces continue to organize. "Let them come. They think this is another Loretto, but they''ll find out soon enough that Mont Verdain is a different beast."


    ***


    Captain Julien Renoux strode through the growing encampment, his boots crunching against the dirt path leading to the artillery lines. Soldiers erected tents and dug trenches, while officers barked orders to their units. Renoux''s mind was occupied with the reports he had received from his scouts. Something about Corse didn''t add up.


    He approached a makeshift command tent, where several scouts and engineers waited for him. A detailed map of the region lay on the table, marked with key locations¡ªroads, supply depots, bridges, and other infrastructure.


    Renoux traced one of the newly built roads with his gloved finger. "Tell me again what you found."


    The lead scout, a wiry man with sharp eyes, stepped forward. "Sir, the road networks are far more developed than anticipated. Paved stone roads now connect the major cities, and there are fortified depots positioned at key intersections. We also saw what appeared to be industrial facilities further inland¡ªpossibly workshops or factories. Some of them seem to be using steam power, though we couldn''t confirm the details without getting closer."


    Renoux frowned. "Steam power? That''s a significant leap in development. Corse was supposed to be an isolated backwater, reliant on imports from the mainland. How the hell did they build all this without anyone noticing?"


    The scout hesitated. "It''s possible the prince was responsible. We''ve heard rumors that Prince Bruno initiated major reforms and industrial projects during his time here. He might have modernized the entire island."


    Renoux slammed his fist on the table. "Damn that prince¡­ He''s more of a threat than I thought. If he''s managed to turn Corse into an industrial hub, this siege will be far more difficult than we expected. Still, I am confident that we can defeat him in one siege."


    One of his lieutenants, Captain Armand Renault, joined him near the table. "Do you think they''ll try a counterattack during the night?" S§×arch* The N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Renoux chuckled and shook his head. "No, Prince Bruno''s too clever for that. He knows attacking us in the open would be suicide. He''ll hunker down behind his walls and hope we break before his supplies run out. It''s textbook defensive warfare."


    "And if he has tricks up his sleeve?" Renault asked, raising an eyebrow.


    Renoux waved a hand dismissively. "We''re not facing some mythical army, Captain. These are royalist fanatics clinging to outdated ideals. They are still just isolated rebels. The Republic has crushed far greater threats. We''ll do the same here."

 Chapter 32 - 32: The Fight

    January 12th, 1693 ¨C Mont Verdain, Corse


    The sun had barely risen when a sentry atop Mont Verdain''s eastern wall spotted movement on the horizon. A long, dark line of soldiers, wagons, and artillery pieces crawled across the plains below. Drums echoed faintly, accompanied by the steady march of boots and the rattle of iron wheels. The main force of the Republic had arrived.


    Captain Vallier stood next to Prince Bruno on the wall, his spyglass trained on the advancing enemy. He could make out infantry battalions supported by cavalry detachments and heavy artillery teams positioning themselves near the ridge.


    "They''re wasting no time," Vallier remarked, lowering the spyglass. "Artillery teams are moving into range. They''ll try to weaken the walls before sending in the infantry."


    Bruno nodded, his gaze unwavering. "They''ll find that we''re not as easy to break as they think. How are our sharpshooters positioned?"


    "They''re ready, Your Highness," Vallier confirmed. "Fifty of our best marksmen are stationed across the towers and key defensive points. All equipped with scoped rifles. They''ll target the artillery crews the moment they begin setting up."


    "Good. Let''s give them a warm welcome."


    Captain Renoux strode confidently between the artillery units. Engineers and gunners worked quickly to position their siege cannons and mortars along the ridge overlooking Mont Verdain. The cannons, painted in dull gray to blend with the rocky terrain, gleamed in the morning light.


    "Positions!" barked an artillery officer as crews wheeled the last cannon into place. Gunpowder barrels were unloaded, and rangefinders calculated the elevation needed to hit the fortress walls.


    Renoux watched with satisfaction. "Prepare the first volley. Once the cannons fire, the defenders will scramble. We''ll break their defenses piece by piece."


    The artillery crews loaded the cannons, but before the first order could be given, a sharp crack echoed across the battlefield. One of the lead gunners fell to the ground, blood pouring from a clean shot to the head.


    "What the¡ª?" Renoux froze as another shot rang out, striking another artilleryman.


    "Snipers!" a soldier shouted in panic. "They''ve got snipers on the walls!"


    "Impossible! At this distance?!" Renoux gritted his teeth and ducked behind a supply crate as another gunshot echoed across the ridge. A third artilleryman collapsed, clutching his chest. The precision of the shots was unnerving.


    "Where are those bastards firing from?!" he barked.


    "Sir! The snipers are stationed in the watchtowers and along the fortified walls!" a scout called out, crouching beside him.


    Renoux cursed under his breath. "Damn it! I thought this island was a backwater. Since when do they have advanced rifles?"


    Another shot rang out. Renoux heard the sickening thud of a bullet striking an officer nearby. The man fell backward, his sword clattering to the ground.


    "We can''t set up the cannons under this fire, Captain!" an artillery officer shouted, panic creeping into his voice.


    "Get the skirmishers forward! Deploy smoke grenades! I want those snipers blinded!" Renoux ordered. "Have the infantry form a screen to cover the artillery!"


    The soldiers scrambled to obey. Skirmishers equipped with muskets rushed forward, firing sporadic volleys toward the walls while others lobbed smoke grenades across the open ground. Thick white clouds began to rise, obscuring visibility on both sides of the battlefield.


    Corporal L¨¦on Jourdain adjusted his rifle scope, his breath steady despite the growing smoke. He spotted a group of Republic skirmishers advancing under the cover of the haze.


    "Visibility''s dropping fast," a nearby sharpshooter muttered.


    Jourdain ignored him and focused on a target¡ªa soldier crouching behind a rock, trying to direct his comrades forward. He exhaled slowly and pulled the trigger.


    Crack!


    The soldier fell, and the advancing skirmishers hesitated.


    "Keep firing! Aim for any flashes of movement!" Captain Vallier''s voice rang out from the observation deck.


    Jourdain chambered another round and continued firing, his shots methodical and precise. Even with the smoke, the sharpshooters managed to sow confusion and fear among the enemy ranks.


    Renoux clenched his fists as he observed the chaos unfolding before him. Despite the smoke, his men were still being picked off. He knew they couldn''t afford to lose more artillery crews before the first volley.


    "Lieutenant Renault, get those cannons firing now!" he barked.


    "We''re still finalizing the range calculations, sir!" Renault protested.


    "To hell with that! Just fire blindly if you have to! We need to suppress those snipers!"


    Reluctantly, Renault relayed the order. Moments later, the cannons roared to life, their deafening blasts shaking the ground. Explosive shells arced through the smoke, crashing into the walls of Mont Verdain. Stone and debris flew into the air as the first impacts struck the fortress, but the royalist defenses held firm.


    Renoux smirked as he heard the distant rumble of destruction. "Let''s see how long they last under sustained fire."


    The first shell struck the eastern wall, sending a tremor through the entire city. Civilians ducked for cover as dust and debris rained down. Engineers and artillery crews scrambled to reinforce weakened sections of the battlements.


    Prince Bruno remained calm despite the barrage. He stood near one of the primary artillery positions, issuing orders to the crews.


    "Maintain counterfire! Focus on their artillery emplacements. We need to disrupt their rhythm," Bruno commanded.


    The royalist cannons thundered in response, their shells crashing into the ridge where the Republic''s artillery teams were stationed. Several enemy cannons were destroyed in fiery explosions, further complicating Renoux''s efforts.


    "How are the walls holding?" Bruno asked General Berthold, who approached with a report.


    "Minor damage so far, Your Highness," Berthold replied. "Their fire is spread out. They''re trying to locate our weak points."


    "Good. We''ll give them nothing to exploit."


    Bruno raised his spyglass, scanning the battlefield. Through the smoke, he saw disorganized clusters of Republic infantry retreating from the artillery line. The sharpshooters'' harassment and counterfire had disrupted the enemy''s coordination.


    "They''re faltering," Bruno said. "This is our chance. Order Vallier to send out a strike team. Target their artillery crews directly. We''ll cripple their offensive capability before they can regroup."


    Captain Vallier led a detachment of fifty soldiers down a concealed mountain path that flanked the Republic''s encampment. Moving swiftly and silently, the royalist troops navigated the rough terrain, using the smoke and chaos as cover. Sear?h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Positions," Vallier whispered as they reached a vantage point overlooking the enemy artillery lines.


    The royalists spread out, taking cover behind boulders and tree stumps. Vallier signaled for the attack.


    Crack! Crack! Crack!


    A coordinated volley of rifle fire tore through the Republic artillery crews. The gunners, caught off guard, fell in rapid succession. Explosions erupted as ammunition stores were hit, sending fireballs into the sky.


    "Advance! Clear the line!" Vallier shouted.


    His troops surged forward, firing with precision as they stormed the artillery positions. The Republic soldiers, already demoralized, broke and fled in disarray.


    Renoux cursed as he watched the collapse of his artillery line. "Pull back to the secondary encampment!" he roared. "We need to regroup!"


    By midday, the battlefield fell eerily silent. The smoke began to dissipate, revealing the full extent of the Republic''s losses. Burning wreckage and abandoned cannons littered the ridge. Royalist soldiers stood triumphantly along the walls, cheering as the enemy retreated.


    Prince Bruno lowered his spyglass and exhaled slowly. "We''ve won the first engagement, but they''ll be back."


    "Let them come," Vallier said, wiping soot from his face. "We''ll be ready."


    "No, this time we won''t let them come. We will be the one chasing," Bruno said.

 Chapter 33 - 33: The Counterattack

    January 13th, 1693 ¨C Mont Verdain


    Prince Bruno stood in the war council chamber of the Governor''s Hall. Around him, his officers and advisors, including General Berthold, Captain Vallier, and Governor DuPont, waited for his plan. Outside, the sounds of soldiers making preparations for the night echoed through the fortress walls.


    Bruno placed his hands firmly on the large map spread across the table. His finger traced the route from Mont Verdain to the port city of Loretto.


    "We''re not waiting for the enemy to regroup," Bruno said firmly. "If we stay here, they''ll eventually reinforce and hit us with everything they have. We''re going to take the fight to them."


    There was a murmur of surprise among the officers. General Berthold spoke first.


    "Your Highness, you mean to attack their base of operations at Loretto?"


    "Exactly," Bruno confirmed. "Their entire invasion force is being supplied from the port. Without it, they''ll lose control of Corse. If we can strike them hard enough, we''ll force them to retreat entirely."


    Captain Vallier nodded. "A bold move. They''ll never expect us to launch an assault so soon after today''s battle. Especially not at night."


    "That''s precisely why we''re attacking at midnight," Bruno continued. "While they sleep, we''ll descend upon them. By the time they realize what''s happening, we''ll already be inside the city."


    General Berthold crossed his arms thoughtfully. "We''ll need absolute discipline and silence during the approach. If they detect us before we reach the gates, we''ll lose the element of surprise."


    "They won''t," Bruno assured him. "Our scouts have already identified a route through the hills that bypasses their main sentries. We''ll march in darkness and launch the attack before dawn. Once inside, we''ll secure key positions¡ªthe docks, their command center, and their artillery depot."


    Governor DuPont, usually more cautious, seemed energized by the plan. "If we succeed, Your Highness, the morale of the enemy forces will collapse. We can end this siege before it truly begins."


    Bruno nodded. "Precisely. Now, Captain Vallier, I want your elite battalion leading the charge. General Berthold, your regular infantry will secure our flanks and prevent any reinforcements from cutting off our escape route. I''ll personally lead the assault on their command center."


    The officers exchanged glances of agreement. Vallier gave a firm salute. "We''ll be ready, Your Highness."


    "Good," Bruno said, straightening. "Begin preparations immediately. We march at midnight."


    Under the cover of darkness, the royalist army moved silently through the rugged terrain leading to Loretto. The soldiers marched with discipline, their boots muffled by the rocky ground. Prince Bruno rode at the head of the column, flanked by Vallier and Berthold. Scouts ahead signaled with lantern flashes, indicating that the path was clear.


    The moon cast a faint glow on the distant city. From their vantage point, they could see the dim lights of campfires scattered near the port. Ships of the enemy fleet lay at anchor in the harbor, their silhouettes barely visible against the night sky.


    Captain Vallier rode up alongside Bruno. "We''re nearing the outer perimeter, Your Highness. No sign of enemy patrols."


    "Good," Bruno replied quietly. He turned to Berthold. "Once we reach the outskirts, I want the artillery teams to position themselves along the eastern ridge. They''ll provide covering fire if things go wrong."


    "Understood," Berthold whispered.


    As they advanced closer to the city, the tension among the soldiers grew. The memory of Loretto''s fall was still fresh in their minds. Many had lost friends and comrades during the bombardment. Now, they had a chance to reclaim what had been stolen.


    "Remember," Bruno addressed the officers near him, his voice low but firm. "No noise, no hesitation. We strike hard and fast. Tonight, we take back our city."


    The first phase of the attack began with eerie silence. Royalist scouts crept through the darkened streets, eliminating sentries and guards at key points. Within minutes, the main gates were unbarred, allowing the rest of the force to pour into the city.


    Captain Vallier led his battalion through the eastern district, where the enemy''s artillery depot was located. They moved with practiced efficiency, rifles at the ready. The first squad encountered a group of sleeping artillerymen. Without a sound, they secured the area and sabotaged the cannons by removing their firing mechanisms.


    A few blocks away, Bruno led a detachment toward the enemy''s command center near the governor''s mansion. The streets were eerily quiet, save for the distant crash of waves against the docks. His soldiers advanced swiftly, clearing buildings and alleyways as they moved. S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Suddenly, a gunshot rang out.


    "Contact!" a royalist soldier shouted.


    The enemy had been alerted. Within moments, the sound of bells and shouting spread throughout the city. Bruno cursed under his breath.


    "Vallier, report!" he barked into his communicator device, an innovation created by his engineers.


    "We''ve encountered light resistance near the artillery depot," Vallier''s voice crackled in response. "No major issues. We''re proceeding with the plan."


    Bruno nodded and turned to his men. "Double time! We need to secure the mansion before they organize a counterattack!"


    Captain Renoux had been rudely awakened by the sound of distant gunfire. He stumbled out of his quarters, pulling on his coat and grabbing his sword.


    "What''s happening?!" he demanded as officers rushed to meet him.


    "Sir, the royalists have breached the city!" an aide shouted. "They''re attacking multiple locations at once!"


    Renoux''s eyes widened in disbelief. "Impossible! How did they get past our patrols?!"


    "They must have used the hills to bypass our defenses," another officer suggested.


    Renoux gritted his teeth. "Rally the troops! I want all available units defending the docks and command center. We cannot lose this city!"


    The fighting intensified as dawn approached. Royalist soldiers clashed with enemy forces in the narrow streets, gunfire and shouts echoing off the stone walls. Civilians hid in their homes, terrified by the sudden violence.


    Prince Bruno''s detachment finally reached the governor''s mansion, where Renoux had made his stand. The gates were heavily guarded, but Bruno''s sharpshooters quickly neutralized the sentries. Explosions rocked the courtyard as royalist grenadiers breached the entrance.


    Bruno led the charge.


    Renoux''s officers attempted to rally, but the royalists overwhelmed them with superior tactics and firepower. Renoux himself was cornered near the central staircase.


    "Look what we have here, an injured officer," Bruno said. "We are going to extract as much information as we can from you, I hope you cooperate with us."

 Chapter 34 - 34: Learning the Truth

    The sound of hurried footsteps and clanging weapons filled the air as royalist soldiers spread out across the docks. Captain Vallier''s elite battalion led the charge, swiftly cutting down any pockets of resistance. Royalist sharpshooters continued to provide cover from elevated positions, ensuring the retreating Republic soldiers had no opportunity to regroup.


    "Take the docks!" Vallier barked. "Secure every vessel and destroy any remaining artillery!"


    Republic soldiers stumbled over crates and supplies in their desperate attempt to reach the anchored ships. A few managed to board a frigate and tried to cast off, but royalist cannon crews wheeled a heavy gun into position near the pier.


    "Target that frigate!" a royalist officer commanded. S§×ar?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    With a deafening roar, the cannon fired, striking the side of the vessel. The explosion ripped through the hull, sending splinters and debris flying into the air. The frigate listed heavily to one side, its crew abandoning ship in a panic. Several soldiers leapt into the water, surrendering to royalist forces waiting on the docks.


    "Hold your fire!" Vallier ordered as the last of the enemy resistance crumbled. "We''ve secured the area."


    Prince Bruno arrived at the scene moments later, his eyes scanning the battlefield. The docks were littered with the wreckage of the Republic''s failed defense. Captured soldiers knelt in long rows, their hands tied behind their backs. Royalist officers moved through the ranks, collecting weapons and issuing orders.


    "Captain Vallier," Bruno called out as he dismounted his horse. "Status report."


    "We''ve secured the entire port, Your Highness," Vallier replied. "All enemy vessels have been grounded, and their artillery positions are neutralized. The remaining Republic forces have surrendered."


    Bruno nodded. "Good. Keep the prisoners under close watch. I have an enemy commander rounded up earlier, I am going to interrogate him."


    ***


    At the Estate.


    Prince Bruno stepped into the dimly lit room, his boots echoing ominously against the stone floor. Captain Vallier and General Berthold followed close behind, standing guard at the entrance. Renoux sat in the center of the room, his hands still bound, though his posture remained defiant despite his injuries. Two guards flanked him, ensuring he had no chance of escape.


    Bruno pulled up a wooden chair and sat directly across from the Republic officer.


    "Captain Renoux," Bruno began. "Let''s not waste time. Your army is broken. The port is under my control. I need information, and you will give it to me."


    Renoux chuckled bitterly. "You''re dreaming if you think I''ll betray the Republic."


    Bruno leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. "A republic? What are you talking about, Renoux? The last I heard, Elysea was still under the rule of my father. Now you invade my land, fire upon Elysean soldiers, and speak of a republic. Explain yourself."


    Renoux''s smirk faded as he stared into Bruno''s cold, unrelenting gaze. For a moment, he hesitated, but he seemed to realize the futility of withholding the truth any longer. He sighed heavily, the defiance in his voice waning.


    "There is no King anymore," Renoux muttered. "Your father¡­ the entire royal family¡­ they''re gone."


    Bruno froze for a moment, the words not fully registering. He leaned closer, his voice dangerously low. "Gone? What do you mean by ''gone''?"


    "There was a revolution," Renoux explained, locking eyes with Bruno. "It started nearly two years ago. The people of Elysea were fed up with the monarchy, with the endless social stratification and the corruption of the aristocracy. The nation boiled over in riots and uprisings. Your father, didn''t do anything and we had enough."


    Renoux paused, gauging Bruno''s reaction. When the prince didn''t speak, he continued.


    "The Revolutionary Council seized power. They executed the King and Queen, along with most of the royal family. Nobles who resisted were also purged. The Council proclaimed a new Republic of Elysea. They rewrote the laws, redistributed land, and declared an end to the old system of privilege and exploitation."


    "And I suppose you believe that murdering my family and tearing apart the country brought freedom?"


    Renoux met his gaze without flinching. "I believe it brought justice. The old order needed to be broken. The aristocracy hoarded power and wealth while the common people starved. Your father''s inaction sealed his fate. The revolution wasn''t just anger¡ªit was survival."


    Bruno stood abruptly, pacing across the room. His mind reeled as Renoux''s words echoed in his ears. His father¡­ his family¡­ gone, executed like criminals. He had expected betrayal on this island, but not this¡ªa full-scale upheaval of everything he had ever known.


    "You call it survival, yet here you are¡ªinvading Corse, killing your fellow countrymen. If your Republic is so righteous, why resort to this?"


    Renoux straightened, his expression sharp. "Corse is a threat to the Republic as long as you live. You''re a rallying point for every royalist sympathizer. The Council ordered this invasion to prevent a resurgence of monarchy. If you fall, the Republic''s authority is secure."


    "I see¡­I understand now. It is all starting to make sense."


    Renoux furrowed his brow at Bruno''s calm and detached response. He had expected anger, perhaps even despair. Yet the prince''s reaction was strangely measured, almost indifferent, as if the death of his entire family meant nothing.


    "You understand?" Renoux asked cautiously. "Your father and the rest of your family are dead. Executed. And you... you don''t seem to care."


    Bruno halted his pacing and turned slowly toward Renoux, his expression unreadable. He tilted his head slightly, his sharp gaze locking onto the captain.


    "Why should I?" he said softly.


    Renoux blinked, taken aback. "What do you mean? They were your family. Your bloodline. Don''t you feel any rage, any grief? Even now, you should¡ª"


    "You assume too much," Bruno interrupted coldly. His eyes gleamed with a chilling intensity that made Renoux instinctively shift in his chair. "Perhaps you think I mourn their loss. But the truth is far more complicated."


    Renoux stared at him, confusion deepening. "You... don''t care? You''re their son, their heir. I thought you''d be¡ª"


    "I am not the man you think I am," Bruno said firmly. A subtle smirk formed on his lips as he crossed his arms. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "The royal family you speak of¡ªthose ties mean nothing to me. What I do care about is this island and what it represents. If the Republic thinks it can claim what''s mine, then they are gravely mistaken."


    Renoux frowned, struggling to piece together what he had just heard. He could sense something... off about the prince. There was a dispassionate air to Bruno that didn''t match the stories he had heard about the young noble years ago.


    "What are you talking about?" Renoux demanded. "If you''re not driven by vengeance for your family, then why are you fighting to restore the monarchy?"


    Bruno chuckled softly, his eyes narrowing with a cold fire. "Restore it? No, Renoux. I have no interest in being a puppet figurehead like my predecessors. This Republic of yours thought it could erase me from history, but it made one critical mistake: leaving me alive."


    He stepped closer to the bound captain. "I''m not fighting to preserve the monarchy. I''m fighting to take what''s rightfully mine. Corse is only the beginning. Once I retake the throne, I will crush the Council that betrayed us and reshape the nation as I see fit. I will build a new order¡ªan empire that neither your revolutionaries nor your corrupt aristocrats could have dreamed of."

 Chapter 35 - 35: Long Live the King

    January 14th, 1693 ¨C Loretto, Corse


    The city of Loretto had returned to calm by mid-morning. Royalist soldiers patrolled the streets, ensuring there were no remnants of Republican resistance. Civilians cautiously emerged from their homes, fear still etched on their faces from the previous night''s battle. However, the sight of familiar soldiers wearing the royalist crest brought them a degree of comfort. They began clearing rubble, rebuilding market stalls, and putting out the remaining fires.


    Prince Bruno stood on a hastily erected platform in the town square, his military advisors, including Captain Vallier and General Berthold, flanking him. A large crowd gathered before him, their eyes filled with confusion, anxiety, and hope. Many were desperate for answers about the events that had unfolded.


    Bruno raised his hand, calling for silence. The crowd''s murmurs slowly died down as all attention focused on the prince. His gaze swept across the crowd, ensuring every person present could see him clearly.


    "People of Loretto," Bruno began. "I know you are afraid. I know many of you do not understand why this city¡ªyour home¡ªwas attacked by those who should have been our countrymen. I am here to give you the truth."


    He took a step forward, his voice rising so all could hear. "Two nights ago, an army bearing the banner of Elysea launched an unprovoked assault on our island. They bombarded our port, killed our soldiers, and sought to subjugate us. You are probably wondering how this could happen. How could our own nation turn against us?"


    The crowd murmured again, bewildered. Bruno continued without pause, his expression hardening. "The reason, my people, is because Elysea is no longer the country you once knew. The kingdom we were loyal to has fallen. The monarchy, our royal family, has been overthrown by revolutionaries who call themselves the Republic of Elysea."


    Gasps and shocked whispers rippled through the crowd. Many could not believe what they were hearing. The idea that the centuries-old kingdom had been dismantled was almost too much to comprehend.


    "They rose in rebellion two years ago," Bruno went on. "They executed my father, the King, my mother, the Queen, and countless others of noble blood. The Republic now rules from the capital, seeking to destroy everything we stood for¡ªour traditions, our values, and our right to self-govern."


    An elderly man near the front of the crowd shouted, "But you''re still here, Your Highness! You survived!"


    Bruno nodded. "Yes. By a twist of fate, I am the last living member of the royal family. The Republic''s leaders see me as a threat to their power. That is why they sent their army to Corse¡ªto kill me and extinguish any chance of restoring the kingdom."


    His words carried a weight that seemed to settle heavily on the gathered crowd. For a long moment, no one spoke. The full gravity of the situation began to sink in.


    "But I am not dead," Bruno declared firmly, his voice cutting through the silence. "We are not broken. The Republic thought we would submit easily, but they underestimated the strength and will of Corse. We have repelled their forces, taken back Loretto, and shattered their plans. This is only the beginning."


    Captain Vallier stepped forward and saluted. "The enemy that survived in the expedition were all arrested and executed for high treason."


    Captain Vallier''s declaration caused another wave of murmurs in the crowd. Fear mixed with relief as the people processed the news. Many had lost family members and friends in the Republic''s brutal assault, and the announcement of justice being served brought some small measure of closure.


    Prince Bruno raised his hand again to quiet the voices. "Justice has been delivered to those who sought to destroy our lives. But make no mistake, this is far from over. The Republic will not accept defeat easily. They will return with greater force. That is why we must be prepared¡ªtogether."


    Bruno scanned the crowd, making eye contact with as many people as possible. "From this day forward, Corse will be the beacon of resistance. We will not hide in fear. We will not wait for another attack. Instead, we will strengthen our forces and strike at the heart when the time comes." sea??h th§× NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    The crowd listened intently, their expressions gradually shifting from confusion and fear to a sense of unity and purpose. Prince Bruno''s words were sinking deep, stirring the embers of resistance in their hearts. People began nodding to one another, whispers of determination spreading throughout the square.


    "We will fight for you, Your Highness¡ªNo Your Majesty!"


    A woman near the center of the crowd raised her fist in the air, her voice cutting through the murmurs.


    "Long live the King!" she cried, her words filled with renewed hope. Others quickly repeated her call, their voices growing louder with each chant.


    "Long live King Bruno! Long live the King!"


    The chant spread rapidly throughout the square. People who had moments before been filled with fear now shouted with defiant pride. They clapped and cheered, raising their arms in unison. The square was soon filled with the thunderous sound of their voices, echoing off the surrounding buildings.


    Bruno, standing tall on the platform, raised his hand, urging the people to continue. He did not correct them, nor did he claim the title officially just yet. In truth, he knew that their belief in him was vital, their loyalty essential for what lay ahead. His calm gaze swept over the sea of faces, their eyes shining with hope and determination.


    Captain Vallier leaned toward him, his voice low but firm. "They''ve given you their trust, Your Highness. You''ve inspired them to fight. This is a moment we cannot waste."


    "I know," Bruno replied quietly, his eyes still on the crowd. He then stepped forward once more, raising both hands to bring their attention back to him.


    "My people," he called out, his voice powerful and commanding, "today marks the beginning of our fight to restore our home and bring justice to those who fell under the Republic''s tyranny. We will train. We will build. And we will not stop until Elysea is free from those who betrayed our nation!"


    The cheers intensified, people waving royalist flags and embracing one another. The chant resumed louder than before.


    "Long live King Bruno! Long live Elysea!"


    As the crowd celebrated, Bruno turned to Vallier and Berthold. "This moment will solidify their morale, but it''s only one step. Start organizing recruitment efforts. We''ll need every able-bodied person into the ranks of our army."


    "Consider it done, Your Highness," Vallier replied with a salute.


    "Now¡ªlet''s get started."

 Chapter 36 - 36: The Revolutionary Council

    March 14th, 1693 ¨C The Revolutionary Capital of Elysee


    The Royal Palace of Elysea, once a symbol of unchallenged aristocratic rule and grandeur, had been repurposed into the administrative headquarters of the Republic of Elyosa. The marble halls were stripped of royal portraits, and the gilded furnishings were replaced with utilitarian desks, banners bearing the emblem of the revolution, and the harsh rhetoric of equality and progress. In the council chamber, twelve members of the Revolutionary Council, dressed in austere but immaculate robes, gathered around a long, rectangular table. Each member represented a faction within the new regime¡ªthe military, industry, agriculture, education, and foreign policy.


    At the head of the table sat Jacques Delacroix, the council''s de facto leader, a former judge and philosopher whose silver hair and piercing eyes gave him an air of intimidating authority. Known for his cunning intellect and ruthless pragmatism, Delacroix had been one of the architects of the revolution. Beside him sat Emilia Voss, Minister of State Security, a cold and calculating figure responsible for the brutal purges of royalist loyalists. Opposite her, General Hector Bellerose, commander of the Revolutionary Army, adjusted his coat with a scowl. News of the failed invasion of Corse had brought him here in no small amount of embarrassment.


    "Let us begin," Delacroix announced, his deep voice echoing off the chamber''s stone walls. "We have much to discuss, and time is not on our side."


    Emilia Voss leaned forward, placing a stack of reports on the table. "The matter of Corse requires immediate attention. Our forces failed to eliminate Prince Bruno. His survival has emboldened the island''s population, and intelligence reports indicate that he has assumed leadership of a growing royalist resistance."


    "That island was supposed to be secured within days," General Bellerose snapped, his frustration evident. "Captain Renoux underestimated the enemy. He reported that they faced modernized defenses, including advanced weaponry. It seems this ''Prince Bruno'' has transformed Corse into a fortress under our noses."


    Several council members exchanged uneasy glances. One of them, Jean-Paul Lafayette, Minister of Trade and Finance, adjusted his spectacles and spoke cautiously. "The longer we leave Corse in his hands, the more he threatens to disrupt trade routes and alliances. He could seek aid from neighboring monarchies, perhaps even join this growing coalition against us."


    Delacroix raised a hand, silencing further murmurs. "We will deal with Bruno in due time. However, the mainland situation is more pressing. Reports indicate that several kingdoms have formed a coalition to oppose us. The Kingdom of Greater Germania, the Empire of Orosk, and the Kingdom of Britannica have each condemned our revolution and declared us a threat to their stability."


    "Of course they have," Emilia said with a scoff. "Monarchs fear what we represent. They know their own peasants and middle classes might rise up if inspired by our success."


    General Bellerose crossed his arms. "Fear alone doesn''t win wars, Minister Voss. The coalition is mobilizing their armies. Greater Germania has already reinforced its western border, and the Orosk Empire is mobilizing its army. If they coordinate their attacks, they could push us."


    Minister Fr¨¦d¨¦ric Rousseau, responsible for foreign affairs, tapped a finger on the map spread across the table.


    "We''ve received intelligence that Britannica has begun supplying arms and naval support to our enemies. They''ve stationed warships near the Channel, likely preparing for blockades or coastal raids. If we''re not careful, we''ll face economic strangulation in addition to military threats."


    The tension in the room grew palpable. Delacroix inhaled deeply, his gaze sharp as he addressed the council.


    "The coalition sees us as a pariah state. They do not believe we can withstand a prolonged conflict. They think our people will lose their will to fight if we are isolated and battered on all sides. We must prove them wrong."


    So, what are your orders?" General Bellerose asked.


    Delacroix''s voice hardened. "First, we will strengthen our defenses along the border with Greater Germania and fortify key provinces. Mobilize the Revolutionary Army and conscript additional regiments where necessary. Second, Minister Rousseau, you will reach out to sympathetic factions in neutral territories. There are republican movements in neighboring lands¡ªuse them to sow discord and divide our enemies."


    Rousseau nodded. "I have contacts in the western provinces of Greater Germania who might be willing to stir unrest. It won''t be easy, but it''s possible." S§×ar?h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Good," Delacroix said before turning his attention back to the matter of Corse. "As for the prince¡­"


    "He''s an afterthought," Emilia Voss interjected with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Without significant foreign backing, his resistance will collapse eventually. The island cannot sustain itself indefinitely. We should focus on the mainland first."


    General Bellerose hesitated. "Underestimating him a second time would be a mistake, Minister Voss. He may not have the resources now, but if the coalition sees him as a useful pawn, they might offer him aid to keep us distracted."


    Delacroix considered this for a moment. "Then we monitor him closely. Deploy spies and informants to Corse. If he attempts to make contact with the coalition, we will intercept and eliminate his envoys. For now, Prince Bruno is a pawn without a board¡ªhe has no kingdom to reclaim unless he can cross the sea."


    The council members murmured their agreement, though tension remained in the air. They all understood that the survival of one royal heir was a loose thread in their revolution''s fabric. A thread that could unravel much more than they cared to admit.


    "I want a full report on our border fortifications by the next session," Delacroix concluded. "And double security at the docks and ports. If Bruno or any royalist loyalists attempt to smuggle supplies through our waters, they are to be captured or sunk."


    The meeting adjourned with the council rising from their seats. As the members filed out of the chamber, Delacroix remained behind, staring at the map of Elysea spread across the table. His fingers traced the outline of Corse as a faint smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth.


    "Let''s see how long you can hold out, Prince Bruno," he muttered to himself. "We crushed your family. We''ll crush you too¡ªwhen the time is right."

 Chapter 37 - 37: Repairing Ships

    March 20th, 1693 ¨C Port of Loretto, Corse


    The salty breeze swept across the bustling harbor as Prince Bruno stood near the edge of the main dock, his gaze fixed on the captured Republic frigate and ship of the lines being refitted for royalist service. Around him, the port hummed with activity¡ªworkers hauling timber, ropes, and supplies; blacksmiths hammering away at iron reinforcements; and carpenters patching up damaged hulls and masts.


    Bruno folded his arms, his face impassive but his mind calculating. The damage inflicted by the Republic''s siege had been significant, but Loretto''s port was alive again. This port, once ravaged by artillery and fire, was now transforming into a hub of royalist strength. Their ability to cross the sea and challenge the Revolutionary Council rested on these very ships.


    Captain Vallier approached, saluting briskly. "Your Highness, the repairs on the primary vessels are progressing faster than expected. Our shipwrights say the captured frigate and ship of the line should be seaworthy within the month."


    Bruno nodded in approval. "Good. We''ll need every vessel ready for war. What''s the status of the smaller ships?"


    Vallier gestured toward a line of brigs and sloops anchored further down the docks. "The brigs sustained minimal damage during the battle. They''re being outfitted to serve as escorts and supply carriers. The sloops will be used for scouting and swift communication. Once the fleet is assembled, we''ll be capable of maneuvering quickly and striking with precision."


    Bruno took a moment to observe the captured frigate more closely. Its sleek, reinforced hull had originally been designed for long-range patrolling and coastal bombardment. Now, it would be turned against its former masters. Royalist engineers were replacing its Republican flags and insignias with banners bearing the crest of the House of Elysea.


    "Walk with me, Captain," Bruno said, stepping onto the gangplank that led to the frigate''s deck. Vallier followed, the wooden planks creaking beneath their boots as they boarded the ship.


    The deck was bustling with royalist sailors and officers. They saluted as Bruno passed, their faces showing both respect and newfound confidence. Some had been fishermen and merchant sailors before the war, now turned into disciplined members of the royalist navy. Others were veterans of the earlier battles, hardened by the defense of Corse.


    "This ship will be key to our campaign," Bruno remarked as they approached the helm. He ran a gloved hand along the rail, his gaze distant. "Once the fleet is complete, we will no longer be confined to Corse. We will retake what is rightfully ours."


    "We''re with you, Your Highness," Vallier said firmly. "Every man and woman here is ready to follow you back to the mainland. The Republic''s hold is weaker than they realize. If we strike swiftly and decisively, we can rally the people and undermine their control."


    Bruno turned to face him, his expression thoughtful. "I agree. But we must be methodical. The Republic may seem fragmented, but they are not without resources. Their Revolutionary Army is large, disciplined, and fanatical. If we charge in without a plan, we''ll face overwhelming force."


    "We''ve already begun gathering intelligence," Vallier added. "Our spies have reported that the Revolutionary Council is preoccupied with a coalition of monarchies forming against them. The Kingdom of Greater Germania, the Empire of Orosk, and Britannica have mobilized their forces, placing pressure on the Republic''s borders."


    Bruno allowed himself a small smile. "Good. Let the Council spread themselves thin. The coalition will force them to divide their attention. That gives us an opportunity to strike where they least expect it."


    They continued their inspection, moving below deck. The lower compartments were being restructured to accommodate royalist supplies¡ªammunition, provisions, and medical supplies. A team of carpenters reinforced the bulkheads, ensuring the frigate could endure long voyages and withstand future battles.


    "Make sure the armory is stocked with enough ammunition to sustain a prolonged engagement," Bruno ordered. "I don''t want us caught off guard if we encounter resistance at sea."


    "Understood, Your Highness," Vallier replied.


    As they ascended back to the main deck, a group of shipwrights approached, led by a tall, broad-shouldered man with soot-streaked hands. He bowed respectfully.


    "Your Highness, Captain Vallier. We''ve nearly completed repairs on the main mast. Once the new sails are raised, she''ll be ready for her maiden voyage under your banner."


    "You''ve done excellent work," Bruno said. "Keep at it. We''ll need this ship ready sooner rather than later."


    The shipwright nodded and returned to his crew. Bruno remained at the helm, his eyes scanning the horizon. The waters beyond Corse stretched endlessly, a gateway to the mainland and the battles that awaited them. His thoughts drifted briefly to the Revolutionary Council¡ªthe ones responsible for his family''s death and the chaos that had engulfed his kingdom. He would not let them rule unchallenged. Sear?h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Vallier stood beside him in silence for a moment before speaking. "The men are eager, Your Highness. They want to reclaim what was taken from us."


    "They''ll have their chance," Bruno replied. "But we must remain disciplined. Emotions alone won''t win this war. We''ll strike with strategy and strength. The Republic''s power is built on lies and fear. Once the people see that they can resist, the revolution will unravel."


    The prince''s words carried a quiet determination that resonated with Vallier. The captain nodded firmly. "What are your orders for the next phase?"


    "Continue the recruitment efforts. Every able-bodied man and woman willing to fight will be trained. We need sailors, soldiers, and craftsmen. Expand our intelligence network¡ªsmugglers, merchants, anyone who can provide information on the Republic''s movements. We''ll infiltrate their supply lines and weaken them from within."


    "And when the time comes?"


    Bruno''s eyes gleamed with cold fire. "When the time comes, we''ll land on their shores and remind the Revolution that they are not invincible. We''ll liberate the people they have deceived and avenge the fallen."


    The two men stood in silence for a moment, the wind tugging at their coats. The captured ship loomed behind them like a symbol of defiance. And they will use that symbol to destroy what they have constructed.

 Chapter 38 - 38: Royalist New Guns

    April 3rd, 1693 ¨C Royalist Gun Workshop, Loretto, Corse.


    The steady clang of hammers striking metal echoed across the sprawling gun workshop situated near the western outskirts of Loretto. Smoke billowed from tall chimneys, and the scent of molten steel mixed with coal filled the air. Rows of craftsmen, engineers, and apprentices moved about with purpose, assembling weapon components and calibrating complex mechanisms under the watchful eyes of foremen.


    Prince Bruno arrived on horseback, dismounting near the entrance. Captain Vallier and Master Engineer Antoine Durand awaited him, flanked by guards and senior machinists. Durand, a lean man with spectacles perched on his nose, stepped forward and bowed.


    "Your Highness," Durand greeted him with pride in his voice. "The first production models of the new artillery pieces have been completed. We have set up a test site beyond the ridge for a live demonstration."


    "Excellent," Bruno replied, shaking Durand''s hand. "These howitzers will be critical in our campaign. Show me the assembly line first."


    Durand led the prince through the workshop, passing rows of partially assembled cannon barrels and reinforced chassis. Workers were meticulously grinding, welding, and reinforcing the thick barrels with steel bands designed to withstand extreme pressures. Some were installing hydraulic recoil systems designed to absorb shock and prevent the weapon from shifting after firing.


    "These are the 152mm howitzers you designed, Your Highness," Durand explained. "Their effective range is around seven kilometers, depending on terrain and elevation. With high-explosive shells, they can deliver devastating indirect fire on enemy fortifications and artillery positions."


    Bruno nodded as he inspected a finished barrel resting on a steel frame. The design had been inspired by his modern knowledge of artillery mechanics, something he had carefully integrated into the workshop''s capabilities without overwhelming the workers with too much complexity.


    "The recoil system," Bruno asked, pointing to the hydraulic unit mounted beneath the barrel, "can it handle repeated fire without overheating?"


    "Yes, Your Highness," Durand assured him. "The recoil is dampened by a hydraulic cylinder filled with pressurized oil. We''ve tested it under simulated battlefield conditions¡ªeach howitzer can sustain twelve rounds per minute for up to thirty minutes before needing cooling maintenance."


    Bruno ran his hand along the sleek barrel. Unlike older cannons that relied purely on brute force and heavy shot, these howitzers combined precision engineering with superior firepower. He had ensured that the design featured rifling in the barrel, allowing for greater accuracy over long distances. The ammunition, standardized into high-explosive, armor-piercing, and incendiary variants, had also been developed to maximize the versatility of the weapon.


    "And what about mobility?" Bruno continued as they walked toward another section of the workshop. "How quickly can these be repositioned in the field?"


    "We''ve mounted each howitzer on a reinforced carriage with pneumatic wheels," Durand replied. "Horses can tow them, but for faster deployment, we''re experimenting with attaching them to steam tractors."


    "Good," Bruno said. "Artillery that can''t be repositioned quickly is a liability. We''ll need both firepower and flexibility when facing the Revolutionary Army."


    Durand gestured to another part of the workshop where a smaller cannon was being assembled. This weapon was noticeably more compact, with a 76mm bore designed for faster firing and mobile infantry support.


    "These are the smaller field guns based on your instructions," Durand explained. "Their range is shorter, about three to four kilometers, but they excel in rapid deployment and anti-personnel roles. They can be manned by a crew of four and repositioned swiftly on the battlefield."


    Bruno nodded approvingly. "These will complement the howitzers well. They''ll be essential for infantry support during city sieges and close-quarters engagements."


    As they exited the workshop, Vallier joined the conversation. "Your Highness, shall we proceed to the test site?"


    "Yes," Bruno replied. "I want to see how they perform in the field."


    The test site was located on an elevated ridge overlooking a wide, open plain. Several artillery crews had already positioned both the 152mm howitzers and the 76mm field guns at designated points along the ridge. Observers, including senior officers and engineers, stood near the firing stations, awaiting Bruno''s arrival.


    "Your Highness," an artillery officer saluted, "we are ready to begin the live demonstration."


    "Proceed," Bruno ordered, stepping toward the observation area. He raised a spyglass to his eye, focusing on the wooden targets and mock fortifications set up at various distances across the plain.


    The first crew, operating the 152mm howitzer, loaded a high-explosive shell into the breach. The gun commander called out firing coordinates, adjusting the elevation and azimuth based on calculated range data. Once the gun was locked in position, the loader pulled the lanyard.


    A deafening boom echoed across the ridge as the howitzer discharged its shell. The recoil mechanism absorbed the impact smoothly, with minimal displacement of the carriage. Seconds later, the shell struck a distant target, detonating in a fiery explosion that sent debris flying.


    "Direct hit," Vallier commented, lowering his own spyglass. "The range and accuracy are impressive. Usually, the cannon that we use only has an accuracy of about an acceptable range, but this... it''s unprecedented," Vallier finished, his voice filled with awe.


    Bruno spoke. "It''s due to the rifling, Vallier. Traditional smoothbore cannons sacrifice accuracy for ease of manufacturing. By grooving the interior of the barrel, we impart spin to the projectile, stabilizing it in flight. Combined with advanced sighting instruments, the howitzer''s accuracy significantly surpasses conventional models."


    "I see¡­rifling huh."


    The artillery crew quickly moved into action. One man retrieved another high-explosive shell from a nearby crate, while another adjusted the elevation wheel on the barrel. Within moments, the howitzer was ready for another shot. The loader shouted, "Ready!" and pulled the lanyard once again.


    Boom!


    The second shot arched through the sky, its path calculated precisely to hit a wooden fortification over six kilometers away. The target shattered upon impact, sending a shockwave rippling through the observers'' viewing area.


    Bruno lowered his spyglass, his expression neutral but pleased. "The rate of fire is acceptable for now, but I want drills conducted to improve reload time. Crews need to achieve faster reloading under combat conditions."


    "Understood, Your Highness," Vallier replied, saluting.


    Next, they moved to the field gun test site, where a 76mm cannon crew stood ready. This time, the target was a simulated infantry formation made up of life-sized wooden mannequins.


    "Test shrapnel rounds," Bruno ordered.


    The crew inserted a shell designed to detonate mid-air, scattering lethal fragments. They adjusted the gun''s elevation for a near-horizontal trajectory and prepared to fire.


    "Fire!"


    The 76mm cannon let out a sharp crack, significantly quieter than the deep boom of the howitzer. The round burst in mid-flight, sending hundreds of metal fragments tearing through the mock infantry. The mannequins were obliterated, with splinters and debris scattered across the field.


    "Effective," Bruno noted with a hint of satisfaction. "The combination of these smaller field guns and the howitzers will give us control over both large-scale bombardments and mobile skirmishes."


    Durand spoke with pride. "The field gun is designed for maximum versatility. With a four-man crew, it can be disassembled and transported quickly, then reassembled in minutes. It''s ideal for supporting infantry advances or defending key positions."


    Bruno turned to Vallier. "These weapons give us an edge, but only if deployed with strategy. We need to coordinate artillery barrages with infantry movements. Ensure that our officers receive proper artillery training."


    "Of course, Your Highness. We''ll begin tactical integration drills immediately," Vallier responded.


    Bruno walked toward a group of engineers and artillery commanders who had gathered nearby, all awaiting his next instructions. He took a moment to speak directly to them.


    "These weapons are the product of our hard work and ingenuity. They are tools of liberation. But make no mistake¡ªpoor strategy and complacency can turn them into liabilities. I expect discipline, precision, and adaptability from all of you. Our campaign to reclaim the mainland will not be won with brute force alone."


    The officers stood straighter, their faces serious as they nodded in agreement. S~ea??h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I want the howitzers and field guns in full production," Bruno continued. "We will need at least fifty howitzers and over a hundred field guns ready by the time the fleet sails. Ammunition reserves must be tripled.


    "Yes Your Highness!"

 Chapter 39 - 39: Visitor from Foreign Country

    April 5th, 1693 ¨C Loretto, Corse


    The afternoon sun bathed the royal palace of Loretto, now repurposed as Prince Bruno''s military headquarters, in a warm golden glow. A flag bearing the royal crest fluttered in the breeze atop the tallest spire. Inside the council chamber, Prince Bruno and his advisors awaited the arrival of a diplomat from the Kingdom of Greater Germania.


    "Are we certain about this man''s credibility?" Captain Vallier asked, adjusting the cuffs of his uniform. "Diplomats rarely act without hidden agendas."


    "We''re not naive, Captain," Bruno replied, his gaze focused on the large doors at the entrance. "Greater Germania is at war with the Republic, just like we are. They wouldn''t bother sending a representative unless they had something significant to offer¡ªor demand."


    General Berthold nodded. "Still, it''s wise to be cautious. They''ve been eying our territories for generations. Whatever assistance they offer will come at a cost."


    Before anyone could say more, the chamber doors swung open. A tall, imposing man dressed in a formal diplomatic coat entered the room, accompanied by two aides. He had sharp features, with an air of practiced authority and confidence. His long military overcoat bore the sigil of Greater Germania''s royal house.


    The herald announced him. "Presenting Lord Maximilian von Reichenbach, envoy of His Majesty King Wilhelm of Greater Germania."


    Maximilian gave a respectful bow. "Your Highness, Prince Bruno of Elysea. It is both an honor and a necessity that we meet today."


    Bruno stepped forward and extended his hand. "Lord Reichenbach, welcome to Loretto. We appreciate the effort you took to come here during such dangerous times."


    "Thank you, Your Highness." Maximilian shook Bruno''s hand firmly before stepping back. "I bring urgent matters from my king. Greater Germania stands with you in opposition to the Revolutionary Republic of Elysea. As you know, we have been engaged in hostilities along our western border. Their expansionist ideology threatens the stability of all monarchies in the region."


    Bruno gestured for Reichenbach to sit at the long table. Once the diplomat and his aides were seated, Bruno took his place at the head of the table, flanked by Vallier and Berthold.


    "I understand your concerns," Bruno began. "The Republic has made it clear that their goal is not just to control Elysea but to inspire similar uprisings across Europe. Your support in this fight could shift the balance of power in our favor. However, I''m curious about your king''s intentions. What does Greater Germania seek in exchange for aiding my cause?"


    Reichenbach nodded approvingly. "You are direct, Your Highness. I admire that. Yes, there is a matter of strategic interest we must discuss. One hundred years ago, your kingdom annexed the region of Alsace during the War of Succession. That territory has been a point of contention between our nations ever since. If we are to provide full military and financial support for your campaign, we will require Alsace to be returned to Greater Germania once you have reclaimed your throne."


    Bruno''s expression remained neutral, though his mind raced. Alsace... the territory rich in coal and iron. If I give that up, I''ll lose critical resources for rebuilding the kingdom and sustaining future conflicts.


    "I see," Bruno replied calmly. "Alsace is indeed a strategically important region. It has been under Elysean rule for a century now. To relinquish it would weaken our kingdom''s industrial capacity and economic future. I cannot agree to such terms."


    Maximilian leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing. "Your Highness, I do not wish to pressure you, but you must understand the reality we face. The Republic has already fortified its western front. If we do not act together, they may strike a crippling blow to both your cause and ours. We offer you a powerful alliance¡ªtroops, weapons, and access to our supply chains. All we ask is the return of what was historically ours."


    Captain Vallier clenched his fists. "Historically yours? Alsace has been part of Elysea for generations. That region is vital to us. Asking for it in exchange for help is no different than demanding our capitulation."


    Maximilian did not flinch. "Captain, this is not a matter of sentiment. It is geopolitics. Greater Germania cannot afford to commit its forces without securing its own interests." sea??h th§× n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Bruno raised a hand to silence Vallier, his voice calm but firm. "I understand your position, Lord Reichenbach. You have your own people to protect, just as I do. But you also understand that I cannot compromise the future of my kingdom by ceding one of its most valuable regions."


    Reichenbach sighed, leaning back in his chair. "You drive a hard bargain, Your Highness. Very well. Let us be clear with one another. Whether or not you agree to our terms, we have no choice but to continue fighting the Republic. Their aggression threatens every monarch in Europe, including my king. If we fail to contain them, the revolutionary fire could spread to our borders."


    Bruno seized the opportunity. "Then we are in agreement on one thing¡ªour enemy is the Republic. I suggest we focus on mutual cooperation without territorial concessions for now. If our alliance succeeds, there may be other ways to resolve the Alsace dispute diplomatically."


    Maximilian studied Bruno carefully. "You propose that we aid you without demanding immediate compensation. That is a risky gamble."


    "It''s a gamble we both must take," Bruno countered. "If the Republic gains full control of Elysea, they will not stop there. Supporting my cause now increases our chances of victory on both fronts. If we are divided, we will both fall."


    The room fell into a tense silence. Finally, Maximilian smiled faintly. "You speak like a king, Your Highness. Very well. I will convey your proposal to King Wilhelm. In the meantime, you have our commitment to provide military advisors, intelligence, and logistical support. We will coordinate our efforts to weaken the Republic on multiple fronts."


    Bruno extended his hand once more. "Then we have a temporary understanding. Together, we will bring down the Republic."


    Reichenbach shook his hand firmly. "Indeed. I look forward to the day when both our nations are free of revolutionary influence."


    As the diplomatic party departed, Bruno gathered his advisors to discuss the meeting''s outcome.


    "They''re playing a dangerous game," Vallier muttered. "They''ll wait until we''re desperate and then push the Alsace issue again."


    "I know," Bruno replied. "But for now, they need us as much as we need them. We''ll accept their help but remain vigilant. Our priority is to retake the mainland and rally the people. Once we''re in a position of strength, we''ll renegotiate from there."


    Berthold nodded. "Agreed. We can''t afford to lose Alsace. The resources there are too valuable for our long-term survival."


    "Then it''s settled," Bruno said, his tone resolute. "Prepare the fleet and finalize our battle plans. The Revolution''s days are numbered."

 Chapter 40 - 40: Onward to Elysea!

    April 20th, 1693 ¨C Port of Loretto, Corse


    The harbor of Loretto was alive with organized chaos. Royalist soldiers, sailors, and workers moved like a well-oiled machine as they prepared the fleet for departure. The captured Republican ship of the line and frigates had been fully repaired and refitted under Bruno''s command. Now, with banners bearing the crest of the House of Elysea flying high, the ships were ready to take the fight to the mainland.


    Prince Bruno stood on an elevated platform overlooking the docks, observing the operations below with a keen eye. The air was filled with the clatter of crates, the creaking of wooden planks under heavy cargo, and the distant shouts of officers issuing orders. The soldiers of his army, now numbering over 3,000, were boarding the vessels, each battalion assigned to a specific ship.


    Captain Vallier approached, saluting. "Your Highness, the boarding process is proceeding smoothly. All regiments have been assigned their ships. The final shipments of food, ammunition, and medical supplies are being loaded as we speak."


    Bruno nodded, turning to face Vallier. "Good. We''ve prepared for this moment for months. We can''t afford delays. Once everything is secured, signal the fleet to be ready for departure."


    "Yes, Your Highness," Vallier replied before hurrying off to oversee the final preparations.


    Bruno''s gaze shifted to the largest ship in the fleet¡ªthe Elysean Vow, the newly renamed ship of the line that had been captured from the Republic. Its three decks bristled with 80 cannons, their barrels gleaming in the sunlight. It would serve as the flagship for the campaign ahead. Other ships, including two frigates, four brigs, and several sloops, were positioned throughout the harbor, each with a role in the mission.


    Below the platform, Master Engineer Antoine Durand inspected the cannons being mounted on the ships. The 152mm howitzers and the smaller 76mm field guns had been carefully designed for both ship and shore operations. Sailors hauled crates filled with high-explosive shells, powder kegs, and cannonballs onto the deck of each vessel.


    Durand approached Bruno as he descended from the platform. "Your Highness, the artillery crews have completed their final inspections. All cannons are secure and fully operational. I''ve personally ensured that each ship''s armory has more than enough ammunition for the initial engagements."


    "Excellent work, Antoine," Bruno said, clasping the engineer''s shoulder. "These cannons will give us an edge in both naval and land battles. We''ll show the Republic that their time of terror is coming to an end."


    Nearby, General Berthold barked orders to the infantry regiments boarding their assigned ships. Each soldier carried a full complement of gear¡ªrifles, bayonets, rations, and spare ammunition. Supply officers checked manifests and tallied the inventory to ensure no critical supplies were left behind.


    "Keep the lines moving!" Berthold shouted. "We sail in a matter of hours. Everyone should be in their positions before sunset!"


    The soldiers obeyed without hesitation. Many of them had fought alongside Bruno during the defense of Corse, and their loyalty to him had only deepened after his speech in Loretto. They knew the stakes¡ªthis was not just a campaign to reclaim a throne but a battle for survival against a ruthless regime.


    Bruno strode up the gangplank of the Elysean Vow, greeted by the ship''s captain, Theodore LaSalle, a seasoned veteran who had defected from the Republic shortly after the revolution.


    "Your Highness," LaSalle saluted. "The flagship is fully manned and ready for your command. We''ve completed a full inspection of the sails, rigging, and weaponry. She''s seaworthy and ready for war."


    "Good to hear, Captain," Bruno replied, walking toward the helm. He glanced out over the harbor, watching as the final groups of soldiers boarded their ships. "We''ve come a long way since the siege of Loretto. Now, we take the first step toward liberating our homeland."


    LaSalle stood beside him, his expression grim but resolute. "The men are ready, Your Highness. They''ve endured much, but their spirits are high. They believe in your leadership¡ªand in the cause."


    "They will have their chance to prove their resolve," Bruno said quietly. "The Republic may believe they can crush us with sheer numbers, but they underestimate the will of those fighting for their homes and their freedom."


    Bruno''s thoughts briefly drifted to the Revolutionary Council in Elysee. He imagined their faces¡ªcold, calculating, filled with arrogance. They had executed his family, seized control of the nation, and spread fear across the land. Now, they would face the consequences of their actions.


    "Captain LaSalle, ensure that all ships receive the departure signal as soon as the final inventory checks are complete," Bruno ordered. "We leave nothing to chance."


    "Understood, Your Highness," LaSalle replied, turning to relay the command to his officers.


    As the sun began to dip toward the horizon, the ships in the harbor came alive with activity. Sailors unfurled sails, and officers shouted commands as anchor chains were hauled aboard. Drummers aboard the Elysean Vow began to beat a steady cadence, signaling the fleet''s imminent departure.


    Prince Bruno returned to the observation platform one last time, addressing the gathered officers and soldiers below. His voice rang out over the harbor, carried by the evening breeze.


    "Today, we set sail not just for conquest, but for justice," he declared. "The Republic has stolen our country, destroyed our families, and trampled on the rights of our people. But they have made a fatal mistake¡ªthey left us alive, and they underestimated our resolve."


    The soldiers and sailors erupted in cheers, their voices rising in unison. "Long live the King! Long live Elysea!"


    Bruno raised his hand to silence them. "This journey will not be easy. We will face powerful enemies, but we have something they do not¡ªunity, purpose, and the knowledge that we fight for those who cannot fight for themselves. Let this be the beginning of their end."


    The cheers resumed, echoing across the port as the final preparations concluded. The fleet, now fully manned and supplied, began to pull away from the docks, sails billowing in the wind. Prince Bruno watched in silence, the weight of the mission ahead pressing on his shoulders.


    "This is it," Vallier said quietly beside him. "Our future begins now."


    Bruno nodded. "And we will not stop until Elysea is free." Sear?h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 41 - 41: Landing on the Mainland

    April 26th, 1693 ¨C Golfe-Juan, Elysea


    The fleet appeared on the horizon in the early morning light, the golden sun reflecting off the sea as the banners of the royal house fluttered proudly in the breeze. The Elysean Vow led the formation, its towering masts cutting a majestic figure as it glided toward the shores of Golfe-Juan. Behind it, frigates, brigs, and sloops followed in a disciplined line. The town''s harbor, a modest but functional port, lay nestled between the surrounding hills and cliffs.


    Prince Bruno stood at the helm of the flagship, his gaze fixed on the shoreline ahead. Despite the calm waters and the lack of visible defenses, he remained cautious. Intelligence reports had indicated that many smaller towns and villages had been left untouched by the Revolutionary forces, but Bruno knew better than to trust appearances.


    "Captain LaSalle," Bruno said, turning slightly, "send a signal to the rest of the fleet. We will proceed with caution. I want all ships ready to provide support if needed."


    LaSalle nodded, stepping to the signal officer. Within moments, flag signals were hoisted on the Elysean Vow, instructing the rest of the fleet to maintain defensive readiness.


    "Your Highness," Captain Vallier said, approaching, "scouts report no signs of enemy presence near the port. It seems the Republic has neglected this region entirely."


    Bruno frowned slightly. "Or they assume the local population is either loyal to them or too isolated to resist. Either way, we need to confirm their allegiance before we move forward."


    The fleet drew closer to the harbor, and Bruno gave the order to lower the longboats. Soldiers, armed and armored, filed into the boats while sailors prepared the docking equipment. Bruno himself descended from the deck, joining Vallier and General Berthold in one of the lead boats.


    The longboats reached the docks with little fanfare, the oars cutting cleanly through the water. Local fishermen and dockworkers, initially startled by the sight of an entire fleet, began to gather cautiously near the pier. They muttered among themselves, exchanging nervous glances as soldiers disembarked and took up defensive positions along the harbor. Some of the townspeople whispered questions¡ªwho were these soldiers, and why were they flying the royal banner?


    Bruno stepped onto the dock, his boots landing firmly on Elysean soil for the first time since the revolution. He adjusted his coat, emblazoned with the crest of the House of Elysea, and strode forward with confidence. Vallier and Berthold flanked him, their expressions serious but calm.


    An elderly man, dressed in the attire of a local merchant, cautiously stepped forward from the crowd. He hesitated before speaking, his voice wary but respectful.


    "Forgive me, Your Grace," the man said, bowing slightly. "We weren''t expecting visitors, especially... of this kind. Who are you, and why have you come to Golfe-Juan with an army?"


    Bruno stopped a few paces away and addressed the gathered crowd, his voice steady and clear. "My name is Prince Bruno of Elysea. I am the last surviving member of the royal family, and I have come to reclaim what was stolen from us."


    The crowd stirred with confusion and shock. Some gasped, while others exchanged incredulous looks. A younger man near the front shook his head in disbelief. "The Prince? But... we heard the entire royal family was executed two years ago! How can this be true?"


    Bruno''s gaze hardened as he raised his hand to calm the murmurs. "It is true that the Republic sought to exterminate my family. They killed my father, the King, my mother, the Queen, and many others. But by the will of fate, I survived. Now I stand before you not as a victim of their treachery, but as your rightful ruler, returned to restore order and justice to this land."


    A tense silence followed. Then, an elderly woman stepped forward, her eyes filled with both awe and sorrow. "The Republic has brought nothing but fear and division to our country," she said softly. "They spoke of equality, but all we''ve seen are soldiers taking what they please. If you truly are the Prince... what do you intend to do?"


    "I intend to reclaim the throne and put an end to the tyranny that has gripped our nation," Bruno answered without hesitation. "The Revolutionary Council has spread lies and fear to maintain their power. They believe they can intimidate the people into submission. But they are wrong. We will fight for a free and united Elysea¡ªone where justice and dignity are restored."


    More voices spoke up from the crowd.


    "They''ve bled our trade routes dry!"


    "Taxes have doubled since the Council took over!"


    "My cousin was taken by their conscription forces! We never heard from him again!" S§×ar?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Bruno raised his hand once more. "Your suffering has not gone unnoticed. But I cannot win this war alone. I need your support¡ªyour strength and your courage. Together, we can drive the Republic from this land."


    The crowd slowly began to nod and murmur in agreement. Word of the Republic''s excesses had spread across the countryside, and while the townspeople had not been directly attacked, they had suffered economically and socially under the new regime.


    Captain Vallier leaned toward Bruno and whispered, "They''re beginning to rally to your cause, Your Highness. If we solidify their support, we''ll gain a valuable foothold here."


    Bruno nodded subtly. "It starts with trust," he replied under his breath before addressing the crowd again. "I will not force any of you to take up arms. But those willing to stand with us will be welcomed as allies. We will need craftsmen, scouts, and soldiers for the battles ahead. In return, I promise to protect this town and its people from the Republic''s retaliation."


    A young blacksmith stepped forward, clenching his fists. "I''ll join you, Your Highness! My brother fought and died defending the old monarchy. If you''re here to bring them to justice, then I''ll fight too!"


    Others began stepping forward, offering their allegiance. The momentum shifted as the people of Golfe-Juan found renewed hope. They began organizing themselves, bringing forth supplies, offering intelligence on the surrounding region, and volunteering for the royalist army.


    By midday, Bruno''s officers had established a temporary command post in the town hall. Scouts were dispatched to neighboring villages, while supply officers coordinated with local merchants to secure food and materials for the fleet.


    As Bruno stood overlooking the harbor from the town square, Vallier approached with a report. "Your Highness, the locals have pledged their support. We''ve identified several strategic positions around the port to fortify. Scouts report no sign of Republican forces within fifty kilometers."


    "Good," Bruno said, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "This is only the beginning. We''ve taken the first step, but the real battles are still ahead. The Republic will not stand idly by once they learn of our presence here."


    "We''ll be ready," Vallier assured him.


    Bruno nodded. "Yes, we will. And when the time comes, we''ll make them regret the day they ever raised arms against Elysea."


    With the town of Golfe-Juan secured, Bruno''s campaign to reclaim the mainland had begun.

 Chapter 42 - 42: Consolidation

    April 27th, 1693 ¨C Golfe-Juan, Elysea


    By dawn, the port town of Golfe-Juan had transformed into a hub of royalist activity. Soldiers patrolled the streets, craftsmen reinforced strategic locations, and couriers rode out to nearby towns, spreading word of Prince Bruno''s arrival. The fleet anchored in the harbor remained a dominant presence, its ships fully stocked and ready to provide support for the growing resistance effort.


    Prince Bruno stood inside the command post in the town hall, a large map of the region spread out before him. General Berthold, Captain Vallier, and several other officers gathered around the table as scouts reported new information.


    "The surrounding villages are largely sympathetic to the crown," a scout reported. "Many of the local leaders have expressed their willingness to supply food and manpower. They''ve had minimal contact with Republican forces but have faced harsh taxation through intermediaries."


    Bruno traced his finger along the map, noting key roads and trade routes. "Good. These roads are essential for maintaining our supply lines. If we can control them, it will hinder the Republic''s ability to mobilize forces in this region."


    General Berthold nodded in agreement. "Securing the nearby towns will give us a solid foothold. But we must also consider the possibility of Republican retaliation. Once they discover you''ve landed, they won''t hesitate to send a response force."


    Bruno''s expression hardened. "They will come, but we''ll be ready. What''s the status of our fortifications?"


    "We''ve begun reinforcing the northern approaches to the town," Berthold replied. "The cliffs to the east provide natural protection, and we''ve stationed scouts along the coastal paths. If the Republic launches an attack, they''ll be funneled through limited entry points."


    Bruno turned to Captain Vallier. "And our artillery?"


    "The howitzers and field guns have been positioned on elevated ground overlooking the harbor," Vallier said. "Crews are conducting drills to ensure they can fire accurately and quickly. We''ve also mounted smaller cannons near the town center in case of a close-quarters assault."


    Bruno gave a nod of approval. "Good. Maintain those drills. The Republic won''t expect us to be this well-prepared. If they try to overwhelm us with numbers, we''ll make them pay dearly."


    By mid-morning, delegations from nearby villages arrived at the town hall. Farmers, blacksmiths, merchants, and former soldiers filled the chamber, each bringing news and pledges of support. One by one, they approached Bruno to offer their services.


    A burly blacksmith named Renaud stepped forward, his face weathered from years of hard labor. "Your Highness, we''ve got smithies in three villages ready to forge weapons and tools for your army. Just give us the materials, and we''ll keep your soldiers armed."


    "Your work is vital to our cause, Renaud," Bruno said with a firm handshake. "Coordinate with Master Engineer Durand. He''ll ensure you have the resources you need."


    Next came an elderly merchant named Pierre, who represented several trade networks along the southern coast. "We can smuggle supplies through the inland routes," he offered. "The Republic''s patrols rarely venture far from their main garrisons. With your fleet protecting the port, we can maintain a steady flow of goods."


    "Excellent," Bruno replied. "But be cautious. The Republic will tighten their grip on trade once they hear of our activities. Use decoys and false manifests if necessary. We cannot afford to lose vital supplies."


    As more allies pledged their support, the atmosphere in the room shifted from uncertainty to confidence. For many, this was the first glimmer of hope they had seen in years.


    Later that afternoon, Bruno addressed the townspeople once more from the square. Word had spread quickly, and residents from nearby villages had gathered to hear the prince speak. Hundreds of people filled the plaza, their eyes focused on the platform where Bruno stood.


    "People of Golfe-Juan and the surrounding lands," Bruno began, his voice steady and authoritative, "you have suffered under the weight of oppression and fear for too long. The Republic, in their quest for power, has abandoned the principles of justice and unity. They seek to erase our history and crush our spirit."


    The crowd listened intently, many nodding in agreement.


    "But today, we take the first step toward reclaiming our future. This land belongs to us¡ªthe people of Elysea¡ªnot to those who would rule through lies and violence. Together, we will drive the Republic from our shores and restore the dignity that they have stolen."


    A cheer rose from the crowd, growing louder with each passing moment.


    "Long live the King!" someone shouted, and the chant quickly spread through the plaza.


    "Long live King Bruno! Long live Elysea!"


    Bruno raised his hand, signaling for silence. "I do not seek the throne for personal glory. I fight because it is my duty to protect this nation and its people. I fight for those who cannot defend themselves. And I ask you now¡ªwill you stand with me?"


    The crowd roared in affirmation, their voices echoing off the stone buildings surrounding the square. S§×ar?h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    As the sun dipped lower in the sky, Bruno returned to the command post. Officers and advisors reviewed their plans for the next phase of the campaign.


    "We''ll begin moving our forces inland within the week," General Berthold said. "Our scouts have identified key strongholds under Republic control. If we take those, we can secure the entire southern region."


    Captain Vallier added, "We should also continue spreading our message to the larger towns. Once word of your return reaches them, more will likely join our cause."


    Bruno leaned over the map, considering their options. "Agreed. We''ll move carefully but decisively. The Republic is already stretched thin fighting the coalition to the north. If we strike swiftly, we can cripple their ability to reinforce these territories."


    He straightened, his expression resolute. "This is our time. We will not falter. Prepare the troops and the fleet for deployment. By the end of this campaign, the people of Elysea will know that their rightful prince has returned."


    The officers saluted, each man and woman ready to carry out their duties. Outside, the sounds of preparation continued as soldiers drilled and supplies were loaded onto wagons.


    Prince Bruno stepped out onto the balcony overlooking the town square. The people below looked up at him with hope and determination. He knew the road ahead would be long and perilous, but for the first time in years, the dream of a free and united Elysea felt within reach.

 Chapter 43 - 43: The Tactic

    The towering Bureau of State Security in the heart of Elysee was a grim fortress of information. Its black stone walls were lined with guards and watchtowers, while inside, operatives moved with cold efficiency. In one of the many high-security chambers, Minister Emilia Voss read a top-priority report delivered just that morning. The document bore an urgent seal from an intelligence officer stationed in the southern provinces.


    Prince Bruno had landed.


    Voss''s thin lips pressed into a tight line. She set the report on the table before her and rang a bell. Within moments, General Hector Bellerose and Jean-Paul Lafayette, the Minister of Trade and Finance, entered the chamber. Both men knew from Voss''s grim demeanor that the news was not in their favor.


    "Minister Voss," Bellerose said, his tone clipped, "what is the situation?"


    Voss gestured to the report on the table. "We''ve confirmed the worst. Prince Bruno has landed in the south. He''s taken control of the port town of Golfe-Juan and secured the loyalty of nearby villages. Our spies report that his fleet consists of fully armed warships, and his army has grown to more than three thousand soldiers."


    Bellerose''s brow furrowed deeply. "Golfe-Juan... that''s a vital trade hub. How in the name of the Revolution did we let this happen?"


    "They used stealth," Voss replied coldly. "They approached under the cover of night, and the locals aided them. They''ve been consolidating power quickly, establishing alliances with merchants, farmers, and former soldiers. Word is already spreading that the ''rightful prince'' has returned."


    Lafayette adjusted his spectacles, his eyes narrowing. "If he controls Golfe-Juan, he''ll be able to disrupt our trade routes. Supplies from the south will slow, and merchants sympathetic to his cause may refuse to pay their taxes. This will cripple our economy, especially with the coalition of monarchies already blockading key ports." sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Exactly," Voss said. "We cannot afford to let him expand his influence. The coalition of Greater Germania, Britannica, and the Orosk Empire is applying immense pressure on our borders. Prince Bruno''s rebellion is precisely the distraction they''ve been waiting for. If we''re not careful, we could face a two-front war."


    Bellerose stepped forward, his expression hardening. "Then let''s crush him now. We can dispatch a regiment to Golfe-Juan within days. I''ll personally lead the attack. The town isn''t fortified enough to withstand a full assault."


    "No," Voss interrupted firmly. "We''re stretched too thin on the northern front. Diverting forces to Golfe-Juan would leave our border vulnerable. The monarchies would seize the opportunity to advance deeper into our territory."


    "So, what''s your plan, Minister?" Bellerose demanded, crossing his arms.


    "We have to contain him in the south."


    "But that would mean committing a large number of forces, I am confused," Bellerose said.


    "Containment does not require brute force, General. It requires strategy¡ªcontrol of key points and the erosion of his resources. We won''t face him head-on; instead, we''ll isolate and strangle his operations until he is left with no viable options."


    Bellerose frowned but listened intently. "Explain."


    "First," Voss continued, tracing her finger over the map of southern Elysea, "we reinforce control over the roads and critical supply lines leading to Golfe-Juan. Bruno relies heavily on local support for food, supplies, and manpower. We will cut off those routes, placing strategic outposts along major roads and trade paths to intercept caravans and couriers."


    Lafayette nodded, following her movements on the map. "We have strong garrisons in the towns of Valence and Aix. If we fortify those positions and deploy patrols along the trade routes, we can severely hinder their ability to move goods."


    "Exactly," Voss said. "We create a network of blockades and checkpoints designed to prevent any reinforcement or supply from reaching Golfe-Juan. At the same time, we escalate pressure on the local population. Offer rewards to those who cooperate with us and punishments for those who assist the royalists."


    Bellerose interjected, his tone skeptical. "And what of his fleet? If they control the coastline, they can resupply through the sea. We don''t have enough warships in the south to blockade Golfe-Juan effectively."


    "True," Voss conceded, "which is why we won''t waste resources on a full naval blockade. Instead, we deploy smaller, fast-attack vessels¡ªcorvettes and gunboats¡ªto harass their ships. Keep them on constant alert, force them to waste time and resources defending their convoys. Additionally, we send infiltrators to sabotage their dockyards and damage their vessels while they''re anchored."


    Lafayette cleared his throat. "While military measures are necessary, I believe economic warfare will play a crucial role here. The merchants who have aligned with Bruno are motivated by opportunity. We can counter that by offering trade incentives to those who remain loyal to the Republic. I''ll also tighten control on inland trade routes. If merchants know they''ll lose profits by siding with the prince, many will abandon him."


    Voss nodded approvingly. "Exactly. Starve him of resources and allies. Infiltrate his networks, spread misinformation, and create divisions among his supporters. If we do this right, Bruno will be forced to either overextend his forces in desperate attacks or retreat entirely. Either way, he''ll be contained."


    Bellerose crossed his arms, his jaw tightening. "What if he pushes forward despite the containment? What if he takes more towns and rallies a larger army?"


    "That''s the risk," Voss admitted. "But with the coalition threatening our northern borders, we cannot afford to overcommit forces to the south. Our best option is to keep him boxed in, bleed his army through attrition, and crush his morale over time."


    "So in essence, this plan only works if the Prince doesn''t move aggressively," Bellerose said, skepticism still lingering in his tone. "But what if Bruno anticipates this and presses forward before we can establish our containment lines? The man isn''t a fool. He''s demonstrated a keen strategic mind so far."


    Voss''s expression hardened. "Then we will ensure that he is forced to move cautiously. Disinformation will be our weapon. Spread rumors of a large Republican force advancing from the north. If Bruno believes he''s about to be surrounded, he''ll waste time reinforcing his defenses and consolidating his position instead of expanding."


    "And if he calls our bluff?" Bellerose asked, raising an eyebrow.


    "Then we strike swiftly at his supply depots," Voss replied coldly. "We''ll organize raids and sabotage operations to cripple his logistics. Without supplies, an army cannot march. His soldiers will grow weary, demoralized, and eventually desert him if they face hunger and scarcity."


    "I see¡­"

 Chapter 44 - 44: Too Late for That Plan

    May 14th, 1693 ¨C Southern Elysea Countryside


    Prince Bruno''s army marched steadily across the rolling fields, their banners fluttering in the spring breeze. Over three thousand soldiers strong, the force moved with discipline and precision. Among them, two thousand carried newly issued bolt-action rifles, each man equipped with ample ammunition and trained in modern firing drills. The remainder of the army was armed with a mix of rifles, bayonets, and sabers, supported by the new artillery units.


    Howitzers and field guns, designed under Bruno''s supervision, were mounted on reinforced carriages and hauled by teams of horses. Supply wagons carried food, medical equipment, and additional ammunition, ensuring the army was ready for prolonged engagements.


    Bruno rode at the front of the formation, flanked by Captain Vallier, General Berthold, and Antoine Leclerc. Scouts had reported the location of the first major obstacle in their campaign: Fort Vaillac, an imposing Republican stronghold that controlled the primary route leading toward Elysee. It was one of four key fortifications that had to be captured if the royalists were to push inland.


    "Fort Vaillac is positioned on elevated ground," Leclerc explained, pointing to a hand-drawn map as they paused near a hill overlooking the plains. "It was reinforced after the revolution. They''ve added multiple layers of defense¡ªtrenches, stone walls, and artillery emplacements. It won''t be an easy target."


    Berthold grunted in agreement. "The fort guards the main road north. If we don''t take it, we''ll be bottlenecked here, and the Republic can funnel reinforcements from other garrisons. We''ll be stuck fighting a war of attrition."


    Bruno dismounted, stepping closer to the map. He traced the positions marked in ink, calculating their next move. "What''s the enemy''s estimated strength?"


    "Roughly eight hundred soldiers," Vallier replied. "They have six artillery pieces, including two long-range cannons positioned on the ramparts. Their commander is Colonel Dumont¡ªa veteran from the early days of the revolution."


    Bruno''s eyes narrowed. "They''re outnumbered, but they have the advantage of fortifications. A frontal assault would be costly, especially if they have overlapping fields of fire. Fortunately, we have our new cannons with us. I want to see them debut in this battle."


    General Berthold stepped forward, his expression resolute. "What are your orders, Your Highness?"


    Bruno pointed to a ridge on the map positioned south of the fort. "We''ll deploy the 152mm howitzers here. The elevation will allow us to bombard their ramparts and artillery emplacements from a safe distance."


    Captain Vallier added, "With the fort under bombardment, their defenders will be forced to retreat from the exposed ramparts. We can exploit that window of confusion."


    Bruno nodded. "Exactly. Once their artillery is neutralized, we''ll move the infantry in two waves. General Berthold, you''ll lead the main attack from the west. Captain Vallier, your detachment will create a diversionary assault on the eastern approach. This will draw their attention and divide their forces."


    "Understood," Vallier affirmed. "How many men for the diversion?"


    "Eight hundred," Bruno replied. "That will be enough to keep them preoccupied without overcommitting our forces."


    Antoine Leclerc, Bruno''s chief advisor, crossed his arms thoughtfully. "The terrain favors them, but if the artillery does its job, the psychological shock will make their defense collapse. What''s the estimated time to breach?"


    Bruno glanced at Durand, who spoke confidently. "If we maintain steady fire, two hours at most. Once their defenses are broken, it will be up to the infantry to finish the job."


    Bruno''s gaze swept across the gathered officers. "This battle will set the tone for our campaign. We take this fort, and the road to the capital opens."


    Dawn ¨C Near Fort Vaillac


    The sun had barely begun to rise when the royalist forces moved into position. The fog clung to the fields and hills, providing cover as artillery crews set up their howitzers on the ridge. The heavy cannons were anchored securely, their barrels aimed at the fort''s towering walls.


    Bruno rode along the artillery line, inspecting each position. Soldiers saluted as he passed, their faces tense but determined. He stopped beside Durand, who was making final adjustments to a cannon''s targeting mechanism.


    "Everything in place?" Bruno asked.


    Durand nodded. "The crews are ready. Once we start firing, we''ll target their ramparts and gun emplacements first. That should disrupt their ability to coordinate."


    Bruno turned to the gun crews and raised his arm, signaling the start of the bombardment. "Fire!"


    The howitzers roared in unison, sending their high-explosive shells arcing through the early morning sky. Moments later, thunderous explosions shook the fort as the shells slammed into the stone walls. Plumes of smoke and debris rose into the air, and terrified shouts echoed from within the stronghold.


    The first volley was followed by a second and then a third. The royalist artillery maintained a steady rhythm, pounding the fort with relentless precision. Bruno observed through a spyglass as sections of the southern wall began to crack and crumble.


    He could see that the republicans doesn''t know who is hitting them as they are beyond range."


    "Keep the pressure on. They''ll break before they can organize a counter-attack." Sear?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Durand, standing beside him, adjusted his stance and issued orders to the artillery crews. "Focus fire on their southern defenses! Maintain intervals between volleys. We want them scrambling to find cover."


    The howitzers roared again, sending another salvo of high-explosive shells hurtling toward the fort. The impact was immediate¡ªchunks of stone shattered, and part of the outer wall collapsed with a deafening crash. Soldiers on the ramparts were thrown into disarray, some retreating from their posts while others fired blindly in desperation.


    "Target their cannons," Bruno ordered, pointing to one of the remaining gun emplacements. "If we disable their artillery, the infantry will have a clean path to advance."


    "Yes, Your Highness," Durand acknowledged, relaying the command to the nearest gun crews.


    Within moments, another volley hit the fort''s ramparts. One of the long-range cannons was obliterated, the explosion sending fragments of iron and stone scattering across the battlements. Bruno could hear the faint cries of disoriented soldiers echoing through the valley.


    Inside Fort Vaillac


    Colonel Dumont staggered through the smoke-filled courtyard, barking orders to his panicked men. "Hold your positions! Get those cannons firing now!"


    "Colonel, the southern wall is collapsing!" a lieutenant shouted, his face pale with fear. "They''ve destroyed two of our main batteries!"


    "Then relocate the others! We can''t let them gain the upper hand!" Dumont snapped, but he knew the situation was slipping out of control. Whoever was attacking them had superior artillery and was firing from a concealed position beyond their range.


    Dumont clenched his jaw, scanning the horizon. "Prepare the reserves. If they breach, we''ll make our stand at the inner defenses. Send word to our garrison at Valence¡ªwe need reinforcements now!"


    Bruno dismounted from his horse as General Berthold approached with an update. "Your Highness, the bombardment has crippled their defenses. Our scouts report that parts of the southern and western walls are breached."


    "Good," Bruno replied, his tone decisive. "It''s time for the infantry to advance. General, lead the main force from the west as planned. Captain Vallier, commence the diversionary assault on the eastern approach. We''ll trap them between our two forces."

 Chapter 45 - 45: Victory in Our Hands!

    May 14th, 1693 ¨C Assault on Fort Vaillac


    The battlefield erupted with action as Prince Bruno''s orders were executed. The royalist infantry surged forward, advancing under the protective cover of artillery fire. General Berthold led the main attack from the west, while Captain Vallier''s detachment launched their diversionary assault on the eastern approach.


    Bruno remained at the forward command post, his eyes never leaving the fort as he watched through his spyglass. From his vantage point, he saw smoke billowing from shattered sections of the fort''s walls. The artillery had done its job, reducing the enemy''s defenses to crumbling ruins. Now, it was up to the infantry to take the stronghold.


    The Main Assault ¨C Western Wall


    "Hold the line! Advance on my command!" General Berthold barked as he rode ahead of the advancing soldiers.


    The royalist infantry moved in tight formations, their bayonets fixed and their rifles ready. Enemy riflemen fired from the few remaining sections of the fort''s ramparts, but with their defensive positions compromised, their shots were rushed and inaccurate. The royalists returned fire with deadly precision, their bolt-action rifles cutting down exposed defenders.


    "Engineers, forward!" Berthold commanded.


    A team of combat engineers carrying demolition charges sprinted toward the breaches in the wall. Despite sporadic enemy fire, they reached the weakened structure and quickly set their explosives. Moments later, a thunderous explosion echoed across the battlefield, creating a wider breach for the advancing soldiers.


    "Charge!" Berthold roared.


    The royalists surged through the gap, engaging the remaining defenders in brutal close-quarters combat. Bayonets clashed, rifle butts struck skulls, and hand-to-hand fighting ensued in the rubble-strewn corridors of the outer defenses. S§×ar?h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    One young soldier, barely out of his teens, drove his bayonet into a Republican officer''s chest. The officer crumpled to the ground with a gurgling cry. Around him, royalist soldiers pushed forward, forcing the enemy to retreat deeper into the fort.


    "Push them back! Give them no quarter!" Berthold urged, leading from the front.


    The Diversionary Assault ¨C Eastern Approach


    Meanwhile, Captain Vallier''s detachment pressed hard against the eastern defenses. Their attack, though intended as a diversion, was executed with fierce determination. The royalists exchanged volleys with entrenched Republican soldiers who struggled to maintain their positions amid the chaos.


    "Keep up the pressure!" Vallier shouted. "Suppress their fire and advance by squads!"


    Royalist soldiers advanced in staggered formations, using cover effectively as they fired in coordinated bursts. The crack of rifle fire filled the air as Vallier''s men methodically cleared the outer trenches. Smoke and dust obscured much of the battlefield, making it difficult for the defenders to see where the main threat lay.


    As more Republican soldiers were drawn to the eastern defenses, the pressure on General Berthold''s main force decreased. Bruno''s plan was working perfectly¡ªthe enemy was divided and disoriented.


    Inside Fort Vaillac


    Colonel Dumont paced furiously near the inner courtyard. His face was drenched in sweat, and his once-pristine uniform was stained with soot and dirt. The collapse of the southern and western walls had thrown his entire defense into chaos. Reports of breaches and heavy casualties streamed in from every direction.


    "Colonel, the royalists have breached the outer defenses on both sides!" a panicked officer reported. "We''re being overrun!"


    "Then we hold the inner defenses!" Dumont snapped. "Pull every available man to the central barracks. We make our stand here!"


    The defenders scrambled to regroup, but it was clear to Dumont that they were losing control. The sound of royalist artillery and rifle fire drew closer with each passing moment.


    The Final Push


    Prince Bruno rode closer to the battlefield as the infantry made their final advance. He dismounted and walked among his officers, issuing direct orders to ensure the momentum was maintained.


    "Berthold''s forces have breached the walls," Vallier reported, approaching Bruno. "The enemy is falling back to the central courtyard. Their numbers are dwindling."


    "Good," Bruno replied. "Have the artillery cease fire. I don''t want to risk hitting our own men. Order Berthold to encircle the courtyard. We''ll give the defenders one chance to surrender."


    Vallier saluted and quickly relayed the command.


    Within the hour, the royalists had secured most of the fort. General Berthold''s soldiers encircled the courtyard, their rifles aimed at the remaining defenders, who were now cornered and outnumbered. Colonel Dumont stood defiantly among his men, refusing to order a surrender despite the hopeless situation.


    A royalist officer approached under a flag of truce. "Colonel Dumont, by order of Prince Bruno of Elysea, you are offered the chance to surrender. Lay down your arms, and your men will be spared."


    Dumont clenched his fists, his pride battling with the reality of defeat. Around him, his soldiers looked exhausted and demoralized. Some had already dropped their weapons, realizing there was no point in further resistance.


    "I..." Dumont began, his voice strained. He hesitated, then finally let out a defeated sigh. "I will speak with your prince."


    Shortly after, Colonel Dumont was brought before Prince Bruno near the shattered gates of Fort Vaillac. The two men faced each other in tense silence.


    "You''ve fought well, Colonel," Bruno said and continued. "But this battle is over. There is no shame in surrendering to prevent further bloodshed."


    Dumont''s voice was calm, almost too calm. "You have your victory, Prince Bruno," he repeated, stepping forward. "But the Republic will not fall so easily."


    Bruno maintained his composure, observing the colonel''s subtle body language¡ªtensed muscles, clenched jaw, and darting eyes. He sensed the shift in the atmosphere and remained alert.


    Dumont moved closer, his boots crunching over loose stones. "You may think you''ve won here, but all it takes is one act... and this war changes forever."


    In a sudden blur of motion, Dumont lunged forward, pulling a concealed knife from his sleeve, aiming for Bruno''s heart. Gasps erupted from the surrounding soldiers as time seemed to slow.


    Bruno was ready.


    In one fluid motion, he pulled a musket pistol from his belt and leveled it at Dumont''s chest.


    Then with a pull of the trigger, the pistol fired with a deafening crack, the sound echoing through the ruined walls of Fort Vaillac. Colonel Dumont staggered, the knife slipping from his grasp as he clutched his chest, blood seeping through his uniform. His eyes widened in shock as he fell to his knees, gasping for air.


    . Bruno stepped forward, lowering the smoking pistol, his expression cold but resolute.


    Dumont struggled to speak, his voice barely a whisper. "You... think... this changes anything...?"


    Bruno knelt slightly, locking eyes with the dying colonel. "It changes everything. The Republic can''t hide behind terror and deception forever. You''ve lost this fort, and you''ll lose the war."

 Chapter 46 - 46: One Fort Down

    May 15th, 1693.


    The sun rose over Fort Vaillac, casting light on the scars of the previous day''s battle. The royalist banners now fluttered above the crumbled ramparts. Soldiers moved swiftly through the corridors and courtyards, clearing debris, securing weapons, and tending to the wounded. Prince Bruno stood on a raised platform overlooking the fort, his expression serious as he watched his men organize the aftermath of their victory.


    General Berthold and Captain Vallier approached, saluting. "The fort is fully under our control, Your Highness," Berthold reported. "The remaining defenders have been disarmed, and their wounded are receiving medical attention alongside our own."


    "Good," Bruno replied. He turned to Vallier. "And the civilians in the area?"


    "They''ve remained inside their homes, watching cautiously," Vallier answered. "Many fled to nearby villages before the battle. We''ve sent word that they may return and that no harm will come to them."


    Bruno''s gaze hardened. "See that it stays that way. Our objective is liberation, not terror. I won''t have our men looting or harassing the local population."


    Berthold frowned slightly. "Some soldiers might see this as an opportunity to take spoils. It''s a tradition in war, after all."


    "That tradition ends here," Bruno said firmly. "I will not allow this army to devolve into a band of marauders. Gather the officers and bring the troops to the central courtyard. I''ll address them myself."


    A few hours later, hundreds of royalist soldiers stood assembled in the central courtyard of Fort Vaillac. They stood in ranks, many still dusty and bloodied from the battle. Officers barked orders to ensure discipline, and a tense quiet settled over the gathered men as Prince Bruno took his place on a platform at the front.


    Bruno''s eyes scanned the crowd, noting the weariness and pride on their faces. He spoke with a commanding voice that carried across the courtyard.


    "Soldiers of Elysea, you have fought with courage and honor. You have delivered us a great victory today. Fort Vaillac, a key stronghold of the Republic, is now in our hands. This is a moment to be proud of."


    The soldiers murmured in agreement, some raising their fists in quiet celebration.


    "But," Bruno continued, his tone hardening, "with this victory comes responsibility. We are not here to conquer our own people. We are here to free them. The Republic rules through fear and oppression. We will not make the same mistake. We will win the hearts and loyalty of the people through justice and discipline¡ªnot through looting and violence."


    A few soldiers exchanged nervous glances, clearly understanding the implications of his words.


    "Any man caught stealing from or harming civilians will be punished," Bruno declared. "We are soldiers, not brigands. Our mission is to restore peace and order to Elysea. You represent that mission. Do not forget it."


    General Berthold stepped forward. "You heard His Highness! Maintain discipline at all times! Any breach of conduct will be dealt with swiftly."


    The soldiers saluted in unison, their respect for Bruno clear in their eyes. As the assembly dispersed, Bruno watched them march away to continue their duties. Vallier stood beside him, nodding in approval.


    "They''ll follow you, Your Highness," Vallier said. "They know you mean what you say."


    "They have to," Bruno replied. "If we lose the trust of the people, this war will drag on indefinitely."


    Word of Fort Vaillac''s fall spread quickly through the southern countryside. Villagers who had feared Republican retaliation cautiously returned to their homes. Many were greeted by royalist patrols offering assurances of protection and fairness. Merchants and farmers who had withheld support now saw an opportunity to align themselves with the prince''s cause.


    In nearby towns, local leaders sent delegations to the fort, offering supplies and manpower. Bruno met with several of them in the fort''s refurbished command chamber. S§×arch* The NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "We are at your service, Your Highness," said Pierre Fournier, a respected elder from the town of Saint-Amand. "The people are ready to provide food and shelter for your army. Many of our young men wish to enlist as well."


    "Your support is invaluable," Bruno replied, shaking the man''s hand. "With your help, we can secure this region and protect it from further Republican aggression."


    Bruno spent the next few hours coordinating efforts to stabilize the area. Engineers repaired the fort''s walls, while scouts mapped out the next phase of the campaign. Supplies flowed steadily into the fort, bolstering the royalist army''s readiness for future battles.


    Several days later, the news of Fort Vaillac''s capture reached the Revolutionary Council in Elysee. Minister Emilia Voss sat in her office, reading the urgent report with a growing scowl. She slammed the document onto her desk, causing several nearby aides to flinch.


    "Colonel Dumont has failed," she muttered. "The fort has fallen, and Prince Bruno now controls a vital route toward the capital."


    General Hector Bellerose entered the room, his jaw clenched in frustration. "We underestimated him. Our forces in the south weren''t prepared for this kind of coordinated assault. Dumont''s incompetence has cost us dearly."


    "What''s the status of our other fortifications?" Voss demanded.


    "Fort Rochevelle is reinforcing its defenses," Bellerose replied. "Captain Armand has been instructed to hold at all costs. We''ve also mobilized additional regiments to bolster our garrisons along the southern front."


    "Good," Voss said coldly. "But that won''t be enough. Bruno''s victories will embolden the populace. We need to break his momentum before it''s too late."


    Lafayette, the Minister of Trade and Finance, entered the chamber with a grim expression. "The fall of Vaillac is already affecting our trade routes. Merchants in the south are refusing to pay taxes. They''re siding with Bruno."


    Voss''s eyes darkened. "Then we''ll make an example of those who betray the Republic. Begin seizing assets and arresting suspected collaborators. We will tighten our control over the economy and the population."


    "And what of Bruno himself?" Bellerose asked. "He''s proven to be a capable strategist. If we don''t stop him soon, he could reach Elysee."


    "We''ll stop him," Voss replied icily. "Send infiltrators to sow discord among his ranks. Spread rumors of betrayal and dissent. And prepare our elite forces. If he wants a war, we''ll give him one he won''t survive."


    The room fell into a tense silence as the council members absorbed the gravity of the situation. The battle for Elysea was far from over, and both sides knew that the next confrontation would be even bloodier than the last.

 Chapter 47 - 47: Taking them a bit Seriously

    May 20th, 1693 ¨C The Southern Rebellion Expands


    Prince Bruno stood at the gates of Fort Vaillac, observing as scouts and couriers galloped across the countryside on horseback. The royalist victory had ignited a chain reaction¡ªneighboring towns and villages that had once been hesitant now saw an opportunity to rise against the Republic. Farmers, merchants, and artisans, many of whom had endured years of harsh taxes and oppressive laws, were rallying to the cause.


    In the nearby town of Saint-Amand, the atmosphere was charged with anticipation. The streets were crowded with citizens eager to hear from royalist envoys. Blue and gold banners bearing the crest of the House of Elysea were raised over the central square as representatives from the royalist army addressed the townspeople.


    "Our prince has returned!" a royalist officer declared, standing on a makeshift podium. "Fort Vaillac has fallen! The Republic''s stranglehold on the south is weakening. Prince Bruno fights not for power, but for your freedom¡ªfreedom from fear, from unjust taxes, and from tyranny. Join us, and together, we will reclaim our kingdom!" S§×arch* The n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    The crowd erupted in cheers. Local leaders, many of whom had been sitting on the fence out of fear of Republican retaliation, stepped forward to pledge their support. Armed citizens began organizing themselves into militias, ready to defend their homes and assist the advancing royalist army.


    However, the Republic was not idle. As Minister Voss had ordered, teams of infiltrators were dispatched to the region to spread dissent among Bruno''s supporters. They posed as defectors or disillusioned royalist soldiers, whispering rumors of betrayal, greed, and hidden motives. False reports of royalist officers mistreating civilians were circulated in an attempt to erode trust in Bruno''s leadership.


    But the plan quickly faltered.


    Bruno had anticipated such tactics. He had instructed his officers to maintain strict communication channels, ensuring that rumors could be swiftly identified and disproven. When word spread that royalist soldiers were looting villages, Bruno himself led an investigation and uncovered the impostors responsible. The infiltrators were captured and publicly exposed as agents of the Republic.


    In the village of Mireille, the local mayor, an elderly man named Henri Lemoine, addressed the gathered townsfolk after the infiltrators were brought to justice.


    "These deceivers sought to turn us against one another," Lemoine said with a raised voice. "But His Highness Bruno has shown us integrity and justice. He has promised us protection and has delivered on that promise. We will not be divided by the Republic''s lies!"


    The villagers responded with resounding approval, their loyalty to the royalist cause solidified.


    Back at Fort Vaillac, Prince Bruno''s army continued to grow. Hundreds of volunteers arrived from surrounding regions, many bringing their own weapons and supplies. Engineers worked tirelessly to expand the fort''s defenses, while new recruits underwent rigorous training under the supervision of General Berthold and Captain Vallier.


    Antoine Leclerc, Bruno''s chief advisor, approached him in the command chamber. "Your Highness, our forces have swelled to nearly five thousand. More volunteers are expected in the coming weeks. At this rate, we''ll have enough manpower to launch an offensive on the next stronghold, Fort Rochevelle."


    Bruno nodded thoughtfully. "And what of supplies?"


    "Abundant," Leclerc replied. "The local farmers have pledged food, and merchants are providing materials. We''ve also secured additional artillery and ammunition from hidden stockpiles that sympathizers had been guarding for years."


    "Good," Bruno said. He paused, then added, "What of the Republic''s movements?"


    Leclerc sighed. "They''re scrambling to contain the situation. Reinforcements are being mobilized from the north, but they''re stretched thin due to the coalition''s pressure on their borders. Still, we must remain cautious. They won''t let us march to the capital unchallenged."


    Bruno leaned over the map on the table, his finger tracing the route toward Fort Rochevelle. "They''ll likely try to reinforce this position next. If we can strike before they organize, we''ll maintain the momentum."


    Meanwhile, in Elysee, the Revolutionary Council was in disarray. Minister Voss, General Bellerose, and Jean-Paul Lafayette convened in an emergency session to assess the rapidly deteriorating situation.


    "Our efforts to destabilize the royalists have failed," Voss announced bitterly. "The infiltrators were exposed, and now Bruno''s propaganda machine is stronger than ever. More towns are declaring allegiance to him by the day."


    Bellerose slammed his fist on the table. "We need more troops! Send everything we have to Fort Rochevelle. We''ll crush him there and end this rebellion before it spreads further."


    "We don''t have the luxury of mobilizing everything," Lafayette argued. "Our northern borders are under constant threat from Greater Germania and Britannica. If we overcommit to the south, we risk losing territory to the coalition."


    "Then we must make an example of one of these rebellious towns," Voss said coldly. "If they see what happens to those who defy us, fear will return to their hearts."


    Bellerose shook his head. "That won''t work. Bruno''s forces have the support of the people now. Brutality will only drive more of them into his arms."


    "No¡­ it will work. It happens throughout history," Voss insisted, her voice cold and resolute. "When people see what happens to those who defy authority, they''ll choose survival. Fear can be a stronger motivator than hope. They''ll be forced to join us."


    General Bellerose crossed his arms, skepticism etched on his face. "Perhaps. But we''ve already seen how quickly Bruno responds to our tactics. He anticipated the infiltrators, exposed them, and turned it to his advantage. Any heavy-handed measures may backfire just as quickly."


    "Fear works only if your enemy doesn''t have a protector," Lafayette added cautiously. "Bruno is that protector now. Any drastic punishment will push more towns and villages to his cause."


    Voss narrowed her eyes. "Then we must act with precision. We won''t attack the entire region¡ªjust one key town. A place where royalist influence is growing but not yet solidified. If we strike decisively, other communities will hesitate before joining him."


    Bellerose sighed and leaned forward over the table. "Fine. Choose your target. But we don''t have much time. Bruno will push for Fort Rochevelle soon. If he takes it, the southern front is lost."

 Chapter 48 - 48: Now Its Time to get Serious

    May 24th, 1693.


    Under Voss''s orders, a detachment of 1,000 Republican soldiers advanced toward the village of Mireille, a small but strategically significant settlement located near Fort Vaillac. Republican spies reported that the town''s leaders were considering formally pledging allegiance to Prince Bruno. The goal was to crush the village and instill fear in nearby communities before they aligned with the royalists.


    The Republicans entered Mireille at dawn, armed with orders to take hostages and destroy key infrastructure. The village square was eerily quiet as the soldiers marched in formation, their boots echoing on the cobblestones.


    "Search the buildings," the Republican captain ordered. "Round up the villagers."


    His men spread out, banging on doors and forcing terrified families into the square. Mothers clutched their children, while elderly townsfolk huddled together, whispering prayers. The captain stepped forward, addressing the crowd with a voice of authority.


    "This village is guilty of harboring traitors. You''ve given aid and comfort to the enemies of the Republic. That will not be tolerated."


    Before he could continue, the sound of a distant trumpet echoed through the air, followed by the unmistakable thunder of hoofbeats. The captain froze, turning toward the village entrance.


    "They''re here¡­" he muttered.


    Prince Bruno''s army, led by Captain Vallier and supported by local militia, arrived with speed and ferocity. The royalist cavalry charged down the main road, sabers flashing in the morning light. Behind them, ranks of infantry advanced with precision, rifles raised.


    "Hold the line!" Vallier shouted. "Protect the villagers! Drive them out!"


    The Republican soldiers, caught off guard, scrambled to form a defensive perimeter, but it was too late. The cavalry crashed into their ranks, scattering them like leaves in the wind. Rifle fire erupted from both sides, the royalists firing in coordinated volleys that decimated the enemy''s front line.


    Villagers, emboldened by the sight of their protectors, seized improvised weapons and joined the fight. Armed with pitchforks, clubs, and hunting rifles, they attacked the disoriented Republicans from alleyways and rooftops.


    The battle was over within an hour. The surviving Republican soldiers fled, abandoning their weapons as they retreated toward the forest. Bruno and his officers entered the village square, where the townspeople greeted them with cheers and tears of relief.


    "You came just in time, Your Highness," Mayor Lemoine said, stepping forward with a bow. "They were going to destroy us."


    Bruno dismounted and shook the mayor''s hand. "You''re under my protection now. The Republic will not harm you again."


    Vallier approached and saluted. "The enemy has been routed. Shall we pursue?"


    "No," Bruno replied, his gaze hard. "Let them run. They''ll spread word of their defeat, and it will demoralize the Republic''s forces. Secure the village and tend to the wounded. We''ll use this victory to rally more support."


    ***


    Over the next few days, news of the failed Republican raid on Mireille spread like wildfire. Delegations from nearby towns, including Saint-Amand and Arles, arrived at Fort Vaillac to offer their allegiance. Village leaders pledged food, weapons, and militia recruits to bolster the royalist army.


    In a meeting with his officers, Bruno emphasized the importance of maintaining discipline and trust. "The people are watching us closely," he said. "Every action we take will shape their perception of this rebellion. We must continue to demonstrate that we are fighting for justice and liberation, not conquest."


    General Berthold nodded in agreement. "Our forces now stand at nearly six thousand, Your Highness. With this momentum, we can strike at Fort Rochevelle before the Republic regroups."


    "Then we''ll move swiftly," Bruno declared. "They won''t have time to reinforce their defenses. We march within the week."


    ***


    May 30th, 1693.


    The Revolutionary Council convened in a large chamber within the Bureau of State Security. Minister Emilia Voss, General Hector Bellerose, and Minister of Trade Jean-Paul Lafayette stood around a war table strewn with maps and reports. The mood was tense. Each failed attempt to destabilize the royalist rebellion had only strengthened Prince Bruno''s growing influence. The council was finally forced to confront the reality: psychological warfare had failed.


    General Bellerose leaned over the table and slammed his fist down. "Enough with covert tactics! We''ve wasted valuable time and resources on infiltration and intimidation, and none of it has worked. The Prince''s forces are gaining momentum, and more towns are joining him every day. We need to hit him head-on."


    Voss crossed her arms and nodded reluctantly. "I agree. The people have seen through our fear tactics, and Bruno has positioned himself as a champion of justice. If we''re going to stop this rebellion, we have to defeat him on the battlefield."


    "Exactly," Bellerose added. "But that means deploying a significant force to the south. We cannot afford to lose another major stronghold like Fort Rochevelle."


    Lafayette interjected. "And how do you propose we do that without weakening our northern defenses? We''re still at war with Greater Germania and Britannica. Our supply lines are stretched thin, and we can''t divert everything to the south."


    Bellerose turned to Voss with a resolute expression. "There''s one option left. We need to recall General Lucien Marceau."


    The room fell silent for a moment. The name carried weight. General Marceau was a living legend¡ªrenowned for his victories against Britannica''s armies and his ability to turn the tide of impossible battles. However, he had been reassigned to the northern front to hold back the coalition forces.


    Voss''s eyes narrowed. "Marceau? He''s our best commander, but he''s already engaged in critical operations near the northern borders."


    "Critical, yes," Bellerose replied, "but reports indicate that Marceau''s forces have been outperforming Germania. They''ve driven deep into enemy territory and secured key strongholds. If anyone can afford to be temporarily withdrawn, it''s him."


    Lafayette hesitated. "If we pull him from the northern front, we risk losing ground. What if the coalition pushes back while he''s gone?"


    Bellerose shook his head. "Marceau has capable subordinates who can maintain the front. We can''t win this war by holding ground alone. If Bruno takes Fort Rochevelle and establishes full control over the south, we''ll be facing a rebellion strong enough to march on the capital."


    Voss considered the proposal carefully. She disliked the idea of shifting resources from one front to another, but the current situation was spiraling out of control. Marceau''s presence in the south might be their last chance to crush the royalist uprising before it became a full-scale civil war.


    "Fine," she said at last. "Send the order. General Marceau is to lead a campaign against Prince Bruno. I want him mobilized within two weeks. We''ll coordinate reinforcements and supplies to support the offensive." S~ea??h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Bellerose saluted. "I''ll handle it personally. The prince won''t know what hit him."

 Chapter 49 - 49: Two Forts Down

    June 7th, 1693 ¨C Fort Vaillac


    The royalist army buzzed with activity as Prince Bruno prepared to launch the next phase of his campaign. Soldiers inspected their equipment¡ªrifles were cleaned and loaded, artillery carriages reinforced, and wagons stocked with provisions. Engineers worked tirelessly on reinforcing bridges and pathways to ensure smooth logistics. The goal was clear: Fort Rochevelle had to fall.


    Bruno stood over a map in the command chamber, flanked by General Berthold, Captain Vallier, and Antoine Leclerc. Scouts had returned with crucial information regarding the fort''s defenses.


    "Two thousand men guard the fort," Leclerc reported. "They''ve reinforced the outer walls and placed artillery on elevated platforms. However, their garrison appears hastily organized. There are signs they haven''t fully prepared for an extended siege."


    "They''ll know we''re coming soon," Vallier added. "We need to move before they can mobilize reinforcements."


    Bruno nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Agreed. We need to strike decisively. What''s the terrain?"


    Leclerc pointed to a ridge on the map. "There''s high ground here to the west. Perfect for our artillery. The eastern side is less fortified¡ªideal for a flanking maneuver. If we can breach the gates and disable their artillery, their defenses will crumble."


    Berthold crossed his arms. "We''ll have to move fast. If the Republic catches wind of this, they might send more troops."


    "They won''t have time," Bruno said firmly. "We''ll cut off their communication lines. Prepare the men. We march tomorrow."


    June 10th, 1693 ¨C Near Fort Rochevelle


    The royalist army advanced under the cover of night. The road to Fort Rochevelle was surrounded by dense forests and rocky hills, making it difficult for scouts to spot them from afar. Bruno had divided his forces into three groups: General Berthold commanded the central column with the artillery, Vallier led the cavalry on the eastern flank, and Bruno led the western detachment tasked with cutting off any potential escape routes.


    By dawn, the army was in position. The fort loomed on a plateau, its walls bristling with cannons and watchtowers. Bruno observed through a spyglass, noting the placement of enemy artillery.


    "They''re relying on height for defense," he murmured. "But that leaves their cannon crews exposed."


    Durand, the chief engineer, stood beside him. "Our howitzers can handle that. Once we take out their guns, they''ll have no choice but to retreat inside the walls."


    "Make it happen," Bruno ordered. He turned to Vallier. "Is the cavalry in position?"


    "They''re ready," Vallier replied. "We''ll hit them the moment the artillery weakens their defenses."


    Bruno took a deep breath. "Let''s begin."


    The Assault Begins


    The first cannon volley shattered the dawn silence. Explosive shells arced through the sky, slamming into the fort''s artillery emplacements. Stone and metal fragments rained down on the defenders, sending shockwaves across the ramparts.


    Inside the fort, Republican soldiers scrambled to respond. Officers barked orders as cannon crews struggled to return fire. S~ea??h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Get those guns firing!" a sergeant shouted. "Target their artillery!"


    But the royalists had the advantage. Bruno''s howitzers, positioned on the western ridge, continued their bombardment with relentless precision. One by one, the enemy cannons were disabled, their crews either killed or forced to abandon their posts.


    "Prepare the infantry!" General Berthold roared. "Advance under cover of fire!"


    Royalist soldiers surged forward in disciplined formations. They moved through the trenches and hills, their rifles raised. Shots rang out as both sides exchanged fire. Engineers carrying demolition charges pushed toward the main gate, using the smoke and confusion to mask their approach.


    "Set the charges!" one of the engineers yelled.


    Explosions ripped through the fort''s main gate, sending debris flying. The royalist infantry charged through the breach, clashing with the defenders in brutal close-quarters combat. Bayonets gleamed in the morning light as soldiers fought for control of the outer walls.


    Inside the Fort


    Colonel Armand, the Republican commander, stood on the central tower, his face pale as he watched the chaos unfold below.


    "Sir, the western defenses are collapsing!" a lieutenant reported. "Their artillery is tearing us apart!"


    "Hold the inner defenses!" Armand snapped. "Pull every available man to the courtyard. We can''t let them take the fort!"


    His officers obeyed, rallying the remaining troops. But morale was already crumbling. The sound of royalist war cries echoed through the corridors as more sections of the walls fell to the advancing army.


    Bruno led his detachment through a secondary breach on the western side. He moved swiftly, cutting down a Republican soldier who lunged at him with a bayonet. Around him, his men pushed forward with determination, clearing the path to the central courtyard.


    "Push them back!" Bruno shouted. "We have them surrounded!"


    The royalist infantry pressed their advantage, forcing the defenders into a final stand near the barracks. Captain Vallier''s cavalry burst through the eastern gate moments later, completing the encirclement.


    "Drop your weapons!" Vallier bellowed. "You''re outnumbered!"


    Colonel Armand hesitated, his gaze darting between his exhausted men and the advancing royalists. Slowly, he raised his hand in surrender.


    By midday, the battle was over. Royalist banners were hoisted above Fort Rochevelle, and the prisoners were disarmed and placed under guard. Bruno stood in the central courtyard, overseeing the cleanup efforts.


    General Berthold approached with a report. "The fort is ours, Your Highness. Casualties were minimal. Most of the enemy surrendered once we breached the inner defenses."


    "Good," Bruno replied. "Ensure the prisoners are treated fairly. I want them to understand that we fight for liberation, not revenge."


    Captain Vallier arrived moments later. "We found documents in the command tower. Orders from Elysee. It looks like they were expecting reinforcements, but they never arrived."


    Bruno nodded thoughtfully. "The Republic is stretched thin. This victory will force them to make difficult choices."


    Antoine Leclerc entered the courtyard with a message. "Your Highness, delegations from nearby towns are already on their way. News of the battle spread faster than we anticipated."


    "Then we''ll use that momentum," Bruno said. "Fortify this position and prepare for further attacks. The Republic won''t give up easily."


    ***


    June 12th, 1693 ¨C Elysee, Bureau of State Security


    Minister Emilia Voss paced back and forth in the war room, her heels striking the marble floor with a sharp echo. The report on Fort Rochevelle''s fall lay crumpled in her fist. General Hector Bellerose and Minister Jean-Paul Lafayette stood nearby, tension hanging thick in the air.


    "How many forts do we have left under our control in the south?" Voss demanded.


    "Only Fort Serrant and Fort Dubois remain, but both are undermanned," Bellerose replied. "If Bruno''s forces maintain their current momentum, he could take them within weeks."


    "Then when the hell is General Marceau arriving?" Voss''s voice cracked with frustration.


    Lafayette adjusted his spectacles, speaking in a measured tone. "The latest dispatch confirmed that Marceau''s army is already en route. He''ll be in the southern territories within a fortnight. We''ve reassigned additional artillery and infantry to support him."


    Bellerose leaned forward on the table. "Marceau is a man of results. He''ll stabilize the front."


    Voss inhaled deeply, her jaw tightening. "He''d better. We cannot afford another loss. If Bruno takes control of the southern provinces, the entire Republic will begin to fracture."

 Chapter 50 - 50: Making Next Move

    June 14th, 1693 ¨C Fort Rochevelle


    The fort had been transformed into a hub of royalist activity. Engineers worked day and night to repair damaged walls and reinforce key defensive positions. Fresh supplies flowed in from nearby towns, and new recruits joined Bruno''s ranks by the hundreds.


    In the fort''s command chamber, Bruno met with his senior officers. General Berthold unrolled a large map of the region on the table.


    "Fort Serrant lies forty miles to the southeast," Berthold said, tracing a route with his finger. "It''s the next logical target. However, scouts report an increased Republican presence in the surrounding area. It seems they''re finally reinforcing their defenses."


    "Reinforcements, or something more?" Antoine Leclerc asked. "There''s been talk of a high-ranking general leading the effort."


    Captain Vallier crossed his arms. "It''s possible. The Republic wouldn''t sit idle after losing two major forts. They know Bruno''s campaign is gaining momentum."


    Bruno nodded slowly, absorbing the information. "They''re preparing to counterattack. If we keep pushing without a solid plan, we risk overextending ourselves."


    "What do you suggest, Your Highness?" Berthold asked.


    Bruno leaned over the map, pointing to key locations along the trade routes. "We''ll disrupt their supply lines first. Cut off their access to reinforcements and resources. Without support, their garrisons will weaken. Meanwhile, we''ll build stronger alliances with the surrounding towns and strengthen our defensive network."


    "Sabotage and attrition," Leclerc muttered approvingly. "It''ll force them to act on our terms." sea??h th§× nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Bruno straightened, his expression resolute. "Exactly. If they want a decisive battle, it''ll happen on ground of our choosing."


    June 16th, 1693 ¨C En Route to Fort Serrant


    General Lucien Marceau''s column marched steadily along a narrow dirt road, banners fluttering in the warm breeze. Thousands of disciplined Republican soldiers followed in perfect formation¡ªinfantry, cavalry, and artillery units. Marceau himself rode at the front, his sharp gaze fixed on the horizon.


    A courier approached, saluting sharply. "General Marceau, a report from Fort Serrant. They''ve spotted royalist scouts near the eastern perimeter."


    "I don''t care about that. Tell me more about the royalists'' weapons. They were the ones deciding the battle."


    The courier adjusted his stance nervously under General Marceau''s piercing gaze. "General, the reports indicate that the royalists have advanced weaponry. Their muskets can fire with greater range and accuracy than ours. Many of our soldiers were struck down before they could even get into effective musket range."


    Marceau narrowed his eyes. "How much greater a range?"


    "Twice as far, perhaps more," the courier replied. "And they fire faster, almost as if they''ve improved the reloading process."


    "Improved reloading process?" Marceau muttered under his breath and continued. "And what of their artillery?"


    The courier hesitated for a moment, then continued. "It''s unlike anything we''ve encountered before. According to the witness, the royalists'' cannons fire from beyond their sight. Explosive shells rain down on their positions, shattering walls and disorienting their troops. By the time their men locate the source of fire, it''s too late. Their artillery crews are precise¡ªthey cripple their defenses in minutes."


    Marceau clenched the reins of his horse, deep in thought. "So, this is how they''ve been winning every engagement. It isn''t just tactics¡ªit''s technology. Somehow, Prince Bruno has gained access to superior weaponry."


    "General, what are your orders?" the courier asked.


    Marceau exhaled slowly, formulating a response. "We need more information. If they have this advantage, it''s a miracle they haven''t already reached the capital. Something is slowing them down¡ªperhaps logistics or inexperience in deploying these weapons on a larger scale."


    He turned to his officers. "Send scouts to infiltrate the royalist ranks. I want to know everything about these weapons. How they function, where they''re produced, and who''s in charge of maintaining them. Knowledge is our greatest weapon right now."


    "Yes, General," the officers replied, saluting sharply.


    Marceau continued. "Until then, we adapt. If their artillery outranges us, we use mobility and deception to avoid prolonged bombardments. If their infantry has superior rifles, we close the distance quickly. Terrain will be key¡ªwe''ll force them into choke points where range matters less."


    One of Marceau''s lieutenants stepped forward. "General, if I may¡­ if they have such advanced equipment, how can we hope to overpower them without equal firepower?"


    Marceau''s expression hardened. "Wars aren''t won by weapons alone. Discipline, strategy, and the will to fight can turn the tide of any battle. Remember that. Our enemy may be strong, but they are not invincible."


    June 18th, 1693 ¨C Fort Rochevelle.


    Meanwhile, Prince Bruno received reports from his scouts detailing the movements of the republican army. Bruno studied the maps, noting the efficient formations and supply lines. It was clear that this general was different from the others he had faced.


    "Marceau¡­" Bruno murmured. "He''s disciplined, methodical. This isn''t someone who''ll be easily intimidated by our victories."


    "General Marceau is a veteran," Leclerc said. "He''s been leading campaigns against the enemies of the Kingdom of Elysea and was feared one in the continent."


    Captain Vallier crossed his arms, his brow furrowed. "Which is why it doesn''t add up. Marceau fought against Elysea''s enemies for years and earned respect across the continent. Why would he join the Republic?"


    "Desperation, perhaps," Leclerc suggested. "The Revolution may have offered him something he couldn''t refuse. Power, influence, or perhaps a cause he now believes in."


    Bruno shook his head. "It doesn''t matter why he''s here. What matters is that he''s dangerous. Marceau will adapt quickly to our tactics. He won''t underestimate us like the others."


    General Berthold stepped forward. "Do you think he knows about our weapons?"


    "He''s learning," Bruno replied. "His scouts are likely gathering information as we speak. But they won''t have the full picture¡ªnot yet."


    Leclerc nodded. "Still, we should assume that Marceau will be cautious moving forward. He''ll try to mitigate the advantage our weapons give us."


    Bruno straightened and looked at his gathered officers. "Then we must evolve faster than he does. We can''t afford to remain predictable. From now on, we need to vary our strategies in each engagement. Hit-and-run tactics, ambushes, misdirection¡ªwhatever keeps him off balance."


    Berthold grunted in agreement. "He''ll be expecting us to push directly for Fort Serrant. What if we bait him?"


    Bruno''s eyes gleamed with interest. "Go on."


    "We make it appear that we''re massing for a large assault on the fort," Berthold continued. "Meanwhile, we launch a surprise attack on their supply lines. If we cut off his access to ammunition and rations, his army will be forced to withdraw."


    "Good," Bruno said, tapping the map. "We''ll need speed and coordination. Vallier, I want your cavalry to spearhead the attack on the supply routes. Berthold will hold position near Fort Serrant with a smaller force to create the illusion of a siege. I''ll lead a separate detachment to disrupt their communication lines."


    "Understood, Your Highness," Vallier replied with a firm salute.


    "Let''s move quickly," Bruno added. "We only have a short window before Marceau''s reinforcements fully entrench themselves."


    General Marceau''s scouts returned to his camp with urgent reports. One of the men dismounted his horse and approached the general, saluting sharply.


    "General Marceau, the royalists are massing troops near Fort Serrant. They''ve begun constructing siege positions and trenches to the west."


    Marceau frowned, his instincts warning him of a possible deception. "They''re committing to a siege? That''s not like Bruno. He''s been using mobility and surprise to win his battles. Why change tactics now?"


    "Perhaps he believes the fort is too heavily defended," one of Marceau''s lieutenants offered. "He might be preparing for a long-term engagement."


    "Or he''s trying to distract us," Marceau said quietly. He walked over to the large map of the region spread across a table. His finger traced the trade routes and supply depots surrounding the fort.


    "He''s playing a deeper game. If I were in his position, I''d go after our supplies while keeping us focused on a false threat. We can''t let him control the flow of battle."


    Marceau turned to his officers. "Double the patrols on the supply lines. Increase security at the depots. We''ll maintain the illusion that we''re fully focused on the fort, but I want every move the royalists make monitored closely. If Bruno wants a game of deception, we''ll give him one."

 Chapter 51 - 51: The Reversal of Fortune

    June 21st, 1693.


    Vallier''s cavalry moved swiftly through the dense forests near the main Republican supply route. Hidden among the trees, his riders waited patiently as scouts kept watch for the approaching convoy.


    "They''ll be here soon," a scout whispered. "Four wagons, guarded by about fifty soldiers."


    Vallier nodded, signaling for his men to prepare. The plan was simple¡ªstrike quickly, capture the supplies, and retreat before the Republicans could organize a counterattack.


    Moments later, the convoy appeared on the dirt road. The soldiers guarding it were alert but unaware of the danger lurking in the shadows. Vallier raised his hand, then brought it down in a sharp motion.


    "Attack!"


    The cavalry charged out of the forest, their horses thundering across the road. Royalist riflemen fired from concealed positions, taking out several Republican guards in the first volley. The remaining soldiers scrambled to defend the wagons, but they were overwhelmed by the speed and precision of the ambush.


    Within minutes, the convoy was captured. Vallier''s men secured the supplies and rounded up the surviving guards.


    "Send a message to His Highness," Vallier ordered. "Tell him the first phase is complete. The Republicans won''t be getting these supplies anytime soon."


    June 22nd, 1693.


    General Marceau read the latest reports with a grim expression. Another supply convoy had been intercepted, and communication lines to Fort Serrant were sporadic at best. His army was being systematically isolated.


    "He''s cutting us off," Marceau muttered. "This isn''t a simple rebellion anymore. Bruno is conducting a full-scale campaign."


    One of his officers stepped forward. "General, if we don''t secure the supply routes, our position at Fort Serrant will become untenable."


    "I know," Marceau replied. "But that''s exactly what Bruno wants. He''s trying to force us into a desperate counterattack."


    He turned to his staff. "We won''t give him the satisfaction. Begin consolidating our forces near the southern trade route. We''ll lure his cavalry into a trap and regain control of our logistics. From there, we''ll launch a counteroffensive."


    As his officers saluted and dispersed, Marceau''s mind raced with possibilities. He had faced many formidable opponents in his career, but Bruno was proving to be one of the most unpredictable. This war was far from over, and both generals knew that the next few battles would determine the fate of Elysea.


    June 25th, 1693.


    General Marceau''s plan was in motion. His soldiers, disguised as a vulnerable supply convoy, advanced along a narrow road near the southern trade route. Hidden in the surrounding hills were elite Republican infantry and cavalry units, each positioned to strike when the royalist ambushers revealed themselves.


    At midday, Marceau and his officers watched the unfolding scene from a distant vantage point. A scout rushed toward them, saluting sharply.


    "Sir, Vallier''s cavalry has been spotted! They''re moving into position for an ambush."


    "Let them believe they have the advantage. Once they commit to the attack, signal the counterstrike."


    Vallier led his cavalry along the tree line, watching the slow-moving convoy with suspicion. The wagons were lightly guarded, just as his scouts had reported. It seemed almost too easy. He hesitated for a moment, but the opportunity was too tempting to ignore.


    "Positions!" Vallier barked. His men fanned out, rifles at the ready. "Wait for my signal!" Sear?h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    The convoy continued its slow march, unaware of the royalists lying in wait. Vallier raised his arm, preparing to launch the attack. As soon as his hand dropped, royalist cavalry and infantry surged forward from the trees.


    "Fire!" Vallier shouted.


    The royalist riflemen opened fire, cutting down several Republican guards in the first volley. The convoy seemed to falter, the guards scrambling in confusion. Vallier grinned, confident they had caught the enemy off guard.


    But then, everything changed.


    A trumpet blast echoed from the hills, followed by the thunder of hoofbeats. From both sides of the road, hidden Republican soldiers emerged in force. Musket and rifle fire erupted from the ridges, pinning Vallier''s men in a deadly crossfire.


    "Ambush! Fall back!" Vallier roared, his eyes wide with shock.


    Republican cavalry charged down the slopes, cutting off the royalist retreat. The battlefield descended into chaos as Vallier''s forces scrambled to regroup. Royalist riders clashed with the advancing enemy, sabers flashing in desperate defense.


    "Hold the line!" Vallier urged, parrying a saber strike from an advancing Republican cavalryman.


    Despite his efforts, the royalists were overwhelmed by the sheer number of attackers. Vallier knew they were outmaneuvered and outgunned. If they didn''t withdraw soon, the entire detachment would be lost.


    "Break through the left flank!" he shouted. "We need to get out of here!"


    His men fought fiercely, but the losses mounted quickly. After a grueling half-hour of intense combat, Vallier finally managed to lead the survivors through a gap in the Republican line. Bloodied and exhausted, the remnants of the royalist cavalry retreated into the forest, leaving behind wounded soldiers and equipment.


    Republican soldiers scoured the battlefield, retrieving weapons from fallen royalists. One officer approached General Marceau, who had arrived at the scene after the fighting subsided.


    "General, we''ve captured several of their weapons," the officer reported, holding up a bolt-action rifle. "These are unlike anything we''ve seen before."


    Marceau dismounted his horse and examined the rifle closely. The craftsmanship was superior to anything produced by the Republic''s armories. The bolt mechanism allowed for rapid reloading, and the rifled barrel gave it extraordinary range and accuracy.


    "This explains a lot," Marceau muttered. He turned to his officers. "Gather every piece of equipment you can find. I want these rifles studied immediately. Our engineers need to understand how they work."


    "Yes, General," the officer replied, saluting.


    Nearby, captured royalist soldiers were being questioned. Marceau approached one of the prisoners, a young infantryman with a defiant glare.


    "Tell me about these weapons," Marceau demanded. "Where are they manufactured?"


    The soldier spat on the ground. "I won''t tell you anything."


    Marceau sighed, motioning for his men to take the prisoner away. He didn''t expect easy answers, but the captured equipment was enough to start unraveling the mystery.

 Chapter 52 - 52: Getting Revenge

    June 26th, 1693 ¨C Fort Rochevelle


    News of the ambush reached Prince Bruno by the afternoon. His face darkened as he listened to the report.


    "Vallier''s detachment was ambushed," Leclerc said grimly. "The Republicans set a trap. He managed to retreat with a third of his men, but the rest were either killed or captured."


    "They''re adapting," Bruno muttered. "This General Marceau isn''t like the others."


    Berthold nodded. "They''ve captured some of our rifles. If their engineers can reverse-engineer the designs, they''ll begin closing the technological gap."


    "No, that won''t be easy on their end. The rifles I designed required precision tools and specialized machinery to produce. Without access to those, replicating them will take time¡ªpossibly years. However, we can''t assume they''ll fail to make progress. We need to act quickly and stay ahead."


    Leclerc crossed his arms thoughtfully. "Even if they can''t mass-produce the rifles, they''ll still learn from them. They might develop countermeasures or tactics to nullify our advantage in range and firepower."


    Berthold frowned. "Marceau is already a step ahead. We need to regain the initiative."


    Bruno leaned over the map table, his eyes scanning potential routes and chokepoints. "We can''t let him dictate the pace. If he''s expecting us to continue ambush tactics, we''ll change our approach entirely. We''ll mislead him with feints and false movements."


    "What do you have in mind, Your Highness?" Berthold asked.


    Bruno pointed to a narrow valley that lay between Fort Rochevelle and the nearby hills. "This terrain works to our advantage. It''s surrounded by dense woods and high ridges¡ªperfect for artillery placement. We''ll make it appear as though we''re retreating to draw him in, but we''ll be waiting to crush him when he overcommits."


    "An encirclement," Leclerc said with a nod of approval. "If done right, it could turn the tide back in our favor."


    "Exactly," Bruno confirmed. "But it''s critical that we control the information reaching his scouts. We''ll need decoy units, false camps, and misleading reports. If Marceau thinks we''re falling back in disarray, he''ll be tempted to pursue us aggressively."


    Vallier, still recovering from his wounds but present at the meeting, spoke up. "I''ll lead the decoy force. He''ll expect me to be weakened after the ambush. It''ll add credibility to the ruse."


    Bruno placed a hand on Vallier''s shoulder. "Are you sure you''re up for it? You''ve barely had time to recover."


    "I''m sure," Vallier replied firmly. "This is personal now. We owe him for that ambush."


    "Very well," Bruno said, his gaze resolute. "Prepare the men. This battle could define the course of the entire campaign. We strike within the week." sea??h th§× N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    June 30th, 1693.


    The royalists moved swiftly under the cover of darkness, establishing hidden artillery positions on the ridges surrounding the valley. Engineers dug fortified trenches and camouflaged the gun emplacements. Supply wagons were relocated to nearby villages to minimize visibility, and decoy fires were lit at false camps in the lower hills.


    Vallier''s detachment set up a visible but vulnerable position near the valley entrance. Scouts patrolled the area, intentionally leaving tracks and signs of recent movement to mislead any observers.


    Bruno monitored the preparations closely, ensuring every detail of the trap was perfect. He knew Marceau was too experienced to fall for a simple ruse. This plan had to be layered with deception and tactical precision.


    "We''ll hold fire until they''re fully committed," Bruno instructed Durand, the chief artillery officer. "Once they''re in the valley, we''ll unleash everything we have."


    Durand saluted. "They won''t know what hit them, Your Highness."


    July 2nd, 1693.


    General Marceau received reports from his scouts indicating royalist movements toward the valley. The information fit the pattern he had been expecting: Bruno''s forces appeared to be withdrawing in disarray after Vallier''s failed ambush.


    "They''re retreating," one of Marceau''s officers said confidently. "We''ve got them on the run."


    Marceau narrowed his eyes. "It''s too clean. Bruno is crafty. He''s led me into traps before, and this reeks of another one."


    "General, if we don''t press the attack, we risk giving them time to regroup," another officer argued.


    Marceau was silent for a moment, then spoke decisively. "We''ll move in, but with caution. Half of our forces will remain outside the valley as reserves. Our artillery will advance but stay near the entrance to maintain a retreat route. I won''t be caught in a pincer maneuver."


    The officers saluted and relayed his orders. Marceau''s army began its advance into the valley, with infantry and cavalry leading the charge.


    From his vantage point on the ridge, Bruno observed Marceau''s cautious advance. The Republican forces moved in disciplined formations, their flanks protected by skirmishers. Marceau''s reputation as a strategist was evident¡ªhe wasn''t taking any unnecessary risks.


    "They''re not committing fully," Leclerc said grimly. "He''s holding back his reserves."


    "Then we adjust," Bruno replied. "Signal the artillery to target their front lines and force them deeper into the valley. If we can create enough chaos, Marceau may be forced to send in reinforcements."


    Durand gave the signal, and moments later, the ridges erupted with cannon fire. Explosive shells rained down on the advancing Republican soldiers, shattering their formations. Smoke and debris filled the air as royalist infantry opened fire from concealed positions.


    "Advance to the center!" an officer yelled as Republican troops scrambled for cover.


    Marceau''s eyes narrowed as he assessed the situation. "They were ready for us. Send in the second wave to support the front. We''ll push through their defenses."


    The battle intensified as more Republican forces entered the valley. Bruno watched carefully, waiting for the right moment to spring the full trap.


    "Now," he commanded.


    Royalist cavalry charged from hidden paths, slamming into the flanks of the Republican column. Artillery shifted fire to cut off their retreat, creating a wall of destruction at the valley entrance.


    Marceau''s forces found themselves surrounded on all sides. Despite the chaos, Marceau maintained his composure.


    "Rally the men!" he ordered. "Form defensive squares and hold the line! We''ll break through on the eastern ridge!"


    His officers carried out his commands, but the royalist forces pressed their advantage relentlessly. Hours of brutal fighting ensued, with both sides suffering heavy casualties.


    By dusk, the battlefield fell silent. The royalists had gained control of the valley, but Marceau managed a disciplined withdrawal with a portion of his army. The cost of the battle was high on both sides, but Bruno had achieved his objective¡ªMarceau''s forces were weakened, and their momentum stalled.


    "We''ve won today, but Marceau won''t give up," Bruno said as he surveyed the battlefield. "He''ll adapt again. We need to stay ahead."


    Berthold approached, saluting. "What are your orders, Your Highness?"


    "Consolidate our defenses and fortify the valley. We''ve shown we can outmaneuver him, but the next battle will be even harder."

 Chapter 53 - 53: Nail in the Coffin

    July 7th, 1693 ¨C Republican Stronghold near Fort Serrant


    General Lucien Marceau stood on the walls of the Republican stronghold, watching the distant ridges through his spyglass. Smoke drifted over the horizon, and the low rumble of cannon fire echoed across the valley. The Royalists were coming.


    Marceau had expected Bruno to strike, but he hadn''t anticipated this level of force. The reports had been consistent¡ªBruno''s forces possessed advanced artillery that could strike beyond conventional range. The destruction of the Republican army at the last battle had already proven that. Yet, Marceau had still managed to extract a portion of his troops, retreating toward Fort Serrant and entrenching in a defensive position nearby.


    But Bruno wasn''t giving him time to recover.


    A courier rushed up the stone steps, saluting sharply. "General, enemy artillery has begun their bombardment. Their shells are landing well beyond our range. They must have positioned their guns on the ridgeline."


    Marceau gritted his teeth. He had stationed his own artillery on the forward hills to counter an assault, but their range was proving insufficient. The Royalists'' long-range cannons were tearing into their fortifications with frightening precision.


    "Where is their infantry?" he asked, lowering the spyglass.


    "Still advancing, sir. They''re moving in formation, covered by their artillery fire."


    Marceau turned to his officers. "Pull the forward artillery back. We can''t afford to lose them before they fire a shot. Move the cavalry to the rear trenches and prepare the infantry for a staggered withdrawal into the inner defenses. We''re not holding the outer walls."


    His commanders hesitated. "Sir, if we abandon the outer walls¡ª"


    "We''ll be annihilated if we stay," Marceau cut in sharply. "Bruno has superior firepower, and he knows it. If we hold our ground, we''ll be slaughtered before they even reach us."


    Reluctantly, the officers nodded and rushed to carry out his orders.


    On the opposing ridge, Prince Bruno observed the Republican stronghold through his spyglass. The walls were thick, and despite the bombardment, the structure was holding¡ªfor now.


    "Durand," Bruno called to his artillery commander. "Focus fire on the southern bastion. I want that section of the wall weakened before we send in the infantry."


    Durand nodded. "Yes, Your Highness."


    The next volley of howitzer shells arced high into the sky, whistling as they descended upon the fort. Explosions rocked the walls, sending chunks of stone and debris raining down. The southern bastion shuddered under the relentless assault.


    Bruno turned to General Berthold. "Signal Vallier''s cavalry to prepare for the flank assault. Once the breach is open, we won''t give them time to reorganize."


    Berthold saluted and relayed the command. The Royalists were executing their strategy with brutal efficiency¡ªbombard, weaken, and then strike with overwhelming force.


    Inside the Republican stronghold, Marceau felt the impact of another devastating explosion. Dust and smoke filled the air, and soldiers coughed as they hurried to reinforce the inner defenses.


    "General!" a wounded officer stumbled forward. "The southern bastion is close to collapsing. They''ve concentrated their fire there!"


    Marceau clenched his fists. Bruno was carving a hole into his defenses with mechanical precision. He had no choice but to reposition his men.


    "Fall back to the central courtyard," he ordered. "Use the rubble as cover. If we can delay them, we might still have a chance."


    The Republican forces withdrew in an orderly fashion, retreating deeper into the stronghold. The outer walls were abandoned just as another barrage of artillery fire shattered the southern bastion, leaving a massive gap in the defenses.


    Bruno watched as the Republican forces retreated from the breached walls. "They''re giving up the outer defenses," he noted. "They''re trying to lure us into a prolonged fight inside the fort."


    Leclerc smirked. "A logical move. But one that won''t work against us."


    Bruno raised his sword, signaling the advance. "Forward! Take the fort!"


    The royalist infantry surged forward, muskets raised. The breach in the wall became a floodgate as soldiers poured through, engaging the retreating Republicans in brutal close-quarters combat. Bayonets clashed against sabers, and gunfire echoed through the crumbling corridors.


    From the eastern flank, Captain Vallier''s cavalry stormed through the secondary gates, cutting down fleeing Republican troops before they could regroup.


    Inside the courtyard, Marceau barked orders. "Hold the line! We''ll make our stand here!"


    The remaining Republican soldiers formed a defensive ring around the command post, desperately trying to hold off the Royalist advance. But the enemy was relentless¡ªwell-coordinated volleys cut down their ranks, and artillery fire continued to pound the remaining strongpoints. S§×arch* The N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Marceau knew they were finished. His men were outgunned, outflanked, and outmaneuvered.


    An officer stumbled toward him, blood streaming from his temple. "General, we can''t hold them back!"


    Marceau exhaled sharply. "Then we cut our losses."


    He turned to his lieutenants. "Order a retreat. Any men who can escape, let them. The battle is lost."


    His officers hesitated only for a moment before nodding. Marceau himself, however, did not move. He had fought wars his entire life, and he wasn''t about to flee from the battlefield like a common soldier.


    When the Royalists finally broke through the last line of defense, they found Marceau standing tall amidst the bodies of his fallen men. His uniform was dirtied, his sword stained with blood, but his gaze remained cold and unwavering.


    Bruno approached, lowering his weapon. "General Marceau."


    Marceau met his gaze without flinching. "Prince Bruno."


    "You fought well," Bruno said, keeping his tone neutral. "But this war is over for you."


    Marceau smirked. "For me, perhaps. But not for the Republic."


    Bruno exhaled. "Surrender. Spare your remaining men from unnecessary slaughter."


    Marceau stared at him for a long moment before finally tossing his sword to the ground. "Very well, Your Highness. I surrender."


    By nightfall, the Republican stronghold was firmly in Royalist hands. Marceau and the remaining prisoners were secured, and the royalist banners flew high above the fort.


    Bruno stood on the battlements, overlooking the battlefield. This was his greatest victory yet. The Republic''s strongest general had been defeated, and their last major southern stronghold had fallen.


    But he knew this war was far from over. The Republic would not simply crumble after one defeat. They would regroup, they would retaliate, and they would fight for every inch of territory.


    Leclerc approached him. "What now, Your Highness?"


    Bruno''s gaze remained fixed on the horizon. "We press forward. We take the capital. And we end this war."

 Chapter 54 - 54: Panic and Chaos

    July 15th, 1893.


    The city of Elysee was in chaos.


    It had begun as whispers¡ªrumors of General Marceau''s defeat at Fort Serrant. Then, by midday, the news had spread like wildfire. By evening, the capital was no longer a city of order but a city of unrest.


    In the market squares and taverns, people gathered in clusters, murmuring among themselves. Royalist sympathizers, long forced into silence by the Republican regime, found renewed courage. The defeat of Marceau¡ªhailed as the Republic''s greatest general¡ªwas proof that the tide of war had turned.


    And at the heart of the commotion was a name: Prince Bruno of Elysea.


    "The last rightful heir still lives!" an old noble shouted from atop a wooden cart in the Plaza de la R¨¦publique. "He fights for our kingdom! He fights for us!"


    The crowd roared in approval, their voices echoing through the streets. Others took up the chant:


    "Long live Prince Bruno! Long live the true king!"


    Republican banners that had hung from buildings for years were torn down and burned. In their place, the old blue and gold banners of the royal family were hastily painted onto walls. The people had found their rallying cry, and the Republic''s grip on the capital was starting to crack.


    Inside the Bureau of State Security, Minister Emilia Voss paced furiously across the grand chamber where the Revolutionary Council had gathered. Her sharp heels clacked against the marble floor as she read the latest intelligence reports.


    "This is a disaster," she snapped, slamming a report onto the table. "Marceau was our strongest general. And now he''s in chains."


    Jean-Paul Lafayette, the Minister of Trade and Finance, rubbed his temples. "The economic situation was already dire, Emilia. With the loss of the southern strongholds, merchants are refusing to pay taxes. They''re declaring their allegiance to the prince."


    General Hector Bellerose, head of the Republican Army, scowled. "We still have control over the capital, and we have the numbers. The prince may have won battles, but he hasn''t won the war."


    Voss turned to him, eyes burning with frustration. "The people don''t care about battles! They care about what they see, and what they see is that the last prince of Elysea is marching toward them while we''re stuck debating policy!"


    A courier burst into the chamber, breathing heavily. "Ministers, there are riots in the eastern and southern districts. Royalist supporters are calling for the prince to take the throne. The city guard is struggling to maintain order."


    Bellerose''s fist clenched. "Then we use force. We crush this rebellion before it spreads further."


    Voss hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "Do what needs to be done. Mobilize the National Guard and the Revolutionary Police. Show no mercy. If we let this riot fester, it''ll become a full-scale insurrection."


    Bellerose saluted sharply and left the chamber, barking orders to his officers as he went.


    The Streets of Elysee.


    By nightfall, the Republican forces moved in. Armed soldiers marched through the streets, their muskets loaded and bayonets fixed. The National Guard, dressed in their blue and white uniforms, formed blockade lines at key intersections.


    The protesters, initially emboldened by their numbers, soon realized what was coming. The Republic had made its decision¡ªthere would be no negotiations.


    At the Plaza de la R¨¦publique, where thousands had gathered, the first shots were fired.


    "Disperse immediately!" a Republican officer bellowed through a brass horn. "Return to your homes, or you will be fired upon!"


    The crowd refused to move. A defiant cheer erupted:


    "LONG LIVE PRINCE BRUNO!"


    A second later, gunfire cracked through the air.


    The front line of protesters collapsed as musket balls tore through flesh. Screams erupted, and the crowd panicked, scattering in all directions. But some fought back¡ªbarricades were hastily erected, stones were hurled, and desperate men and women charged at the soldiers with clubs and daggers.


    The Revolutionary Police arrived next, wielding sabers and whips. They cut through the rioters with ruthless efficiency, showing no hesitation as they crushed resistance in the streets.


    The Rue de Marigny, once a thriving marketplace, became a slaughterhouse.


    "Run! RUN!" a man shouted as he pulled a wounded boy from the chaos, blood dripping from a bullet wound in the child''s leg.


    The Republican soldiers, now emboldened by their orders, showed no mercy. Fires erupted as they torched any shop or home suspected of harboring royalist sympathizers.


    By the time dawn approached, the streets were filled with bodies. The city smelled of gunpowder and blood. sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Minister Voss stood on the balcony of the Bureau of State Security, looking down at the ruined streets. Smoke curled into the sky from the smoldering ruins of shops and homes.


    She had won the battle. The riots had been quelled.


    But at what cost?


    Hundreds were dead. Thousands more had been imprisoned or had fled into hiding. The Republic had retained control of the capital¡ªbut it was now ruling through terror.


    Lafayette joined her on the balcony, his face pale. "This¡­ this was a mistake," he muttered.


    Voss didn''t look at him. "It was necessary."


    "Do you really think people will forget this?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "They''ll remember who ordered the massacre. And they''ll fight even harder for the prince."


    Voss''s grip on the balcony railing tightened. She knew he was right.


    The news of the massacre reached the countryside within days. The peasants, once hesitant to take up arms, now saw the Republic for what it truly was¡ªa regime that would kill its own citizens to stay in power.


    In villages and towns across Elysea, the people rose up.


    Farmers, blacksmiths, and former soldiers took up their weapons. Royalist banners flew over town halls. Local militias formed, preparing for Bruno''s arrival.


    In Fort Rochevelle, Prince Bruno read the reports with a heavy heart. He had expected resistance from the Republic, but he had not expected this level of brutality.


    He turned to his officers. "We don''t march on the capital as conquerors. We march as liberators. The people are waiting for us."


    General Berthold nodded. "The Republic has shown its true colors. They rule by fear, but fear only lasts so long. What are your orders, Your Highness?"


    Bruno folded the report and looked toward the horizon.


    "We march. Elysee must be freed."

 Chapter 55 - 55: Battle of Elysee

    July 20th, 1693 ¨C The March on Elysee


    The Royalist Army advanced across the countryside, their banners rippling in the wind as they moved ever closer to the capital. The road to Elysee was lined with towns and villages that had long suffered under the Republic''s rule, and now, with hope rekindled, the people welcomed their liberators. Farmers and merchants alike stood along the dirt roads, waving, cheering, and offering what little supplies they could spare. Many young men, driven by the desire to see the kingdom restored, took up arms and joined Prince Bruno''s ranks.


    But as the grand city of Elysee appeared in the distance, standing tall and defiant with its stone walls and towering buildings, a grim realization settled over Bruno and his officers. The Republic would not surrender easily.


    Standing at the front of his army, Bruno surveyed the skyline through his spyglass. Smoke from the recent riots still lingered in the air, dark clouds of anger and desperation that refused to fade. His grip on the reins tightened. "They''re preparing for the final stand," he murmured.


    General Berthold rode beside him, eyes fixed on the city ahead. "Urban warfare will be unlike any battle we''ve fought before," he warned. "The defenders know every street, every alley. We''ll be fighting for every inch of the city."


    Bruno lowered his spyglass. "That''s why we won''t play by their rules," he said. "If we march through the gates expecting a fair fight, we''ll be slaughtered. We''ll use our strengths¡ªour firepower, our coordination, and our strategy. They still think they can match us in battle. We''ll prove them wrong."


    July 21st, 1693.


    At dawn, the Royalist artillery roared to life. Cannons lined the ridges outside the city, positioned carefully by Durand''s engineers to maximize their effectiveness. Their long-range shells hammered the city walls, shaking the very foundation of Elysee. Entire sections of stone crumbled under the relentless assault, dust and debris choking the air. The great iron gates, which had once stood as the Republic''s symbol of defiance, were soon reduced to a gaping hole.


    Inside the city, the Republican defenders scrambled. Officers shouted orders, trying to restore some semblance of organization as soldiers rushed to reinforce barricades and man sniper positions inside buildings. Musket fire cracked through the air, but the Royalists remained beyond range, their superior artillery ensuring the defenders could do nothing but wait for the inevitable ground assault.


    From atop a ridge, Bruno observed the damage through his spyglass. He turned to General Berthold. "Signal the infantry. It''s time."


    The Royalist Army surged forward, marching through the shattered gates with unwavering discipline. Their muskets were raised, bayonets fixed, moving in coordinated formations. They had trained for this moment, and now, as the streets of Elysee became their battlefield, every movement was precise, every shot calculated.


    But the Republican Army was far from defeated. Though outgunned, they knew the city well, and they used its dense, twisting streets to their advantage. From rooftops and balconies, Republican snipers picked off advancing soldiers, their shots echoing between the stone buildings. Ambushes were sprung in alleyways, where hidden defenders attacked with knives, pistols, and even makeshift explosives.


    A Royalist column advancing down a narrow street was suddenly met with an explosion as a barrel bomb, hidden beneath a wagon, erupted in flames. Soldiers were thrown from their feet, screaming as the blast ripped through their ranks. Smoke and dust filled the passage, and from the shadows, Republican troops emerged, firing into the dazed Royalists before vanishing into nearby buildings.


    From the rooftops, flaming oil was dumped onto unsuspecting Royalist formations, the burning liquid sending men into agonized screams as they tore at their uniforms in vain. Every street was a deathtrap, every corner a place where death lurked unseen.


    Bruno, watching the battle unfold, knew he had to change tactics. He turned to Durand. "Move the artillery into the city," he ordered.


    Durand hesitated. "Artillery in urban combat? It''s risky, Your Highness."


    Bruno''s gaze was steely. "We don''t have a choice."


    Soon, Royalist field artillery was dragged into the streets, rolling over the rubble as engineers set up firing positions. The next assault began not with musket fire, but with cannon blasts that ripped through entire buildings, leveling Republican sniper nests and fortified barricades alike. Grenadiers moved ahead of the infantry, tossing explosives into enemy strongholds before storming in to finish off the survivors.


    Slowly, the Republican resistance began to crumble.


    July 22nd, 1693. S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    After two days of brutal urban combat, the Royalist Army had pushed the remaining Republican forces into the Grand Plaza, the heart of Elysee. Here, the last bastion of Republican rule remained¡ªthe Bureau of State Security and the Revolutionary Palace, where the remnants of the government had barricaded themselves.


    General Hector Bellerose, the last remaining commander of the Republican Army, stood on the steps of the Bureau, surrounded by his final defenders. Smoke, blood, and fire filled the plaza, but still, they refused to surrender.


    Bruno, leading his men into the square, looked upon the tattered remnants of the once-mighty Republican Army. He dismounted his horse and stepped forward.


    Bellerose watched him approach, sword in hand, his uniform torn and bloodied. "You think this ends today, Prince?"


    Bruno met his gaze. "It does."


    With a final, desperate cry, the Republicans made their last stand. They fought like men with nothing left to lose, charging forward with bayonets and pistols, trying to break the Royalist line in one last, futile attack.


    But the battle was already over.


    Royalist rifles fired in coordinated volleys, cutting down the last defenders. Within minutes, the Grand Plaza belonged to Prince Bruno.


    Minister Emilia Voss, Jean-Paul Lafayette, and the remaining Revolutionary Council had already fled long before the final clash. They had escaped through a hidden tunnel beneath the Bureau of State Security, desperate to flee before Bruno''s forces captured them.


    But Bruno had anticipated their escape.


    He had ordered his cavalry to block every known exit out of the city. He knew where the tunnel led, and he was waiting for them.

 Chapter 56 - 56: Reminiscing

    July 23rd, 1693.


    Voss and her ministers emerged in the countryside, believing they had escaped to freedom. But instead of open roads, they were met with a ring of Royalist cavalry, rifles leveled at them.


    Bruno, seated atop his horse, approached.


    Voss''s expression darkened. "You planned this."


    Bruno''s eyes were cold. "I knew you''d run. People like you always do."


    Lafayette fell to his knees, trembling. "Please, Your Highness¡ªmercy¡ª"


    Bruno exhaled slowly. "Did you show mercy to the people of Elysee when you massacred them?" sea??h th§× ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Voss clenched her fists. "Kill me if you must. But the Republic''s ideals will never die."


    Bruno turned to his men. "Take them alive."


    July 24th, 1693.


    The Royal Palace of Elysee loomed in the distance, its towering spires and marble halls untouched by the battle that had consumed the city. It had once been the heart of the kingdom, a symbol of the royal family''s strength and heritage. And now, after what could be considered an exile, Prince Bruno was finally returning.


    He rode at the head of his army, his banner fluttering in the wind. The streets were lined with cheering citizens, waving the royal colors and chanting his name. The Republic had ruled with an iron fist, but its grip had finally broken. The people saw him not just as a victorious general but as the last true heir of Elysea.


    Yet as he approached the palace gates, a strange feeling settled in his chest. This had once been his home, a place where he had spent his early childhood before being sent to Corse. Memories, long buried under years of war, came rushing back.


    The palace gates creaked open, revealing the grand courtyard beyond. For a moment, Bruno could almost see himself as a child, running across the polished stone paths, his laughter echoing under the vast, arched halls. He remembered his father''s voice, deep and commanding, giving orders to the court. He remembered his mother, elegant and poised, reading in the gardens while he played nearby.


    But those days were gone. The palace had stood empty for years, its corridors once filled with nobles and royal guards now silent. Bruno dismounted his horse and stepped forward, his boots echoing against the marble floor as he crossed the threshold of his old home.


    Inside the Palace


    Bruno walked through the grand entrance hall, running his gloved fingers along the gilded walls. The chandeliers still hung from the high ceilings, though dust and neglect had dimmed their former brilliance. The paintings of his ancestors lined the corridors, their regal expressions watching him as if they had been waiting for his return.


    "So much has changed," he muttered to himself.


    His officers followed behind him, but they did not speak. They knew this was a personal moment for him.


    The throne room was just ahead, its large doors slightly ajar. Bruno hesitated for just a moment before pushing them open.


    The golden throne of Elysea stood at the far end of the room, untouched by time. A symbol of authority, of legacy, of a kingdom that had nearly been lost. And yet, it felt foreign to him.


    He stepped forward, his boots clicking against the polished floor, and stood before the throne. He did not sit. Not yet.


    Not until the crown was placed upon his head.


    Bruno turned away, exhaling slowly. He had won the war, but he was not yet king. That moment would come soon¡ªwhen the nobles, the clergy, and the people declared him as such. For now, he was the ruler in all but name.


    As he walked the halls of the palace, fragments of his childhood returned to him.


    He remembered the library, where he had sat for hours, fascinated by books on war and history. He had once dreamt of commanding armies, but that dream was far too off for the original Bruno as he had grown very spoiled.


    He passed by the royal gardens, where his mother used to walk, her hands brushing against the white roses. He could almost hear her voice, soft and gentle, telling him stories of Elysea''s great kings.


    And then there was his father''s study, the place where decisions that shaped the kingdom had been made. The heavy oak door creaked as he pushed it open, revealing a room frozen in time.


    A large map of Elysea still lay on the desk, its edges curled with age. The same desk where his father had once sat, his hands clasped as he planned military campaigns, economic reforms, and diplomatic strategies. Bruno had once watched from the corner of the room, too young to understand the burdens of kingship.


    Now, that burden was his.


    He turned to Berthold and Leclerc, who stood nearby. "This is where we will plan the kingdom''s future," he said firmly. "The war may be over, but our work is just beginning."


    That evening, Bruno convened his first council meeting in the palace. His commanders, advisors, and trusted nobles gathered around the long table in the war room, discussing the next steps.


    "The Republic''s leadership is finished," Berthold reported. "Voss and her ministers are in our custody. The remaining Republican generals have either surrendered or fled into hiding."


    Leclerc nodded. "The countryside is firmly in our control. Most of the towns and cities have declared loyalty to you, Your Highness. The people want you crowned."


    Bruno leaned forward, his hands clasped. "And what of the army? We must ensure stability before the coronation."


    Vallier, still recovering from his wounds, spoke up. "The Royalist Army stands strong, but we must be cautious. There are still remnants of the Republic''s supporters¡ªdesperate men who might try to fight back."


    Bruno considered this. "We will rebuild the kingdom, but not through fear. The people must see that we are different from the Republic. No mass executions, no purges. We will hold trials for the former government officials. Those guilty of crimes will face justice, but there will be no senseless bloodshed."


    Berthold smirked. "A wise approach. A ruler must know when to be merciful and when to be ruthless."


    Bruno''s gaze hardened. "And should they try to rise against us again, we will crush them without hesitation."


    As the meeting concluded, Bruno returned to the royal chambers, his footsteps slowing as he entered. This had been his parents'' room once. He stepped inside, looking at the ornate canopy bed, the large windows that overlooked the city, the grand fireplace that had warmed the room on cold nights.


    He walked to the balcony, placing his hands on the railing as he gazed at Elysee.


    The city had changed. The streets that had once been filled with Republican banners now bore the colors of the royal family. The people below cheered his name, their voices carrying into the night.


    It was hard to believe.


    The original prince had left this palace to be trained in governance but was merely a disguise for him to be sent off so as to not bring shame upon the royal family. Just now, he had led a rebellion that no one had thought possible.


    Bruno took a deep breath. The war was over, but his true test was about to begin.


    The task of ruling was far more difficult than winning battles.


    But he was ready.

 Chapter 57 - 57: The Republic Dies Today

    July 26th, 1693.


    Prince Bruno stepped through the iron gates of La Bastille de Fer, Elysee''s harshest prison, where only the most dangerous criminals and enemies of the state were sent. The air was thick with the stench of damp stone and unwashed bodies. Torches flickered against the cold walls, casting long shadows as he moved deeper into the prison''s depths.


    Two Royalist guards walked ahead of him, leading the way through the dimly lit corridors. Behind him, General Berthold, Captain Vallier, and Antoine Leclerc followed in silence. None of them spoke¡ªthe weight of what was about to happen did not require words.


    Bruno had come to see them¡ªthe leaders of the Revolutionary Council, the very people who had overthrown his family and turned Elysea into a blood-soaked dictatorship.


    They had once ruled Elysee from the grand chambers of the Bureau of State Security. Now, they were nothing more than prisoners, shackled in chains, awaiting judgment.


    As the group approached the final cell block, the warden stood at attention and saluted. "Your Highness, they are waiting inside."


    Bruno gave a curt nod. "Open the door."


    With the heavy scrape of iron against stone, the door swung open.


    Inside the dimly lit chamber, Emilia Voss, General Hector Bellerose, and Jean-Paul Lafayette sat on a long wooden bench. Their hands were bound in iron chains, their clothes torn and stained with filth.


    Voss, once the ruthless Minister of State Security, sat with her back straight, her piercing gaze locking onto Bruno with open defiance. Even now, she refused to bow.


    Bellerose, the former head of the Republican Army, remained silent, his jaw clenched. His uniform was in tatters, his once-polished boots caked in dirt. He had spent his life leading men into battle, but now he had no army left to command.


    Lafayette, the Minister of Trade and Finance, looked the worst of them all. His face was gaunt, his eyes bloodshot with exhaustion. He had lost his wealth, his influence, and whatever dignity he had left. He knew what was coming.


    Bruno stepped inside, his boots echoing against the stone floor. He stopped before them, crossing his arms as he studied their faces.


    For a long moment, none of them spoke.


    Then, Bruno broke the silence.


    "I was sent to Corse," he said calmly. "Officially, it was to ''prepare me for governance.'' But I know the truth now. I was sent away because the royal court had no use for a spoiled prince."


    His gaze hardened. "And when the Republic took power, a fleet was sent to ensure that I never returned."


    Voss remained silent, but there was a flicker of something in her expression. Recognition.


    Bruno took a step closer. "Tell me. Were you the ones who ordered it? Were you the ones who sent men to kill me?"


    Lafayette swallowed hard. His mouth opened, but no words came.


    Bellerose kept his eyes on the floor.


    It was Voss who finally spoke. S§×ar?h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "The fleet was sent under my orders," she admitted. "The Republic could not afford a claimant to the throne. If you had lived in exile, the nobles would have used you as a symbol. They would have rallied behind you, as they have now." She tilted her head. "Killing you was necessary."


    Bruno''s fists clenched. "And yet, you failed."


    Voss gave a thin, humorless smile. "Yes. And that failure led us here."


    Bruno exhaled slowly. He already knew the answer, but hearing it from her own mouth confirmed everything.


    His voice was cold when he spoke again. "Then you are guilty of high treason."


    Bruno turned to Bellerose. "Tell me something, General. How did it happen? How did you and your revolutionaries manage to overthrow my father?"


    Bellerose finally raised his eyes to meet Bruno''s. "It wasn''t difficult," he admitted. "Your father was blind. The people were starving, and he did nothing. The nobles hoarded wealth while the commoners suffered. When the time came, the people rose up, and we gave them a banner to fight under."


    Bruno narrowed his eyes. "And so you executed the royal family."


    Bellerose nodded without hesitation. "The king, the queen, your older brothers. If we had captured you, you would have been among them."


    Bruno felt something dark settle in his chest. The slaughter of his family had not been out of necessity. It had been a calculated, merciless act to erase the monarchy.


    "And what did you do after taking power?" Bruno continued. "Did you build a better nation? Did you bring prosperity to Elysea?"


    Lafayette laughed bitterly. "We tried," he muttered. "But revolution is messy. The Republic needed money, so we taxed the people into poverty. It needed order, so we built prisons and filled them with anyone who disagreed with us. In the end, we became the very tyrants we swore to replace."


    Bruno didn''t respond. He had heard enough.


    He turned to Berthold. "Have them brought to the square. We will make this public."


    The prisoners tensed.


    Voss, for the first time, showed genuine fear. "A trial¡ª" she started.


    "There will be no trial," Bruno interrupted. His voice was like steel. "You massacred my people, burned my cities, and murdered my family. You are not leaders. You are criminals. And criminals do not get the courtesy of trials."


    Bellerose let out a slow breath, accepting his fate. Lafayette, already broken, began to weep.


    Bruno stepped closer to Voss, lowering his voice. "You said the Republic''s ideals would never die. Maybe that''s true. But you won''t be around to see it."


    Voss straightened her spine, inhaling sharply. She would not beg.


    Bruno turned and left the chamber, giving his final order.


    "Execute them at dawn."


    Bruno''s voice carried no hesitation. "We will prepare the guillotine. The people of Elysee will witness the justice they have long been denied."


    Voss inhaled sharply but said nothing. Bellerose closed his eyes, resigned to his fate, while Lafayette let out a strangled whimper. The weight of their impending execution pressed down upon them, and for the first time, they truly felt powerless.


    Berthold stepped forward. "Shall we make the announcement to the public, Your Highness?"


    Bruno turned to him, his gaze unwavering. "Yes. Let them know that the Republic dies tomorrow."


    With that, he stepped out of the cell, the heavy iron door slamming shut behind him.

 Chapter 58 - 58: The Execution of Revolutionary Council

    July 27th, 1693.


    The dawn was slow to break over Elysee, as though the heavens themselves hesitated to witness the reckoning that was about to unfold. A gray sky hung over the city, the air thick with the lingering scent of gunpowder and ash from the recent battle. Streets that had once been empty and silent under Republican rule were now filled with a sea of people, gathering in the central square before the scaffold.


    At the heart of it stood the guillotine¡ªan instrument of death that had once been used by the Revolutionary Council to purge their enemies. Now, it would claim the heads of the very men and women who had wielded it so mercilessly.


    From his vantage point on a raised platform, Prince Bruno observed the scene before him. The people of Elysee, who had lived under the Republic''s rule for more than a decade, had once gathered in this very square to cheer for the execution of nobles and monarchists. Today, they had come for justice¡ªor vengeance.


    The prisoners, bound and shackled, knelt before the guillotine. They were no longer the powerful leaders who had once ruled Elysea with an iron fist. They were broken, stripped of their influence, awaiting judgment.


    Captain Vallier stood beside Bruno, his expression hard. General Berthold and Antoine Leclerc flanked his other side, their presence a silent reminder that this was not merely an act of revenge, but a necessary step toward solidifying Bruno''s rule.


    The herald stepped forward, unfurling a scroll as he addressed the crowd.


    "Citizens of Elysee, today marks the end of tyranny! The Revolutionary Council, who once ruled through fear and oppression, have been found guilty of crimes against the kingdom. For the massacres of our people, for the betrayal of our nation, and for the murder of the royal family, they now face the justice they denied to so many!"


    A deafening roar of approval surged through the crowd, fists raised, voices echoing through the city.


    Bruno took a slow breath, then gave a curt nod to the executioner.


    The first prisoner was brought forward.


    Jean-Paul Lafayette, the former Minister of Trade and Finance, had once been among the wealthiest men in Elysea. He had helped fund the Republic''s rise, filling its coffers by bleeding the people dry. Taxes, trade monopolies, forced contributions¡ªhe had built an empire of gold atop the suffering of others.


    Now, he was barely recognizable. His fine clothing was torn, his once-groomed beard unkempt, his hands shaking violently as he was dragged up the scaffold.


    "Please¡ª" he stammered as the executioner forced him to his knees. "Please, Your Highness, have mercy!"


    Bruno looked down at him, his expression unreadable. "Did you show mercy to the families who starved under your rule? Did you show mercy to the merchants whose businesses you destroyed?"


    Lafayette whimpered. "I¡ªI was only following orders¡ª"


    Bruno gave a sharp nod. "Then follow this one. Accept your fate."


    The crowd jeered as Lafayette was forced beneath the blade. The executioner yanked the lever, and with a sickening thud, the guillotine did its work.


    Silence followed for a brief moment¡ªthen the people erupted in cheers.


    Bruno did not react. His gaze was already on the next prisoner.


    Hector Bellerose had been the Republic''s enforcer, the man who had led armies against his own people in the name of order. He had commanded the forces that slaughtered royalist uprisings. He had given the order to fire on innocent civilians.


    Unlike Lafayette, he did not beg.


    As he walked up the scaffold, his back straight, his eyes calm, he glanced at Bruno. "I fought for what I believed in," he said simply. "And I die for it."


    Bruno met his gaze. "You killed my family."


    Bellerose nodded once. "Yes."


    Bruno inhaled slowly. "Then you die for it."


    Bellerose knelt, placing his hands on the wooden block, accepting his fate. The executioner pulled the lever.


    The blade fell.


    The Butcher of Elysee was no more.


    The crowd roared again, their voices shaking the city''s foundations. The people had feared Bellerose for years¡ªnow, they saw his blood stain the very ground he had once ruled.


    Bruno barely registered their cheers. His focus was on the last prisoner.


    Emilia Voss had been the true power behind the Republic. She had been its mind, its voice, its executioner. The head of the Bureau of State Security, she had overseen the purges, the arrests, the torture chambers where enemies of the state disappeared.


    And yet, as she was brought to the scaffold, her face betrayed no fear.


    Even in chains, even in rags, she stood with the posture of a woman who believed she was still in control.


    "You think this is victory?" she said as she was forced onto her knees. "You think by killing me, you will erase the Republic?"


    Bruno stepped forward, his voice calm. "The Republic is already dead, Emilia. And soon, you will be too."


    She smirked. "Then you are a fool. Ideas cannot be killed."


    Bruno exhaled. "Perhaps not. But murderers can."


    He gave the signal.


    The guillotine fell one final time.


    And with that, the Republic''s last shadow was gone.


    The crowd stood in stunned silence for a moment, as if processing what had just happened. And then, as the realization sank in, the square erupted in a deafening roar.


    The Republic had fallen. Its leaders had paid for their crimes. And Elysea was free.


    Bruno turned to Berthold. "Burn their bodies. Let the wind scatter their ashes."


    Berthold nodded. "And what of the Republic''s remaining supporters? There are still many who backed them."


    Bruno looked over the crowd, at the people who had once been ruled through fear.


    "We do not rule through terror," he said. "There will be no more purges. Those who choose to live in peace under my rule will not be harmed."


    "And those who don''t?" Vallier asked.


    Bruno''s expression darkened. "If they try to rise again, we will crush them without hesitation."


    The message was clear.


    Bruno turned away from the blood-stained scaffold, his mind already shifting to what came next. The Republic was gone, but now he faced a greater challenge.


    Rebuilding a kingdom. sea??h th§× N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    As he made his way back toward the palace, he could hear the people chanting.


    "Long live the King! Long live King Bruno!"


    For the first time since this war began, he allowed himself a small, weary smile.


    He was not king yet.


    But soon, he would be.

 Chapter 59 - 59: Sending the Message to the Army

    July 30th, 1693


    The grand chamber of the Royal Palace of Elysea was no longer the seat of a crumbling monarchy or the office of a repressive regime. It had become the war room for Prince Bruno, the de facto ruler of Elysea. Maps and reports were spread across the large wooden table, surrounded by his closest advisors¡ªGeneral Berthold, Captain Vallier, and Antoine Leclerc. The weight of rebuilding the kingdom now rested on his shoulders, and the first step was ending the war that had consumed Elysea for over a decade.


    Bruno''s fingers tapped lightly on the polished surface of the table. "It''s time," he said finally, his voice calm but firm. "The war must end. The Republic is no more, and Elysea needs to rebuild."


    Leclerc nodded, understanding the implications. "I''ll draft the letters immediately. The coalition nations¡ªGreater Germania, Britannica, and the Iberian Empire¡ªmust be informed that Elysea is under new leadership."


    "We''ll need to send envoys," Vallier added. "They won''t just take our word for it. For all they know, this could be a ploy by Republican remnants."


    Bruno sighed. "Then we will send men they trust. Officers who fought in the war, diplomats who still hold some credibility. The message must be clear: the Republic is gone, and it is time for a ceasefire."


    He turned to Berthold. "What of our forces still fighting along the border?"


    Berthold''s expression darkened. "We have around 100,000 men still active in the field. Many are entrenched along the border, while others are deep in enemy territory. They''ve fought for the Republic, bled for it. Some will accept your rule, but many¡­ many still believe in the ideals of the Republic."


    Bruno narrowed his eyes. "How many do you estimate will refuse to stand down?"


    Berthold hesitated before answering. "At least forty, maybe fifty thousand."


    A tense silence followed.


    Vallier crossed his arms. "So, another civil war."


    Bruno exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Not a full-scale civil war. Not yet. But sedition, certainly. If nearly half of our military refuses to acknowledge my rule, then we have another battle ahead of us. We need to act quickly before they organize."


    Leclerc adjusted his spectacles, his voice careful. "Many of these soldiers have lived under Republican rule for years. To them, the Republic was not a regime¡ªit was their home. They were promised a future free from monarchy, free from nobility. If they see you as just another king to be overthrown, they won''t hesitate to take up arms."


    Bruno nodded, acknowledging the truth in his words. "Then we give them a choice."


    Berthold raised an eyebrow. "A choice?"


    "We send orders for them to lay down their arms and return to Elysea," Bruno explained. "Those who accept will be welcomed back into the Royal Army. Those who refuse will be given safe passage to leave Elysea. But if they choose to rebel, then we will treat them as enemies of the state."


    Leclerc frowned. "And if they don''t leave? If they stay and resist?"


    Bruno''s expression hardened. "Then we put them down."


    August 2nd, 1693 ¨C The Orders Are Given


    Messages were dispatched across the country and beyond its borders. Letters, carried by trusted officers and envoys, reached the commanders of Elysea''s remaining forces. They were simple, direct, and left no room for misinterpretation.


    [To the Soldiers of Elysea,


    The Republic is no more. Its leaders have fallen, its government dismantled. Prince Bruno of Elysea has reclaimed the throne, and the kingdom stands united once more.


    Effective immediately, all military operations beyond our borders are to cease. All soldiers are to return home. Any who wish to continue serving the Royal Army will be granted full amnesty.


    However, any who seek to fight in the name of the Republic must understand this: Elysea will not tolerate insurrection. Lay down your arms or leave. If you choose war, you will be treated as an enemy of the kingdom. sea??h th§× Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    The choice is yours.


    Prince Bruno of Elysea]


    The letters were received by commanders across Elysea''s remaining battlefields. Some read them with relief, eager to return home. Others, however, saw them as a betrayal.


    August 5th, 1693.


    Reports flooded into the Royal Palace within days.


    "They refuse to stand down," Berthold said grimly, tossing a handful of letters onto the table. "Not all, but enough to be a problem."


    Bruno picked up one of the letters, reading the response from a Republican commander stationed near the Britannica border.


    [To the so-called King of Elysea,


    We do not recognize your authority. We have fought for the Republic, for the ideals of freedom and equality, and we will not bow to another monarch.


    You may have taken Elysee, but you have not taken our spirit. If you want our surrender, come and take it from us.


    General Victor Mcdonauld, 2nd Republican Army]


    Bruno set the letter down, his jaw tightening. "Where are they?"


    Berthold pointed at the map, marking key locations where resistance had emerged. "The largest groups are stationed in the north near Greater Germania, and in the south near the Iberian frontier. The rest are scattered throughout Elysea, mostly in fortified positions."


    Leclerc sighed. "We''re looking at another campaign. It won''t be as large as the war against the Republic, but it will be bloody."


    Vallier shook his head. "They''re fools. They''re outnumbered, outgunned. They can''t win this."


    Bruno narrowed his eyes. "They don''t need to win. They just need to make it costly for us."


    Leclerc nodded. "Precisely. If they wage a prolonged guerilla war, they could destabilize the kingdom before it''s even properly rebuilt."


    Bruno leaned over the table, his expression unreadable. "Then we strike first."


    Berthold''s eyes flickered with approval. "What''s the plan?"


    Bruno pointed to the key rebel strongholds. "We move swiftly. We target their leadership, cut off their supplies, and eliminate them before they can organize. We cannot allow this to drag on."


    Leclerc hesitated. "We could still negotiate. Offer them a chance to surrender peacefully."


    Bruno exhaled. "We did. They refused. But since they loved equality and freedom that much, I can promise radical reforms to them."

 Chapter 60 - 60: We Will Serve

    Leclerc adjusted his spectacles, watching Bruno carefully. "Radical reforms?"


    Bruno met his gaze. "We are not restoring the old monarchy. The people would never accept it. The nobles, for all their supposed loyalty, are opportunists who will turn against me the moment they see a better prospect. If I am to keep this kingdom together, I need to prove that my rule will not be a return to the past."


    Berthold nodded slowly. "And what does that mean?"


    "It means that we are not returning to the old ways. We will keep some of the Republic''s reforms¡ªsuch as the abolition of noble privileges. There will be no special rights granted by birth. Every man will earn his place in Elysea based on merit, not lineage."


    Vallier crossed his arms. "So, no return to the monarchy, but also no Republic?"


    Bruno exhaled, pacing around the war room. "The Republic failed because it gave too much power to ideologues who ruled through chaos. The monarchy before it failed because it was built on the stagnation of privilege. Elysea will not be ruled by bloodlines or by mobs¡ªit will be ruled by strength, by vision."


    Leclerc frowned. "And who holds that vision, Your Highness?"


    Bruno stopped and turned to face them. "I do."


    A silence settled over the room.


    Berthold smirked. "Then you intend to rule as a supreme head of state."


    Bruno nodded. "Yes. The people need order, and only I can provide it. I will not be a king in the old sense, nor a mere figurehead under a republic. I will be Elysea''s leader¡ªunchallenged and absolute."


    Leclerc hesitated before speaking. "A strong ruler can bring stability. But absolute power¡­ that is a dangerous path."


    Bruno met his gaze. "It is only dangerous if the ruler lacks vision. The Republic tried to govern by committee, by endless debates, and by sacrificing national interests for the sake of ideology. The old monarchy was no better¡ªits policies enriched the nobles while the people starved. This kingdom will not be ruled by greed or by weak men squabbling in councils. It will be ruled with purpose."


    Vallier folded his arms. "And what do you propose?"


    Bruno walked to the map of Elysea spread across the war table. "First, I will establish a new government. A Council of State, composed of the most capable men in Elysea, regardless of their birth or past allegiances. This council will serve as advisors, but the final authority will rest with me."


    Berthold nodded. "And the nobility? They will not sit idle while you strip them of their power."


    Bruno smirked. "They will adapt. Those who are loyal will be allowed to serve the state¡ªon my terms. But their titles will mean nothing unless they prove themselves useful."


    Leclerc sighed. "And the people? They fought for the Republic because they wanted rights, not just a new ruler."


    Bruno turned to him. "Then they shall have rights¡ªbut not at the expense of the kingdom''s stability. The law will be equal for all, but there will be no mob rule. Justice will be swift and firm. Property rights will be secured, but the state will ensure that no oligarchy rises to take advantage of the people. Education will be expanded so that talent, not heritage, determines one''s success."


    Berthold grinned. "So, a state built on strength and merit. It sounds¡­ revolutionary."


    Bruno chuckled. "Revolutions fail when they are built on ideals alone. This will be built on discipline, law, and power."


    September 3rd, 1693.


    The city of Elysee gathered in the grand square, where thousands of citizens stood in anticipation. The banners of the Republic had been torn down, and the royal insignias had not been raised to replace them. Instead, a new standard¡ªbearing the eagle of Elysea¡ªwas hoisted above the city.


    Bruno stood on the palace balcony, overlooking the people. He wore no crown, only a dark military uniform with golden embroidery, signifying his role as commander of the nation.


    When he spoke, his voice carried across the square with the weight of certainty.


    "People of Elysea," he began, "our kingdom has endured war, tyranny, and division. The Republic is no more, and the old monarchy will not return. We stand at the dawn of a new era."


    The crowd murmured, uncertain.


    "I have seen firsthand the failures of the past¡ªthe corruption of the nobles, the oppression of the Republic, the chaos of endless war. No more."


    A silence settled as they listened.


    "This nation will be ruled by law and order, by strength and discipline. No man will be granted privilege by birth. No noble will rule simply because of their lineage. No ideology will dictate policy at the cost of our people''s well-being. Elysea will be a nation of merit, where the strong and capable lead, and where every man has the opportunity to rise."


    Some in the crowd murmured with approval.


    "I will govern this nation¡ªnot as a king of the old ways, nor as a puppet of the fallen Republic, but as the supreme head of the state. I will rebuild our lands, strengthen our armies, and bring Elysea into an era of prosperity. We will not return to the failures of the past. We will forge a new destiny." S~ea??h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    For a moment, there was silence.


    Then, the chants began.


    "Long live Bruno! Long live Elysea!"


    The voices grew, rising into a deafening roar. The people, weary of instability, had found someone who could lead them. A ruler who would not bow to old traditions nor be shackled by failed ideologies.


    Bruno stood firm, his hands clasped behind his back.


    The state of Elysea was born.


    ***


    In the grand hall of the palace, the highest-ranking officers of the Elysean military who had remained loyal to the Republic were gathered. Some stood stiffly in their uniforms, their expressions cold and unreadable, while others glanced at one another uncertainly, as if waiting for someone to make the first move.


    At the head of the gathering stood General Victor Mcdonauld, commander of the 2nd Republican Army. A tall, grizzled man with a scar across his left cheek, he was among the most respected officers in the Republic''s military. He had not fought in the battles that had led to the Republic''s fall¡ªhe had been stationed along the border, waging war against the coalition forces. Now, he was here, summoned by a ruler he did not recognize.


    Bruno sat at the long table, flanked by General Berthold and Captain Vallier. He studied the men before him. These were seasoned warriors, officers who had fought for the Republic''s banner. Many had lost comrades in battle, had sacrificed for a cause they had believed in. They were not men who would submit easily.


    The silence stretched, heavy and unbroken, until Bruno finally spoke.


    "You are here because I have given you a choice," he said, his voice calm but unwavering. "You swore an oath to serve Elysea, but that oath was twisted by those who led you. The Republic is gone. Its leaders are dead. The people have chosen order over chaos. I am offering you a place in this new Elysea, not as servants, but as soldiers of a nation reborn."


    McDonauld''s expression remained impassive. "You speak of choice, yet your men have already sent their message. Those who resisted you have been crushed."


    Bruno nodded. "Yes, and they will continue to be crushed until this war is over. But I did not call you here to demand your surrender¡ªI called you here because Elysea needs its warriors. It needs commanders who know how to fight, who understand discipline and strength."


    McDonauld''s lips curled in something that was almost amusement. "And if we refuse?"


    Bruno''s eyes darkened. "Then you will be treated as rebels, not soldiers. And you will die."


    A tense murmur rippled through the officers. Some exchanged glances, weighing their options. They were men who had seen war. They understood the gravity of their situation. They could continue fighting, but without leadership, without the Republic to support them, they would be crushed. Or they could bend the knee and survive.


    McDonauld crossed his arms. "And what of the Republic''s ideals? The men under my command did not fight for a king."


    Bruno leaned forward. "They fought for a vision of a stronger Elysea, for a nation free from corruption and stagnation. That is exactly what I am building. I am not restoring the old monarchy. Nobles will have no privileges. There will be no return to the decadence of the past. Only strength and merit will rule in Elysea."


    One of the younger officers, a colonel named Renaud, frowned. "You say that, but what stops you from becoming another tyrant? Another king ruling by birthright?"


    Bruno smirked. "Because I do not rule by birthright. I rule by strength. By the will of the people. And I will ensure that every man in Elysea has a chance to rise, just as I did."


    McDonauld was silent for a long moment. Then, he exhaled through his nose. "You will not make me swear fealty to a crown?"


    Bruno shook his head. "You will swear loyalty to the state. To Elysea."


    McDonauld glanced around at the other officers. He could see it in their eyes¡ªthey were tired. They had fought for years, some of them since the Republic''s founding. They had followed their leaders into battle, and now those leaders were dead or in exile. The war was lost. The dream of a Republic had burned away in the fires of civil war.


    Slowly, he nodded. "Then we will serve."

 Chapter 61 - 61: A Wild Suggestion

    September 20th, 1693.


    For the first time since his return to Elysee, Bruno allowed himself a moment to breathe. The war was over. The Republic was crushed, and the military had sworn loyalty to him. The nation was stabilizing, and his authority was absolute. It was only right that the moment be commemorated.


    The grand halls of the Royal Palace were alive once more, illuminated by chandeliers whose golden glow reflected off the polished marble floors. The palace had seen nothing but war councils and military officers in the past months, but tonight, it was filled with laughter, music, and the clinking of glasses.


    A grand banquet had been arranged, a symbolic gesture to mark the return of order to Elysea. Nobles who had survived the Republic''s purges attended in lavish garments, their colors bright, their jewels glittering. Military officers, now loyal to the new regime, stood among them, less accustomed to the revelry but nonetheless partaking in the evening''s festivities.


    Bruno himself stood at the head of the great hall, dressed in a black and gold military coat, adorned with a sash of Elysea''s new colors. He did not wear a crown¡ªhe had not yet been crowned¡ªbut everyone in the hall knew that he was the true ruler of Elysea.


    A toast was raised in his honor, and the hall erupted in cheers.


    "To Prince Bruno!"


    "To Elysea!"


    The sound of a hundred voices echoed through the chamber, and for the first time in years, the palace felt alive.


    Bruno moved through the crowd, shaking hands and exchanging words with men and women he barely knew. Some of these nobles had been imprisoned or exiled by the Republic, stripped of their lands and titles. Now, they were restored, though they all knew that their status was no longer based on blood alone.


    "My Prince," one elderly noble said, bowing low. "You have saved us from ruin. Many of us never believed we would see the light of day again, let alone stand in this hall."


    Bruno offered a small smile. "The Republic sought to destroy Elysea''s past, but I will not allow its history to be erased. However, you must understand¡ªyour titles are no longer a shield. You will serve the state, or you will have no place in it."


    The noble nodded quickly. "Of course, Your Highness. We are at your service."


    Bruno moved on. Some of the nobles were truly grateful, while others hid their wariness behind polite smiles. He would have to watch them closely. He had freed them, but he would not allow them to grow powerful enough to become threats in the future.


    As he passed a group of young officers, he noticed Captain Vallier in deep conversation with a woman draped in sapphire silk. She laughed at something he said, her delicate hand resting lightly on his arm. Bruno smirked. Even in victory, Vallier wasted no time in finding company.


    "Your Highness!" came another voice, and Bruno turned to see a man in his late forties approach. The man bowed low before straightening. "Marquis D''Ormont, at your service."


    Bruno recognized the name. The D''Ormont family had once been among the wealthiest landowners in Elysea before the Republic had seized their estates.


    "You were imprisoned?" Bruno asked.


    The marquis nodded. "My family''s name was erased from every record, and our lands were stolen. I thought I would die in chains."


    Bruno''s gaze remained unreadable. "You have been restored, but you understand the conditions."


    D''Ormont nodded quickly. "Yes, Your Highness. I will serve the state however you see fit."


    Bruno studied him for a moment longer before nodding. "Good."


    As the evening continued, Bruno stepped onto a balcony overlooking the city. The streets of Elysee were alive with celebration, citizens drinking and feasting in the squares. For years, they had known only fear and war. Tonight, at least, they had peace.


    Berthold joined him, holding a goblet of wine. "You look uneasy," he remarked.


    Bruno exhaled, leaning on the stone railing. "It feels¡­ strange, celebrating when there''s still so much work to do."


    Berthold chuckled. "That''s what happens when you take a kingdom for yourself. But tonight, the people rejoice, and you should let them. Tomorrow, we rule. But tonight? Tonight, we drink."


    Bruno smirked, taking the goblet Berthold offered and drinking deeply. The warmth of the wine settled in his chest, but his mind never truly relaxed.


    Leclerc arrived a few moments later, his expression thoughtful. "Your Highness, may I speak with you?"


    Bruno nodded. "Go ahead."


    Leclerc hesitated for a moment before saying, "Now that you are the ruler of Elysea, there is a matter we have yet to discuss."


    Bruno raised an eyebrow. "And what matter is that?"


    Leclerc adjusted his spectacles. "You must take a wife."


    For the first time that evening, Bruno was caught off guard.


    "What?"


    Leclerc continued, "A ruler must secure his dynasty. The people expect stability, and nothing solidifies a new reign more than an heir. If you are to lead Elysea into the future, you must consider marriage."


    Bruno blinked, still processing the suggestion. He had never given thought to marriage.


    Berthold chuckled. "You look as though you''ve been hit by a cannonball."


    Bruno scowled. "I have more pressing concerns than choosing a wife."


    Leclerc remained serious. "Perhaps. But politics do not wait. The nobles will expect a royal marriage, and the people will see it as a sign of stability. The right match could strengthen Elysea."


    Bruno exhaled. "And who exactly do you propose?"


    Leclerc folded his hands behind his back. "There are many options. The daughter of a noble family would secure domestic alliances. A princess from a neighboring kingdom could ease tensions with foreign powers. Or perhaps a woman of common birth, to show the people that your rule is truly for all."


    Bruno rubbed his temple. "You have been planning this for some time, haven''t you?" S~ea??h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Leclerc smirked. "I merely anticipated the need."


    Berthold took another sip of wine. "It''s not the worst idea, Bruno. If you want your rule to last, an heir would be wise."


    Bruno exhaled, shaking his head. "I will consider it. But I will not be rushed into anything."


    Leclerc bowed slightly. "Of course, Your Highness. But the sooner, the better."

 Chapter 62 - 62: Potential Candidate?

    Bruno took another sip from his goblet, still mulling over Leclerc''s suggestion. Marriage? It had never been something he actively considered. But now that the war was over and he had cemented his rule, the question of an heir and stability loomed over him.


    His thoughts were interrupted as the grand hall doors swung open, and the light from the chandeliers reflected off something radiant. A woman, elegant and poised, stepped into the room, immediately drawing the eyes of the gathered nobles and officers. Bruno, too, found himself unable to look away.


    She was stunning. Her long, soft pink hair cascaded down in waves, framing her delicate yet refined features. Her violet eyes carried a quiet intelligence, and the way she moved¡ªgraceful and measured¡ªspoke of noble upbringing. She wore a sophisticated dress of ivory and black, adorned with gold embroidery and a modest corset that accentuated her silhouette. Ribbons of black silk tied her hair neatly, with two dark ornaments that resembled small horns, giving her an almost ethereal presence.


    Bruno realized the hall had quieted slightly as people took note of her arrival. A noblewoman of such beauty and presence did not go unnoticed, especially when her arrival had not been announced.


    Leclerc smirked. "Well, Your Highness, it seems Elysea has no shortage of elegant women fit for royalty."


    Bruno shot him a glance before turning his attention back to the woman. He vaguely recognized her face but struggled to recall her name. If she was here, it meant she had survived the Republic''s purges¡ªperhaps a noble family that had remained neutral or had recently been restored.


    A voice called out from the crowd, breaking the brief silence.


    "Lady Am¨¦lie de Vauclerc," an older nobleman said, stepping forward with a bow. "Your Highness, may I present my niece? Her family name was stripped during the Republic''s rule, but now, with your ascension, they have been reinstated."


    Bruno studied her carefully. So, she was a member of the Vauclerc family. The name had once been prestigious¡ªone of the most prominent houses in Elysea before the Republic had destroyed the aristocracy. He had heard of them in his youth, though he had never interacted with them personally.


    Lady Am¨¦lie curtsied elegantly. "Your Highness," she greeted, her voice as refined as her appearance. "It is an honor to stand before you."


    Bruno nodded slightly, keeping his expression neutral. "Lady Vauclerc. I see your family has returned to court."


    She met his gaze steadily, unfazed by the scrutiny. "Yes, Your Highness. My father and elder brothers¡­ did not survive the purges."


    A flicker of something¡ªpain, regret¡ªpassed through her violet eyes, but she composed herself quickly. "I am the last of my house."


    Bruno had seen many noble families torn apart by the Republic. Some had been complicit in its rise, others had resisted, and many had simply been caught in the tide of revolution. The Vauclercs had been among the latter¡ªa house that had remained loyal to the old order but had been hunted for it.


    "I see," Bruno said. "Then you have endured much."


    Lady Am¨¦lie gave a small smile, though there was something unreadable behind it. "As have we all, Your Highness."


    For a brief moment, they simply regarded each other, the weight of the past hanging between them. Then Berthold, perhaps sensing the shift in the atmosphere, stepped forward and gestured toward the banquet table.


    "This is a celebration, is it not?" he said jovially. "Come, Lady Vauclerc, join us. I am certain His Highness would not object."


    Bruno inclined his head slightly. "Of course. You are welcome to partake in the banquet."


    Lady Am¨¦lie gave another graceful curtsy. "You are too kind, Your Highness."


    As the evening progressed, Bruno found himself observing her from across the room. She spoke with ease, navigating conversations with nobles and officers alike, neither arrogant nor overly submissive. She was intelligent, that much was clear. But there was also something else¡ªsomething careful about her demeanor, as if she measured every word before she spoke.


    At one point, she met his gaze from across the hall, her expression unreadable. Bruno didn''t look away. Neither did she.


    It was only when Leclerc leaned closer and murmured, "Intriguing, isn''t she?" that Bruno exhaled sharply and turned his attention back to his goblet.


    Leclerc chuckled. "Perhaps we have found our answer, Your Highness."


    Bruno frowned. "What are you implying?"


    Leclerc smirked. "Nothing at all. Simply that Lady Vauclerc seems¡­ suitable."


    Bruno shook his head. "You assume too much."


    Leclerc raised an eyebrow. "Do I? You have barely looked at any other noblewoman tonight. But the moment she walked in, you took notice."


    Bruno shot him a glare. "Enough."


    Leclerc wisely took a step back, though the amused glint in his eyes remained.


    Later that night, as the banquet wound down and the guests began to retire, Bruno found himself walking through the palace corridors, trying to gather his thoughts.


    He had spent his life fighting for power ever since he got here in this world. He had never concerned himself with courtly matters, let alone marriage. And yet¡­ Leclerc was right. The question of an heir, of securing his rule, would not go away. After all, he is a royalty.


    As he reached the main hall, he found Lady Am¨¦lie standing near one of the grand windows, gazing out at the city. The glow of the lanterns illuminated her features, making her look almost unreal.


    He hesitated for a brief moment before speaking. "Enjoying the view?"


    She turned, surprised but composed. "It has been years since I stood here," she admitted. "I hardly recognize the city."


    Bruno stepped forward, standing beside her. "Elysee has changed."


    Lady Am¨¦lie glanced at him. "As have you, Your Highness."


    Bruno gave her a sidelong glance. "You knew me before?"


    She smiled faintly. "Not personally. But I remember when you were sent away. The court whispered about the ''forgotten prince.''"


    Bruno exhaled. "I suppose I was."


    She studied him for a moment. "And now, you are its ruler."


    He met her gaze. "And you, the last of your house." sea??h th§× n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    There was a pause before she spoke again. "Our pasts do not define us, Your Highness. Only what we build from them."


    Bruno considered her words.


    Perhaps Leclerc had a point. Perhaps marriage was more than just a political obligation. Perhaps, in this new Elysea, he needed not just a queen, but an equal.


    But that was a thought for another night.


    For now, he simply nodded. "Wise words, Lady Vauclerc."


    She gave him one last glance before turning toward the exit. "Good night, Your Highness."


    Bruno watched as she disappeared down the corridor, leaving him alone with his thoughts.


    And for the first time in a long time, the future seemed¡­ uncertain.

 Chapter 63 - 63: Coincidental Meeting

    September 25th, 1693


    The late afternoon sun bathed the capital of Elysee in a warm golden hue, casting long shadows across the cobbled streets. The scent of freshly baked bread from reopened bakeries mixed with the lingering traces of ash from buildings still in ruins. Merchants haggled with customers, craftsmen repaired storefronts, and soldiers patrolled the streets, ensuring that order remained.


    Prince Bruno rode through the city on horseback, his cloak draped over his shoulders to avoid drawing too much attention. It was not unusual for rulers to inspect their cities from a distance, relying on reports from bureaucrats and advisors. But Bruno had never been content with secondhand information. He had fought for this kingdom with his own hands, and now that he ruled it, he needed to see its recovery with his own eyes. sea??h th§× N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Beside him, Captain Vallier rode with quiet vigilance, his eyes constantly scanning their surroundings. Though the city was under Royalist control, threats could still lurk in the shadows. Loyalists of the Republic had not vanished overnight, and Bruno knew that remnants of resistance could rise at any moment.


    Vallier observed the rebuilding efforts as they passed through a marketplace where wooden beams were being hoisted to restore a burned-down shop. "The city''s recovering faster than expected," he remarked.


    Bruno nodded, though his expression remained neutral. "Because they have no choice. If they do not rebuild, they will starve."


    The weight of war still clung to Elysee. Though the banners of the Republic had been torn down and replaced with the newly minted standard of Elysea¡ªbearing the golden eagle¡ªmany streets bore the scars of battle. Some homes had been reduced to rubble, their remains now nothing more than piles of stone and wood. Yet, amid the destruction, there was a resilience in the people.


    They turned a corner onto a quieter street, where a group of children sat in a semicircle outside a modest stone building. A woman stood before them, speaking in a voice clear and calm.


    "This city was once called the Jewel of Elysea," she told them, her tone carrying authority yet warmth. "Its streets were filled with life, its people proud and prosperous. And one day, it will be again."


    Bruno narrowed his eyes. He recognized that voice.


    Standing before the children was Lady Am¨¦lie de Vauclerc. She wore a practical yet elegant gown, simpler than the one she had worn at the banquet. The sapphire silk had been replaced by a muted ivory and gray dress, still dignified but suited for movement. Her pink hair was neatly tied back, and her violet eyes gleamed with quiet determination.


    Bruno hadn''t expected to see her again so soon¡ªcertainly not here, teaching children amid the ruins of a broken city.


    "She''s different from the other nobles," Vallier muttered, his tone carrying a note of intrigue. "Most are too busy reclaiming their estates and wealth, yet she''s here."


    Bruno did not reply immediately. Instead, he watched.


    The lesson soon ended, and the children scattered, running toward the market and their homes. Am¨¦lie lingered, watching them go with a small smile before turning to leave.


    Bruno took the opportunity to step forward. "Lady Vauclerc."


    She turned, her expression shifting from surprise to composed elegance. Her violet eyes studied him before she gracefully curtsied. "Your Highness."


    Bruno approached, studying her carefully. "I did not expect to find you here."


    She arched a delicate eyebrow. "And what were you expecting, Your Highness? That I would be idling away in a salon, speaking of courtly gossip?"


    A small smirk played on Bruno''s lips. "Something like that."


    She chuckled, the sound soft yet genuine. "Then I''m afraid I must disappoint you."


    Bruno glanced at the schoolhouse behind her. "You''re teaching?"


    Am¨¦lie nodded. "These children have lost their families to war. Some have no homes to return to. If they are not given guidance now, they will grow up without purpose, without hope. And an orphan with no hope is an easy tool for the next revolution."


    Bruno was silent for a moment. She spoke with the clarity of someone who had given deep thought to the matter¡ªmore thought than many of the so-called statesmen who surrounded him.


    "Most nobles would not bother," he remarked. "They see the people as their subjects, not as something to invest in."


    Her expression remained poised. "Then they are blind. If the people remain uneducated, they will always be susceptible to manipulation¡ªwhether by nobles, by revolutionaries, or by foreign invaders."


    Bruno understood that truth well. Power was not just about swords and soldiers¡ªit was about knowledge. A ruler could not simply command; he had to ensure the loyalty of those who followed him.


    "You think education is the answer to stability?" he asked.


    Am¨¦lie nodded. "It is the foundation. Without it, you are simply ruling over men who do not understand why they follow you."


    Bruno regarded her with newfound respect. He had met many nobles, many women who were skilled in courtly games. But Am¨¦lie de Vauclerc was different. She was sharp, deliberate with her words, and pragmatic in her beliefs.


    He was intrigued.


    "You do not seek to reclaim your family''s old influence," he noted. "Yet here you are, working to rebuild the city."


    She tilted her head slightly. "Because my family was loyal to Elysea, not just to the monarchy. I serve not for titles or power, but because this is my home."


    Bruno found himself admiring that answer. It was not often that he met someone who spoke of duty rather than ambition.


    "Then perhaps Elysea still has use for the House of Vauclerc," he said thoughtfully.


    Am¨¦lie''s lips curved slightly. "That depends, Your Highness. Do you mean to restore it¡­ or to control it?"


    Bruno smirked. "That depends, Lady Vauclerc. Would you be so easily controlled?"


    A quiet chuckle escaped her lips as she shook her head. "No, Your Highness. I would not."


    He liked that answer.


    Bruno took a step back, nodding. "Then perhaps we shall speak again soon."


    She curtsied once more. "Perhaps we shall."


    As she turned and walked away, disappearing down the narrow street, Bruno remained still, watching her go. There was something about her¡ªsomething compelling.


    Vallier, still at his side, finally broke the silence.


    "She has quite the spirit," he remarked.


    Bruno exhaled slowly, mounting his horse. "Yes. She does."


    As they rode further into the city, Bruno''s thoughts lingered on Am¨¦lie de Vauclerc. He had spent years consumed by war, by politics, by power. He had never concerned himself with matters of courtship or marriage.


    But now, for the first time, he found himself considering the possibility.


    Perhaps Leclerc had been right after all.

 Chapter 64 - 64: Royal Decrees

    September 30th, 1693.


    The great hall of the royal palace was no longer a place of idle courtly gatherings. It had become the nerve center of Elysea''s new government. Long wooden tables had been arranged in a semicircle, covered in maps, legal documents, and reports from every corner of the kingdom. Candlelight flickered against the polished stone walls as scribes worked tirelessly, recording and copying each decree that would shape the nation''s future.


    At the head of the chamber, Prince Bruno stood tall, his gaze unwavering as he addressed the assembled members of his new Council of State¡ªthe governing body that would advise and execute his vision. The council was composed of men chosen not for their noble blood, but for their skill, loyalty, and expertise.


    Among them was Antoine Leclerc, his sharp mind invaluable in matters of governance; General Berthold, who commanded the army with unwavering discipline; Captain Vallier, now serving as the head of internal security; and several scholars and economists who had survived the Republic''s purges.


    Bruno''s voice was steady as he spoke.


    "The Republic was built on the idea of progress, but it drowned in chaos. The old monarchy thrived on tradition, but it decayed in corruption. Elysea will not suffer the same fate. We will not return to the past, nor will we allow instability to consume us again. The state will be strong, orderly, and just. These decrees will ensure it."


    He gestured toward Leclerc, who stepped forward with a set of documents.


    "The First Decree: The Abolition of Noble Privileges"


    Leclerc cleared his throat and read aloud.


    "By order of His Highness, Prince Bruno of Elysea, all noble titles shall be recognized as honorary and ceremonial only. Landed estates once owned by the aristocracy shall be reviewed by the state, with those deemed unproductive redistributed for agricultural or industrial use. No noble shall hold power over the law, and all positions of governance, military, and civil service shall be awarded by merit alone."


    Murmurs rippled through the chamber. This decree was the final nail in the coffin of the old nobility. The aristocrats who had been spared the Republic''s executions had returned hoping to reclaim their former influence. But Bruno had made his stance clear¡ªtitles would no longer grant privilege, only responsibility.


    General Berthold smirked. "The nobles will protest."


    Bruno gave him a sharp look. "Then they will learn that they serve the state, not the other way around."


    Leclerc continued. Sear?h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "The Second Decree: The Reformation of the Military"


    "All officers, regardless of birth, shall rise through the ranks based on merit. The army shall be professionalized, with military academies established to train future commanders. Any remnants of Republican forces that choose to integrate into the Elysean Army shall be granted full citizenship and military status."


    Vallier nodded approvingly. "This will solidify our hold on the military. Those who fought for the Republic will have no reason to rebel if they are given a place in our ranks."


    Bruno turned to Berthold. "Ensure that the officers remain loyal. If any of them conspire against me, eliminate them."


    Berthold grinned. "With pleasure."


    Leclerc moved to the next document.


    "The Third Decree: The Establishment of the Civil Code"


    Bruno himself spoke this time.


    "Law must not be dictated by the whims of the powerful. The people of Elysea, whether noble or common, rich or poor, must be subject to the same laws. A legal code will be written, one that guarantees property rights, enforces contracts, and establishes clear judicial procedures. The Republic''s chaotic legal system is to be abolished, and a structured judiciary will be put in place."


    A scholar among the council adjusted his spectacles. "A uniform legal system will bring stability, Your Highness. But it will take time to establish courts in all provinces."


    Bruno nodded. "Then begin at once."


    Leclerc moved to the next decree.


    "The Fourth Decree: National Education Reform"


    Bruno had been thinking of this ever since his conversation with Lady Am¨¦lie de Vauclerc.


    "The greatest weapon against tyranny is education. The Republic failed because it gave power to men who manipulated the ignorant. That will not happen again. Schools shall be established across the nation, funded by the state. Every child, regardless of birth, shall have the right to basic education in reading, writing, arithmetic, and civics. Higher learning institutions shall be created for those who wish to serve the state in science, administration, and military strategy."


    A murmur of agreement swept through the council. Even Vallier, who rarely showed interest in governance, looked impressed.


    "Ambitious," he admitted. "But if we succeed, we will create a generation that owes its knowledge to the state."


    Bruno smirked. "Exactly."


    Leclerc moved to the final decree.


    "The Fifth Decree: Economic Reconstruction"


    "The war has left our economy in ruins. The Republic taxed the people into poverty, while the old monarchy let wealth accumulate in the hands of the few. Neither system will return. Taxes will be standardized and fair, ensuring that both landowners and merchants contribute to rebuilding the state. Infrastructure will be prioritized¡ªroads, bridges, ports. The economy will be managed by a central bureau, ensuring that industry and agriculture work in harmony."


    One of the economists looked uncertain. "Centralizing the economy is a bold step, Your Highness. It will require strict oversight."


    Bruno''s expression did not waver. "Then it shall be overseen by the best minds in Elysea. This kingdom will not be ruled by reckless greed or blind capitalism. The economy serves the state, and the state serves the people."


    Silence followed. Then Berthold chuckled.


    "You''re building an empire, Bruno."


    Bruno turned to him, his voice steady.


    "I am building a nation¡ªone that will not fall to decadence or revolution."


    He looked around the room. "Make no mistake. These decrees are not suggestions. They are orders. They will be enforced. Anyone who resists them¡ªwhether noble, merchant, or soldier¡ªwill be dealt with."


    The council members exchanged glances before one by one, they nodded in agreement.


    Bruno turned to Leclerc. "Have them copied and distributed across the nation. By tomorrow, every governor, mayor, and military commander must know these laws."


    Leclerc bowed. "It will be done, Your Highness."


    Bruno exhaled, glancing out of the window. The city of Elysee was still rebuilding, but it was no longer just the capital of a kingdom.


    It was the heart of a new order.


    The Elysean Kingdom was no longer just an idea.

 Chapter 65 - 65: Urging the Duties of the Crown

    The royal palace of Elysee had become a hub of ceaseless activity. Officials moved through its halls carrying documents, officers met in council chambers, and the scribes continued copying decrees that would be distributed across the kingdom. Prince Bruno had spent the last few days ensuring his newly issued reforms were being carried out efficiently. Reports flowed in from across the land, detailing both compliance and pockets of resistance that still needed to be dealt with.


    Despite the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, there was another matter pressing upon him¡ªone that had been steadily pushed by Antoine Leclerc.


    As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting golden light through the palace windows, Bruno sat in his private study, reviewing yet another set of reports. Across the room, Leclerc stood with his arms crossed, watching him with an expectant expression.


    Bruno sighed and placed the parchment down. "Just say it already, Leclerc. I can see that look on your face."


    Leclerc smirked. "You''ve made great progress, Your Highness. The kingdom is stabilizing, your government is forming, and the people are beginning to accept your rule. There''s just one thing left."


    Bruno leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. "Let me guess¡ªmarriage?"


    Leclerc nodded. "Precisely. The people need to see a complete restoration of the monarchy. That means not just a ruler, but a dynasty. If we are to proceed with your official coronation, you must secure an heir."


    Bruno exhaled slowly. He had known this conversation was inevitable, but now that it was here, he found himself hesitating.


    "I have ruled without a queen thus far," he said. "The government is running, and my authority is not questioned. Why does the coronation hinge on marriage?"


    Leclerc adjusted his spectacles, his expression patient but firm. "Symbolism, Your Highness. The monarchy is not just about power; it is about continuity. The nobility, the common people, and even our enemies will look to your court and ask¡ªwho will follow after you? A ruler without an heir invites uncertainty. It gives your opponents an excuse to question your legitimacy. Right now, you hold power through strength, but in the years to come, you must secure it through legacy."


    Bruno frowned but didn''t immediately object. He understood the logic. A stable dynasty meant fewer internal threats.


    Leclerc studied him carefully. "I can see it in your face, Your Highness. You''ve already thought about it."


    Bruno tapped his fingers against the desk, considering his words. "There is someone," he admitted after a pause.


    Leclerc smirked knowingly. "Lady Am¨¦lie de Vauclerc."


    Bruno''s sharp gaze flicked up, but there was no point in denying it. "You''re too observant for your own good, Leclerc."


    Leclerc chuckled. "It''s my job, Your Highness." He took a step forward. "She is a suitable candidate. Her family once held great influence, and though they suffered under the Republic, she has proven herself to be resilient. More importantly, she is widely respected among both nobles and commoners alike."


    Bruno nodded slightly. He had seen it firsthand. In the short time since their last encounter, Am¨¦lie had continued her work among the people, helping to organize relief efforts and support orphaned children affected by the war. She had not sought power, yet power seemed to gravitate toward her.


    "She is intelligent, pragmatic, and understands the realities of rule," Bruno said. "More than most nobles."


    Leclerc raised an eyebrow. "You also find her intriguing."


    Bruno scowled. "That is not relevant."


    Leclerc smirked. "Oh, but it is. If you are to marry, it is better that you choose someone you respect and can work alongside. Lady Am¨¦lie is not just a political tool¡ªshe is someone who could genuinely strengthen your rule."


    Bruno leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "And what do you think? Will the council support this match?"


    Leclerc nodded. "Most certainly. The nobility will accept her because of her lineage, but she does not carry the weight of an overambitious family that might challenge your authority. The people will admire her because she has worked among them rather than above them. Even your military officers have noted her dedication to the state''s well-being."


    Bruno exhaled. "It seems you have already made up your mind for me." sea??h th§× N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Leclerc smiled. "I only present the facts, Your Highness. The choice is yours."


    Bruno was silent for a moment. He had spent so much of his life focused on survival, on power, on ensuring that he reclaimed Elysea. Now, he was faced with a decision that was less about conquest and more about the future.


    A queen.


    An heir.


    A dynasty.


    Finally, he stood from his chair, straightening his coat. "Arrange for a meeting with Lady Am¨¦lie," he said. "I will speak with her myself. But after that, we are going to conduct economical reforms¡­because our economy is still not doing well."


    "What do you propose?" Leclerc asked.


    "I''m planning on establishing a national bank."


    Leclerc adjusted his spectacles, watching Bruno carefully. "A national bank?"


    Bruno nodded, his fingers tapping lightly against the wooden desk. "Yes. The treasury is in ruin. The Republic spent recklessly, printing money until it was worthless. We need stability, and a central financial institution is the only way to regulate our economy."


    Leclerc exhaled. "A bold move. But one that will not be easy. You will need an expert¡ªsomeone who understands the intricacies of finance."


    Bruno leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk. "I already have someone in mind."


    Leclerc''s eyebrows raised slightly. "You mean Jean-Baptiste Moreau."


    Bruno nodded. "He was the finest finance minister my father ever had. He predicted the economic collapse long before it happened, but the old court ignored him. When the Republic took power, he refused to serve them and went into exile."


    Leclerc smirked. "A man of principles. Which means convincing him will not be easy."


    Bruno''s eyes sharpened. "I will make him understand. If he truly cares about Elysea, he will see that this is the only way forward."


    Leclerc nodded. "Shall I send a formal summons?"


    Bruno shook his head. "No. If he sees a royal decree demanding his presence, he will reject it out of spite. I will meet him myself."


    Leclerc''s expression faltered slightly. "Your Highness, you cannot just leave the palace on a whim. If word gets out that you are personally visiting an exiled minister, people will talk."


    Bruno smirked. "Then let them talk. This is too important to leave in the hands of messengers."


    Leclerc sighed, rubbing his temple. "Very well. Where is he?"


    Bruno reached for a parchment and unrolled it. "Moreau has been living in Montreval, a small town near the northern border. He has kept to himself, refusing to take part in any government since the fall of the old monarchy."


    Leclerc crossed his arms. "Montreval is¡­ far. That region is still unstable. There are former Republican loyalists there who have not fully accepted your rule."


    Bruno smirked. "Then I suppose this will also be a test."


    Leclerc shook his head. "You are impossible."


    Bruno chuckled. "Prepare a small escort. We leave at dawn."

 Chapter 66 - 66: Getting That One Valuable Person Back

    The journey north was uneventful at first. Bruno, accompanied by Captain Vallier and a dozen royal guards, rode through the countryside, observing the slow recovery of the land.


    Fields that had been burned during the war were beginning to show signs of regrowth. Farmers, once displaced, were returning to their lands. But there were also signs of unrest¡ªvillages where the people eyed the royal banners with suspicion, remnants of Republican influence still lingering.


    Vallier, riding beside Bruno, watched the roads carefully. "Are you certain about this, Your Highness? Moreau is brilliant, but he is also stubborn. What if he refuses?"


    Bruno kept his eyes on the road ahead. "Then I convince him."


    Vallier smirked. "And if words fail?"


    Bruno''s expression darkened. "They won''t." S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    By midday, they reached Montreval, a quiet town nestled between rolling hills. It was a place untouched by grandeur¡ªsimple homes, dirt roads, and a modest market square. It was hard to believe that one of the most brilliant economic minds of Elysea had chosen exile here.


    The group dismounted near the town''s inn. Vallier gestured to two guards. "Spread out. Keep watch for anything unusual."


    Bruno walked forward, his cloak billowing slightly in the wind. The town''s people paused, their gazes filled with recognition and unease. Even here, they knew who he was.


    A young boy, no older than ten, ran ahead of them, disappearing behind one of the buildings. Bruno smirked. "It seems our arrival has been noted."


    Vallier scoffed. "We are not exactly blending in."


    Bruno strode toward a modest house near the center of town. It was well-kept but simple, a sign of a man who lived comfortably but without excess. He knocked twice.


    For a moment, there was no answer.


    Then, the door creaked open slightly, revealing a man in his late sixties. Jean-Baptiste Moreau. His once neatly combed gray hair was slightly unkempt, his sharp eyes taking in the sight of Prince Bruno standing at his doorstep.


    Moreau exhaled slowly. "I expected this day would come."


    Bruno smirked. "Then you know why I''m here."


    Moreau opened the door wider. "Come inside, Your Highness."


    The interior of Moreau''s home was lined with bookshelves, filled with economic treatises, ledgers, and notes written in his own hand. A fireplace crackled in the corner, the only warmth in the otherwise cold room.


    Bruno took a seat across from him as Moreau poured two cups of tea.


    Moreau studied him carefully. "You have done what I thought impossible. The Republic is gone. You sit on the throne."


    Bruno sipped his tea. "And yet, the nation is broken. I need you, Moreau."


    Moreau chuckled. "You need an old man who was discarded by both the monarchy and the Republic?"


    Bruno''s gaze hardened. "No. I need the man who understood the economy better than anyone else in Elysea''s history. I need the only man who predicted the collapse before anyone else did."


    Moreau sighed, rubbing his temples. "And what do you intend to do?"


    Bruno leaned forward. "A National Bank¡ªone that will stabilize our currency, control loans, and regulate industry. We cannot build a kingdom on a foundation of financial instability."


    Moreau narrowed his eyes. "And you believe the people will accept this?"


    Bruno smirked. "I believe they will have no choice."


    Moreau exhaled. "This will require immense planning. The nobles will resist, the merchants will fear government interference, and the common people will not understand its significance."


    Bruno stood, his expression unyielding. "Which is why I need you."


    A silence stretched between them.


    Then, Moreau sighed. "Damn you, boy. You are too much like your father¡ªbut unlike him, you actually listen."


    Bruno smirked. "So, you''ll do it?"


    Moreau exhaled. "I will return to Elysee. But I have conditions."


    Bruno raised an eyebrow. "Name them."


    Moreau''s eyes glinted. "Full authority over economic policy. No nobles interfering in my decisions."


    Bruno smirked. "Done."


    Moreau crossed his arms. "And one more thing."


    Bruno arched an eyebrow. "What?"


    Moreau took a sip of tea. "If I''m going to fix this mess, I expect wine and decent food."


    Bruno chuckled. "I''ll see to it personally."


    Moreau sighed, shaking his head. "Then we have much work to do."


    Bruno extended his hand. "Welcome back, Minister Moreau."


    Moreau stared at his hand for a moment before clasping it firmly. "Let''s save this damned kingdom."


    Bruno watched as Moreau leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples as if absorbing the weight of his own decision. The old minister may have agreed, but he was not a man who accepted things lightly. He would expect full cooperation, and Bruno was more than willing to give it¡ªso long as Moreau delivered results.


    The fireplace crackled, casting flickering shadows across the study. Bruno set his cup down on the wooden table between them. "We leave for Elysee at first light," he said firmly.


    Moreau let out a heavy sigh, finishing his tea before standing up. "Give me tonight to gather my things. I left behind a world I thought I would never return to. Walking back into it will not be easy."


    Bruno nodded. "Take whatever time you need." He turned toward the door, but Moreau''s voice stopped him.


    "You''ll have enemies, Your Highness." The old man''s voice was low, weighted with certainty. "The nobles will not sit by idly while you strip them of their wealth and influence over the economy. The merchants, too, will resist¡ªmany profited from the Republic''s chaos. Your reforms will be opposed from all sides."


    Bruno turned back to him, his expression unreadable. "I did not expect this to be easy, Moreau."


    Moreau smirked. "Good. Because it won''t be."


    The tension lingered for a moment before Bruno gave him a final nod and stepped outside. Vallier was waiting near the horses, scanning the darkening town with quiet vigilance.


    "How did it go?" the captain asked as Bruno approached.


    "He agreed," Bruno replied simply, mounting his horse.


    Vallier raised an eyebrow. "That easy?"


    Bruno smirked. "Not at all."


    "Now it''s time for you to speak with your future wife."


    "That is if she agrees," Bruno replied.

 Chapter 67 - 67: Meeting the Lady

    October 15th, 1693.


    The sun dipped low in the sky as Prince Bruno and his entourage rode through the gates of Chateau Vauclerc. The estate, once a symbol of noble prestige, had endured the scars of war. Though the structure remained intact, remnants of its former grandeur had faded¡ªovergrown gardens, cracked stone columns, and empty halls that had once been filled with wealth and splendor. And yet, despite its diminished state, there was something dignified about the way it still stood, much like the woman who resided within.


    Bruno dismounted, adjusting the cuffs of his dark military coat. He had not come with grand declarations or an excessive entourage¡ªjust Antoine Leclerc, Captain Vallier, and a small unit of guards who waited outside the chateau walls.


    Leclerc, ever the strategist, smirked as he walked beside Bruno. "Are you nervous, Your Highness?"


    Bruno shot him a sharp glance. "I govern a nation. Why would I be nervous?"


    Leclerc chuckled. "Because you are about to meet a woman who will not fall to her knees for a crown. Lady Am¨¦lie de Vauclerc is not someone easily swayed."


    Bruno said nothing, though he did not dismiss Leclerc''s words.


    As they entered the grand receiving hall, the air carried a slight chill. It was a vast room, lined with fading portraits of Vauclerc ancestors. The fireplace burned faintly, its warmth not quite enough to push back the autumn cold.


    And then, the doors opened.


    Lady Am¨¦lie de Vauclerc stepped into the hall, moving with the effortless grace of a woman who had been born into nobility yet carried herself with a presence that demanded respect rather than blind admiration.


    Bruno had seen her before, had observed her from afar¡ªbut seeing her now, in the very home where she had once been raised, felt different.


    She wore a gown of deep blue and ivory, simple yet elegant, the fabric hugging her form without ostentation. Her soft pink hair was braided and pinned with silver clasps, framing her sharp violet eyes¡ªeyes that did not lower or waver when they met his.


    There was no hesitation in her movements, no trace of nervousness. She did not curtsy in the exaggerated way court ladies did when trying to impress royalty. Instead, she dipped her head slightly in a perfectly measured greeting. Polite, but not submissive.


    "Your Highness."


    Bruno inclined his head. "Lady Vauclerc."


    She gestured toward a seating area near the tall windows, where the golden light of the evening sun cast long shadows. "Shall we sit?"


    Bruno followed, seating himself across from her. Vallier and Leclerc remained standing, though Leclerc wore an expression of keen amusement, as if watching a well-matched duel unfold before him.


    Am¨¦lie studied him for a long moment before speaking.


    "You''ve come to discuss marriage."


    Bruno did not flinch. "Yes."


    She exhaled lightly, crossing one leg over the other. "Then allow me to ask the obvious question¡ªwhy me?"


    Bruno arched an eyebrow. "You seem unsurprised."


    She tilted her head slightly. "I am not a fool, Your Highness. I have watched the tides of politics shift, and I know you are a man who does not act without reason. There are many noblewomen in Elysea who would leap at the chance to sit beside you on the throne. Some are just as intelligent as I am. Some are far more beautiful. Yet you are here, speaking to me."


    Bruno leaned forward slightly, intrigued by her directness. "And why do you think that is?"


    A faint smile played on her lips. "That is what I am asking you."


    Bruno studied her carefully. "I do not seek a wife who exists only to bear heirs or smile for the court. I need a queen who understands power¡ªnot just how to wield it, but how to temper it. Someone who can stand beside me, not behind me."


    She tapped a gloved finger against the armrest. "That is a reasonable answer. But it does not satisfy me."


    Bruno smirked slightly. "Then allow me to elaborate."


    He straightened in his seat. "You are unlike the others. While the surviving nobles scurry to reclaim their wealth, you work among the people. You have not sought power, yet you command respect. You are intelligent, pragmatic, and you understand that governance is not simply a game of titles. More importantly¡ªyou are not afraid of me."


    That made her pause. Her violet eyes flickered with something unreadable.


    "Should I be?" she asked, her voice light but carrying a deeper meaning.


    Bruno chuckled. "Most are."


    She tilted her head. "Fear can be useful. But it is also a fragile thing. If you wish for true loyalty¡ªfrom your court, your people, and your queen¡ªthen fear alone will not be enough."


    Bruno found himself impressed.


    Leclerc, who had been quietly watching, interjected with a smirk. "Lady Am¨¦lie, surely you see the opportunity here. A marriage between you and His Highness would restore your family''s legacy and grant you influence over the future of Elysea."


    Am¨¦lie turned to Leclerc with an amused glint in her eyes. "A tempting offer. But I do not seek power for power''s sake, Minister Leclerc. If I am to stand beside a ruler, it must be because I believe in his vision¡ªnot simply because he deems me a suitable match."


    She turned back to Bruno. "Tell me, Your Highness¡ªdo you seek a wife, or do you seek a partner?" sea??h th§× N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Bruno met her gaze. "I seek both."


    Another silence. Then, slowly, she smiled¡ªnot the delicate, polite smile of a court lady, but something more knowing.


    "You are an interesting man, Prince Bruno."


    Bruno smirked. "I have been told."


    She exhaled, glancing at the window. "You are building a new Elysea, one unlike the monarchy that fell or the Republic that crumbled. If I were to accept your offer, I would not be a silent figure in this court."


    Bruno nodded. "I would expect nothing less."


    She considered this for a long moment, then stood. "Very well. You will have my answer soon."


    Bruno also rose. "I will await it."


    As she turned to leave, Bruno found himself watching her¡ªnot just because of her beauty, but because he knew, without a doubt, that if she became his queen, she would not merely wear a crown. She would wield it.


    Leclerc chuckled once she was out of earshot. "Well, Your Highness? Satisfied?"


    Bruno exhaled, his smirk fading into something more thoughtful. "For once, Leclerc, I do not know."


    Leclerc grinned. "Then you chose well."


    Bruno glanced out the window. The sun had set, and a new night had begun. The future of Elysea rested on many decisions¡ªbut this one, perhaps, mattered more than most.

 Chapter 68 - 68: Getting to Know One Another

    October 17th, 1693.


    Two days had passed since Prince Bruno''s last meeting with Lady Am¨¦lie de Vauclerc, and in that time, the thought of their conversation had not left his mind. She was unlike any noblewoman he had encountered¡ªsharp, deliberate, and unshaken. He had made his case, but she had not fallen at his feet. Instead, she had demanded more. S~ea??h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    And so, he had returned.


    The ride to Chateau Vauclerc was quiet. Bruno, accompanied only by Antoine Leclerc and Captain Vallier, had left most of his guards behind. This was not an official visit. This was not a royal summons. This was something else entirely.


    Leclerc, ever the tactician, smirked as they approached the estate. "You are persistent, Your Highness."


    Bruno adjusted the gloves on his hands, eyes fixed ahead. "I am thorough."


    Vallier scoffed. "That''s one way to put it."


    Bruno ignored them both.


    When they arrived, the chateau''s servants wasted no time in welcoming them. A footman led them to the receiving hall, where Lady Am¨¦lie was already waiting.


    She was seated near the large arched windows, a book resting in her hands. The sunlight caught the strands of her soft pink hair, making it shimmer like silk. When she glanced up, those violet eyes¡ªsharp and unwavering¡ªmet his without hesitation.


    Bruno did not miss the flicker of amusement on her lips.


    "Your Highness," she greeted, closing her book. "To what do I owe this second visit?"


    Bruno stepped forward, removing his gloves with deliberate ease. "I have come to learn more about the woman who may one day be my queen."


    Leclerc coughed lightly, masking what Bruno was sure was laughter. Vallier, for once, had the wisdom to keep quiet.


    Am¨¦lie tilted her head slightly. "You surprise me, Your Highness. Most men in your position would simply declare a marriage and expect the bride to obey."


    Bruno smirked. "I am not most men."


    "No," she admitted, "you are not."


    A silence stretched between them. It was not tense, nor was it awkward. It was the silence of two minds measuring each other.


    Finally, Am¨¦lie gestured to the chairs near the fireplace. "Then let us speak, Your Highness. Let us see if we are suited for one another."


    Bruno took a seat across from her, his posture relaxed yet commanding. Leclerc and Vallier, sensing this was not a discussion they needed to interfere with, stepped to the side, giving them space.


    Am¨¦lie leaned slightly forward, resting her hands on the armrest. "Tell me, Your Highness¡ªwhy do you truly wish to marry? Is it for duty, for strategy, or for something else?"


    Bruno did not hesitate. "Duty, first and foremost. A stable ruler must have a successor, and a kingdom must have its queen. But strategy also plays its part."


    She arched an eyebrow. "And the ''something else''?"


    Bruno smirked slightly. "I suppose I would prefer a wife whose presence does not bore me."


    Am¨¦lie chuckled, the sound light but deliberate. "A fair answer. And yet, you could find a hundred noblewomen who would be content to sit beside you and smile for courtly appearances."


    Bruno leaned forward slightly. "But none of them would challenge me."


    Her gaze flickered, something unreadable passing through it.


    "And you wish to be challenged, Your Highness?"


    Bruno nodded. "A ruler surrounded by sycophants grows complacent. I need a queen who can speak her mind, who understands the weight of the crown."


    Am¨¦lie exhaled softly, her fingers tapping lightly against the wood of the chair. "You place much trust in me already."


    Bruno studied her. "Do you doubt yourself?"


    She smirked. "Not in the slightest. But I must question why you, a man known for seizing power with ruthless efficiency, would entrust a woman with such influence."


    Bruno tilted his head slightly. "Because influence is inevitable. A queen will always have power, whether she wields it openly or in the shadows. I would rather have one who uses it with purpose."


    Her violet eyes searched his, as if peeling back layers to see what lay beneath.


    "Then let us speak plainly, Your Highness."


    Bruno gestured for her to continue.


    "What are your flaws?" she asked, her voice cool yet curious. "You present yourself as strong, as decisive. But I am not blind. No ruler is without weakness."


    Bruno exhaled through his nose. "I am impatient. I expect results quickly, and when I do not see them, I take matters into my own hands."


    Am¨¦lie nodded. "A dangerous trait in a ruler."


    Bruno smirked. "And what of you? Are you flawless, Lady Vauclerc?"


    She chuckled softly. "Far from it."


    Bruno leaned back in his chair, intrigued. "Tell me."


    Am¨¦lie folded her hands neatly in her lap. "I am prideful. I do not bow easily, nor do I accept being treated as an ornament. I will not stand silent when I believe something is wrong. And I do not tolerate incompetence."


    Bruno''s eyes gleamed with something close to approval. "Then we are alike in more ways than I thought."


    She smirked. "Perhaps."


    The room fell into another silence, but this time, it was laced with understanding.


    Finally, Am¨¦lie rose from her seat. Bruno followed suit, standing tall before her.


    "And?" he asked.


    She took a slow breath, as if weighing the moment. Then, she met his gaze with quiet resolve.


    "I will marry you, Your Highness."


    Bruno allowed himself a small smile. "Then we have much to prepare for."


    Am¨¦lie held out her hand, not in the delicate way noblewomen did, but as an equal¡ªa gesture of partnership.


    Bruno clasped it firmly.


    Leclerc, still watching from the side, exhaled in amusement. "You truly have a way of choosing the most interesting people, Your Highness."


    Vallier chuckled. "Let''s hope the wedding is less of a battle than the court politics will be."


    Bruno and Am¨¦lie ignored them both.


    For the first time in a long time, Bruno did not feel like he was simply securing a throne. He was building something greater.


    And Am¨¦lie de Vauclerc would stand beside him, not as a trophy, but as a force of her own.

 Chapter 69 - 69: Reforged Kingdom

    Prince Bruno sat in his study, a map of the Kingdom of Elysea sprawled before him. The candlelight flickered against the polished mahogany table, casting elongated shadows across the chamber. His mind was split between two pressing matters¡ªhis impending marriage to Lady Am¨¦lie de Vauclerc and the far-reaching administrative reforms that would redefine the kingdom''s governance.


    His engagement was settled, but securing a queen was only the beginning. If Elysea were to thrive, it needed more than noble alliances and courtly traditions¡ªit needed order, efficiency, and modernization. The era of fragmented feudal governance had to end.


    He turned to Antoine Leclerc, his closest advisor, who stood by the fireplace, observing the prince with keen eyes.


    "We begin immediately," Bruno said. "If this kingdom is to survive the next century, it cannot remain shackled to archaic governance. The nobles will resist, but they have no choice¡ªeither they adapt, or they will be left behind."


    Leclerc smirked. "You mean to strip them of their ancestral powers without outright rebellion?"


    Bruno nodded. "Not strip, Antoine¡ªredefine. They will still have authority, but it will be in service to the crown, not in defiance of it." Sear?h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    For centuries, the Kingdom of Elysea had been governed by feudal lords who ruled their lands as near-independent sovereigns, owing only loose allegiance to the crown. This led to inefficiency, corruption, and infighting. Bruno would end this.


    The first decree established Prefects, royal administrators who would oversee the governance of each department¡ªthe new administrative divisions of Elysea. These Prefects would be appointed by the crown, answerable only to the monarch, ensuring that Bruno''s rule extended to the farthest reaches of his realm.


    "The Prefects will handle taxation, justice, and infrastructure in their respective regions," Bruno explained to his council later that afternoon. "No more feudal lords dictating their own laws. The administration will answer to me, and only me."


    Some members of the court murmured uneasily. The nobility had long enjoyed unchecked power over their fiefs, and many would see this as an outright attack on their authority.


    "The noble houses will revolt," one of the older councilors warned.


    Bruno smirked. "That is why they will not be discarded¡ªbut reshaped."


    The second decree would appoint Governors over each administrative region¡ªformer lords of their respective lands, now bound to the crown under a new oath. These men would still retain influence but under direct royal oversight. They would no longer be feudal rulers in their own right but stewards of the state.


    "The lords will swear an oath before the crown," Bruno continued, "to govern in the best interest of the people. They will still hold their lands, but their autonomy will be reduced. In exchange, they will receive titles and privileges within the centralized government. Those who refuse will find themselves replaced."


    Leclerc chuckled. "They''ll have no choice but to comply."


    "Exactly," Bruno said. "I will not destroy the nobility, but I will forge them into something greater."


    A few of the councilors still looked uncertain, but they knew better than to oppose the prince openly. The message was clear: the days of noble defiance were over.


    A strong kingdom needed more than governance¡ªit needed wealth, and wealth needed structure. Elysea had long suffered from unreliable currency, inconsistent taxation, and economic stagnation. Bruno would change that.


    The third decree established the National Bank of Elysea, a centralized financial institution that would regulate currency, issue credit, and manage state funds. The bank would stabilize the economy, ensure consistent taxation, and fund the crown''s modernization efforts.


    "The bank will provide loans for infrastructure, trade, and industrialization," Bruno explained to his advisors. "No more reliance on merchant guilds and foreign lenders. Elysea will control its own wealth."


    Leclerc nodded approvingly. "This will put Elysea on the path to financial dominance."


    Bruno leaned forward. "We will also introduce a new standardized currency¡ªthe Elysean Franc¡ªbacked by gold reserves. Every transaction within the kingdom will be conducted under a single, regulated monetary system."


    The economic elite, who had long profited from chaotic financial policies, would resist, but they would soon see the benefits of a stable economy under central control.


    With governance and finance reformed, Bruno turned his attention to industry. Elysea had lagged behind its rivals in industrial development, still relying heavily on agriculture and manual labor. This, too, would change.


    The fourth decree promoted industrialization across the kingdom, focusing on textile production, steel manufacturing, and mechanized agriculture. Bruno sought to transform Elysea from a feudal economy into a modern powerhouse.


    "We will build factories, shipyards, and railways," Bruno declared, outlining his plans to his council. "We will adopt the latest technology and machinery. The nobility will invest, and the people will find work."


    To support this transformation, Bruno granted incentives to industrialists and entrepreneurs willing to invest in mechanized production. He repealed archaic guild restrictions that hindered business growth and encouraged scientific advancements in engineering and metallurgy.


    "These reforms will make Elysea the beating heart of industry in Europe," Bruno stated confidently.


    Leclerc smirked. "You truly mean to pull this kingdom into the future."


    Bruno met his gaze. "I do not ''mean'' to¡ªI will."


    Despite Bruno''s confidence, resistance was inevitable. The nobility had ruled unchecked for centuries, and these reforms would shake the very foundations of their power.


    Many would grumble.


    Some would plot.


    But none would succeed.


    To ensure compliance, Bruno personally summoned every high-ranking noble to the royal palace, where they would swear fealty under the new system. They would either pledge loyalty¡ªor they would be replaced.


    One by one, the lords stood before him.


    One by one, they took the oath.


    And for those who hesitated, Bruno''s words were clear:


    "You may resist, but I will not yield. Either you serve Elysea, or you serve no one."


    With the Prefect system, the National Bank, and industrialization policies in place, Elysea stood on the precipice of a new age.


    Bruno knew that change would not come overnight. There would be challenges, unrest, and setbacks. But he had set the wheels of progress in motion, and they would not stop.


    As he returned to his study that evening, he exhaled deeply. The kingdom was no longer a patchwork of noble fiefs¡ªit was a centralized power, under his rule.


    And soon, with Lady Am¨¦lie at his side, he would not only be its ruler.


    He would be its architect.


    The future had begun.

 Chapter 70 - 70: Preparation for Succession and Marriage Ceremony

    October 30th, 1693.


    Prince Bruno sat in his study, reviewing the endless documents related to his upcoming coronation and marriage to Lady Am¨¦lie de Vauclerc. His desk was covered with letters from noble families, trade guilds, foreign dignitaries, and city officials, all either sending congratulations or making requests to be part of the grand event. The weight of ruling Elysea had already settled on his shoulders, but now, the ceremonial aspect of his ascension demanded his attention.


    Across from him, Antoine Leclerc was seated, flipping through a stack of invitations.


    "The nobles are eager to show their loyalty," Leclerc remarked, smirking. "Many of those who once opposed your reforms are now scrambling to secure a good position at the coronation. Hypocrisy at its finest."


    Bruno barely looked up as he signed another document. "They know resistance is useless now. They''ll play their role, as they always do."


    Leclerc chuckled. "Then it seems your strategy worked. Still, the scale of this event is¡­ excessive. The cathedral alone has been receiving shipments of silk, gold-threaded banners, and enough candles to light up half of Elysea for a year."


    Bruno set down his quill and leaned back. "The people need spectacle. A grand ceremony cements legitimacy. It reminds them that Elysea is moving forward, not just with words, but with action."


    Leclerc nodded. "Very well. What of the foreign guests? We''ve received confirmations from the Kingdom of Swabia, the Duchy of Lotharingia, and even a delegation from the Eastern Sultanates. They wish to attend both the coronation and your wedding."


    Bruno smirked. "Good. Let them see what Elysea has become."


    At that moment, Captain Vallier entered the room, his uniform crisp and his expression serious. "Your Highness, the cathedral workers report that preparations for the coronation are progressing as scheduled. However, the noble families are arguing over seating arrangements. Apparently, House de Montreau and House de Charbonne are refusing to sit anywhere near each other."


    Bruno exhaled sharply. "They would squabble over chairs while I''m restructuring the entire kingdom."


    Leclerc chuckled. "Should I tell them that if they continue arguing, they''ll be watching the ceremony from the streets?"


    Bruno smirked. "Do it. If they want to behave like children, I''ll treat them like children."


    Vallier nodded. "Understood, Your Highness. Also, the royal tailor requests a final fitting for your coronation attire. They need your measurements confirmed."


    Bruno frowned but nodded. "Fine. I''ll deal with that later."


    With the updates delivered, Vallier took his leave. Bruno turned back to Leclerc. "What about Am¨¦lie? How is her side of the preparations?"


    Leclerc handed him another document. "She''s handling it well. The seamstresses are working on her gown, and she''s meeting with the former royal aide to go over royal protocols. She''s also reviewing the court appointments you''re making after the coronation."


    Bruno smirked slightly. "Good. I expected no less from her."


    Leclerc grinned. "I think she''s already preparing to push for influence in court."


    Bruno chuckled. "She wouldn''t be my wife if she didn''t."


    November 5th, 1693.


    As the day of the coronation drew closer, Elysea was undergoing a transformation. The streets of the capital were cleaned, banners hung from every major building, and markets prepared for the influx of travelers. The people, even those in the lower districts, were caught up in the excitement. The coronation of a new ruler was a rare event, and Bruno had ensured that it would be the grandest in the kingdom''s history.


    The royal cathedral, Notre-Dame d''Elysea, was at the heart of it all. Inside, craftsmen worked tirelessly to prepare the altar, where Bruno would be crowned by the Archbishop of Elysea. The ceremony would include a solemn procession through the city, a blessing by the church, and the formal placing of the crown upon his head.


    Bruno met with the Archbishop in private, ensuring that the church understood his expectations.


    "This is not merely a religious event," Bruno told the elderly archbishop. "This is a statement to the world. Elysea is entering a new era."


    The archbishop nodded solemnly. "Your Highness, the church recognizes your vision for the kingdom. We shall ensure that the ceremony reflects the strength and unity of Elysea."


    Satisfied, Bruno turned to the final piece of the puzzle¡ªsecurity.


    "Captain Vallier," Bruno addressed his military commander, "I want every entrance to the cathedral guarded. Double the patrols in the capital. I will not tolerate any disruptions."


    Vallier saluted. "It will be done, Your Highness. We''ve already stationed additional guards near the palace and key locations throughout the city."


    Bruno nodded. "Good. If anyone dares to cause trouble, deal with them immediately."


    November 10th, 1693.


    While the coronation took precedence, the royal wedding was no small matter either. Am¨¦lie de Vauclerc had taken charge of her preparations, but Bruno knew he had responsibilities as well.


    Traditionally, royal marriages were lavish affairs meant to reinforce alliances. Elysea''s nobility expected a week-long celebration filled with feasts, dances, and public festivities.


    Am¨¦lie, however, was more pragmatic.


    "The wedding should not be excessive," she told Bruno when they finally sat down to discuss the details. "The people are excited, but they also need to see that we are rulers, not simply indulging in spectacle."


    Bruno smirked. "And here I thought you wanted a grand royal wedding."


    She gave him a knowing look. "A wise ruler knows when to display wealth and when to be practical. We will have a ceremony worthy of Elysea, but let us not forget¡ªwe have work to do after the wedding."


    Bruno chuckled. "You truly will be a queen in more than just title."


    Their wedding ceremony was planned for November 15th, five days after the coronation. It would be held in the same cathedral, ensuring continuity between Bruno''s ascension and his marriage.


    The guest list had already been finalized¡ªforeign dignitaries, Elysea''s nobility, military officials, and high-ranking members of the church. The people of Elysea would celebrate in the streets, with food and performances arranged in every major city.


    Bruno and Am¨¦lie would ride through the capital in a ceremonial carriage, allowing the people to see their new sovereigns before concluding the wedding with a royal banquet in the palace.


    Leclerc, reviewing the plans, grinned. "This will be the most important week in Elysea''s history. The people will speak of it for generations."


    Bruno exhaled, standing from his desk. "Then let''s make sure it''s one worth remembering." sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    As the day of the coronation and wedding approached, the city was alive with anticipation. The nobles had gathered, the foreign guests had arrived, and security had been tightened.


    Bruno stood before a full-length mirror, dressed in the royal regalia of Elysea. The gold-threaded ceremonial cloak, the ornate breastplate, and the crown that would soon rest upon his head.


    Am¨¦lie, preparing in her own chambers, would soon walk beside him¡ªnot as a noblewoman, but as a queen.


    Everything had led to this.


    The future of Elysea was no longer in question.


    It was here.

 Chapter 71 - 71: The Foundation of the New Era

    The great hall of the royal palace was no longer a mere place of ceremony¡ªit had become the command center for Elysea''s transformation. Where once nobles gathered to flaunt their wealth, now royal administrators, military officers, and financiers met to draft the future of the kingdom.


    Prince Bruno stood at the head of a long table, maps, ledgers, and legal documents spread before him. Around him sat the key figures of his new government¡ªAntoine Leclerc, ever the strategist, leaned back with a smirk; Jean-Baptiste Moreau, recently reinstated as Finance Minister, studied figures with a sharp gaze; Captain Vallier, head of internal security, stood at attention, ever watchful.


    The air in the room was thick with anticipation. The old feudal order had been dismantled, but Bruno knew that laws on paper meant nothing without enforcement.


    Bruno tapped his fingers on the table. "Report."


    Moreau was the first to speak, adjusting his spectacles. "The National Bank of Elysea has officially begun operations. We are consolidating currency reserves and setting regulations for loans and credit."


    Bruno nodded. "And the merchants? The nobility?"


    Moreau smirked. "Some grumbling, naturally. The nobility resents the fact that they can no longer demand arbitrary taxes from their subjects. The merchants fear regulation. But both sides are beginning to see the benefits. Trade is stabilizing, and debt restructuring has already begun."


    Leclerc chuckled. "In other words, they''re learning to obey."


    Bruno''s gaze sharpened. "They''ll have no choice."


    The kingdom''s economy had long been a tangled mess of noble privileges, fluctuating coinage, and unchecked trade monopolies. The National Bank was Bruno''s answer to centuries of financial chaos. But an economic foundation meant nothing without enforcement.


    Vallier crossed his arms. "The nobility is compliant, for now. But let''s not pretend they have been tamed completely. Some are gathering in private, murmuring about their ''stolen rights.''"


    Bruno smirked. "Then let them murmur. If they wish to challenge me, they will find their power as hollow as their threats."


    The Prefect system had stripped the nobility of independent governance, turning them into stewards of the state rather than rulers of their own domains. Bruno knew this would spark discontent, but he also knew something far more dangerous than noble conspiracies¡ªstagnation.


    He turned back to Moreau. "The industrial projects. How soon can we begin?" Sear?h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Moreau sighed, flipping through his ledgers. "Textile production is already expanding, but heavy industry¡ªsteel, machinery, shipbuilding¡ªwill require significant investments."


    Bruno leaned forward. "Then we begin now. We will not merely survive in this new world, Moreau¡ªwe will lead it."


    The morning sun bathed Notre-Dame d''Elysea in golden light. The towering cathedral, once a place of solemn reflection, had been transformed into the heart of a nation reborn.


    Thousands of citizens lined the streets outside, their cheers echoing through the capital. Inside, nobles, diplomats, and foreign dignitaries sat in carefully arranged seats, their expressions ranging from admiration to barely concealed unease.


    Prince Bruno walked down the long aisle, his royal regalia gleaming¡ªa deep blue and gold cloak draped over his shoulders, an ornate breastplate reflecting the morning light. At his side, Lady Am¨¦lie de Vauclerc, soon to be Queen of Elysea, moved with effortless grace, her presence no less commanding than his own.


    At the altar, the Archbishop of Elysea stood solemnly, the royal crown resting upon a velvet cushion. As Bruno approached, the murmurs in the cathedral ceased.


    The archbishop raised his hands. "Prince Bruno of Elysea, you stand before God and man, prepared to take the sacred oath. Do you vow to serve the realm, to uphold its laws, and to rule with justice and wisdom?"


    Bruno''s voice was steady, unyielding. "I vow it."


    The archbishop lifted the crown. "Then, by the will of Elysea, you shall be king."


    As the crown was placed upon his head, the great cathedral erupted in cheers, the bells ringing across the city. Bruno turned to face his people¡ªnot just as a ruler, but as the architect of a new Elysea.


    The kingdom had been reforged. And now, it was time to lead.


    If the coronation had been an event of state, then the wedding was a celebration of unity. The palace halls were alive with music, the grand ballroom filled with nobles and dignitaries feasting, dancing, and toasting to the royal couple.


    But while the court indulged in revelry, Bruno and Am¨¦lie had little time for idle festivities.


    Standing on one of the palace balconies, overlooking the glowing city, Bruno turned to Am¨¦lie. "You are now Queen of Elysea."


    She gave him a knowing smirk. "And you are now my king."


    Bruno exhaled, turning his gaze toward the city. "This is only the beginning, Am¨¦lie."


    She stepped beside him. "Then let us build something that will last."


    Bruno looked at her, truly looked at her, and for the first time in his life, he felt something unexpected¡ªcertainty.


    He had secured his throne.


    He had secured his queen.


    And now, he would secure Elysea''s future.


    Dawn had barely broken when Bruno summoned his council.


    The celebrations had ended, but the work had only just begun.


    As Leclerc, Moreau, Vallier, and his ministers gathered in the royal study, Bruno laid out the next phase of his plan.


    "Gentlemen, we have reshaped Elysea. Now, we must prepare for what comes next."


    Leclerc arched an eyebrow. "You speak as if war is imminent."


    Bruno. "No not war, I''m saying we just have to prepare for our future, because it''s going to be exhilarating."


    Moreau exhaled. "Ah¡­I see what you are saying, Your Highness¡ªOh, pardon me, Your Majesty."


    Bruno nodded. "Don''t worry about that. Anyways, we will modernize our military, expand our infrastructure, and solidify our alliances. Our economy is stabilizing, but we will need more."


    He gestured toward the map of Europe spread across the table.


    "We must ensure Elysea is not just strong within, but respected beyond its borders."


    Vallier smirked. "What do you mean by that, Your Majesty?"


    Bruno''s gaze hardened. "It means that we have to expand and make Elysea an empire. In order to industrialize efficiently, we need resources that can''t be found in our home."


    A silence fell over the room.


    Then, slowly, Leclerc grinned. "Well, Your Majesty, it seems the true game is about to begin."


    Bruno leaned forward. "Then let''s play."

 Chapter 72 - 72: The Celebration

    The city of Elysee was alive in a way it hadn''t been in years. The streets, which had once seen war and revolution, were now filled with music, laughter, and celebration. Citizens, nobles, merchants, and soldiers alike gathered in every square, every alley, and every marketplace to celebrate the dawn of a new Elysea.


    King Bruno''s coronation had been a grand spectacle, a display of power and legitimacy, but the celebrations that followed were for the people. Bonfires were lit across the capital, free meals were served in the squares, and entertainers performed for the crowds.


    The nobility, housed in the royal palace, held a separate celebration¡ªone filled with extravagant feasts, performances, and endless toasts to their newly crowned king.


    Bruno, dressed in a formal but practical dark blue coat embroidered with golden thread, observed the city from the balcony of the royal palace. The capital was thriving, its people drinking, eating, and rejoicing in the security his rule had brought.


    Beside him, Queen Am¨¦lie stood with her usual poise, though her violet eyes carried a hint of amusement.


    "You''ve given them quite a reason to celebrate," she said, watching a group of children chasing after a performer juggling fire torches in the street below.


    Bruno smirked. "Let them have this moment. The kingdom has suffered long enough."


    Leclerc approached from behind, holding a goblet of wine. "It''s been a long time since the people of Elysea had a ruler they could trust, Your Majesty. You''ve given them stability, a future."


    Bruno took the goblet from Leclerc but did not drink. "A future we still have to build."


    Leclerc chuckled. "True, but for tonight, you should enjoy the fact that you are no longer a mere prince fighting for survival. You are now king. Even you deserve one evening of peace."


    Bruno exhaled, watching as fireworks burst in the night sky over the city. Perhaps, for just one night, he could allow himself to enjoy it.


    The great hall of the royal palace had been transformed into a grand banquet hall. A long table, stretching nearly the entire length of the room, was covered in silver plates, golden goblets, and the finest food Elysea could offer. Roasted pheasants, venison, fresh seafood, and spiced wine were served to the nobles who had gathered to celebrate.


    At the head of the table, King Bruno and Queen Am¨¦lie sat side by side, watching as the nobility drank and laughed. The room was filled with music, the sound of violins, flutes, and lutes blending seamlessly with the lively conversations.


    Berthold, seated a few chairs down, raised his goblet. "A toast! To our king and queen! May their reign be long and victorious!"


    The room erupted in cheers as goblets were raised high. "To King Bruno! To Queen Am¨¦lie! To Elysea!"


    Bruno lifted his goblet but only took a small sip before setting it down. He had little interest in drinking himself into a stupor when there was still much to be done.


    Am¨¦lie, ever composed, leaned toward him. "You still seem too focused for someone who should be celebrating."


    Bruno smirked slightly. "I am celebrating. Just in my own way."


    She arched an eyebrow. "By watching the room instead of enjoying yourself?"


    Bruno glanced at the nobles, some of whom were already inebriated, laughing loudly as they recounted old war stories and political gossip. He knew that many of them had once plotted against him, resisted his reforms, or doubted his ability to lead.


    "They drink because they think the fight is over," he said. "I drink because I know it has only begun."


    Am¨¦lie smiled faintly. "Then I suppose it is a good thing they do not rule Elysea, and you do."


    Leclerc, now seated beside Bruno, took a sip of his wine before speaking. "Your Majesty, with all due respect, you should at least pretend to enjoy the evening. The nobles need to see their king as more than just a strategist and reformer¡ªthey need to see that he can be one of them when necessary."


    Bruno sighed but relented. He picked up his goblet and raised it, standing. The hall quieted slightly as all eyes turned toward him.


    "For years, Elysea has suffered. It has known war, chaos, revolution, and uncertainty. But today, that ends. Today, we move forward¡ªnot as nobles and commoners, not as factions and rivals, but as Elyseans. We are one nation, and together, we will make it stronger than ever before."


    Another round of cheers erupted. Bruno set down his goblet and sat once more, watching as the festivities continued.


    As the night stretched on, Bruno stepped outside onto one of the palace balconies, needing a moment of solitude. The cool night air was a welcome contrast to the warm, wine-filled atmosphere of the banquet hall.


    A moment later, Am¨¦lie joined him, her gown shimmering in the moonlight.


    "You''ve been watching the city all night," she observed.


    Bruno exhaled. "It''s a habit."


    She studied him for a moment before speaking again. "You''re already thinking about the next step, aren''t you?"


    Bruno nodded. "Always." sea??h th§× N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Am¨¦lie leaned against the stone railing. "You intend to expand Elysea''s borders. To build an empire."


    Bruno turned to her. "You disagree?"


    She shook her head. "No. I understand it. Resources, industry, power¡ªwe will need all of it to secure our future. But you must know that expansion invites enemies. Elysea will not be the only one with ambitions."


    Bruno smirked. "Then we must be smarter than them."


    Am¨¦lie sighed but smiled slightly. "You truly do not rest, do you?"


    Bruno chuckled. "No. But you knew that when you married me."


    She laughed softly. "I did."


    For a moment, they stood in silence, watching the glow of Elysee beneath them. The city that had once been on the brink of ruin was now alive with hope, celebration, and the promise of a new era.


    Bruno turned to Am¨¦lie. "Are you ready for what comes next?"


    She met his gaze. "Always."


    Bruno smirked. "Good. Because tomorrow, we begin planning for the next step."


    As the first rays of sunlight crept over Elysea, the celebrations from the night before had finally died down. The city streets were littered with remnants of festivities¡ªdiscarded garlands, empty mugs, and banners swaying in the morning breeze.


    Inside the palace, however, work resumed immediately. The celebrations were over. Now, it was time to build.


    Bruno sat in his study, a new map laid before him. This time, it was not just of Elysea¡ªbut of the entire continent.


    Leclerc, Moreau, and Vallier entered, ready for their next orders.


    Bruno looked up, his expression firm. "Gentlemen, the party is over. Now, we shape Elysea''s destiny."


    Leclerc smirked. "Finally. I was getting tired of watching drunk nobles stumble around the palace."


    Bruno chuckled. "Then let''s get to work."


    Elysea''s next chapter was about to begin.

 Chapter 73 - 73: The Beginning of the Transformation

    The city of Elysee had finally quieted. The grand celebrations of the coronation and royal wedding had come to an end, and as the first light of dawn crept over the rooftops, the aftermath of the festivities was visible throughout the streets.


    Discarded garlands hung limply from lampposts, musicians packed up their instruments, and weary laborers began the task of cleaning up the remnants of feasts and celebrations. The people had enjoyed their moment of joy, but now, life would return to its usual rhythm¡ªthough under a new ruler, with new expectations.


    Inside the royal palace, the mood had already shifted from celebration to governance. King Bruno sat in his study, dressed in a simple dark tunic, a stark contrast to the regal attire of the previous night. The large wooden table before him was covered with maps, documents, and reports¡ªthe real work of a ruler.


    Across from him, Antoine Leclerc, Jean-Baptiste Moreau, and Captain Vallier sat in their respective seats, awaiting the first official council meeting under the newly crowned king.


    Bruno exhaled, running a hand through his hair before speaking.


    "The people have celebrated. The nobility has made their toasts. But none of that secures Elysea''s future. Now, we begin the real work."


    Moreau, the Finance Minister, adjusted his spectacles and leaned forward. "Your Majesty, the celebrations were a necessary gesture, but the treasury has suffered significantly. The cost of the coronation and wedding was enormous¡ªwhile the National Bank is stabilizing the economy, we must improve revenue collection to prevent future deficits."


    Bruno nodded. "Then let''s begin with tax reform. The nobility can no longer hoard wealth while the people carry the burden."


    Moreau smirked. "You''ll be making powerful enemies."


    Bruno smirked back. "They already despise me. That hasn''t stopped me before."


    Leclerc chuckled but quickly turned serious. "What do you propose, Your Majesty?"


    Bruno tapped a document on the table. "A standardized tax system. No more arbitrary fees imposed by individual lords. All taxation will be conducted by the state, through appointed Prefects overseeing each province."


    Moreau exhaled. "A centralized tax collection system will increase efficiency, but the nobility will resist¡ªthey see taxation as part of their right to rule."


    Bruno''s expression hardened. "Then they will learn that those days are over."


    Bruno turned to Moreau. "How soon can we expand our industrial base? If we want Elysea to compete with the great powers of Europe, we must move beyond agriculture and traditional craftsmanship."


    Moreau flipped through his notes. "Our textile production is already increasing thanks to the power loom, and large-scale steel manufacturing has begun. However, if we want true industrialization, we must invest in mining, shipbuilding, and mechanized production."


    Bruno nodded. "Then begin immediately. Allocate funds for industrial infrastructure¡ªfactories, railways, and machine workshops. If we do not advance now, we will fall behind."


    Moreau hesitated. "This will require massive capital investment. Investors will hesitate if they do not see immediate returns."


    Bruno''s gaze was firm. "Then the state will lead. Establish a National Industrial Fund¡ªuse it to finance the development of factories and transport networks. If private investors see the crown supporting industry, they will follow."


    Leclerc smirked. "A bold move. If it succeeds, Elysea will be unrecognizable in a decade."


    Bruno leaned forward. "That''s the plan."


    Vallier finally spoke, his arms crossed. "Your Majesty, while economic expansion is necessary, we must also focus on our military. If Elysea is to grow in strength, we must ensure that no external force threatens our development."


    Bruno nodded. "Agreed. The army must be modernized. Our current forces are still structured like a feudal army¡ªdependent on individual lords and their personal levies. That must change."


    Vallier smirked. "I was hoping you''d say that."


    Bruno placed a military reform proposal on the table. "We establish a standing professional army. No more noble-led regiments acting as independent factions. The crown will control recruitment, training, and supply."


    Vallier grinned. "This will give Elysea an army truly loyal to the state."


    Bruno continued, "Additionally, we must invest in modern weaponry¡ªartillery, muskets, and disciplined formations. The days of knights charging into battle are over."


    Moreau looked over the proposal. "This will be costly, Your Majesty."


    Bruno smirked. "Everything worthwhile is."


    Bruno turned to Leclerc. "What of our foreign standing? How do the other nations react to my coronation?"


    Leclerc folded his arms. "Germania has sent formal recognition, but they watch us cautiously. The Orosk is considering an alliance. The Eastern Sultanates are indifferent¡ªfor now."


    Bruno exhaled. "We need to expand our influence. If Elysea is to industrialize, we need resources. And resources mean one thing¡ªterritory."


    Leclerc raised an eyebrow. "You''re planning expansion already?"


    Bruno smirked. "Not through war¡ªnot yet. First, we consolidate trade agreements, ensuring Elysea has access to coal, iron, and other necessary materials."


    Moreau nodded. "Trade agreements will strengthen our economy before direct military action is even necessary."


    Bruno tapped the map. "Good. But be prepared¡ªif negotiations fail, we take what we need."


    As the meeting continued, the doors opened, and Queen Am¨¦lie entered, walking with her usual grace. The men at the table stood briefly, acknowledging her presence.


    She glanced at Bruno. "I assume you''re already reshaping the world?"


    Bruno smirked. "Just Elysea¡ªfor now."


    She took a seat beside him, scanning the documents. "I have received letters from several noble families¡ªsome eager to align themselves with the new court, others... hesitant."


    Bruno nodded. "Expected. Let them hesitate. The future waits for no one." S~ea??h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Am¨¦lie turned to the council. "If the nobility resists, they must be shown that their survival depends on adaptation. The ones who embrace reform will thrive¡ªthe ones who resist will be left behind."


    Leclerc chuckled. "You truly did marry well, Your Majesty."


    Bruno smirked. "That was never in doubt."


    Bruno stood, looking over the map of Elysea. The coronation was over. The celebrations had ended.


    Now, the real work began.


    "From this day forward, we move with purpose," Bruno declared. "Elysea will no longer be a kingdom of outdated traditions and stagnant politics. We will be a nation of progress, strength, and order."


    The council members exchanged glances. They had followed Bruno this far¡ªnow, they would see just how far he intended to go.


    Bruno exhaled, placing his hands on the table. "Gentlemen, the next chapter of Elysea begins today."


    Leclerc smirked. "And something tells me it will be... unforgettable."


    Bruno chuckled. "Let''s get to work."


    And so, the transformation of Elysea truly began.

 Chapter 74 - 74: Prelude to the Imperial Conquest

    The transformation of Elysea had begun, but the real work was far from complete. In the days following King Bruno''s coronation and wedding, the Royal Council had moved swiftly to enact the reforms he had outlined. The first decrees had been signed, the National Bank had begun stabilizing the economy, and the military reforms were in motion.


    But Bruno knew that words on paper were not enough. If Elysea were to modernize, he needed more than laws¡ªhe needed results.


    Inside the royal study, Bruno sat at the head of a large oak table, reviewing stacks of financial reports and industrial projections. Across from him, Jean-Baptiste Moreau, the Minister of Finance, adjusted his spectacles as he prepared to deliver his latest assessment.


    "Your Majesty," Moreau began, "our first round of taxation reforms has been enacted in the capital and its surrounding regions. Revenue collection has improved by fifteen percent, but we''re encountering resistance from rural provinces still dominated by noble estates."


    Bruno tapped his fingers on the table. "What kind of resistance?"


    Moreau sighed. "Some landowners are using legal loopholes to avoid paying their share. Others are intimidating tax collectors, making it difficult to enforce the new system."


    Bruno exhaled sharply. "Send in state inspectors, accompanied by the Royal Guard if necessary. Make it clear¡ªtax evasion is treason. If they refuse to comply, we seize their estates and redistribute them to loyal industrialists and farmers willing to work under the new system."


    Moreau smirked. "That should get their attention."


    Bruno leaned forward. "It''s time they understand: Elysea belongs to those who serve it, not those who cling to outdated privileges."


    Moreau flipped through his notes. "Now, regarding industrialization¡ªour efforts are already yielding results. The textile mills in the south are increasing production, and our first steel foundries have begun operations near Montreval."


    Bruno nodded. "Good. But that''s not enough. Elysea cannot compete with the major powers unless we move beyond small-scale industrialization. We need mass production." sea??h th§× N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Moreau hesitated. "That will require a major investment¡ªone that many noble financiers are unwilling to support."


    Bruno smirked. "Then we bypass them. Establish state-owned industries where private investors refuse to act. The crown will take direct control of key sectors¡ªsteel, railways, and shipbuilding."


    Moreau''s eyebrows rose slightly. "A bold strategy. It will work, but it places more burden on the treasury."


    Bruno exhaled. "Then we''ll make the nobles pay for it. If they won''t invest voluntarily, we increase their taxes and funnel that wealth into industry."


    Leclerc, who had been listening with amusement, chuckled. "Robbing the rich to build a new Elysea? I like it."


    Bruno smirked. "I don''t care if they like it or not¡ªas long as they comply."


    Bruno turned to Captain Vallier, who had been waiting patiently. "What''s the status of our military restructuring?"


    Vallier folded his arms. "The transition to a standing professional army has begun, but we face logistical challenges. Training men from scratch takes time, and we lack enough modern weaponry to fully equip them."


    Bruno frowned. "How much time?"


    Vallier sighed. "At least a year before we have a fully trained, modernized force. That''s assuming we can secure more firearms, artillery, and uniforms."


    Bruno glanced at Moreau. "Can the National Bank fund large-scale military production?"


    Moreau nodded slowly. "If we divert resources, yes. But if you want a fully modern army, we''ll need to import weapons while expanding domestic production."


    Bruno smirked. "Then we import what we must¡ªand once our industry catches up, we outproduce them."


    Leclerc leaned back. "And who do you intend to buy from?"


    Bruno pointed to the map spread across the table. "We establish trade agreements with the Orosk Empire for firearms and Germania for artillery blueprints. We''ll learn from them, then surpass them."


    Vallier grinned. "I like your confidence, Your Majesty."


    Bruno met his gaze. "Confidence is nothing without results, Captain. I intend to get them."


    Leclerc tapped the map. "Speaking of results¡ªdiplomatic negotiations are progressing, but some of our neighbors remain wary of Elysea''s sudden rise."


    Bruno smirked. "Let them watch. Soon, they''ll fear."


    Leclerc chuckled. "So, do you plan to charm them¡ªor pressure them?"


    Bruno leaned back. "Both. We begin by forging alliances with nations willing to trade resources with us. But for those who resist¡ªwe apply economic pressure, cutting off their access to Elysea''s growing industries."


    Moreau grinned. "Turn Elysea into a trade empire before they realize they depend on us."


    Bruno nodded. "Exactly."


    Leclerc smirked. "And when diplomacy fails?"


    Bruno''s eyes darkened. "Then we take what we need."


    As the meeting continued, the doors opened, and Queen Am¨¦lie entered, moving with calm authority.


    The council members stood briefly. She acknowledged them before taking a seat beside Bruno.


    She glanced at the documents spread across the table. "I see you''re already redrawing the future of Elysea."


    Bruno smirked. "Someone has to."


    Am¨¦lie turned to Leclerc. "And what of the nobility''s response to these reforms?"


    Leclerc exhaled. "Some accept it, seeing no alternative. Others scheme in the shadows, hoping to reverse your policies."


    Am¨¦lie''s violet eyes glinted. "Then they should be reminded of their place."


    Bruno chuckled. "You sound like me."


    She smirked. "You married me, did you not?"


    Leclerc laughed. "Truly a perfect match."


    Bruno turned to Am¨¦lie. "You understand politics better than most¡ªwhat''s your assessment?"


    She leaned forward. "If Elysea is to grow, you need more than fear and ambition¡ªyou need loyalty. The people must see why they fight for you, why they work for you."


    Bruno studied her for a moment before nodding. "Then we make sure they do."


    Bruno stood, surveying the map of Elysea and beyond. The pieces were in motion.


    The economy was being restructured.


    The military was being rebuilt.


    The nobility was being reshaped¡ªor removed.


    And the world was beginning to take notice.


    Bruno exhaled, placing his hands on the table. "This is only the beginning."


    Leclerc smirked. "It''s going to be one hell of an era."


    Bruno chuckled. "Let''s make sure of it. Now, onto the next phase of our rise. It is now our time to expand in the Black Continent."

 Chapter 75 - 75: Preparation of Imperial Conquest

    The royal palace of Elysea was quiet in the early morning, but within its council chambers, the air was tense with purpose. King Bruno sat at the head of the long oak table, his gaze fixed on a detailed map of the Black Continent. Around him, his most trusted advisors¡ªAntoine Leclerc, Jean-Baptiste Moreau, and Captain Vallier¡ªstudied the map with equal intensity.


    The room was lit by flickering candlelight, the golden glow reflecting off scattered documents detailing trade routes, military capabilities, and political structures of the African kingdoms. Among them, one name stood out: The Empire of Tunis.


    It was a name that carried weight, a name that represented both opportunity and danger.


    Bruno exhaled, tapping his fingers against the table. "The future of Elysea lies beyond our borders," he said, his voice steady. "The powers of Europe are expanding, claiming lands, resources, and influence. If we do not act soon, we will be left behind."


    Leclerc smirked, leaning back in his chair. "So, we set our sights on Africa?"


    Bruno nodded. "Not immediately, but methodically. We do nothing without preparation. If we are to expand into the continent, we must understand it¡ªits rulers, its wealth, its weaknesses."


    Moreau adjusted his spectacles and flipped through a thick ledger. "The Empire of Tunis is the dominant force in the Black Continent. They control vast territories, oversee powerful trade routes, and maintain a standing army formidable enough to rival even some European nations."


    Vallier folded his arms. "Which means if we misstep, we could find ourselves at war with a superpower before we''re ready."


    Bruno smirked. "Which is why we don''t misstep."


    Moreau cleared his throat. "We have gathered intelligence from merchants, traders, and foreign diplomats who have traveled through Tunis. Their empire is vast, wealthy, and¡ªmost importantly¡ªpolitically fragmented. While their Sultan, Hassan III, holds supreme power, he is not without opposition. Several noble factions, tribal chieftains, and religious leaders hold influence over different regions."


    Bruno nodded. "Internal division can be exploited."


    Moreau continued. "Their economy thrives on gold, ivory, and spices, as well as extensive trade agreements with Germania, Orosk, and the Eastern Sultanates. Their ports are some of the busiest in the Mediterranean, and their navy, while not as advanced as European fleets, is large enough to be a serious threat."


    Leclerc raised an eyebrow. "How loyal are these trade partners? If we move into the region, will we be stepping on foreign toes?"


    Moreau flipped to another page in his notes. "Not immediately. Germania and Orosk are only interested in profitable trade. If we offer better terms, they may be willing to shift their alliances. The Eastern Sultanates, however, share religious ties with Tunis. They may be more difficult to sway."


    Bruno tapped the map where the Tunisian capital was marked. "And their military?"


    Vallier leaned forward. "They have a well-trained standing army, but it is not unified. Different regions have their own forces, some directly under the Sultan''s command, others under local warlords. Their cavalry is fearsome, and they have large numbers, but their weapons and tactics are behind the European standard. If it came to war, our advantage would be superior firepower, artillery, and disciplined formations."


    Bruno listened carefully, then turned to Leclerc. "Before we make any move, we need more than reports¡ªwe need eyes on the ground."


    Leclerc smirked. "Spies, then?"


    Bruno nodded. "Agents, merchants, diplomats¡ªanyone who can move through Tunisian society unnoticed. We must gather real intelligence. I want to know who their allies are, who their enemies are, and what their weaknesses are."


    Leclerc chuckled. "It will take time to infiltrate their networks."


    Bruno smirked. "Then we start now." S§×ar?h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Moreau steepled his fingers. "While we gather intelligence, there is another approach¡ªtrade. If we begin small, expanding our presence in North Africa through commerce rather than conquest, we can establish a foothold without direct conflict."


    Bruno nodded. "Go on."


    Moreau flipped to another set of documents. "Several independent city-states along the North African coast are not directly controlled by Tunis but exist within its sphere of influence. They trade with the empire but maintain a degree of autonomy. If we secure trade agreements with these states, we can weaken Tunis''s monopoly on regional commerce."


    Leclerc grinned. "Cut them off at the purse, and they''ll bleed without us firing a shot."


    Bruno smirked. "Exactly."


    Moreau continued, "We can start with grain, textiles, and manufactured goods. Elysea''s industrial expansion allows us to produce goods at a larger scale than these city-states. If we undercut Tunisian traders and flood the market with our goods, we could begin shifting loyalty toward Elysea."


    Bruno exhaled. "We proceed carefully. Offer fair terms, avoid direct confrontation¡ªbut ensure that our influence spreads. If we control their economy, we will control their politics."


    Vallier cleared his throat. "If we are moving into North African trade, we need to ensure naval superiority. The Tunisian navy, while not as advanced as ours, is numerous and well-supplied."


    Bruno turned back to the map. "What do you suggest?"


    Vallier gestured toward Corsica and Sardinia. "If we establish naval outposts on these islands, we can create supply stations for Elysean ships. This would allow us to control trade routes without relying on mainland ports."


    Bruno nodded. "Do we have the resources to begin construction?"


    Moreau sighed. "It will be costly, but if we prioritize our efforts, we can have fortified naval bases operational within a year."


    Bruno turned to Vallier. "Then make it happen. If Tunis tries to challenge us, we must be prepared to blockade their ports and cut off their trade."


    Bruno stood, surveying the expansion plans laid before him.


    Intelligence Operations ¨C Send spies and merchants to gather information on Tunis''s political factions, military strength, and trade dependencies.


    Trade Expansion ¨C Secure agreements with independent North African city-states to weaken Tunis''s economic influence.


    Naval Power Projection ¨C Build naval bases in Corsica and Sardinia to control the Mediterranean trade routes.


    Political Maneuvering ¨C Exploit internal rivalries within Tunis to divide its power structure.


    Military Preparedness ¨C Expand Elysea''s navy and modernize its army in case war becomes necessary.


    Bruno turned to his council. "This is how we move forward¡ªnot through reckless war, but through strategy, precision, and patience. If we play this correctly, we will not need to fight for control of Africa¡ªwe will have it handed to us."


    Leclerc smirked. "And if they resist?"


    Bruno''s eyes darkened. "Then we remind them why Elysea is not to be denied."


    A silence settled over the room, heavy with the weight of their ambition.


    Elysea''s march toward empire had begun. Not with war¡ªbut with preparation.

 Chapter 76 - 76: The Setup

    January 5, 1694


    The council reconvened in the royal palace, the morning sun casting long shadows over the chamber as King Bruno stood at the head of the table. The preparations for Elysea''s expansion into the Black Continent had begun, but now, the real work of intelligence gathering, strategic planning, and resource allocation had to be set in motion.


    Bruno''s gaze swept over his advisors¡ªAntoine Leclerc, Jean-Baptiste Moreau, and Captain Vallier¡ªall of whom had been tasked with gathering preliminary information about the Empire of Tunis and its surrounding regions. Reports had trickled in over the past week, giving them a broader understanding of the empire''s internal politics, economic dependencies, and military strengths.


    Bruno took a deep breath and leaned forward. "Give me an update. Where do we stand?"


    Leclerc was the first to speak. He adjusted his cuffs, his usual smirk present. "Our agents have already begun embedding themselves into Tunisian trade networks. A handful of merchants with Elysean ties have been sent to key coastal cities under the pretense of expanding business. They will report back on the local sentiment and identify which city-states might be open to trading with us directly, bypassing the empire''s control."


    Bruno nodded. "And what of our diplomatic efforts?"


    Leclerc''s smirk widened. "As expected, the Tunisian court is cautious. The Sultan''s advisors are aware that Elysea is strengthening its navy and expanding its industry, which makes them wary. However, they are not openly hostile¡ªyet. If we approach them too soon, they may perceive us as a threat."


    Bruno exhaled slowly. "Then we take our time. For now, we keep our presence subtle¡ªno overt moves, no unnecessary provocations."


    Leclerc nodded. "Understood. We''ll continue gathering intelligence on the Sultan''s key advisors and political opponents. If we can find internal dissent, we can exploit it."


    Bruno''s fingers tapped against the table. "Good. I want a full report on the power structure of the Tunisian court¡ªwho holds real influence, who is vulnerable, and who is expendable. Find out where their loyalty truly lies."


    Leclerc''s eyes glinted with approval. "Consider it done."


    Moreau, the Minister of Finance, cleared his throat before speaking. "Your Majesty, our push into North African trade is progressing. We have already begun negotiations with several independent city-states, particularly those in the western region that operate outside of Tunisian control."


    Bruno arched an eyebrow. "And their response?"


    Moreau smirked. "Mixed. Some see opportunity in aligning with us, while others fear retaliation from Tunis. However, our promise of competitive pricing and stable contracts is tempting. If we continue this approach, we will slowly erode Tunis''s economic dominance in the region."


    Bruno leaned forward. "Then press harder. Offer them better trade deals than Tunis ever could. We control manufactured goods, textiles, and processed materials¡ªthings their economy lacks. If we secure a strong economic foothold, their reliance on Tunisian markets will shrink."


    Moreau nodded. "We will also undercut Tunisian merchants by flooding the markets with Elysean goods. If we can lower prices while maintaining quality, the traders will come to us out of necessity."


    Leclerc chuckled. "Suffocate their trade without firing a single shot."


    Bruno smirked. "Exactly. Once their economy starts to weaken, their political influence will follow."


    Moreau flipped through his notes. "That being said, this approach will take time. It may be years before Tunis feels the full weight of our economic presence."


    Bruno crossed his arms. "That''s fine. We are not in a rush¡ªwe are in control."


    Vallier, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke. "Your Majesty, our naval expansion is progressing, but it will take at least a year to establish fully operational supply stations in Corsica and Sardinia. We have begun reinforcing our coastal defenses and expanding our shipbuilding efforts."


    Bruno nodded. "How soon can we begin patrolling the North African coast?"


    Vallier smirked. "Within the next six months, we can start deploying merchant convoys escorted by warships. This will allow us to protect our traders while also testing Tunisian responses."


    Bruno exhaled. "I don''t want direct confrontation¡ªnot yet. Keep our naval presence defensive for now. The moment Tunis believes we are actively seeking conflict, they will retaliate."


    Vallier nodded. "Understood. We''ll ensure our movements remain non-aggressive, but rest assured, if Tunis ever challenges us on the seas, we will be ready."


    Bruno''s expression darkened slightly. "If they do challenge us, we must ensure they regret it."


    Bruno turned back to Leclerc. "How are the nobles responding to our expansion plans?" S~ea??h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Leclerc scoffed. "As expected, some are enthusiastic, eager to invest in new ventures and profit from overseas expansion. Others are cautious, still clinging to outdated feudal ideas. And, of course, there are those who resent losing influence over their own lands."


    Bruno smirked. "They will learn that Elysea does not belong to them¡ªit belongs to the future."


    Leclerc chuckled. "A poetic way of saying they have no choice."


    Bruno nodded. "Make sure they understand that investment in expansion is not optional. Those who embrace Elysea''s future will grow rich beyond measure. Those who resist will be left behind."


    Moreau smirked. "And what of the ones who openly oppose expansion?"


    Bruno''s expression hardened. "Then we give them a choice¡ªserve or step aside. If they refuse both, we will take from them what they failed to use."


    Leclerc nodded. "I''ll start identifying noble families that are reluctant and prepare alternative methods of persuasion."


    Bruno exhaled. "Do what you must."


    Bruno looked around the table, taking in the determined expressions of his advisors. The groundwork had been set.


    Spies and Merchants ¨C Infiltrating Tunisian society, gathering intelligence on power structures, trade networks, and internal conflicts.


    Economic Disruption ¨C Offering better trade deals to independent city-states, undercutting Tunisian merchants, and gaining control of key markets.


    Naval Expansion ¨C Establishing supply stations in Corsica and Sardinia, deploying escorted merchant convoys, and securing Elysea''s maritime strength.


    Internal Politics ¨C Forcing Elysea''s nobility to adapt to the expansionist vision¡ªor be replaced.


    Bruno stood, his hands resting on the table. "This is how we proceed. Slowly. Methodically. Unstoppable."


    Leclerc smirked. "And when the time comes?"


    Bruno''s gaze darkened. "Then we will be ready to claim what is ours."


    The room fell into silence, heavy with the weight of their ambition. Elysea''s path toward empire had begun¡ªnot with conquest, but with control.


    And soon, the world would take notice.

 Chapter 77 - 77: A Year Later

    January 20, 1695.


    The Kingdom of Elysea had spent the last year laying the groundwork for its first steps beyond its borders. Through careful diplomacy, calculated trade expansion, and a steady naval buildup, Elysea had begun to insert itself into the Black Continent''s economy without direct conflict. Now, after months of careful negotiations, Elysea had been granted permission to establish an official trade delegation in the city of Carthage, one of the most important coastal hubs of the Empire of Tunis.


    It was not yet conquest, but it was the first official military and political presence of Elysea in foreign lands.


    The convoy had set sail from Elysea''s naval port at La Rochelle two weeks earlier. The fleet was modest¡ªfive warships and three heavily laden merchant vessels, carrying diplomats, merchants, and trade goods. However, it was the military escort that set this voyage apart from any other before it.


    For the first time, Elysea had sent troops to foreign soil.


    At the helm of the military contingent was General Armand Roux, a young and brilliant officer who had rapidly risen through the ranks. At twenty-six, he was already one of Elysea''s most formidable tactical minds, a man whose talent in strategy, discipline, and logistics had caught the attention of King Bruno himself. Though he had started his career as a mere captain, his natural leadership and keen intellect had earned him an accelerated promotion.


    His orders were clear¡ªescort the trade delegation, ensure their security, and establish a firm Elysean presence in Carthage. This was not a military invasion, nor was it a show of force¡ªbut the presence of Elysean troops alone would send a message.


    As the fleet approached the port of Carthage, Roux stood on the deck of HMS Triomphant, the lead warship, watching the distant shoreline. The city''s massive white limestone walls loomed in the distance, and beyond them, the grand spires and bustling markets of Carthage stretched toward the horizon.


    The Tunisian navy had already sent an escort of five galleys, shadowing the Elysean fleet to ensure no aggressive actions were taken. Roux could see the cannons along the fortified harbor, a silent warning that they were being watched carefully.


    By his side stood Minister Charles Dufort, Elysea''s newly appointed Minister of Foreign Affairs. A seasoned diplomat, Dufort had spent years negotiating trade deals across Europe. His role was to ensure that Elysea''s first official diplomatic mission to Tunis did not escalate into conflict.


    Dufort exhaled, adjusting the cuffs of his pristine coat. "A year ago, this would have been unthinkable," he murmured. "An Elysean military convoy in a Tunisian harbor."


    Roux smirked. "And a year from now, it may be commonplace."


    Dufort gave him a sideways glance. "Let''s ensure that we''re welcomed before we think of establishing permanence."


    Roux''s eyes remained on the approaching coastline. "We will be welcomed¡ªwhether they realize it or not."


    The Elysean convoy docked under the watchful gaze of Tunisian officials. The port was massive, filled with bustling trade ships, towering cranes, and workers unloading spices, ivory, textiles, and gold.


    As Roux disembarked, he could feel the weight of hundreds of eyes upon him. The Elysean troops¡ªfive hundred men, disciplined and clad in their pristine blue and gold uniforms¡ªmoved with precision, forming protective lines around the merchants and diplomats. Their presence was deliberate but non-threatening¡ªthey carried their muskets but did not march in formation, ensuring they appeared as escorts, not invaders.


    Waiting for them was a delegation of Tunisian officials, led by Vizier Ibrahim al-Farid, an advisor to Sultan Hassan III. The vizier, an older man dressed in elaborate silks, stepped forward, his expression neutral but wary.


    "Welcome to Carthage," he said smoothly in perfect Elysean. "The Sultan recognizes your king''s desire for closer ties and has granted your merchants permission to trade within our city."


    Dufort stepped forward, bowing slightly. "We are honored by the Sultan''s generosity. Elysea seeks partnership, not conflict."


    Al-Farid''s gaze flicked to Roux, taking in the presence of armed troops. "A most interesting escort for merchants." sea??h th§× ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Roux met his gaze, unflinching. "Only to ensure their safety. The Mediterranean is unpredictable."


    The vizier''s lips twitched slightly in amusement. "Indeed."


    The Tunisian officials led the Elysean delegation through the city, allowing them to see firsthand the bustling heart of Carthage. It was a metropolis of grand markets, towering mosques, and fortified palaces.


    The Elysean delegation had been granted a large compound near the docks, where they would establish their first official trade office. Within the day, merchants began unloading their goods¡ªfine textiles, manufactured steel tools, and firearms¡ªall products superior to those commonly available in Tunisian markets.


    This was the first step¡ªslowly integrating Elysean products into the economy, making them indispensable.


    Despite the formal welcome, Roux remained cautious. He knew that not all in Carthage welcomed Elysea''s presence.


    While some Tunisian merchants saw opportunity, others saw a threat. And in the shadows, not all factions of the Sultan''s court approved of foreign influence.


    That night, as Roux and his officers sat in their quarters, an Elysean informant arrived, slipping into the compound undetected.


    "We have received word," the informant whispered. "Certain noble families in Tunis are displeased with your presence. There are rumors that some may attempt to sabotage trade negotiations."


    Roux leaned back in his chair. "Then we must be prepared."


    Dufort exhaled. "We should tread carefully. If we push too aggressively, the Sultan may reconsider our presence."


    Roux smirked. "I agree. We won''t push. We''ll simply make ourselves invaluable."


    Dufort frowned. "And how do you intend to do that?"


    Roux''s gaze darkened. "We ensure that every merchant who trades with us prospers. That every noble who aligns with us gains wealth. That every official who supports us rises in influence."


    He stood, crossing his arms.


    "This is not just about trade," he said. "It is about positioning ourselves within the very fabric of Tunisian society."


    The next day, the Elysean merchants began their operations, slowly introducing superior goods to the Carthaginian markets.


    Roux, meanwhile, ensured that his troops were seen but never oppressive¡ªhelping keep order at the docks, assisting local authorities, and proving that Elysean presence brought stability, not conflict.


    The true battle was not fought with muskets and cannons¡ªbut with gold, influence, and patience.


    Elysea had taken its first step into the Black Continent.


    And Roux knew that once a foothold was gained, the rest would follow.

 Chapter 78 - 78: Slowly Planting Influence

    January 25, 1695.


    The Elysean Trade Delegation had spent five days settling into their new compound near the Carthaginian docks. Merchants unloaded crates of fine Elysean textiles, firearms, and steel goods, while soldiers remained stationed to ensure order. The Tunisian authorities had allowed their presence, but tensions remained.


    Now, it was time for the official negotiations to begin.


    Inside the Tunisian Ministry of Foreign Affairs


    The meeting was set within the Palace of the Grand Vizier, a lavish structure in the heart of Carthage. Intricate mosaics, golden chandeliers, and ornate calligraphy adorned the walls, a testament to Tunisian wealth and culture.


    Seated in the central chamber was Minister Charles Dufort, Elysea''s Minister of Foreign Affairs. Opposite him sat Grand Vizier Suleiman al-Mutazz, the Sultan''s chief foreign advisor. The vizier was a man in his late fifties, his beard neatly groomed, his sharp eyes watching Dufort carefully.


    Between them was a low wooden table, set with silver pitchers of rose water, bowls of dates and figs, and a carefully arranged map of the Mediterranean.


    Dufort took a sip of water before speaking. "Your Excellency, I thank you for granting us this audience. The Kingdom of Elysea wishes to establish a lasting and prosperous trade relationship with the Empire of Tunis."


    The vizier leaned back in his cushioned chair. "Elysea is ambitious. That much is clear. A year ago, your kingdom barely had a presence in the Mediterranean. Now you arrive with merchants, soldiers, and warships. Your king does not move without purpose."


    Dufort smiled diplomatically. "King Bruno believes in strength through commerce. Our presence here is not an act of aggression¡ªit is an opportunity."


    Suleiman exhaled slowly. "An opportunity, you say? And what does Elysea seek in return?"


    Dufort gestured to the map. "We propose a mutually beneficial trade agreement. Elysea produces manufactured goods of the highest quality¡ªfirearms, steel, textiles, and agricultural tools. Tunisian merchants would gain access to these products at exclusive rates, giving them an edge over competitors in the region."


    The vizier raised an eyebrow. "And in return?"


    Dufort tapped the southern portion of the map. "Elysea seeks access to gold, ivory, and spices¡ªresources that flow through Tunisian trade routes from the interior of the Black Continent. If we can secure a direct trade link, both our nations will prosper."


    The vizier stroked his beard. "That would mean bypassing some of our existing agreements with Germania and Orosk."


    Dufort nodded. "Which is why Elysea is prepared to offer something no other European power has."


    Suleiman''s gaze sharpened. "And what is that?"


    Dufort leaned forward slightly. "Weapons."


    A tense silence filled the room.


    Dufort continued, his voice measured. "Your armies are large, formidable¡ªbut many of your soldiers still wield outdated weapons. Elysea produces some of the most advanced muskets and artillery in Europe. In exchange for trade rights, we are willing to supply the Sultan''s forces with a steady stream of modern firearms, giving Tunis a military advantage over its rivals."


    Suleiman''s fingers tapped lightly against the table. "You seek to arm us?"


    Dufort smiled. "We seek to modernize you. Your Sultan''s domain is vast, but even the mightiest empire must evolve. The balance of power is shifting, and those who fall behind in warfare¡­ well, history does not favor them."


    Suleiman''s eyes narrowed slightly. "You speak boldly, Minister Dufort. And yet, you expect us to trust that Elysea provides these weapons without ulterior motive?"


    Dufort chuckled. "All trade has motive, Grand Vizier. But consider this¡ªif Elysea wished for conquest, we would not offer tools of war, we would simply bring them. Instead, we offer a partnership¡ªone that strengthens Tunis, rather than weakens it."


    Suleiman was silent for a long moment, his mind clearly weighing the offer.


    Finally, the vizier spoke. "Your proposal is intriguing. But Tunis does not act on impulse. Before we entertain your trade terms, we require assurances."


    Dufort nodded. "What sort of assurances?"


    Suleiman steepled his fingers. "First, Elysea must agree not to establish military outposts on our territory. We will not allow foreign powers to set up fortifications under the guise of commerce."


    Dufort inclined his head. "Agreed. Elysea seeks economic ties, not territorial claims."


    Suleiman continued. "Second, if we are to accept Elysean weapons, we must have exclusive access to them within the Black Continent. We will not tolerate Elysea arming our enemies."


    Dufort smiled. "Elysea has no interest in destabilizing Tunisian authority. Consider it done."


    The vizier''s lips curled slightly. "Very well. In exchange, we will grant Elysean merchants access to our ports and markets, with reduced tariffs on your manufactured goods. Gold, ivory, and spices will be made available¡ªbut at fair exchange rates."


    Dufort extended his hand. "Then we have an understanding?"


    Suleiman studied him for a moment before clasping his hand. "We have the beginnings of one."


    As Dufort exited the palace, he was greeted by General Armand Roux, who had been waiting outside with a handful of officers.


    "How did it go?" Roux asked.


    Dufort smirked. "Better than expected. We have their interest."


    Roux nodded. "And their trust?"


    Dufort exhaled. "Trust? No. But respect? Perhaps."


    They began walking toward the Elysean compound. "They want exclusive access to our firearms, in exchange for lower tariffs and access to their trade routes."


    Roux chuckled. "So they fear us, but they also need us."


    Dufort smirked. "Precisely. And that is how Elysea takes root in Tunis." S~ea??h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Roux glanced toward the harbor, where Elysean ships unloaded more trade goods. "Then it begins."


    Dufort nodded. "It does. But make no mistake¡ªthis is only the first step."


    With the initial trade agreement secured, Elysea had successfully established itself in Carthage.


    Next Steps:


    Secure the Trade Agreement: Finalize written contracts ensuring favorable terms for Elysean merchants.


    Increase Presence: Expand the number of merchants and introduce more Elysean goods into the Tunisian markets.


    Monitor Political Shifts: Keep track of Tunisian court politics, watching for factions that support or oppose Elysean influence.


    Establish a Military Exchange: Quietly integrate Elysean weapons into the Tunisian military, ensuring dependence on Elysean armaments.


    Elysea had planted its flag¡ªnot through conquest, but through control.


    And soon, the next move would be made.

 Chapter 79 - 79: A Deadly Scuffle

    For months, the Elysean delegation had solidified its presence in Carthage. Trade agreements were secured, markets filled with Elysean goods, and firearms quietly integrated into the Tunisian military. But beneath the surface of diplomacy, resentment was growing.


    The Elysean soldiers, who had been stationed in the city to escort merchants and diplomats, viewed the Tunisian people with barely concealed contempt. To them, this was a backward land, ruled by outdated traditions and an empire too proud to admit its decline.


    For the Tunisians, the Elysean presence felt suffocating. Their foreign guests, while not conquerors, carried an arrogance that was impossible to ignore. And when that arrogance turned to insults, the city''s patience finally snapped.


    It started as a dispute over a trade deal.


    The Grand Bazaar of Carthage was the beating heart of the city''s commerce¡ªa sprawling marketplace of silk, spices, and gold. It was where Elysean merchants and Tunisian traders negotiated their deals, but on this day, negotiations turned to violence.


    At the center of the tension stood Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud, a junior officer in the Elysean army assigned to oversee trade security. He was young, brash, and utterly convinced of Elysean superiority. He stood before a small group of Tunisian traders, his arms crossed, flanked by three Elysean soldiers, their muskets slung lazily over their shoulders.


    "This is robbery," growled Hassan al-Bakri, a respected Tunisian merchant, his hand tightening into a fist. "You sell us inferior steel at double the price your king promised. This is an insult!"


    Giraud smirked. "An insult? No, this is trade. Perhaps if your forges could produce something better, you wouldn''t need us."


    The gathered crowd murmured angrily. Hassan''s face darkened. "You Elyseans walk our streets as if you own them. You speak to us as if we are beggars, yet it is our gold that fills your ships. Show some respect, foreigner."


    One of Giraud''s men, Sergeant Michel Favreau, scoffed. "Respect? What have you given us to respect? Your city stinks of filth, your people grovel at the Sultan''s feet like sheep, and your army marches with weapons from another century. Elysea did you a favor by coming here."


    The murmurs turned to outraged shouts. Bystanders closed in, fists clenched, eyes burning with fury.


    Hassan took a step forward. "Take your words back, Elysean."


    Giraud laughed. "Or what? You''ll wave a scimitar at me? Go back to your tents in the desert, old man."


    That was the final straw.


    Hassan spat at Giraud''s feet.


    For a brief moment, silence hung in the air like a drawn blade.


    Then, Giraud slapped Hassan across the face, sending the merchant stumbling. The crowd erupted.


    A stone flew through the air, striking one of the Elysean soldiers in the shoulder. Then another. Then a dozen more.


    "Back! Back!" Giraud shouted, drawing his sword. His men unslung their muskets, the steel barrels gleaming in the afternoon sun.


    Hassan, his face burning with rage, pointed at them. "Get them out of our city!"


    The crowd charged.


    The first gunshot cracked like thunder.


    A Tunisian boy, no older than fourteen, collapsed onto the cobblestone, blood pooling beneath him.


    Screams of horror filled the bazaar.


    Then all hell broke loose.


    Tunisian men and boys rushed the soldiers, wielding knives, sticks, and anything they could grab. Elysean troops opened fire, their muskets blasting into the charging crowd.


    A trader was shot in the chest, tumbling over a fruit cart. Another soldier was dragged down, his cries of pain drowned out as fists and boots beat him into silence.


    The streets turned red.


    Giraud barely had time to parry a dagger before a second man tackled him. He hit the ground hard, the world spinning. He glimpsed Favreau being dragged into an alley, his screams cut short.


    This was not a fight¡ªit was a massacre.


    By the time the city guard arrived to restore order, seven Elysean soldiers lay dead, their bodies stripped and bloodied. At least twenty Tunisians had been killed, dozens more wounded.


    The Grand Bazaar stood in ruins, stalls overturned, the scent of gunpowder and blood heavy in the air. The wounded moaned, their voices lost in the chaos.


    Word spread like wildfire.


    Elysean arrogance had led to bloodshed. Tunisian fury had answered in kind.


    At the Elysean compound, General Armand Roux received the news with a grim expression.


    Dufort, the Foreign Minister, was ashen-faced. "This is a disaster."


    Roux nodded. "Tunisian soldiers are mobilizing. If we don''t handle this now, it could mean war."


    Dufort turned to his aide. "Summon Grand Vizier Suleiman at once. We must negotiate before this escalates."


    The aide hesitated. "Your Excellency, I¡­ I don''t think they want to talk."


    Dufort clenched his jaw. "Then we must make them listen."


    The Palace of the Grand Vizier was in turmoil.


    Suleiman al-Mutazz paced furiously, his advisors whispering among themselves. A group of Tunisian commanders had gathered, their expressions dark.


    One of them, General Idris bin Rashid, slammed his fist on the table. "These foreigners must pay! They think they can murder our people without consequence? We should expel every Elysean from Tunisian soil!"


    A murmur of agreement spread through the room.


    Suleiman raised his hand for silence. "War with Elysea would be costly. Their army is stronger. Their ships outmatch ours. We cannot act in anger alone."


    General Rashid scowled. "Then what do you suggest?"


    Suleiman exhaled. "We will demand retribution. The soldiers responsible must be punished. If Elysea refuses, then we take action."


    The vizier turned to his aide. "Send a message to the Elysean delegation. They will answer for this crime."


    By nightfall, every Elysean soldier in Carthage was on high alert. The gates of their compound were barred, their muskets loaded.


    Dufort sat in his study, reading the formal demand from the Grand Vizier. S§×arch* The n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Elysea was to hand over the officers responsible for the killings, or face expulsion from Tunisian territory.


    Roux entered, arms crossed. "They want blood."


    Dufort set the letter down. "Then we must decide¡­ do we give it to them?"


    The next move belonged to Elysea.


    And all of North Africa watched, waiting to see what they would do.

 Chapter 80 - 80: High Tension

    The city of Carthage was no longer calm.


    The Elysean compound was under lockdown, its iron gates shut, guards stationed at every entryway, muskets loaded and bayonets fixed. Outside the compound, Tunisian soldiers patrolled the streets, their presence heavier than before. Every man inside the Elysean delegation could feel it¡ªthe growing hostility, the seething resentment.


    Inside the compound, General Armand Roux stood in the dimly lit war room, his gloved hands pressed against the wooden table. Across from him, Foreign Minister Charles Dufort paced, his face lined with frustration.


    On the table lay the official demand from the Grand Vizier¡ªhand over the Elysean officers responsible for the bloodshed at the Grand Bazaar, or face expulsion from Tunisian lands.


    Dufort exhaled sharply. "This is an impossible demand."


    Roux''s eyes narrowed. "It''s a threat."


    Dufort stopped pacing, turning to face him. "And what would you have me do? Turn over our men to be butchered?"


    Roux''s jaw clenched. "We can''t let them dictate terms to us, Charles. If we surrender Giraud and his men, we set a precedent¡ªElysean soldiers become bargaining chips. Today, it''s this incident. Tomorrow, it''s another excuse. If we show weakness, we might as well pack up and leave North Africa altogether."


    Dufort rubbed his temples. "I understand that, Armand, but if we refuse outright, we risk war. And we are not ready for war."


    There was a heavy silence between them.


    They both knew the truth.


    Elysea was strong. Stronger than Tunis, militarily and technologically. But an outright conflict, here and now, would be a catastrophe. Elysea''s foothold in Carthage was small. Their men were outnumbered. Their supply lines stretched across the Mediterranean. They could not afford a prolonged struggle¡ªnot yet.


    A sharp knock at the door broke the silence.


    An aide entered, bowing slightly. "Your Excellencies, the Grand Vizier has arrived."


    Dufort straightened, his expression hardening. "Then let''s see where this leads."


    The Council Hall of the Elysean compound was cold, tense, and heavy with anticipation.


    Grand Vizier Suleiman al-Mutazz entered, flanked by two Tunisian guards, their hands resting on their scimitars. The vizier moved with calm, deliberate steps, his aged but sharp eyes scanning the room like a man who already knew the outcome of the conversation.


    Dufort and Roux stood at the opposite end of the table. Behind them, Elysean officers watched in silence, their hands resting on their sword hilts, muskets leaning against the walls.


    The Vizier took his seat.


    For a moment, no one spoke.


    Then, Suleiman broke the silence.


    "You have received our demands." His voice was steady, unyielding.


    Dufort nodded. "We have. But before we proceed further, let me ask you one thing, Grand Vizier¡ªdo you truly wish to see our nations at war?"


    Suleiman''s expression did not change. "It is not we who brought war to Carthage, Minister Dufort. It was your men who fired the first shot. It was your soldiers who killed our citizens in the streets of our own city."


    Dufort''s lips pressed into a thin line. "The situation escalated beyond control. Your people attacked our men first."


    Suleiman''s eyes flickered with a dangerous glint. "They attacked with stones and fists. Your men responded with gunpowder and steel. Tell me, Minister Dufort, do you believe this is justice?"


    Roux spoke before Dufort could answer. "Justice? Justice would have been preventing the attack in the first place. Justice would have been ensuring your citizens didn''t rise up against uniformed men protecting diplomatic interests."


    Suleiman''s calm mask cracked slightly, his fingers tightening against the armrest of his chair. "Protection? Your men insulted our people, mocked our traditions, called us uncivilized in our own streets. If this is your idea of protection, then we do not need it."


    A long, tense silence followed.


    Dufort sighed. "We cannot hand over our officers to be executed."


    Suleiman''s eyes narrowed. "Then our Sultan will have no choice but to expel every Elysean from our lands. That includes your merchants, your diplomats, and your soldiers. Your foothold in North Africa will be gone."


    Dufort''s heart pounded, but he forced himself to remain outwardly calm.


    If they lost Carthage, they lost everything they had spent a year building.


    He could not allow that to happen.


    "We can find another solution," Dufort said carefully.


    Suleiman leaned forward. "There is only one solution."


    Roux slammed his palm on the table. "You are making a mistake, Grand Vizier." S~ea??h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Suleiman met his gaze, unflinching. "No, General Roux. It is Elysea that has made a mistake."


    The negotiations collapsed.


    Suleiman stood, his movements slow, deliberate. "You have until sundown tomorrow to deliver your decision. If you refuse to hand over your men, consider our agreement nullified."


    Dufort exhaled sharply, but nodded. "We will¡­ consider your request."


    Suleiman watched him for a long moment before turning on his heel and exiting the chamber.


    As the door slammed shut, Roux swore under his breath. "This is going to end in blood."


    Dufort sat back down, his fingers interlocked. His mind was racing.


    What options did they have?


    Hand over Giraud and the other officers. This would humiliate Elysea and set a precedent that would make them look weak in the eyes of their European rivals.


    Refuse outright. This would likely mean war, or at the very least, the complete loss of their trade agreements and foothold in Tunis.


    Negotiate a compromise. But would the Tunisians accept anything less than full punishment?


    Dufort turned to Roux. "If it comes to war¡­ are we prepared?"


    "We are well-prepared," Roux stated with absolute certainty. "We have the best weapons, and these Tunisians are equipped with primitive muskets and outdated tactics. If war comes, we will dominate them."


    Dufort exhaled sharply. "This isn''t about whether we can win, General." He ran a hand through his graying hair. "It''s about whether we should."


    Roux''s expression remained unreadable. "They have already declared their position. They demand our officers. They openly threaten to expel us. This is not diplomacy anymore. It is a power struggle."


    Dufort shook his head. "We came here to trade, not conquer."


    Roux''s voice darkened. "You came to trade. The king sent me to ensure Elysea takes what it needs."


    Silence fell over the room.


    Finally, Major Baptiste Laurent spoke, breaking the tension. "The Tunisian army is mobilizing. If we hesitate, we lose the initiative."


    Dufort sat back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. "This will mean the end of any diplomatic relations with Tunis."


    Roux smirked. "We don''t need relations. We need their land."


    Dufort''s lips pressed into a thin line. His eyes swept across the faces of the gathered men. "Then¡­ this is war."


    Roux nodded. "Then let''s prepare for war."

 Chapter 81 - 81: Acting On Their Own

    The war room in the Elysean compound was silent, but the air was thick with anticipation. General Armand Roux stood at the head of the table, his hands gripping the edge as he stared at the assembled officers and ministers. The decision had been made.


    There would be no surrender. No negotiations. No retreat.


    Foreign Minister Charles Dufort ran a hand through his graying hair, exhaling sharply. He looked up at Major Baptiste Laurent, who had been one of the most vocal supporters of war.


    "This is madness," Dufort muttered. "We are acting without the King''s direct orders."


    Roux scoffed, his expression cold. "The King sent us here to secure Elysea''s future. I don''t need a written letter from Bruno to tell me that we are not handing over our men to be executed."


    Laurent nodded, arms crossed. "And even if we send a message now, by the time the King replies, the Tunisian army will have already surrounded us."


    Dufort clenched his jaw. The logic was sound, but that didn''t make it right. They were gambling with Elysea''s standing in the world. They were about to ignite a war that could reshape North Africa forever.


    A war King Bruno hadn''t approved.


    But Roux and his officers had already made their decision.


    March 21, 1695.


    The compound gates remained locked, but behind them, Elysean forces moved with urgency. Officers barked orders as men donned their blue and gold uniforms, checked their muskets, and secured their ammunition pouches.


    The artillery crews loaded cannons with grapeshot and solid iron balls, positioning them on the walls for when the inevitable counterattack came.


    In the officer''s tent, Roux, Laurent, and Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud stood over a detailed map of Carthage.


    "Our objective is clear," Roux said, tapping the Grand Bazaar district with his gloved finger. "We strike first."


    Laurent nodded. "A night assault. The Tunisians will not expect us to make the first move. They assume we are still negotiating."


    Roux smirked. "Then let''s make sure they never get the chance."


    The plan was simple:


    Seize the Grand Bazaar and the surrounding districts before dawn.


    Establish control of the main roads, cutting off reinforcements from the city garrison.


    Force the Grand Vizier''s hand¡ªbefore Tunisian forces could fully mobilize.


    Dufort stood at the edge of the room, arms crossed. "You''re making a mistake."


    Roux didn''t even look at him. "You should be glad we''re solving this before it gets worse."


    Dufort sighed, knowing there was nothing left to say. The soldiers had already been given their orders.


    The decision was made.


    And at the stroke of midnight, Elysea marched.


    March 22, 1695.


    The first shots rang out just before dawn.


    Elysean grenadiers stormed through the narrow alleyways of the Bazaar District, their muskets raised, bayonets glinting under the lantern light.


    Tunisian watchmen barely had time to react before they were cut down. The sound of gunfire and screams filled the streets.


    The Grand Bazaar, once filled with merchants, spices, and silk, was now a battlefield.


    Elysean forces moved in tight formations, firing disciplined volleys into Tunisian guards rushing to defend the district.


    Tunisian soldiers, fighting on home territory, used the rooftops and alleyways to counterattack with muskets and curved swords.


    The Elysean artillery, positioned outside the marketplace, fired grapeshot into defensive positions, tearing through wooden barricades and stone walls.


    Captain Giraud, at the head of his men, cut through a line of Tunisian defenders with his sword drawn, stepping over the bodies of fallen soldiers as he advanced toward the heart of the district.


    "Push forward! Do not give them ground!" he shouted.


    The Elysean musketeers reloaded quickly, firing another deadly volley.


    One by one, the Tunisian defenses began to break.


    By sunrise, the Grand Bazaar belonged to Elysea.


    Inside the Palace of the Grand Vizier, the mood was grim.


    Suleiman al-Mutazz stood before a gathering of his top generals, his face dark with rage.


    A messenger rushed into the chamber, his robes torn and blood-stained. "My Lord! The Elyseans have taken the Bazaar! They are fortifying the district¡ªour soldiers are being slaughtered in the streets!"


    General Idris bin Rashid, his hands clenched into fists, stepped forward. "Enough! We must drive them out now! Send every available regiment into the city¡ªtonight, we reclaim Carthage!"


    Suleiman raised a hand. "No." His voice was cold, calculating.


    The generals fell silent.


    "We do not waste our men in reckless counterattacks," the Grand Vizier said. "We will let the foreigners take Carthage. Let them believe they have won."


    The room fell into a stunned silence.


    Rashid frowned. "My Lord¡­ you mean to abandon the city?"


    Suleiman''s lips curled into a knowing smirk. "No. We will let them take the city. And then¡­ we will burn it around them."


    The Tunisian generals exchanged glances of understanding.


    Suleiman turned to one of his aides. "Send word to the Sultan. Tell him the Elyseans have chosen war. It is time we remind them why no foreign power has ever conquered Tunis."


    The messenger bowed deeply and disappeared.


    The Tunisian army would not reclaim Carthage in a direct assault.


    They would make it a graveyard.


    March 23, 1695.


    The Elysean flag now flew over the Grand Bazaar.


    General Roux stood atop the ruins of a destroyed barricade, looking over the city.


    Captain Giraud, his uniform stained with blood and soot, approached.


    "We hold the Bazaar, General. The Tunisians are falling back."


    Roux smirked. "Good. Then we have won."


    But before Giraud could respond, a massive explosion erupted in the distance.


    A Tunisian supply depot¡ªset ablaze by their own retreating forces.


    Smoke billowed into the sky, casting an ominous shadow over Carthage. sea??h th§× N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Dufort stood behind Roux, watching the fires spread.


    "They aren''t retreating," he murmured. "They''re setting a trap."


    Roux''s smirk faded. "What do you mean?"


    Before Dufort could respond, a thunderous explosion erupted from the eastern quarter of Carthage. A shockwave tore through the district, rattling windows and shaking the ground beneath them.


    A second explosion followed, this time near the docks. The Elysean warships in the harbor rocked violently as flames and debris soared into the air.


    Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud rushed into the war room, his uniform stained with soot and blood. "General! The Tunisians are blowing up the city! They''re destroying their own supply depots, their warehouses¡ªeverything!"


    Laurent paled. "They''re burning Carthage to the ground."

 Chapter 82 - 82: Easy Victory

    The city of Carthage had become a blazing inferno.


    Flames tore through the marketplace, the harbor, and the lower districts, consuming entire streets in a wave of destruction. Black smoke coiled into the sky, choking the air and casting an ominous shadow over the Elysean forces.


    Yet, amid the chaos, the soldiers of Elysea did not falter.


    General Armand Roux stood atop the city walls, his gaze locked on the burning skyline. His forces had the superior firepower, discipline, and technology. The Tunisian strategy was clear¡ªthey intended to destroy everything before it could fall into Elysean hands.


    But they had underestimated one thing.


    The resilience of Elysea''s army.


    At the harbor, chaos reigned.


    Tunisian saboteurs, disguised as dock workers, had set fire to supply depots, ammunition stockpiles, and even ships. The docks were engulfed in smoke, and several vessels had already been lost.


    But Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud would not let them have their victory.


    "Secure the port! No more fires!" Giraud roared as he led his men through the flames.


    His musketeers formed disciplined firing lines, cutting down Tunisian arsonists before they could ignite more destruction.


    One saboteur attempted to set fire to a moored Elysean warship, but a rifle shot rang out¡ªhis body collapsed into the water, blood mixing with the flames.


    Cannon crews redirected their guns, targeting the source of the attacks. Tunisian boats filled with gunpowder were intercepted before they could reach the fleet.


    Within an hour, the flames had been controlled and the Elysean fleet remained intact.


    Giraud, wiping soot from his face, turned to his officers. "The docks are secure. The city is still ours."


    At the Bazaar District, the Tunisian forces launched a desperate last counterattack. They knew the city was lost, but they fought to bleed Elysea as much as possible.


    General Roux, standing at the frontlines, commanded his troops with unwavering confidence.


    "Steady! Let them come!"


    The Tunisian warriors, clad in traditional armor and wielding curved swords, charged forward in waves. Their muskets, outdated and unreliable, fired sporadically, while their cavalry tried to break Elysean formations.


    But Elysea''s military superiority was undeniable.


    Volley fire rained down on the charging Tunisians. Each Elysean line fired in unison, cutting down ranks before they could even reach striking distance.


    Artillery positioned on the rooftops unleashed devastating grapeshot blasts, shredding through cavalry and infantry alike.


    Elite grenadiers launched explosives into the advancing troops, creating fiery eruptions that halted the momentum of the enemy charge.


    The Tunisian forces, outgunned and outmaneuvered, began to break.


    General Roux watched as their lines crumbled, his smirk returning. "Finish them."


    Elysean dragoons charged in, sabers flashing.


    The last remnants of the Tunisian army in Carthage were cut down, their bodies strewn across the bloodstained streets.


    The battle for the Bazaar District was over.


    Carthage now belonged to Elysea.


    By sunset, the last of the flames had been extinguished.


    The city lay in ruins, but it remained standing.


    The Tunisian army had failed to drive them out. Their scorched-earth strategy had only weakened their own position.


    Inside the Palace of the Grand Vizier, General Roux and Captain Giraud stood victorious.


    The palace was eerily quiet, the echoes of war still lingering beyond its walls. The once-pristine hallways, decorated with intricate mosaics and golden chandeliers, were now smeared with soot, blood, and the scars of battle.


    General Armand Roux stood at the center of the Grand Vizier''s audience chamber, his gloved hands resting on the pommel of his sword. His uniform, still stained with smoke and sweat, bore the unmistakable mark of battle.


    Beside him, Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud, his tunic torn and dirtied, glanced warily at the Tunisian officials who remained. Their faces were grim, their gazes filled with hatred, resignation, and bitter defiance.


    At the far end of the room, seated on his throne of blackwood and ivory, was Grand Vizier Suleiman al-Mutazz.


    Despite his loss, the man did not appear broken. His dark eyes, lined with exhaustion, remained cold and calculating. His fine robes were disheveled, his turban slightly askew, but he had not fled.


    Instead, he sat still¡ªwatching his conquerors with unwavering defiance.


    "It appears," Roux said, breaking the silence, "that the war is over."


    Suleiman exhaled slowly. "The war is never over, General Roux. Only battles end." S§×arch* The N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Roux smirked. "Call it what you will, but Carthage belongs to Elysea now."


    The words hung in the air like a blade suspended above the room.


    One of the Tunisian nobles¡ªa man in his fifties, dressed in traditional robes¡ªstepped forward, his voice laced with contempt. "Do you think the Sultan will allow this to stand? Do you think our people will kneel to you?"


    Roux turned his piercing gaze toward him. "The Sultan may try to reclaim this city. Your people may resist. But if either of them does, we will do what we must to remind them why they failed the first time."


    Suleiman''s jaw tightened. "You speak of peace, but your words reek of conquest."


    Dufort, who had just arrived from the secured districts, sighed as he stepped forward. "It does not have to be conquest, Grand Vizier."


    Suleiman let out a quiet, bitter chuckle. "Tell me, Minister Dufort, does your king even know what his army has done in his name?"


    A beat of silence followed.


    Roux''s smirk faltered.


    Dufort''s expression remained unreadable. "Elysea has secured its position. That is all that matters now."


    Suleiman''s lips curled into a slight smirk. "Then you are either a liar or a fool. Your kingdom came for trade, and now you sit in my palace, dictating the terms of surrender. How long before your king realizes you have given him an empire he did not ask for?"


    "Oh, our King really intended on creating an empire."


    "Oh, your King really intended on creating an empire?" Suleiman murmured, voice filled with quiet mockery.


    "He may not have planned for it to happen this soon," Roux admitted, "but it doesn''t change the outcome."


    Suleiman exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "And so you believe that this city, this conquest, makes you rulers of North Africa?"


    "Pretty much, after all you are the strongest country in this continent but yet you were defeated by a small number of forces. That''s humiliating."

 Chapter 83 - 83: They did What?

    April 10, 1695 ¨C The Royal Palace of Elysea


    The grand dining hall of the Royal Palace of Elysea was bathed in the golden glow of midday sunlight, filtering through towering stained-glass windows. The long table, carved from the finest mahogany, was set with silver platters and crystal goblets filled with deep red wine. The scent of roasted lamb and freshly baked bread filled the air as servants moved quietly, attending to their duties.


    At the head of the table sat King Bruno de Elysea, dressed in a tailored navy-blue coat adorned with golden embroidery, his family crest gleaming on his chest. His sharp eyes surveyed the palace gardens beyond the arched windows as he cut into his meal with precision.


    Beside him sat Queen Am¨¦lie, her violet eyes glimmering with warmth as she elegantly sipped from her glass. She wore a light lavender gown with silver trimmings, her golden curls cascading over her shoulders. Unlike the King, who was focused on his meal, she was more interested in the conversation.


    "You seem rather preoccupied today," Am¨¦lie noted, setting down her glass. "Is it the railway expansion project, or something else troubling you?"


    Bruno sighed, glancing at her before taking a bite of his lamb. "Everything, really. The treasury is still stretched thin from our industrial expansion, and the opposition in the Royal Assembly keeps demanding that I slow down military reforms."


    Am¨¦lie smirked playfully, resting her chin on her hand. "And yet, despite all that, you still have the energy to keep the country running."


    Bruno chuckled. "It helps when my wife is doing half the work."


    Am¨¦lie''s smile widened. "Oh? So you''ve finally noticed."


    Bruno raised an eyebrow. "And what exactly have you been up to?"


    The Queen leaned back in her chair, casually twirling the stem of her wine glass between her fingers. "Let''s see¡­ In the past month, I''ve visited three major cities¡ªSaint-Michel, Valport, and Montreval¡ªto oversee the new railway expansions. The freight lines are already reducing travel time for goods, and within a year, we should see a significant increase in trade efficiency."


    Bruno nodded in approval. "Good. The railway network is crucial. Our factories need faster access to raw materials and ports."


    Am¨¦lie continued, "Speaking of factories, I also attended the opening of the new textile mill in Saint-Michel. The workers seem pleased with the conditions, and the production rate is already exceeding expectations."


    Bruno took a sip of his wine, his interest growing. "How many workers are employed there now?"


    "Roughly three thousand, and that number is expected to grow once full automation is introduced."


    Bruno tapped his fingers on the table. "That''s promising. And what of the hospitals?"


    Am¨¦lie brightened. "Ah, yes. I oversaw the inauguration of two new hospitals in Valport and Fontainebleau. One is specialized in infectious diseases, which should help curb the outbreaks we''ve had in the rural districts."


    Bruno''s smirk softened into a look of genuine admiration. "You''ve been busy."


    Am¨¦lie feigned surprise. "You mean to say you weren''t keeping track of my progress?" She playfully pouted. "How cruel."


    Bruno rolled his eyes with a chuckle. "I don''t doubt your capability. If anything, I should be worried that you''ll make me look incompetent."


    She laughed. "That''s not such a bad thing. Perhaps I should take over completely."


    Bruno grinned, shaking his head. "If I let you, I wouldn''t have anything to do."


    Am¨¦lie leaned forward, her tone suddenly more teasing. "Well, there''s one thing you could be doing."


    Bruno raised an eyebrow. "And what''s that?"


    She smirked. "We should have a child."


    Bruno nearly choked on his wine.


    He cleared his throat, giving her an incredulous look. "You really just say that in the middle of lunch?"


    Am¨¦lie giggled. "Oh, don''t act so shocked. It''s about time, don''t you think? A strong king needs an heir."


    Bruno sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "You make it sound like I''ve been avoiding it."


    She smirked. "Haven''t you?"


    Before Bruno could respond, the heavy oak doors to the dining hall swung open.


    Antoine Leclerc, the King''s Chief of Staff, strode in with urgency, his black military coat adorned with golden epaulets. His face, normally composed, was marked with tension.


    Bruno set down his utensils, already knowing that whatever Leclerc had to say wasn''t good. "This better be important, Antoine."


    Leclerc bowed slightly before speaking. "Pardon the interruption, Your Majesty, but we have received an urgent report from North Africa."


    Bruno frowned. "North Africa?" He paused, suddenly remembering. The delegation in Tunis. It had been months since he had last thought about it. He had been so consumed with domestic matters that the Elysean military presence in Carthage had slipped from his immediate concerns.


    Am¨¦lie, sensing the change in his demeanor, folded her hands in her lap. "What happened?"


    Leclerc cleared his throat. "Your Majesty¡­ Elysea is now in control of Carthage."


    Bruno''s eyes widened.


    A heavy silence filled the room.


    "¡­Excuse me?" Bruno leaned forward, his voice dangerously low. "We were meant to establish trade relations. Not conquer an entire city."


    Leclerc hesitated. "There was¡­ a conflict. The Tunisian forces attacked first. Our troops responded decisively under General Armand Roux''s command. After intense fighting, Carthage fell to Elysean control."


    Bruno exhaled sharply, his fingers tightening around the edge of the table. "How many casualties?"


    Leclerc glanced at his notes. "Approximately 4,000 Elysean soldiers lost, but Tunisian casualties are estimated at over 12,000, with thousands more wounded."


    Bruno clenched his jaw. Damn it.


    This wasn''t how he had planned Elysea''s presence in Africa. He had expected minor disputes, but an all-out war? And worse¡ªno one had consulted him.


    Am¨¦lie reached for his hand, grounding him. "Bruno."


    He inhaled deeply, forcing himself to stay composed. "What is the situation now?"


    Leclerc continued, "General Roux and Minister Dufort have negotiated terms. Carthage is under Elysean control, but the Sultan of Tunis has accepted an agreement¡ªat least for now." Sear?h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Bruno''s gaze darkened. "For now." He already knew what that meant. This wasn''t over.


    Leclerc nodded. "The Sultan has not retaliated yet, but our spies suggest he is preparing a response. We expect military retaliation in the coming months."


    Bruno stood, his chair scraping against the polished marble floor. He walked to the window, staring out over the city of Versailles Elysea.


    For months, he had been focused on modernizing the kingdom, improving infrastructure, and strengthening the economy. Now, he had an empire to manage.


    He turned back to Leclerc. "Draft an immediate letter to General Roux. I want a full report¡ªevery decision he made, every order he gave, and why he thought it was within his authority to act without my approval."


    Leclerc bowed. "At once, Your Majesty."


    Bruno exhaled slowly. He had inherited a war he didn''t start.


    And now, he had to decide what to do with it.


    Am¨¦lie''s voice was soft but firm. "Bruno¡­ what will you do?"


    Bruno''s expression hardened. "First, I will remind my generals that I am still their King."


    Then, after a pause, he smirked.


    "And second?" Am¨¦lie asked.


    Bruno''s eyes gleamed with determination.


    "If we are to have an empire, we will do it properly."

 Chapter 84 - 84: Finishing What they Started

    April 11, 1695 ¨C The Royal Palace of Elysea


    The war room in the Royal Palace of Elysea was eerily quiet despite the weight of the discussion unfolding within its walls. A large map of North Africa stretched across the long oak table, its surface marked with Elysean military positions, trade routes, and areas of conflict. Around the table stood King Bruno de Elysea, Chief of Staff Antoine Leclerc, Foreign Minister Charles Dufort, and several high-ranking officers.


    The tension was palpable.


    Bruno stood at the head of the table, arms crossed, his gaze sharp as he studied the newly acquired reports from Carthage. His mind was racing, piecing together the events that had transpired while he was focused on domestic affairs. sea??h th§× N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    General Armand Roux had gone too far.


    Bruno had always trusted his generals to act decisively, but for them to launch a full-scale invasion without his explicit approval was not something he could ignore.


    Still, there was no undoing what had already been done.


    Carthage belonged to Elysea now.


    And that meant war with Tunis was only a matter of time.


    Bruno''s voice cut through the silence.


    "Walk me through it again," he ordered, his gaze locked onto Leclerc.


    Leclerc, ever composed, adjusted his coat before responding.


    "Months ago, our delegation, under Foreign Minister Dufort and General Roux, was sent to Tunis to establish trade relations. Initial talks with Grand Vizier Suleiman were successful¡ªTunis agreed to lower tariffs in exchange for exclusive access to our firearms."


    Bruno nodded. "I remember the reports."


    Leclerc continued, "However, tensions between our soldiers and the Tunisian people worsened. Our men¡ªparticularly the younger officers¡ªlooked down on them. This arrogance led to an altercation in the Grand Bazaar, where an Elysean officer insulted a merchant, resulting in a riot."


    Bruno exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. "And then?"


    Leclerc''s expression darkened. "The Elysean troops fired on the crowd. Tunisian soldiers retaliated. The situation escalated, and the Grand Vizier demanded the surrender of those responsible."


    Bruno''s jaw tightened.


    "And instead of resolving the matter diplomatically," Bruno said, voice edged with restrained fury, "Roux decided to launch a full invasion."


    Leclerc nodded. "He feared that handing over our officers would set a dangerous precedent. He claimed that if we showed weakness, our influence in North Africa would be finished."


    Bruno scoffed. "And so, instead of protecting our interests, he gave me a war."


    A heavy silence settled over the room.


    Finally, Dufort, who had been silent, spoke. "Your Majesty¡­ while I did not approve of Roux''s decision, I will not deny that we have won."


    Bruno narrowed his eyes. "At what cost?"


    Dufort hesitated. "Four thousand Elysean casualties. But we inflicted three times that number on the Tunisians. And most importantly, we control Carthage."


    Bruno stared at him, his expression unreadable.


    Dufort pressed on. "It may not have been your intention to expand our empire, but we have done so. If we abandon Carthage now, it will be seen as a sign of weakness. Other nations¡ªGermania, Orosk, even Iberia¡ªwill take advantage of our hesitation."


    Bruno didn''t immediately respond.


    Because he knew Dufort was right.


    Despite his frustration, despite the recklessness of his generals, the fact remained: Carthage was theirs.


    And the world was watching.


    Bruno turned his attention back to the map.


    The Tunisian forces had retreated inland, but reports suggested that Sultan Hassan III was preparing for war.


    "We have two choices," Leclerc said, voice measured. "We fortify Carthage and prepare for an inevitable counterattack¡ªor we move first."


    Bruno''s gaze hardened. "Roux''s foolishness has forced my hand. If we do nothing, the Sultan will regroup, amass his forces, and strike with everything he has."


    He turned to Dufort. "Send a message to the Sultan. Offer a formal negotiation."


    Dufort raised an eyebrow. "You want to negotiate?"


    Bruno smirked coldly. "We will give him the illusion of a choice. Offer peace¡ªbut on our terms. Carthage remains under Elysean control. If he accepts, we secure trade dominance in North Africa without further bloodshed."


    "And if he refuses?" Leclerc asked.


    Bruno tapped the map, pointing toward the inland Tunisian strongholds.


    "Then we take his capital."


    The room fell silent.


    Everyone understood what Bruno was saying.


    If Tunis did not submit peacefully, Elysea would break the Sultanate.


    Am¨¦lie, who had been listening in silence, finally spoke.


    Bruno glanced at her. "What about him?"


    She met his gaze evenly. "He disobeyed you. Acted without your permission. And yet, you''re about to solidify his conquest."


    Bruno leaned back in his chair, his smirk returning. "Yes. And once this war is won, I will deal with him."


    Leclerc''s expression was unreadable. "You will remove him?"


    Bruno chuckled. "I will not remove him. But I will remind him who he serves."


    Roux had won a battle¡ªbut Bruno would win the war.


    Bruno rose from his seat, signaling the meeting''s conclusion.


    "Leclerc, have our best spies infiltrate Tunis. I want to know their every move."


    Leclerc nodded. "It will be done."


    Bruno turned to Dufort. "Draft the peace offer. Send envoys to the Sultan, but ensure that they report back immediately. If the Sultan refuses¡­ then we march."


    Dufort sighed but nodded. "Understood."


    Bruno''s gaze swept across the room, his mind already strategizing the next step.


    War had come to North Africa.


    And whether it ended with diplomacy or conquest¡ªElysea would emerge victorious.


    As the council dispersed, Am¨¦lie remained seated, watching her husband carefully.


    Bruno met her gaze. "You disapprove."


    She smirked slightly. "I think you enjoy this more than you admit."


    Bruno chuckled, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "I enjoy winning."


    She shook her head, but there was a trace of admiration in her expression.


    "You''re building an empire, Bruno."


    Bruno grinned.


    "I know."


    Am¨¦lie sighed, watching Bruno as he studied the map, his mind already moving several steps ahead. She had known from the beginning that he was ambitious, but now, his ambitions were shaping into something much greater¡ªsomething unstoppable.


    Bruno turned to Leclerc one last time. "We move carefully. If the Sultan rejects our peace terms, I want our armies ready to march within the month."


    Leclerc nodded. "Understood, Your Majesty."


    Bruno exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "Then let''s prepare for the inevitable."

 Chapter 85 - 85: Logical Decision

    April 20, 1695 ¨C The Palace of the Sultan, Tunis


    The grand halls of the Sultan''s palace were shrouded in a heavy silence. Sultan Hassan III sat upon his elevated throne, his dark eyes fixed on the scroll laid open before him¡ªthe Elysean peace terms. Around him, his most trusted advisors, generals, and scholars stood in tense silence, waiting for his decision.


    The past weeks had been a disaster. Carthage had fallen. The Grand Vizier''s strategy to burn the city around the Elyseans had failed to break them. Their forces had held firm, their technology superior, their discipline unwavering. It was clear to any rational mind that a direct war against Elysea was unwinnable.


    The Sultan clenched his jaw. He hated this moment. He had spent his entire reign maintaining the independence of his realm, resisting the growing influence of European powers in North Africa. And now, he was being forced to make a decision that no ruler wished to make.


    Submission.


    His generals had failed him. His army, though vast, had proven obsolete against the disciplined firepower of the Elysean war machine. His navy was outmatched by their superior warships. Even if he mustered every warrior from the interior, every man capable of bearing arms, they would only be throwing themselves into a massacre.


    And yet, surrendering outright would be the end of his dynasty.


    He needed to salvage what he could.


    He needed to negotiate from a position of weakness, but without appearing weak.


    The Sultan lifted his gaze to Grand Vizier Suleiman al-Mutazz, who stood at his right side. The older man bore the signs of recent struggles¡ªthe exhaustion in his features, the deep lines of worry carved into his expression.


    "You have read the terms, Grand Vizier. What do you make of them?" the Sultan asked, his voice calm but heavy.


    Suleiman inhaled slowly. "Your Majesty¡­ we cannot defeat them. We must accept this reality."


    A murmur ran through the gathered court.


    "Cowardice," General Idris bin Rashid spat. "We still have men! We still have swords! If we fight, we fight to the last!"


    "To what end?" Suleiman shot back, his voice cutting through the room. "You saw what happened in Carthage. Their weapons tear through us before we can even reach them. Their cannons shatter stone walls like clay. Their warships dominate the sea. What do you propose, General? That we march every man, woman, and child to their deaths?"


    Idris scowled but said nothing.


    Suleiman turned back to the Sultan. "Your Majesty, we must accept this peace. But we must not accept it blindly."


    Hassan III exhaled sharply. "Explain."


    "If we agree to their terms without negotiation, we become nothing more than vassals in all but name. We must push for conditions that allow us to retain dignity and strength. If we must concede, then let us do so in a way that secures our survival."


    The Sultan ran a hand through his beard, contemplating. Then he turned to the court scribe.


    "Read the terms again."


    The scribe unrolled the Elysean scroll and cleared his throat.


    "In the interest of lasting peace between the Kingdom of Elysea and the Sultanate of Tunis, the following terms are proposed:


    Carthage remains under Elysean control, ensuring their right to govern the city''s trade and administration.


    The Sultanate of Tunis will recognize Elysea''s territorial acquisition and will not attempt to reclaim it through military action.


    Tunisian merchants will have access to Carthage under Elysean oversight, with adjusted tariffs ensuring fair trade between both nations.


    Elysea will station a limited number of troops in Carthage to secure its holdings but will not advance further into Tunisian lands.


    In return, Elysea will provide military and economic support to the Sultanate, offering modern weaponry, financial aid, and industrial knowledge to strengthen its internal stability.


    An agreement of mutual cooperation will be established, preventing Tunis from forming military alliances with hostile European powers without prior consultation with Elysea.


    Tunis remains sovereign and its ruling authority will not be challenged or influenced by Elysea''s governance."


    The hall remained silent as the terms settled over them.


    The Sultan''s fingers tapped the armrest of his throne. "They wish to control Carthage indefinitely," he mused.


    Suleiman nodded. "That much was expected. It is the price we pay for losing the war."


    The Sultan exhaled slowly. "And the clause about military and economic aid?"


    The Grand Vizier''s expression darkened. "It is a clever move on their part. They will arm us, but in doing so, they will ensure we become dependent on their technology. If we accept their weapons, we ensure that our army will forever rely on Elysean steel and gunpowder."


    "Which means they have power over us," the Sultan muttered.


    Suleiman inclined his head. "Precisely. But if we refuse, we are left weak, vulnerable to further exploitation by other European nations."


    The Sultan turned his gaze to his generals. "Can we afford another war?"


    General Idris was silent.


    The answer was obvious.


    They could not.


    Hassan III exhaled through his nose, his mind made up. "We will accept the terms, but we will negotiate further on two points."


    Suleiman leaned forward. "Which ones, Your Majesty?"


    "The stationing of their troops," the Sultan declared. "They may control Carthage, but I will not allow their soldiers to spread further into our lands. Their garrisons must remain within the city limits."


    "And the second?"


    "The trade agreement," the Sultan continued. "If they are to control Carthage''s ports, we must secure favorable trade terms for Tunisian merchants. If we must accept their rule over the city, then we must ensure our economy is not strangled by their tariffs."


    Suleiman nodded approvingly. "A wise decision, Your Majesty. We will demand an amendment to the terms before we sign."


    The Sultan straightened on his throne. "Then summon the Elysean envoys. We will conclude this matter."


    April 22, 1695 ¨C The Elysean Embassy, Tunis


    The Elysean delegation stood before the Sultan''s court, their expressions composed but attentive. Foreign Minister Charles Dufort, representing King Bruno, had arrived personally to oversee the finalization of the treaty.


    As the translated negotiations began, the revised terms were presented.


    Dufort listened carefully, nodding in acknowledgment. When the Sultan finished his counterproposal, the Elysean minister smiled slightly.


    "These are reasonable adjustments," Dufort admitted. "Elysea has no interest in spreading beyond Carthage. We accept your condition regarding our troops."


    The Sultan gave a curt nod. "And the trade terms?"


    Dufort exhaled. "I will send word to my king, but I suspect he will find them agreeable."


    The room fell silent.


    For the first time since the war began, there was no hostility¡ªonly an understanding of power and survival.


    Sultan Hassan III''s fingers tightened against his throne. He hated this, but he knew it was the best possible outcome. Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Finally, he nodded.


    "It is settled."


    A treaty was drafted and signed.


    The war was over.


    Carthage belonged to Elysea.


    Tunis remained sovereign¡ªbut forever changed.

 Chapter 86 - 86: Becoming an Empire

    April 25, 1695 ¨C The Royal Palace of Elysea


    The grand chamber of the Elysean war room was filled with quiet murmurs as ministers, generals, and high-ranking officials took their seats. At the head of the table stood King Bruno de Elysea, his sharp gaze fixed on the parchment before him¡ªthe official treaty signed by Sultan Hassan III.


    It was over.


    The war had ended without another battle.


    Elysea had won.


    Bruno leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming against the polished oak table. He had read the treaty twice already, yet he still felt the weight of its implications.


    Elysea now held Carthage, one of the most important trade hubs in North Africa. The Sultan, though forced into this agreement, had retained his throne, ensuring some level of stability in the region. Elysea''s military presence would be confined to Carthage, but their economic and political influence would stretch far beyond the city''s walls.


    And most importantly, no other European power would be allowed to claim Tunisian territory without consulting Elysea first.


    It was a victory.


    But it was also a warning.


    Elysea had just become an empire.


    Bruno exhaled through his nose, shifting his gaze to Chief of Staff Antoine Leclerc, who sat beside him.


    "The war is over," Bruno stated, his voice even. "But the real work begins now."


    Leclerc nodded, adjusting the papers in front of him. "Carthage is ours, but stabilizing it will take time. The transition from Tunisian to Elysean rule will not be easy."


    Foreign Minister Charles Dufort leaned forward. "The treaty allows Tunisian merchants to continue operating in the city under Elysean oversight, but resentment remains high. The people of Carthage may have stopped fighting, but that does not mean they accept us."


    Bruno smirked. "Then we will give them a reason to."


    Leclerc raised an eyebrow. "What do you propose, Your Majesty?"


    Bruno tapped the table. "We need to secure their loyalty through prosperity. If we want them to see Elysea as a force of stability rather than occupation, we must invest in the city. Expand the port, improve infrastructure, and enforce fair trade policies. Give them roads, jobs, and industry."


    Leclerc nodded slowly. "A blend of military strength and economic persuasion."


    "Precisely," Bruno confirmed. "And we will begin by reopening the markets."


    Dufort frowned slightly. "The city is still reeling from the war. There are shortages¡ªfood, medicine, basic supplies. If we open the markets too soon, we risk chaos."


    Bruno met his gaze. "Then we control the supply chain. We send Elysean merchants first, set fixed prices, and regulate trade carefully. The Tunisians must see that commerce thrives under our rule, not suffers."


    Leclerc exhaled. "This will take time."


    Bruno smirked. "We have time. And more importantly, we have control."


    The room fell into silence as the weight of Bruno''s words settled over them.


    Elysea had done what no other European power had managed before¡ªsecuring a foothold in North Africa without prolonged war. But now, they had to hold it.


    Bruno turned to Leclerc. "Draft a plan. I want a full proposal on how we integrate Carthage into our empire while maintaining stability."


    Leclerc inclined his head. "It will be done."


    Bruno then shifted his gaze to Dufort. "Begin diplomatic correspondence with the Sultan. Keep the peace stable. If he believes we are willing partners rather than conquerors, he will be less inclined to seek revenge."


    Dufort hesitated before nodding. "Understood."


    Finally, Bruno addressed the military. "General Roux is still in Carthage. He defied my orders, but his victory has placed us in a position of strength. He will remain there for now, ensuring order is kept."


    Leclerc''s lips pressed into a thin line. "And when the city is secured?"


    Bruno''s expression darkened. "Then I will deal with him personally."


    Roux had made a bold move. He had won a battle, but in doing so, he had forced Elysea''s hand into empire-building faster than anticipated. Bruno had no intention of removing him immediately¡ªhe was too valuable¡ªbut he would make sure Roux never acted beyond his authority again.


    The council dispersed, leaving Bruno alone with Am¨¦lie.


    She studied him carefully, arms crossed. "You''re thinking ahead again."


    Bruno chuckled. "Always."


    She smirked, walking over to his side. "An empire, Bruno. Do you ever stop to consider what that means?"


    Bruno looked up at her, his expression unreadable. "It means we win."


    She shook her head but smiled. "Then let''s hope you''re ready for what comes next."


    Bruno exhaled, glancing back at the map of North Africa.


    He was ready.


    And soon, the world would know it.


    April 30, 1695


    The streets of Carthage were filled with quiet tension. The banners of Elysea hung from key government buildings, their golden lions fluttering in the Mediterranean breeze. Soldiers patrolled in formation, their blue-and-gold uniforms a constant reminder of who now ruled the city.


    Despite the victory, the air still carried an undercurrent of resistance. Sear?h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    General Armand Roux stood on the balcony of the Governor''s Palace, surveying the streets below. The city had stopped burning, but the scars of battle remained. Rubble still littered the alleyways, buildings stood half-collapsed, and the markets¡ªonce vibrant and bustling¡ªremained eerily quiet.


    It would take time.


    But time was something he had.


    A knock at the door drew his attention.


    "Enter."


    Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud stepped inside, saluting. "General, reports from the city."


    Roux gestured for him to continue.


    "The markets are beginning to reopen, but there is resistance to Elysean merchants. Many locals refuse to do business with us."


    Roux smirked. "That will change. Hunger and desperation make for excellent teachers."


    Giraud hesitated before speaking again. "We have also identified potential agitators¡ªformer officers of the Tunisian army who have remained in the city. They are rallying small groups, spreading anti-Elysean sentiment."


    Roux exhaled. "Keep them under surveillance. If they become a threat, remove them."


    Giraud nodded. "Understood."


    Roux turned back to the city, watching as an Elysean supply convoy rolled through the main street, escorted by mounted dragoons.


    This was his city now.


    And he would keep it in order.


    For Elysea.


    For King Bruno.


    And for the empire that was only just beginning to rise.

 Chapter 87 - 87: Plans on Expanding Deeper into Africa

    September 3, 1695 ¨C The Royal Palace of Elysea


    King Bruno de Elysea stood in the war room, eyes fixed on the massive map spread across the table. His finger traced a route from Carthage down into the heart of Africa. The room was silent, save for the quiet crackle of the fireplace and the rustling of parchment.


    Across from him stood General Armand Roux, his posture rigid, waiting for orders. He had seen this look in the king''s eyes before¡ªBruno was planning something big.


    "Carthage is just the beginning," Bruno said, tapping a specific region further south. "We expand from here."


    Roux''s gaze followed the king''s hand. "These territories are unexplored by any European power. What makes them valuable?"


    Bruno leaned forward. "Gold. Diamonds. Minerals. Wealth beyond what Germania, Orosk, or Iberia even suspect. If we move fast, we claim it all before they realize what they''re missing."


    Roux considered the plan. "We''ll need a proper strategy. A full-scale invasion would be too costly, and we don''t know the land."


    Bruno nodded. "We''re not charging in blindly. Start by sending scouts. We need maps, we need to know which tribes live there, who their leaders are, and how they operate. Once we understand the region, we move carefully."


    Roux understood immediately. "And if they resist?"


    "Diplomacy first," Bruno said. "Offer them trade, protection, and stability. If they agree, they benefit. If not¡­" His expression hardened. "We remove obstacles as necessary."


    Roux nodded. "I''ll assemble the men. Scouts will leave within the week, and supply chains will be planned accordingly." S~ea??h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Bruno smirked. "Good. Because once we claim these lands, Elysea won''t just be another kingdom. We will be an empire."


    As Roux left to carry out his orders, Bruno remained in the war room, his fingers resting on the map. He knew exactly where the richest lands were, thanks to knowledge from his past life. But revealing that would be foolish¡ªno one could ever know.


    ***


    October 5th.


    General Armand Roux stepped off the ship, boots landing firmly on Carthage''s bustling docks. The salty sea air mixed with the dry desert winds, creating a unique scent that was becoming all too familiar. Around him, the port was alive¡ªmerchants bartering in various languages, dockworkers hauling goods, and Elysean soldiers patrolling in crisp blue-and-gold uniforms.


    Carthage was no longer just a city¡ªit was the foundation of Elysea''s expansion into Africa. And Roux had a mission to carry out.


    Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud, his trusted second-in-command, approached with a salute. "General, the troops are assembled. The officers are waiting for your orders."


    Roux nodded. "Any news from the scouts?"


    "Yes," Giraud said, handing him a report. "They''ve mapped trade routes and identified several tribes. Some are open to negotiation, others are wary."


    Roux expected as much. "Arrange a meeting with their leaders. We need their cooperation."


    Giraud made a note. "What about the outposts?"


    "Three established so far. They''re being fortified, and we''re training the men to avoid unnecessary conflicts with the locals," Giraud explained.


    Roux nodded in approval. "Good. We need to make sure our presence is seen as an opportunity, not an invasion."


    Inside the command tent, Roux studied a map. "Our next step is to establish a continuous supply line from Carthage to the outposts. If we don''t have logistics, we have nothing."


    Giraud hesitated. "We''ve had issues with bandits attacking supply convoys."


    Roux didn''t hesitate. "Increase patrols. And offer some of the tribes payment to protect our shipments. If they have a stake in our success, they''ll defend it."


    A messenger rushed into the tent, breathless. "General! Scouts just returned. They found gold deposits near the Zemari tribal lands."


    Roux''s eyes sharpened. "Gold?"


    "Yes, sir. A large deposit. Possibly untouched."


    The officers in the tent exchanged glances. This changed everything.


    "Gather the officers," Roux ordered. "We need a plan."


    Moments later, the officers assembled, the atmosphere tense. Roux wasted no time.


    "This gold deposit could make Elysea rich beyond imagination. But we must act carefully. If the locals realize its value, they may resist. If rival nations hear about it, they will come for it."


    Giraud spoke up. "What''s the approach?"


    "We secure the area quietly," Roux said. "No sudden movements. First, we build relations with the Zemari. Gain their trust. If they accept our protection, we control the gold."


    "And if they refuse?" one officer asked.


    Roux''s expression darkened. "Then we take it by force."


    The room was silent for a moment. Then, one by one, the officers nodded.


    Elysea''s expansion was now a race against time. If they succeeded, they would be unstoppable. If they failed, the European powers watching them would move in to claim Africa for themselves.


    Failure was not an option.


    October 20, 1695 ¨C Elysean Outpost, South of Carthage


    The newly established outpost was bustling with activity. Soldiers reinforced wooden palisades, workers dug wells, and caravans carried supplies from Carthage.


    General Roux rode through the encampment, inspecting progress. Giraud approached on horseback. "Our envoys reached the Zemari," he reported. "Their chief is willing to meet, but he''s cautious."


    Roux smirked. "Good. He should be. But let''s make sure he knows what''s at stake."


    Later that evening, under a torchlit tent, Roux sat across from Chief Dumari of the Zemari tribe. The chief was an older man, his sharp eyes scanning the Elysean officers around him.


    "You come with weapons," Dumari said. "But you speak of peace."


    Roux smiled slightly. "Weapons are necessary in this world, Chief Dumari. But we did not come to fight. We came to offer something better."


    Dumari leaned back. "And what does Elysea offer?"


    "Protection," Roux said. "Trade. Medicine. Stability." He paused, then added, "Your people have lived here for generations. But times are changing. Other powers are watching Africa. If they come, they will not ask for cooperation. They will take."


    Dumari frowned. "And you will not?"


    Roux''s smile didn''t fade. "No. Because we want your people as allies, not subjects."


    Dumari studied him for a long moment. "And the gold? You know of it, don''t you?"


    Roux didn''t flinch. "We do. And we are willing to share its benefits. Your people can prosper. You can be part of something greater."


    The chief was silent, considering. Finally, he nodded. "I will discuss with my elders. We will decide."


    Roux knew he had planted the seed. Now, it was only a matter of time.


    October 25, 1695 ¨C Carthage


    Back in Carthage, Roux sent his report to King Bruno.


    [To His Majesty, King Bruno of Elysea,


    The Zemari tribe is considering our offer. We have secured key trade routes, and the gold deposit is within reach. Expansion is proceeding as planned.


    ]


    As the courier departed with the message, Roux exhaled.


    They were making history.


    And soon, all of Africa would know the name of Elysea.

 Chapter 88 - 88: Neighbors Noticing the Change

    The room fell silent as the gravity of the situation sunk in. Friedrich''s gaze hardened, reflecting his resolve.


    "We cannot allow Elysea to dominate Africa and dictate terms in a region so rich in resources. We must assert our own power and claim what is rightfully within our reach through any means necessary."


    General Weber, a seasoned military leader, added, "Our naval presence in the Mediterranean must be expanded immediately. We should also consider establishing fortified outposts along the African coast to safeguard our interests and project our strength."


    The king nodded in agreement. "Prepare the fleets and draft plans for these outposts. We will not shy away from using force if necessary. Africa''s wealth is crucial for Germania''s future, and we must secure it for our people."


    October 12, 1695 ¨C The Kingdom of Orosk


    In the stark, cold halls of the Oroskian Royal Palace, Queen Anastasia met with her advisors. The news of Elysea''s ambitious expansion had reached her ears, sparking concerns about the implications for Orosk''s strategic interests.


    "Elysea''s maneuvers could disrupt the balance of power in Africa and threaten our access to essential resources," explained Lord Ivanovich, the Foreign Minister. "Their military outposts and trade with local tribes could soon overshadow our influence in the region."


    Queen Anastasia''s expression was one of calculated concern. "Orosk must respond decisively. We will support any local tribes opposing Elysea''s expansion and supply them with arms. If necessary, we will not hesitate to deploy our own forces to protect our interests and assert our dominance."


    Lord Ivanovich nodded, his expression grim. "I will arrange for immediate military support for the tribes and seek to undermine Elysea''s alliances in the region. Africa is a land rich with potential, and Orosk must not be left behind in the scramble for its resources."


    October 15, 1695 ¨C The Iberian Kingdom


    King Alfonso VI of Iberia convened a meeting with his Council of Ministers in the sunlit war room of the Iberian Palace. The discussion focused on Elysea''s recent expansion into North Africa and its implications for Iberia''s strategic interests.


    "Elysea is making aggressive moves in Africa, establishing alliances with local tribes and securing resource-rich territories," noted Foreign Minister Garcia, looking over the maps and reports. "This expansion threatens our own ambitions in the region and could hinder our access to vital trade routes."


    King Alfonso leaned over the map, his finger tracing the areas where Elysean influence was growing. "We must counter their expansion with our own. Iberia has historical claims in North Africa that we must defend and expand upon. Prepare for a military expedition to secure these claims and show that Iberia will not be overshadowed."


    Garcia acknowledged the directive. "I will coordinate with our ambassadors to fortify our alliances in Africa and ensure that our military is ready to intervene. We will make it clear that Iberia is a dominant force to be respected and feared."


    ***


    November 20, 1695 ¨C The Royal Palace of Elysea


    The cold winds of November swept through the capital of Elysea, signaling the arrival of winter. Inside the Royal Palace, preparations for Christmas were in full swing. Servants decorated the halls with garlands and candles, while workers set up large evergreen trees in the main hall.


    King Bruno sat at his desk, reviewing reports while the sounds of preparations filled the corridors outside. His mind remained occupied with Africa¡ªtrade routes, fortifications, and expansion plans. Even as Christmas approached, he couldn''t afford to slow down.


    A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.


    "Come in," Bruno said, setting down his quill.


    Queen Am¨¦lie entered, dressed in a simple but elegant gown. She glanced at the documents spread across his desk and sighed. "Even now, you''re working?" Sear?h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Bruno leaned back in his chair. "There''s still a lot to do."


    "You promised you''d focus on the celebrations," she reminded him. "At least for a few days."


    Bruno sighed, rubbing his temples. "I know. But the expansion isn''t going to stop just because it''s Christmas."


    Am¨¦lie crossed her arms. "No one is saying to stop it. But if you don''t take a break, how do you expect the people to enjoy the season? If their king is too busy to celebrate, what message does that send?"


    Bruno thought for a moment before nodding. "Fine. I''ll set aside time for the preparations."


    She smirked. "Good. Because the palace is already being decorated, and I want you to see it."


    With some reluctance, Bruno followed her out into the hall. The servants had done a fine job¡ªthe great hall was filled with evergreen wreaths, red ribbons, and golden ornaments. Tables were being set for the upcoming feast, while the kitchen staff hurriedly prepared dishes for the nobles and commoners alike.


    "This year''s feast will be bigger than the last," Am¨¦lie said. "We''re incorporating spices from our African trade into the menu. It''ll be a statement¡ªour empire is growing, and the people will taste the benefits."


    Bruno nodded approvingly. "Smart. It reinforces the idea that our expansion is for Elysea''s prosperity."


    Am¨¦lie continued, "There will also be a public gathering in the square. We''re organizing a gift distribution for the poor. You should be there when it happens."


    Bruno raised an eyebrow. "A gift distribution?"


    "Yes," she said. "If we want support for our policies, we need to keep the people happy. Show them that the monarchy cares."


    Bruno couldn''t argue with that logic. "Fine. I''ll make a speech as well. Something short, just to remind them that Elysea''s future is bright."


    Am¨¦lie smiled, satisfied. "I knew you''d see reason."


    That evening, the two of them sat by the fireplace in their private quarters. A servant brought mulled wine, and for the first time in weeks, Bruno allowed himself to relax.


    "After Christmas, it''ll be back to work," he said.


    Am¨¦lie rolled her eyes. "Obviously. But for now, enjoy this."


    Bruno chuckled. "Fine. But only for now."


    The fire crackled softly as Bruno took a sip of his wine, the warmth spreading through his chest. Am¨¦lie leaned against him, her presence comforting in the quiet evening.


    "For now," she repeated, smiling. "But I know you¡ªyou''re already thinking about what comes next."


    Bruno smirked. "You''re not wrong."


    She sighed, shaking her head. "Just don''t let expansion consume you entirely. Even kings need to rest."


    Bruno glanced at the flickering flames. "Rest is a luxury I can''t afford for long."

 Chapter 89 - 89: Christmas is Coming

    December 1, 1695 ¨C The Royal Palace of Elysea


    Winter had fully set in, and the streets of the capital were dusted with snow. The chill in the air didn''t stop the city from preparing for the grandest Christmas celebration in Elysea''s history. Festive decorations lined the streets, markets bustled with activity, and workers hurriedly assembled a grand stage in the city square. S~ea??h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Inside the Royal Palace, King Bruno sat in the council chamber, surrounded by his ministers and advisors. He had summoned them to discuss his latest directive¡ªone that would shape the way Christmas was celebrated in the kingdom for years to come.


    "I have made my decision," Bruno announced, glancing at the officials seated around the long wooden table. "This year, we will introduce mandatory Christmas bonuses for all workers, funded by their employers."


    The ministers exchanged glances, some nodding in approval, while others looked hesitant.


    Chief of Staff, Antoine leaned forward. "Your Majesty, while I understand the sentiment behind this, do you believe the merchants and factory owners will comply willingly?"


    "They will," Bruno said firmly. "Because we will make it a royal decree. Every employer¡ªwhether they own a factory, a shop, or an agricultural estate¡ªmust give their workers a Christmas bonus equal to one week''s wages. This will improve morale, increase spending, and ensure that everyone benefits from the kingdom''s growing prosperity."


    Finance Minister Moreau adjusted his spectacles. "This will put a strain on some businesses, especially smaller ones."


    Bruno anticipated this argument. "Then we will provide tax deductions for those who comply. Any business that follows the mandate will receive reductions in their yearly tax obligations. That way, it becomes a win-win."


    Several ministers nodded at the clever compromise.


    "What about enforcement?" asked Labor Minister Gauntier. "Some employers may try to find ways to avoid it."


    Bruno tapped his fingers on the table. "The local magistrates and tax collectors will oversee compliance. Workers will be encouraged to report violations, and those who refuse to comply without valid reason will face penalties, including fines or temporary business closures."


    Defense Minister Beaulieu chuckled. "I imagine some nobles won''t be happy about this."


    Bruno smirked. "They never are. But they will follow the law."


    The ministers exchanged glances once more before nodding. The decree was sound, and with the growing power of the Elysean economy, it was a logical next step.


    December 5, 1695 ¨C Elysea''s Christmas Decrees


    By the end of the week, town criers across the kingdom announced King Bruno''s new policies:


    Mandatory Christmas Bonuses ¨C All employers must provide their workers with a bonus equal to one week''s wages, with tax deductions for compliance.


    Public Christmas Feasts ¨C Every city and town would host a free Christmas feast, partially funded by the monarchy.


    Gift Distribution for the Poor ¨C The kingdom''s wealthiest families were required to contribute to a fund that would provide food, clothes, and gifts to the less fortunate.


    Official Christmas Market Regulations ¨C Special tax exemptions were given to merchants selling goods at Christmas markets to encourage trade and affordability.


    The kingdom buzzed with excitement. The common folk were overjoyed at the news, celebrating their king''s generosity, while the merchants, though grumbling at first, quickly saw the benefits of increased trade.


    December 10, 1695. At the palace courtyard.


    Bruno and Queen Am¨¦lie stood on the balcony of the palace, looking down at the preparations in the courtyard below. Workers were setting up long wooden tables where hundreds of people would soon gather for the grand Christmas feast.


    Am¨¦lie smiled as she watched the scene. "You''ve made this Christmas something truly special for the people."


    Bruno crossed his arms. "They''ve worked hard to build this kingdom. It''s only right they share in its success."


    She turned to him. "And yet, your mind is still elsewhere."


    Bruno sighed. She wasn''t wrong. Even with all the celebrations, his thoughts often drifted back to Africa. The expansion was going well, but he knew Germania, Orosk, and Iberia were watching.


    "I can''t afford to be careless," he admitted. "Our enemies won''t wait for Christmas to pass before making their next move."


    Am¨¦lie took his hand. "That may be true, but for now, enjoy what you''ve built. The people look up to you, and they deserve to see their king celebrating with them."


    Bruno exhaled and nodded. "You''re right. Tomorrow, I''ll put aside my worries."


    December 15, 1695.


    The city square of Elysea was unrecognizable from just a few weeks ago. It had transformed into a vibrant Christmas market, with dozens of stalls selling everything from roasted nuts to handwoven blankets. The air was filled with the scent of freshly baked bread, spiced cider, and roasted meats.


    Bruno, dressed in a regal winter coat, walked through the marketplace with Am¨¦lie and his advisors. The people bowed as he passed, offering smiles and cheers.


    A group of children ran past, laughing, their hands full of sweets distributed by merchants following the king''s decree. Nearby, a baker proudly displayed a loaf of bread stamped with the royal crest, a symbol of the holiday spirit encouraged by the monarchy.


    "It''s a sight to behold," Finance Minister L¨¦on commented. "This market alone will boost our economy for months."


    Bruno smirked. "And the people get to enjoy themselves in the process."


    As they continued walking, an old woman approached and curtsied. "Your Majesty," she said, her voice filled with emotion. "I''ve lived many years, but I''ve never seen a Christmas like this. Thank you."


    Bruno nodded. "Enjoy the holiday. And eat well."


    December 24.


    The grand hall of the palace was filled with laughter and music. Nobles, merchants, and commoners alike gathered for the grand Christmas Eve feast. Massive tables overflowed with food¡ªroast boar, spiced wines, pastries, and exotic fruits from Africa.


    At the head of the hall, Bruno raised a glass. "To Elysea," he declared. "May we continue to grow stronger together."


    The hall erupted in cheers, and the celebration continued late into the night.


    For once, Bruno allowed himself to relax.


    Tomorrow would bring new challenges.


    But for tonight, it was Christmas.

 Chapter 90 - 90: The Christmas

    December 25, 1695.


    The sun had barely risen when the bells of Elysea''s cathedral rang through the city, marking the beginning of Christmas Day. The streets were still covered in a thick blanket of snow, but warmth radiated from every home, every shop, and every hall where families gathered to celebrate the holiday.


    Inside the Royal Palace, the morning was just as lively. Servants hurried through the halls, carrying trays of food and gifts, while musicians played soft carols in the background. The great hall was already prepared for another feast, one meant for the nobles, generals, and high-ranking officials who would attend later in the evening.


    But for now, King Bruno and Queen Am¨¦lie were enjoying a rare moment of peace in their private quarters.


    Bruno stretched as he sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes. "It''s already Christmas morning?"


    Am¨¦lie, still lying beside him, chuckled. "It is. And for once, you don''t have a council meeting to attend."


    Bruno smirked. "Not yet, at least."


    She rolled her eyes before sitting up and wrapping a warm shawl around her shoulders. "Come on, we should go see the gifts."


    Christmas Morning Traditions


    By the time they stepped out into the hallway, the palace was already buzzing with excitement. Every year, on Christmas morning, the royal family participated in a tradition where they exchanged gifts not only with each other but also with the palace staff.


    The grand Christmas tree in the reception hall was surrounded by presents, all neatly arranged in different sections¡ªsome for the royal family, some for the palace workers, and a separate pile meant to be distributed to orphanages and the less fortunate.


    As Bruno and Am¨¦lie entered the hall, the servants gathered, standing respectfully to the side. The royal steward, an elderly man named Lambert, cleared his throat and addressed the crowd. "As is tradition, His Majesty and Her Majesty will personally distribute the first gifts of the day."


    Bruno nodded and picked up the first wrapped package, handing it to one of the younger footmen. "A year of hard work deserves a reward. Enjoy your holiday."


    One by one, the gifts were handed out¡ªwarm coats for the guards, new tools for the kitchen staff, and handcrafted jewelry for the maids. Each servant received something thoughtful, ensuring they felt recognized for their efforts throughout the year.


    Am¨¦lie smiled as she handed a small box to a maid who had only recently joined the palace. "You''ve been wonderful this year. Keep up the good work."


    The maid''s eyes widened in surprise as she unwrapped the gift¡ªa silver brooch shaped like a snowflake. She bowed deeply. "Thank you, Your Majesty."


    The exchange continued for nearly an hour until every gift had been handed out. The final set of presents, meant for the city''s orphanages, would be taken by royal guards later in the afternoon.


    Bruno crossed his arms, satisfied. "It''s good to see everyone smiling."


    Am¨¦lie nodded. "It''s the one time of the year where we can truly focus on the people instead of politics."


    Bruno chuckled. "I''d rather deal with this than a council meeting any day."


    After breakfast, the royal couple decided to take a short trip outside the palace to witness the celebrations firsthand. Bruno and Am¨¦lie, dressed in thick fur-lined cloaks, rode through the snow-covered streets in an open carriage.


    The city square was even more lively than the night before. Children played in the snow, merchants handed out small treats, and the scent of roasted meat filled the air. At the center of the square, a large crowd gathered near a makeshift stage where the city''s choir performed Christmas hymns.


    Bruno watched with interest. "They''ve really outdone themselves this year."


    Am¨¦lie smiled. "The people are happy. Your policies have made a real difference."


    A group of children ran up to the carriage, waving excitedly. "Merry Christmas, Your Majesty!"


    Bruno reached into his coat and pulled out a handful of silver coins, tossing them into the crowd. The children scrambled to catch them, laughing as they cheered.


    Nearby, a baker approached the carriage with a tray of freshly baked pastries. "Your Majesty, would you like to try one?"


    Bruno accepted a piece, taking a bite. It was warm, soft, and flavored with cinnamon and honey. He nodded approvingly. "Delicious."


    The baker beamed. "An honor, Your Majesty."


    Am¨¦lie leaned over and took a bite of her own. "I think we''ll need to bring some of these back to the palace."


    The couple continued their ride through the city, observing how each neighborhood celebrated in its own way. In the wealthier districts, nobles hosted grand feasts and elegant dances, while in the poorer areas, communal meals brought families together in warmth and laughter.


    Bruno knew that despite the celebrations, the kingdom still had its struggles. But for today, all of that could wait. S~ea??h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    By evening, the palace was filled with nobles, officers, and high-ranking officials, all gathered for the grand Christmas banquet. The long dining tables were covered with lavish dishes¡ªroast venison, spiced wine, honey-glazed fruits, and freshly baked bread.


    Bruno sat at the head of the table, Am¨¦lie beside him. As the meal began, the conversations ranged from trade policies to military affairs, but Bruno quickly shut down any talk of politics.


    "Tonight is not for work," he said firmly. "Enjoy yourselves."


    His words were met with laughter and approval.


    Throughout the night, music played, dancers performed, and the palace echoed with the sounds of celebration. Officers toasted to victories, nobles exchanged gifts, and the servants, granted the evening off, joined in the festivities.


    At one point, Am¨¦lie pulled Bruno onto the dance floor, much to his reluctance.


    "I''m not much of a dancer," he muttered.


    She smirked. "You''re the king. They''ll think you''re perfect no matter how bad you are."


    Bruno sighed but followed her lead. The music was lively, and soon enough, he found himself caught up in the rhythm. The court cheered, and even Bruno had to admit¡ªit was a rare moment of enjoyment.


    As the feast wound down and guests began to retire for the night, Bruno and Am¨¦lie stepped onto the palace balcony, looking down at the city. The streets were still lit with lanterns, and distant laughter carried through the air.


    Bruno exhaled, feeling the weight of the day settle in. "It was a good Christmas."


    Am¨¦lie leaned against him. "One of the best."


    He turned to her. "Thank you for reminding me to slow down."


    She smiled. "You needed it."


    For a moment, there was nothing but silence between them as they watched the snowfall.


    Then, Bruno smirked. "Tomorrow, it''s back to work."


    Am¨¦lie sighed, shaking her head. "Of course it is."


    Bruno wrapped an arm around her. "But for now, let''s enjoy what''s left of the night."


    As the last of the Christmas bells rang through the city, King Bruno and Queen Am¨¦lie stood together, knowing that while challenges lay ahead, for this one day, peace and joy reigned in Elysea.

 Chapter 91 - 91: A Day After Christmas

    December 26, 1695.


    The first light of dawn crept through the windows of the Royal Palace of Elysea. The grand halls, once filled with music and laughter the night before, were now quiet, save for the occasional sounds of servants tidying up after the grand festivities.


    King Bruno stretched as he sat up in bed, rubbing his temples. His body felt sluggish from the amount of food and wine he had indulged in the previous night. He glanced over to his side, where Am¨¦lie still lay, her breathing soft and steady. She had been the one to convince him to truly enjoy the holiday, and for once, he had allowed himself to let go of his worries.


    But now, Christmas was over.


    Bruno exhaled and carefully got out of bed, not wanting to wake his wife. He washed his face with cold water from a nearby basin and dressed in a simple tunic before stepping into the hall.


    Outside, the palace was slowly coming back to life. Servants were already at work clearing the remnants of the feast, polishing the silverware, and ensuring everything was back in order. Some nobles who had stayed overnight were beginning to leave, their carriages lining up at the main entrance.


    Bruno made his way to his private study, where a stack of reports awaited him. Even during Christmas, the affairs of the kingdom had not paused.


    Bruno sat at his desk and opened the first document, a report from the African colonies. General Roux had sent an update on the progress in Carthage, detailing the construction of additional outposts and new trade agreements with local tribes. However, there were also reports of resistance in some regions, particularly from tribal leaders who were not eager to cooperate.


    Bruno frowned. He had expected some opposition, but the details suggested that outside forces might be influencing these tribes¡ªperhaps Germania, Orosk, or Iberia, who had been watching Elysea''s expansion with growing concern.


    A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.


    "Come in," Bruno said.


    The door opened, and Chief Minister Antoine stepped inside. "Your Majesty, I hope you had a restful Christmas."


    Bruno smirked. "For the most part. But now it''s back to business."


    Antoine placed a few more documents on the desk. "Reports from the African territories, as well as economic updates from the mainland. The new Christmas policies were well received, but there are some complaints from the nobility and merchants about the mandatory bonuses."


    Bruno expected this. "How serious are these complaints?"


    Antoine adjusted his spectacles. "Some merchants claim they suffered losses, but based on our treasury records, trade and spending actually increased because of the bonuses. The common folk spent more, which benefited businesses overall. I suspect these complaints are simply nobles trying to avoid sharing their wealth." S§×ar?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Bruno leaned back in his chair. "Then we don''t change anything. If anything, this proves that the policy worked."


    Antoine nodded. "Very well, Your Majesty."


    Bruno tapped his fingers on the desk. "What about our military preparations? Have there been any unusual movements from Germania, Orosk, or Iberia?"


    Antoine hesitated. "There have been reports of increased naval activity from Germania in the Mediterranean. They haven''t made any aggressive moves yet, but it''s clear they are positioning themselves for something."


    Bruno narrowed his eyes. "They''re testing the waters. Keep an eye on them. If they start interfering with our supply routes, we''ll need to respond."


    Antoine bowed. "Understood, Your Majesty."


    Later that day, Bruno decided to visit the military barracks in the capital. The soldiers had also celebrated Christmas, but training and readiness were never neglected.


    As he arrived, he was met by General Auguste, the commander of the city''s garrison. The older man saluted. "Your Majesty, to what do we owe the honor?"


    Bruno surveyed the soldiers practicing in the courtyard, their movements crisp despite the cold air. "I wanted to see how our forces are doing. With the situation in Africa and the growing tension in Europe, I need to know we''re prepared."


    General Auguste nodded. "Our men are disciplined and ready, Your Majesty. We''ve increased recruitment efforts, and the new training methods have improved their efficiency."


    Bruno walked past a group of soldiers practicing their aim with the bolt-action rifle. "Good. We may need them sooner than expected."


    As they continued their inspection, Bruno observed the various units¡ªinfantry, cavalry, and artillery crews. The kingdom''s military was strong, but he knew that if Germania or Iberia launched a coordinated attack, Elysea would need every advantage it could get.


    Bruno turned back to Auguste. "Make sure the officers are preparing their men for all scenarios. We don''t know when the next war will come, but I''d rather be ready before it does."


    The general saluted. "As you command, Your Majesty."


    By the time Bruno returned to the palace, the sun was already setting, casting a golden glow over the snow-covered rooftops. The city was still lively, with people enjoying the final moments of the holiday season before returning to their normal routines.


    Inside his private quarters, Am¨¦lie was already waiting for him, a book in her hands. She looked up as he entered. "You were gone all day."


    Bruno sat beside her with a sigh. "I had to check on a few things. The kingdom doesn''t stop just because Christmas is over."


    She placed the book aside and studied him. "You''re thinking about Africa."


    Bruno nodded. "We''re making progress, but there are signs that our enemies are preparing to interfere. Germania''s moving their fleets, and some of the local tribes are starting to resist."


    Am¨¦lie reached out and took his hand. "You knew this wouldn''t be easy. But you''ve always been good at staying ahead of your enemies."


    Bruno smirked. "I hope you''re right."


    For a moment, they sat in silence. The warmth of the fireplace flickered across the room, casting soft shadows.


    Am¨¦lie broke the silence. "Tomorrow, what''s your plan?"


    Bruno leaned back. "I''ll meet with the council and go over our next moves. We need to strengthen our naval presence in Africa and ensure our trade routes remain secure. If our rivals are preparing to act, we need to be one step ahead."


    She nodded. "And after that?"


    Bruno chuckled. "After that, I''ll try to have dinner with my wife before she accuses me of being married to my work."


    Am¨¦lie laughed. "I''ll hold you to that."


    As the night deepened, Bruno allowed himself a moment of calm. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, but for now, he could rest, if only for a little while.

 Chapter 92 - 92: The Beginning of the Year

    December 31, 1695.


    The morning sun barely peeked over the horizon when the streets of Elysea began to stir. Vendors were setting up their stalls, city officials oversaw the final preparations for the New Year''s Eve festivities, and the town square was already filling with people eager to catch a glimpse of the royal couple.


    Inside the Royal Palace, King Bruno finished adjusting the cuffs of his coat while Queen Am¨¦lie inspected her reflection in the mirror. She was dressed in a refined yet simple winter gown, lined with fur to ward off the cold.


    Bruno glanced at her. "Are you ready for a long day?"


    She smirked. "I should be asking you that. You''ll have to smile and wave at people all day."


    Bruno let out a chuckle. "A small price to pay if it keeps the people loyal."


    The schedule was packed¡ªvisits to orphanages, alms-giving at churches, an inspection of public works, and finally, a grand procession through the city. It was a tradition for the ruling monarch to be seen among the people on the last day of the year, and Bruno intended to make a statement.


    By mid-morning, the royal carriage rolled through the palace gates, flanked by mounted guards and draped in Elysea''s banners. The streets were lined with citizens who cheered as they passed, waving small flags and throwing flower petals in their path.


    The first stop was Saint Eloise''s Orphanage, one of the largest in the city. Run by a group of nuns, the orphanage housed over a hundred children who had lost their parents to war, disease, or poverty.


    As Bruno and Am¨¦lie stepped out of the carriage, a group of children gathered at the entrance, their faces filled with both excitement and nervousness.


    Mother Elise, the head of the orphanage, curtsied deeply. "Your Majesties, it is an honor to have you here."


    Bruno smiled warmly. "The honor is ours, Mother Elise. We wanted to end the year with those who deserve the most kindness."


    Am¨¦lie knelt beside a young girl who clutched a worn-out doll. "What''s your name?"


    The girl hesitated before whispering, "Marie."


    Am¨¦lie smiled, reaching into a small pouch and pulling out a beautifully carved wooden horse. "This is for you, Marie."


    Marie''s eyes widened, and she took the gift with both hands, staring at it as if it were the most precious thing in the world.


    Bruno motioned to one of his attendants, who began distributing gifts¡ªnew clothes, toys, and books¡ªwhile another handed out loaves of bread and dried fruits.


    "You will all be receiving new blankets as well," Bruno announced, addressing the children. "No one in Elysea should suffer from the cold, least of all its future generation."


    The nuns and children alike expressed their gratitude, and after a short conversation with Mother Elise about improving funding for orphanages, Bruno and Am¨¦lie moved on to their next destination.


    The grand cathedral of Elysea stood at the heart of the city, its bells ringing out as the royal carriage approached. In front of the church, hundreds of commoners gathered, hoping to receive the king''s blessing¡ªand the much-anticipated coin distributions.


    Baskets filled with gold and silver coins were brought forward, each marked with the royal insignia. Bruno personally handed out the first few coins, shaking hands and exchanging a few words with those who approached.


    An elderly man, wrapped in tattered clothing, bowed deeply before him. "Your Majesty, may the heavens bless you."


    Bruno placed a coin in the man''s palm. "Use it well. May next year bring you fortune."


    Nearby, Am¨¦lie spoke with a group of women who were collecting donations for a local shelter.


    "We''ve received more than usual this year, Your Majesty," one of them said gratefully.


    Am¨¦lie nodded. "The kingdom is growing stronger, and with it, so should its people."


    The almsgiving continued for nearly an hour, with Bruno and Am¨¦lie personally overseeing the distribution of funds to the needy.


    After a short break, the royal procession moved to one of the newly completed aqueducts, a project Bruno had pushed for earlier in the year. Clean water was now reaching more areas of the city, reducing disease and improving sanitation.


    A group of engineers and city officials awaited their arrival.


    "The aqueducts are functioning as expected, Your Majesty," one of the engineers reported. "Next year, we can begin expanding to the outskirts."


    Bruno inspected the structure, nodding in approval. "Good. The people must see that their labor is rewarded. A kingdom that does not invest in its people will not last."


    Nearby, workers paused their labor to bow as the king passed. Bruno approached one of them, a man covered in dust and sweat.


    "How is the work?" Bruno asked.


    The man straightened up, surprised to be addressed directly. "Difficult, but necessary, Your Majesty."


    Bruno patted him on the shoulder. "Your efforts are building a stronger Elysea."


    After ensuring that future funding for the aqueducts was secured, Bruno and Am¨¦lie moved on to the final event of the day¡ªthe grand parade.


    As evening approached, the streets of Elysea were packed with citizens awaiting the royal procession. Torches and lanterns illuminated the city, giving it a golden glow as banners waved in the night breeze.


    Bruno and Am¨¦lie rode in an open carriage, waving to the cheering crowds as music filled the air. The parade featured decorated floats, soldiers in full regalia, and guild members showcasing their trades. sea??h th§× NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    At the city square, a massive bonfire was lit, marking the transition into the new year''s celebrations. The people sang, danced, and shared drinks, the atmosphere filled with joy and anticipation for the coming year.


    Bruno and Am¨¦lie stepped onto a platform, overlooking the crowd.


    Bruno raised his hand, signaling for silence.


    "My people!" he called out, his voice carrying over the square. "Tonight, we celebrate not just the passing of another year, but the strength of our kingdom! Elysea has grown, our cities have prospered, and our people stand united!"


    The crowd erupted in cheers.


    "This new year will bring challenges, but we will face them together! For Elysea! For the future!"


    The cheers grew louder, and as the fireworks began to light up the sky, Bruno turned to Am¨¦lie, who smiled at him.


    "You''ve done well today," she said softly.


    Bruno exhaled, taking in the moment. "So have you."


    As the fireworks painted the sky in gold and silver, King Bruno and Queen Am¨¦lie stood together, knowing that a new year¡ªand new trials¡ªawaited them.


    But for this one night, they allowed themselves to revel in the moment, celebrating alongside the people they ruled.

 Chapter 93 - 93: A Tranquil Day Before Politics

    January 1, 1696


    The new year had arrived, but unlike the roaring celebrations of the previous night, the first morning of 1696 was quiet. The streets of Elysea were empty, save for a few early risers sweeping away the remnants of fireworks and confetti. The scent of burnt wood from the bonfire still lingered in the crisp winter air, mixing with the occasional aroma of freshly baked bread from the bakeries preparing for the day ahead.


    Inside the Royal Palace, everything was unusually still. Most of the servants had been given the morning off after working tirelessly through the holiday season. Even the palace guards, though still on duty, moved with less urgency than usual.


    King Bruno lay in bed, his body still exhausted from the previous day''s activities. The warmth of the blankets and the faint crackling of the fireplace made it tempting to stay put. He turned his head slightly, glancing at Am¨¦lie, who was still fast asleep beside him, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.


    For a moment, Bruno allowed himself to simply enjoy the peace. There were no meetings, no pressing reports, no urgent matters demanding his attention¡ªat least not yet. Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    He exhaled softly and closed his eyes again, deciding he could afford a little more rest.


    By the time Bruno finally got out of bed, the sun had risen higher, casting golden light through the palace windows. He stretched, rolling his shoulders to shake off the grogginess before dressing in a comfortable tunic and trousers.


    He made his way to the private dining hall, where Am¨¦lie was already seated, sipping from a cup of tea. She looked up as he entered and smirked.


    "Look at that, the king is finally awake," she teased.


    Bruno chuckled as he sat down across from her. "Even kings deserve a little extra sleep after a long day."


    Am¨¦lie raised an eyebrow. "And yet, you''re usually the first one awake, even after the longest nights."


    Bruno poured himself a cup of coffee. "I suppose I wanted to savor the quiet."


    A servant entered, carrying a tray of warm pastries, fresh fruit, and eggs. Bruno took a piece of buttered bread and leaned back in his chair, watching as Am¨¦lie cut a small piece of fruit with a delicate grace that never ceased to amuse him.


    For a while, neither of them spoke. The morning was slow, unhurried¡ªa rare luxury in their lives.


    Finally, Am¨¦lie broke the silence. "What do you want to do today?"


    Bruno raised an eyebrow. "Do I have a choice?"


    She smirked. "Not really. I was thinking we should take a walk in the gardens, maybe visit the royal kitchens. The chefs have been experimenting with new recipes from the African colonies."


    Bruno took a sip of his coffee. "And you want to be the first to taste them?"


    "Obviously."


    He chuckled. "Fine. A quiet day it is, then."


    Despite the cold, the palace gardens still held their beauty. The evergreen trees stood tall, their leaves untouched by winter''s grasp, while the stone paths were dusted with a light layer of snow.


    Bruno and Am¨¦lie walked side by side, their steps slow and unhurried. Occasionally, a passing servant would bow before them, but otherwise, they were left alone.


    "You know," Am¨¦lie mused, "it''s strange seeing the city so still after the celebrations last night."


    Bruno nodded. "Everyone''s probably still in bed, recovering."


    She smirked. "Including the king?"


    He chuckled. "Almost."


    They reached a small stone bench near the center of the garden, where a small pond, now partially frozen, reflected the pale blue sky. Bruno sat down, watching as a few birds fluttered around, searching for food.


    Am¨¦lie sat beside him and sighed contentedly. "Sometimes I wonder how different things would be if we weren''t¡­ well, us."


    Bruno glanced at her. "What do you mean?"


    She gave a small smile. "If we weren''t king and queen. If we were just an ordinary couple, living in the city, running a small shop or a bakery."


    Bruno chuckled. "You would be terrible at running a shop."


    Am¨¦lie gasped in mock offense. "Excuse me?"


    "You''d drive away customers by giving them unsolicited advice about their personal lives."


    She narrowed her eyes. "And you would be terrible at taking orders from customers."


    Bruno smirked. "That''s true."


    They both laughed, the idea of an ordinary life amusing yet oddly comforting.


    After a moment, Am¨¦lie leaned her head against Bruno''s shoulder. "Still, as tiring as our roles are, I wouldn''t trade this life for anything."


    Bruno placed a hand over hers. "Neither would I."


    After their walk, they made their way to the royal kitchens, where the head chef, Monsieur Lavigne, was overseeing the preparation of several dishes.


    The moment he saw them enter, he bowed deeply. "Your Majesties! What an honor to have you here!"


    Am¨¦lie smiled. "We heard you were trying new recipes."


    Lavigne beamed with excitement. "Yes, indeed! With the recent expansion of trade, we''ve acquired new spices, particularly from the African colonies. Would Your Majesties like to try some samples?"


    Bruno and Am¨¦lie exchanged a glance before nodding.


    Within moments, a variety of small dishes were presented before them¡ªa stew infused with fragrant spices, grilled meat seasoned with a rich blend of herbs, and a dessert made from tropical fruits.


    Am¨¦lie took a bite of the dessert first and her eyes widened. "This is incredible!"


    Bruno tried a piece of the grilled meat and nodded in approval. "You''ve outdone yourself, Lavigne."


    The chef beamed with pride. "Thank you, Your Majesty!"


    They spent nearly an hour sampling different dishes, discussing which ones could be included in future royal feasts.


    As night fell, Bruno and Am¨¦lie returned to their private quarters, where a warm fire was already crackling in the hearth. The day had been peaceful, refreshing even.


    Bruno stretched as he sat on the couch, while Am¨¦lie curled up beside him, a book in her lap.


    For a while, they simply enjoyed the quiet, the only sound being the soft flicker of the flames.


    Then, Am¨¦lie turned to him. "I know you''ll be back to work tomorrow."


    Bruno sighed. "You know me too well."


    She smirked. "Of course. Just promise me you won''t overwork yourself."


    Bruno smirked. "I''ll try."


    She playfully nudged him. "No, promise."


    Bruno chuckled before wrapping an arm around her. "Fine. I promise."


    Satisfied, Am¨¦lie leaned against him, and they sat there in comfortable silence, enjoying one last moment of peace before the responsibilities of the new year came rushing back.

 Chapter 94 - 94: Deep in the African Interior

    February 10, 1696.


    General Armand Roux adjusted his coat as he peered through his spyglass. The landscape stretched before him¡ªrolling hills, thick jungles, and a scattering of villages that were nothing more than dots in the vast, uncharted territory. The humid air clung to his skin, far different from the cold winds of Elysea.


    He lowered the spyglass and turned to Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud, his second-in-command.


    "Any word from the scouts?" Roux asked.


    Giraud shook his head. "Nothing unusual, General. They reported a few scattered settlements ahead. No sign of hostility." sea??h th§× N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Roux exhaled. His forces had been steadily moving deeper into the interior for weeks, establishing trading posts and securing alliances with tribes willing to cooperate with Elysea. Most had been receptive¡ªeither out of interest in trade or a desire for protection against rival clans.


    But not all tribes were welcoming.


    "Keep the men sharp," Roux said. "We don''t know what''s beyond those hills."


    Giraud nodded and rode off to relay the orders.


    The column of soldiers, nearly 1,000 men strong, continued forward, their wagons carrying supplies, machine guns, and crates of ammunition. Most of the soldiers carried bolt-action rifles, but there were also artillery pieces in the rear of the formation. Elysea''s military had never ventured this far inland before, and while they had expected resistance, the days had passed quietly.


    Too quietly.


    The sun had just begun to set when the first arrow whistled through the air.


    It struck one of the leading cavalrymen in the throat, and he tumbled from his horse, gurgling on his own blood. Before anyone could react, another soldier collapsed, an arrow lodged in his chest.


    "AMBUSH!" someone shouted.


    Then the jungle erupted.


    Hundreds¡ªno, thousands¡ªof warriors poured out from the dense foliage, their bodies painted in war paint, their weapons crude but deadly. Some were on horseback, their animals thundering down the slope, while others ran on foot, bows drawn and spears raised.


    "Form battle lines!" Roux bellowed, drawing his saber.


    The Elysean soldiers scrambled into position. The front lines knelt, raising their bolt-action rifles, while the second line stood behind them. Gunners rushed to set up the machine guns, while officers shouted orders to hold steady.


    "FIRE!" Roux roared.


    A volley of rifle fire cracked through the air, mowing down the first wave of charging cavalry. Horses collapsed, throwing their riders, while warriors were torn apart by the storm of bullets. The Gatling guns opened up next, their rotating barrels spitting out rounds at a terrifying rate.


    The attack faltered for a moment. The bodies of fallen warriors and horses littered the ground.


    But they kept coming.


    Arrows rained down upon the Elysean lines, striking soldiers in the arms, legs, and necks. Shields and crude armor protected some of the attackers, allowing them to close the distance before being cut down.


    A soldier next to Roux cried out, an arrow piercing his eye before he fell backward. Another screamed as a spear impaled his thigh, pinning him to the ground.


    "Hold your fire! Reload!" Giraud shouted.


    The soldiers chambered new rounds as the next wave of warriors surged forward. Some had managed to get close enough to hurl spears at the Elysean line. A lieutenant took a spear to the chest, stumbling backward with a choked gasp.


    "Keep firing!" Roux ordered.


    The machine guns rattled again, cutting through the advancing ranks. But no matter how many they killed, more warriors replaced them. It was unlike any battle Roux had faced. These men fought with sheer ferocity, unafraid of death, determined to overrun them.


    "Artillery!" Roux shouted.


    A team of gunners swung a field cannon into position and loaded a shell. A second later, it roared, sending an explosive round into the densest part of the enemy charge. The ground erupted in a fiery explosion, sending bodies flying.


    Yet they still kept coming.


    Within minutes, the warriors reached the front lines. The Elysean soldiers fought desperately, swinging their bayonets, using their rifles as clubs when they ran out of bullets. The air was thick with the smell of gunpowder, blood, and sweat.


    A massive warrior lunged at Roux with a curved blade, his face contorted in rage. Roux barely dodged the strike, countering with a slash from his saber. The blade cut deep into the man''s side, but he didn''t go down immediately. Instead, he grabbed Roux''s wrist, trying to wrench the sword from his grasp.


    Roux snarled, drew his revolver with his free hand, and fired point-blank into the warrior''s chest. The man stumbled back, finally collapsing.


    To his right, Giraud was locked in a brutal struggle, parrying blows with his saber before driving it into an enemy''s stomach. Nearby, an Elysean officer had been knocked to the ground, warriors surrounding him. Before they could deliver the final blow, another soldier fired his rifle into the group, scattering them.


    "General!" Giraud shouted. "We need to break their momentum!"


    Roux surveyed the battlefield. The Elysean formation was holding, but barely. The sheer number of attackers was overwhelming, and they were losing men faster than expected. If they didn''t do something soon, they would be overrun.


    "Push them back!" Roux shouted. "Grenades! Use grenades!"


    The soldiers pulled pin after pin, tossing grenades into the densest parts of the enemy ranks. Explosions rocked the battlefield, sending limbs and debris flying. The shock of the blasts forced the warriors to stagger back, giving the Elyseans a brief opening.


    "Charge!" Roux bellowed.


    With bayonets fixed, the Elysean soldiers surged forward, using their superior weaponry to force the attackers into retreat. Warriors were cut down at close range, unable to match the discipline and firepower of the European troops.


    Slowly, the tide began to turn.


    An hour later, the battlefield was littered with bodies. The jungle was painted red with blood, the air still thick with the stench of gunpowder and death.


    Roux stood in the center of the carnage, his uniform stained with dirt and blood. His men were battered, exhausted, but victorious.


    They had lost at least 200 men, with many more wounded. But the enemy had suffered far worse.


    Giraud limped over, pressing a cloth against a cut on his arm. "We still don''t know who they were," he said, gesturing to the fallen warriors.


    Roux looked down at one of the bodies. The warrior''s face was painted, his clothing adorned with tribal symbols Roux didn''t recognize.


    "They fought like devils," Roux muttered.


    Giraud nodded. "And they had no fear."


    Roux exhaled. "Whoever they are, they wanted us dead. We need to find out why."


    He turned to his men. "Search the bodies. Look for anything that might tell us who they are."

 Chapter 95 - 95: Looking for Lead

    The battlefield was still littered with corpses, the air thick with the stench of blood and gunpowder. The Elysean soldiers moved through the carnage, searching bodies for anything that could identify their attackers. General Armand Roux stood in the center, his uniform stained with dirt and dried blood, his saber still caked with gore.


    Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud approached, a strip of cloth pressed against the wound on his arm. "We found something, General."


    Roux turned. "What is it?"


    Giraud held out a piece of parchment, covered in strange markings. "It was tucked inside the tunic of one of the fallen warriors. It doesn''t match any of the known tribes we''ve dealt with before."


    Roux took the parchment and examined it. The symbols were unfamiliar, but they were carefully drawn, not random scrawlings. "This isn''t just some unorganized warband," Roux muttered. "This was coordinated."


    Giraud nodded. "And it wasn''t just one tribe. Some of the warriors bore different insignias. This was a coalition."


    That complicated things. If multiple tribes were uniting against Elysea, their campaign would face more resistance than anticipated. Roux turned to his men. "Did we take any prisoners?"


    "Only a few, General," Giraud replied. "Most fought to the death."


    Roux exhaled sharply. These warriors had no fear of dying. That meant interrogation wouldn''t be easy. "Have the prisoners bound and brought back to camp. We''ll question them once they''ve had time to sweat."


    As the soldiers carried out his orders, Roux turned to the distant hills. Somewhere out there, the enemy was regrouping. And he intended to find them before they struck again.


    By midday, scouts returned with valuable intelligence. They had discovered a trail leading deep into the jungle, marked with the same tribal symbols found on the warriors.


    Roux wasted no time. "We move immediately."


    With 800 men still combat-ready, the Elysean force pushed forward, following the tracks left behind by the retreating enemy. The march was grueling. The jungle was thick, the air humid, and visibility was low. But they pressed on, their rifles at the ready.


    After hours of marching, a scout returned, panting. "General, we found something. A village, hidden in the hills."


    Roux''s eyes narrowed. "How many warriors?"


    "Hard to say, sir. We counted at least a few hundred. But there could be more inside the huts."


    That was enough.


    "Prepare to attack," Roux ordered.


    Nightfall gave them the cover they needed. The Elysean soldiers crept into position around the village, using the dense foliage as concealment. The village itself was large¡ªdozens of huts, wooden watchtowers, and a central meeting hall that appeared to be the heart of the settlement.


    Through his spyglass, Roux spotted warriors moving about, some carrying weapons, others tending to wounded men¡ªsurvivors from the last battle.


    "They''re not expecting us," Giraud whispered.


    "Then let''s make sure they never see it coming," Roux replied.


    He signaled to his officers. Within moments, machine guns were set up, their barrels aimed at the main thoroughfare of the village. Soldiers took positions along the treeline, rifles ready.


    Then, Roux raised his hand.


    "Fire."


    The night exploded with gunfire. The first volley tore through the village, cutting down warriors before they could react. The watchtowers collapsed as bullets shredded the wooden supports.


    Panic spread through the enemy ranks. Some tried to mount a defense, but before they could even raise their bows, the Gatling guns unleashed hell upon them.


    The villagers screamed, running for cover. Some warriors attempted to rally, forming a defensive line, but Elysean artillery spoke next. A shell crashed into the center of the village, sending fire and debris flying.


    "Advance!" Roux commanded.


    The Elysean infantry surged forward, bayonets fixed. Warriors who tried to resist were gunned down, while others fled in terror.


    Roux led the charge himself, cutting down an enemy warrior with his saber before spinning to fire his revolver at another. His soldiers moved efficiently, storming huts and securing captives.


    Giraud wrestled with an enemy in the middle of the street, using the butt of his rifle to break the warrior''s jaw before driving his bayonet into his chest.


    Gunfire echoed through the village as the last remnants of resistance were crushed. By the time the smoke cleared, bodies littered the ground, and the flames from burning huts illuminated the battlefield.


    The village had fallen.


    Roux wiped his brow, his breathing heavy. Around him, the Elysean soldiers rounded up the survivors¡ªmostly women and children, but also dozens of warriors who had surrendered after the battle was lost.


    "Lock them up," Roux ordered. "We''ll find out who they are and why they attacked us."


    As the prisoners were gathered, Roux noticed something strange. Some of the warriors bore markings that were different from the others. Different insignias. Different armor.


    Giraud noticed it too. "These men weren''t from the same tribe," he murmured.


    Roux''s expression darkened. This wasn''t a random uprising. Someone was uniting the tribes against them.


    And he intended to find out who.


    The battlefield still smoldered as Elysean soldiers moved through the wreckage, rounding up prisoners and tending to their wounded. The sun had long since set, and the eerie glow of burning huts cast flickering shadows across the jungle. The cries of the dying and the low murmurs of soldiers filled the air, mixing with the distant sounds of the jungle creatures.


    Roux turned to Giraud. "We need to find out where they came from. Have the scouts look for any tracks leading away from here."


    Giraud nodded and quickly relayed the orders. Soon, groups of scouts disappeared into the darkness, lanterns flickering as they searched for any sign of where the remaining enemy forces had fled. sea??h th§× N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Meanwhile, Roux examined the captured warriors. There were over sixty of them¡ªhardened fighters with strong builds, their bodies covered in scars and war paint. Despite being bound in chains, they sat with their heads held high, their eyes filled with hatred.


    One of the prisoners, a broad-shouldered man with tribal tattoos across his chest, glared at Roux. His jaw was clenched, his muscles tense. Roux could tell that these men had no intention of speaking.


    "We won''t get anything from them," Giraud muttered. "Even if we had a translator, they wouldn''t talk. They look ready to die rather than give up anything useful."


    Roux sighed. "Then we''ll let their actions speak for them."


    He motioned for his men to inspect the prisoners'' clothing, weapons, and markings. The Elysean soldiers stripped away crude leather armor, examined arrowheads, and searched for anything that could hint at the origins of these warriors.


    After several minutes, one of the officers approached. "General, some of these men have different markings. Different armor styles, different weapons."


    Roux studied the prisoners closely. Some had curved swords, others carried bows with unique fletching on their arrows. The patterns painted on their skin weren''t uniform¡ªthere were distinct differences between them.


    "These are different tribes," Giraud said, realization dawning. "They don''t just look different; they fight differently. Whoever brought them together didn''t just rally one group¡ªhe united warriors who normally wouldn''t even fight alongside each other."


    Roux''s grip tightened on his saber. "That means there''s a leader¡ªa central figure organizing these attacks."

 Chapter 96 - 96: Interrogating the Prisoners

    February 12, 1696.


    The prisoners sat bound in the center of the Elysean military encampment, their hands and feet shackled together. Their bodies bore wounds from the previous battle, but their expressions remained defiant. The jungle surrounding them was quiet, save for the distant rustling of leaves and the occasional murmur from the Elysean soldiers preparing for the next phase of the campaign.


    General Armand Roux stood before them, his face impassive. He had seen men like these before¡ªwarriors who refused to break, who clung to their beliefs no matter the suffering inflicted upon them. But Roux was not a man who tolerated wasted time. He needed answers.


    Beside him stood Chief Ibara, leader of one of the allied tribes that had sworn loyalty to Elysea. His people had suffered at the hands of these warbands as well, and he had no love for them. The captured warriors glared at him, their eyes filled with hatred.


    "They will not speak to you," Ibara said in a low tone. "They see you as invaders, as demons in their lands."


    Roux exhaled, glancing at Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud. "Then we''ll have to make them speak."


    Giraud nodded and motioned for the soldiers to begin.


    The first prisoner was dragged forward¡ªa young warrior with dark eyes that burned with rage. Two Elysean soldiers forced him to his knees, holding him in place.


    Ibara stepped forward, speaking in his native tongue. "Who is leading you? Why are your people gathering to fight against us?"


    The prisoner spat at his feet.


    One of the soldiers responded by striking him across the face with the butt of his rifle, sending him sprawling onto the dirt. The prisoner coughed, a trickle of blood running from his mouth, but he didn''t utter a word.


    Roux crossed his arms. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way."


    The prisoner only smirked.


    Roux sighed. "Very well." He nodded to the soldiers.


    One of them retrieved a heated iron rod from a nearby fire pit. The metal glowed red-hot, the heat distorting the air around it. The prisoner''s smirk faltered slightly.


    The soldier grabbed the warrior''s arm and pressed the searing metal against his skin. A loud, agonized scream tore through the camp as the smell of burning flesh filled the air.


    The other prisoners flinched, some looking away, but none spoke.


    Roux stepped closer, crouching so that he was eye level with the writhing man. "You have courage, I''ll give you that. But courage means nothing when your flesh is being melted away."


    The prisoner panted heavily, his body trembling from the pain, but he remained silent.


    Roux straightened. "Next."


    Another warrior was dragged forward. This one was older, perhaps in his forties, his body scarred from many battles.


    "We know there''s a leader uniting your tribes," Roux said. "Give me a name."


    The warrior remained silent. Sear?h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Ibara studied him. "This one has seen many wars. He is not like the young one. He knows what suffering is."


    Roux signaled for another method. Two soldiers approached, carrying a bucket of water and a cloth.


    The prisoner''s eyes darkened as he realized what was coming.


    Giraud knelt beside him. "You will tell us what we want to know. Or you will drown over and over again until your body begs for the end."


    The cloth was wrapped around the warrior''s face, and water was poured over it. The prisoner thrashed violently as the water seeped into his nose and mouth, his lungs burning for air.


    After thirty seconds, the soldiers stopped. The man coughed violently, gasping for breath.


    "Again," Roux ordered.


    More water. More thrashing. More coughing.


    By the fourth time, the man''s body sagged, his breathing shallow. His lips trembled.


    Ibara leaned down and spoke in his language. "Tell them what they want to know. Your gods will not save you."


    The prisoner coughed again, then, finally, spoke. His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.


    Ibara turned to Roux. "He says the one leading them is called N''kosi. He is no ordinary chief. They say he is chosen by the gods, that he cannot be killed."


    Roux''s expression remained cold. "Where is he?"


    Ibara repeated the question in the native tongue.


    The warrior hesitated, his body shaking.


    Giraud pulled his revolver and pressed the barrel to the prisoner''s forehead. "Where?"


    The prisoner swallowed hard, then muttered a single word.


    Ibara turned to Roux. "A fortress. Deep in the jungle, beyond the great river. He says that is where N''kosi gathers his armies."


    Roux nodded, then looked at the prisoner. "You could have saved yourself much suffering."


    The warrior spat blood onto the ground, glaring at Roux with defiance still in his eyes.


    Roux sighed. "Kill him."


    Giraud pulled the trigger.


    The prisoner slumped to the ground, lifeless.


    The other prisoners tensed, some glancing at each other. Fear had begun to creep into their hardened expressions.


    Roux stepped forward, his voice calm. "Tell me more about this fortress, and I might spare the rest of you."


    A few moments of silence passed. Then, another prisoner spoke.


    Ibara translated. "They say it is hidden between the twin mountains. A place sacred to their ancestors. The warriors who fight for N''kosi believe they are fighting for something greater than their tribes."


    Roux absorbed the information, nodding. "So, this isn''t just about us. This is about something much bigger."


    Ibara crossed his arms. "N''kosi is not just a warlord. He is a prophet to them. That is why they do not fear death."


    Roux turned to Giraud. "Get the map."


    A soldier brought forward a large map of the region, spreading it on a nearby crate. Ibara pointed to a rough location beyond the river, where the twin mountains were marked.


    "There," he said. "That is where he waits."


    Roux studied the map carefully. The terrain would be difficult. Thick jungle, high mountains, and unknown numbers of warriors waiting for them.


    He exhaled. "Then that is where we go next."


    He turned to his men. "Double the guards on the prisoners. Have the rest of them marched back to our camp. We''ll use them if we need more information."


    As the soldiers carried out his orders, Roux looked toward the jungle once more.


    He had his answer.


    Now, he had his next target.

 Chapter 97 - 97: Chasing the Target

    February 14, 1696.


    The Elysean expedition moved before dawn, the dense jungle ahead swallowing their columns as they marched toward the twin mountains where N''kosi''s fortress lay. The warriors they had interrogated had given them enough information to plan a route, but the thick vegetation, the humid air, and the unseen dangers of the terrain made every step treacherous.


    General Armand Roux led the column from horseback, his saber strapped to his side, his revolver loaded and ready. Beside him, Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud rode with a map in his hands, periodically glancing at the markings made the night before.


    Chief Ibara and his warriors marched alongside the Elyseans, guiding them through paths that had been long forgotten by foreigners.


    Roux knew this march wouldn''t be easy. The deeper they moved into enemy territory, the more exposed they became. N''kosi''s forces had the advantage here¡ªthey knew the terrain, the choke points, the hidden paths. Roux expected resistance long before they reached the fortress itself.


    "Eyes sharp," Roux called to his men. "They know we''re coming."


    The soldiers, nearly 700 men strong after the previous battles, gripped their rifles tightly. They had already seen what these tribal warriors were capable of.


    Hours passed in tense silence. The jungle was alive with the sounds of insects and distant animal calls, but there were no signs of enemy movement.


    Then, as they reached a narrow valley between two steep ridges, the first shot rang out.


    A rifle cracked from somewhere ahead, and a soldier collapsed with a hole in his chest.


    "AMBUSH!" Giraud bellowed.


    Arrows and musket fire rained down from the jungle canopy. The Elyseans dove for cover, returning fire as best they could. But the enemy was well-positioned, using the natural cover of the trees and the high ground to pick off soldiers.


    Roux dismounted and pulled his revolver. "Get the machine guns up! Suppressive fire on the ridges!"


    The gunners scrambled into position, setting up the Gatling guns on elevated ground. The barrels spun, sending a wall of bullets into the tree lines above.


    The enemy fire wavered as warriors fell from the branches, their bodies crashing into the undergrowth below.


    A loud war cry erupted from ahead, and suddenly, dozens of warriors charged from the treeline, wielding spears and swords, rushing the Elysean line.


    "Hold the line!" Roux shouted.


    The soldiers braced, fixing bayonets as the wave of enemies crashed into them. The sound of steel meeting flesh echoed through the valley. The fighting was brutal, close-quarters and desperate.


    A soldier was impaled by a spear before he could react, blood spilling onto the ground. Another was dragged into the undergrowth, screaming.


    Roux fired his revolver into the face of a charging warrior before slashing another across the chest with his saber. Giraud fought beside him, driving his bayonet through an attacker''s ribs and twisting it free.


    The Elysean formation, though staggered by the initial charge, began to push back. The disciplined riflemen cut down the warriors at close range, while the machine guns continued to suppress those still hidden in the jungle.


    Chief Ibara''s warriors fought fiercely alongside the Elyseans, hacking down enemies with curved blades, their own war cries mixing with the chaos of battle.


    Slowly, the enemy''s momentum faltered. The charge had failed.


    Roux seized the moment. "Advance! Push them back!"


    The soldiers surged forward, bayonets flashing as they forced the attackers to retreat. The enemy scattered, disappearing into the jungle, leaving behind bodies and broken weapons.


    The battle had lasted only minutes, but the damage was clear. Several Elysean soldiers lay dead, with even more wounded.


    Giraud wiped the blood from his face. "They''re testing us."


    Roux nodded grimly. "And now they know we''re coming."


    After gathering the wounded and securing the valley, Roux ordered the march to continue. They had to keep moving.


    As they advanced, scouts discovered abandoned camps and hidden supply caches in the jungle¡ªsigns that the enemy had been preparing for a prolonged fight.


    At one such camp, they found something more valuable: documents written in tribal script, along with crude maps marking key locations within the fortress.


    Ibara examined them carefully. "These markings¡­ they indicate pathways leading into the stronghold. If these are accurate, there may be hidden entrances."


    Roux studied the maps. If they could find a way in without charging directly into fortified defenses, it would save them hundreds of men.


    "This could be our way in," Roux muttered. "But we need more intelligence."


    That meant another raid.


    By nightfall, the Elyseans had tracked another enemy encampment¡ªa forward base supplying the fortress.


    This time, Roux planned a swift and brutal attack.


    He positioned his troops carefully, using the thick jungle to mask their approach. The camp, lit only by torches, was home to at least a hundred enemy warriors.


    Too many to take quietly.


    At Roux''s signal, the machine guns opened fire. Warriors collapsed before they could react, their bodies riddled with bullets. The Elyseans stormed the camp, cutting down any who resisted.


    The battle was over within minutes.


    The prisoners captured here proved more useful than the last. After another round of questioning¡ªthis time with fewer restraints on Elysean methods¡ªone of them revealed the existence of a hidden tunnel leading into the fortress.


    Roux turned to Ibara. "Can your men confirm this?" S§×arch* The NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Ibara nodded. "There are old caves in the mountain. If they''ve turned one into a tunnel, it would be well-hidden."


    Roux exhaled. "Then that''s how we get inside."


    With the new intelligence, Roux called a war council. The fortress could no longer be taken with brute force alone¡ªit was too well-defended.


    Instead, a small force would infiltrate through the hidden tunnel and open the gates from within, allowing the main army to storm the fortress.


    Giraud glanced at the map. "It''s risky."


    Roux nodded. "But it''s our best chance."


    As the soldiers sharpened their blades and prepared their weapons, Roux looked toward the distant peaks where N''kosi waited.


    This war wasn''t just about conquest anymore.


    This was about ending a threat that could consume all of Elysea''s holdings in Africa.


    And Roux would not stop until the fortress fell.

 Chapter 98 - 98: The Battle That Would Unlock Africa

    February 16, 1696.


    The jungle night was eerily silent, save for the distant crackling of torches atop the fortress walls. General Armand Roux stood at the edge of a ridge, peering down at the enemy stronghold through his spyglass. Between the twin mountains, carved into the rock and reinforced with sharpened wooden barricades, stood the heart of the rebellion¡ªthe fortress of N''kosi.


    Through the scope, Roux could see warriors patrolling the walls, their movements careful but unaware of the Elysean forces lurking beyond the treeline. From this distance, it was clear that they were prepared for a siege. The outer defenses were thick, the main gate reinforced with massive wooden beams, and additional guard towers lined the cliffside paths. The enemy expected an attack, but they didn''t know when it would come.


    Lowering the spyglass, Roux turned to Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud. "The fortress is well-defended. We''ll take heavy losses if we strike head-on."


    Giraud nodded grimly. "We need an opening."


    "We have one." Roux glanced at Chief Ibara, who had been crouched nearby. The tribal leader had provided vital intelligence on the fortress''s weaknesses. "Your men found the hidden passage?"


    Ibara nodded. "It leads beneath the fortress, an old escape tunnel long abandoned by my people. It will take you inside."


    Roux turned to Giraud. "Take a unit of forty men and our best infiltrators. Get inside and open that gate. The rest of us will wait for the signal."


    Giraud saluted. "Consider it done."


    Roux took a deep breath, then turned back to the jungle. His army¡ªjust under 700 men, bolstered by Ibara''s warriors¡ªlay in wait. This battle would decide the fate of Elysea''s expansion into the heart of the continent.


    And they would not lose.


    Giraud led his team through the dense undergrowth, moving swiftly but cautiously. The tunnel entrance was hidden behind a collapsed section of rock, overgrown with vines and foliage. Ibara''s scouts had cleared it just enough for them to squeeze through.


    Inside, the air was damp and musty, the walls of the tunnel slick with condensation. The passage sloped downward before opening into a narrow corridor, just tall enough for them to crouch-walk.


    Ibara whispered, "We are close. The chamber ahead connects to the lower storage rooms."


    Giraud raised a fist, signaling for silence. They reached a wooden door at the tunnel''s end. Pressing his ear against it, he could hear muffled voices¡ªguards stationed on the other side.


    He turned to his men and signaled.


    Two Elysean soldiers stepped forward, blades drawn. With practiced precision, they pushed the door open just enough to slip inside. Within seconds, the dull sounds of choking and a brief struggle echoed through the corridor.


    A moment later, the door opened fully.


    The guards were dead, their bodies slumped against the walls.


    Giraud and his men slipped inside. The fortress was waking up to the sounds of war horns, signaling that their forces outside had been spotted. There was no more time for stealth.


    "Move," Giraud whispered. "We need to get to the gate."


    They pressed forward, cutting down any guards they encountered, using the chaos of the fortress''s sudden alert to their advantage. The sounds of cannon fire outside shook the stone walls, debris falling from the ceilings.


    Then, they reached their destination.


    The gate controls were housed in a small tower near the entrance. The mechanism was a large wooden crank, secured with iron reinforcements. A handful of guards stood watch.


    "Take them," Giraud ordered.


    The Elyseans surged forward, gunfire echoing through the chamber. Within moments, the guards were dead.


    Giraud grabbed the crank and pulled.


    With a heavy groan, the fortress gates creaked open.


    Outside, Roux saw the gates swing open and didn''t hesitate.


    "Charge!"


    The Elysean army surged forward.


    Artillery roared as cannons sent shells crashing into the fortress walls, tearing gaps into the defenses. Gatling guns unleashed suppressive fire, cutting down warriors along the battlements.


    The first wave of Elysean infantry stormed through the breach, bayonets gleaming in the firelight. The enemy fought desperately, their spears and muskets flashing in the chaos, but the disciplined formations of the Elyseans overwhelmed them.


    Inside the fortress, warriors scrambled to regroup, but the infiltrators had already sown confusion. Giraud and his men held their position at the gate, picking off defenders as the main force poured inside.


    Roux stormed through the breach, his saber flashing as he cut down an enemy trying to flee. He moved swiftly, his eyes scanning for the central stronghold.


    N''kosi would be inside.


    ***


    The great hall of the fortress burned, its walls splattered with the blood of fallen warriors. The heavy scent of smoke and death filled the air as the last defenders stood their ground. At the far end of the chamber, atop the stone steps leading to the central throne, N''kosi stood like a figure carved from iron. His dark eyes burned with hatred, his muscles tensed, his obsidian-tipped spear clenched in his fist.


    The warlord''s personal guard flanked him¡ªhulking warriors clad in hardened leather and bone-plated armor, their shields painted with the symbols of their ancestors. Their faces were streaked with war paint, their weapons raised in unwavering defiance. They knew they would not survive this night. And yet, none of them fled.


    General Armand Roux stepped forward, his saber slick with blood, his uniform tattered from the battle outside. He could not understand the words N''kosi shouted, but he didn''t need to. The warlord''s stance, the fury in his eyes, the way his grip tightened on his spear¡ªRoux understood the message clearly.


    There would be no surrender.


    The two men locked eyes, an unspoken understanding passing between them. This was the end.


    N''kosi roared, the sound raw and primal, echoing through the burning hall. He slammed the butt of his spear against the stone floor, and his guards, driven by a final surge of rage, charged.


    Roux barely had time to react before one of the warriors lunged at him, swinging a curved blade. He parried the blow with his saber, the force of the impact rattling his arm. Another enemy came from the side, a massive warrior wielding a club reinforced with iron spikes. Roux twisted away just as the weapon crashed down, splintering the floorboards where he had stood a second before.


    The chamber erupted into chaos. Elysean soldiers stormed in behind Roux, meeting the warlord''s personal guard in brutal close-quarters combat. Giraud fired his revolver point-blank into an enemy''s chest, sending him sprawling backward. Ibara and his warriors crashed into the fight with their own blades, hacking and slashing as the defenders fought like cornered beasts.


    Roux ducked beneath another swing, then drove his saber upward, piercing his attacker''s gut. The warrior grunted, blood gurgling from his lips as he fell. But there was no time to rest¡ªN''kosi himself was coming.


    The warlord surged forward, spear aimed directly at Roux''s heart.


    Roux barely managed to twist aside, the blade slicing through the air inches from his ribs. N''kosi was relentless, striking again and again, forcing Roux back with each powerful thrust. The general barely kept pace, dodging and parrying, but he knew he couldn''t keep this up forever.


    N''kosi was fast. Too fast.


    A sharp pain lanced through Roux''s arm as the warlord''s spear grazed him, slicing through his coat and drawing blood. Roux hissed, gritting his teeth as he fought to keep his footing.


    He needed an opening.


    Giraud, spotting the struggle, aimed his revolver. The shot rang out, striking N''kosi''s shoulder. The warlord staggered, but instead of falling, he turned to Giraud with a look of pure fury.


    With a guttural growl, N''kosi hurled his spear.


    Giraud barely had time to react before the weapon buried itself in his side.


    The captain gasped, blood bubbling at his lips as he stumbled backward, his revolver slipping from his grasp. S§×ar?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Roux''s eyes widened in shock¡ªbut that was his opening.


    With a roar, he lunged forward, driving his saber deep into N''kosi''s chest.


    The warlord''s breath hitched. His body jerked as the blade sank past flesh, past bone, into his heart. His eyes, once burning with fury, flickered with something else¡ªshock. For a brief moment, he seemed almost confused, as if he had never truly believed this moment would come.


    Then, with a final exhale, he collapsed.


    The chamber fell silent.


    The last of N''kosi''s guards, seeing their leader fall, hesitated. Some fought on in blind rage, only to be cut down seconds later. Others dropped their weapons, their will to fight shattered.


    The battle was over.


    Roux pulled his saber free, watching as the warlord''s lifeless body slumped against the stone floor. Blood pooled beneath him, soaking into the cracks. The self-proclaimed immortal, the so-called chosen warrior of the gods, lay dead at his feet.


    Outside, the Elysean flag was already being raised above the fortress walls. The fortress of the rebellion had fallen.


    And they cheered.

 Chapter 99 - 99: Securing the Empire

    February 17, 1696.


    The fortress of N''kosi had fallen. His warriors were dead, captured, or scattered into the jungle, and his so-called divine leadership had been shattered by cold steel and gunpowder. Yet, General Armand Roux knew that this was only the first step in a much larger conquest.


    The morning after the battle, Roux gathered his officers and Chief Ibara in the ruined war hall of the fortress. The Elysean flag now hung where N''kosi''s banners once stood. Maps of the surrounding regions were unrolled across a crude wooden table, detailing the known kingdoms, tribal coalitions, and uncharted lands that stretched across the northern half of the continent.


    Roux traced his finger along the map, eyes narrowing as he spoke.


    "This fortress was the heart of the rebellion, but the war is not over. There are other warlords, other kings, and chieftains who will either fight us or submit. I want them to do the latter, but if they resist, we will make them regret it."


    Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud, his side still bandaged from the wound N''kosi had given him, smirked. "Then it''s time we bring Elysean civilization to these lands properly."


    Ibara studied the map, pointing to the western regions where the great rivers split into many fertile lands. "Many of the lesser chiefs will surrender if they see your strength. They feared N''kosi because he promised them unity, but now he is dead, and his dream has burned. They will follow the next power that offers stability."


    Roux nodded. "Then we march at once."


    Thus, the conquest began.


    March ¨C The Fall of the Lower Warlords


    The first to fall were the remnants of N''kosi''s former allies¡ªtribal warlords who had pledged their loyalty to him but lacked his strength. Their villages and strongholds were isolated, their forces scattered after the fall of the fortress.


    Roux wasted no time. sea??h th§× N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Using the remaining 650 Elysean soldiers, bolstered by Ibara''s warriors, he launched a systematic campaign against these holdouts. The strategy was swift and brutal¡ªmarch, surround, and destroy.


    Many villages, upon hearing of N''kosi''s demise, surrendered immediately. Chiefs swore loyalty to the Elysean Empire, pledging their warriors in exchange for protection and trade. Those who refused to yield met a grim fate.


    The Elysean army, armed with bolt-action rifles, artillery, and Gatling guns, annihilated any tribal warriors who dared take up arms against them. Battles that would have once lasted hours or days were over in minutes. A well-trained line of soldiers with rifles could wipe out entire warbands before they got within striking distance.


    By the end of March, over twenty warlords had fallen, and their people were absorbed into the expanding Elysean territories.


    May ¨C The Kingdoms of the Great River


    By late spring, the campaign had reached the Great River Kingdoms. These were not just small warbands or scattered villages¡ªthese were established city-states, rich with trade, agriculture, and armies of their own.


    The largest of them was Tumbira, a fortified kingdom along the riverbanks. Its ruler, King Chisomo, had been watching the Elysean advance with growing alarm. He had no illusions about what was coming.


    When Roux''s forces reached the outskirts of Tumbira, King Chisomo sent emissaries, hoping to negotiate. But Roux had no interest in negotiations. He knew that if he let these kingdoms remain independent, they could one day unite against Elysea''s rule.


    The siege of Tumbira lasted five days.


    Unlike the previous battles, Tumbira had walls¡ªhigh stone battlements, reinforced gates, and trained warriors. But walls meant little against Elysean artillery. Howitzers pounded the defenses, sending chunks of stone and bodies flying. Gatling guns raked across the parapets, tearing apart archers before they could fire an arrow.


    By the third day, a breach had been made. By the fifth day, Elysean troops stormed the city, cutting down any resistance they found. King Chisomo was dragged from his palace and brought before Roux.


    The choice was simple: submission or execution.


    Chisomo, seeing the bodies of his warriors littering the streets, chose submission. His remaining forces were absorbed into the Elysean ranks, and his kingdom was annexed.


    With Tumbira''s fall, the rest of the Great River Kingdoms capitulated without a fight. The remaining kings swore fealty to Elysea rather than face the same fate.


    July ¨C The Last Bastions of Resistance


    By mid-year, the entire western half of the upper continent had fallen under Elysean control. The remaining regions to the east, however, still had strong resistance.


    One of the last holdouts was the Ivory Confederation, a powerful alliance of trade cities and nomadic warrior clans. Unlike the previous enemies, these people knew of modern weapons¡ªsome had even obtained European muskets through trade with the Iberians.


    Their leader, High Lord Mandala, had prepared for war long before the Elyseans arrived.


    When Roux''s forces approached the Confederation''s largest city, they met an actual army¡ªa force of over 8,000 warriors, many of them armed with muskets, cannons, and even cavalry.


    It was the largest battle of the campaign.


    On July 22nd, 1696, the Elysean army, now numbering 12,000 strong with native auxiliaries, met the Confederation on the open plains near Lake Mazuri.


    Mandala''s warriors charged with a ferocity unlike anything Roux had seen before. Cavalry swept in from the flanks, while musketeers unleashed volleys of fire. The battlefield was chaos¡ªsmoke, gunfire, and the screams of dying men filled the air.


    By nightfall, the Confederation''s forces were broken. Mandala was captured while attempting to flee, and his army was wiped out.


    With the Confederation''s collapse, the last major resistance in the northern half of the continent was gone.


    By the end of 1696, the Elysean banner flew over every major city, kingdom, and tribal land north of the equator.


    Some regions had fallen through sheer military might, others through diplomatic subjugation. The conquered territories were divided into provinces, each ruled by an Elysean-appointed governor, with native chieftains acting as local administrators.


    Trade flourished under the new rule. Roads were built. Forts were established. Factories began appearing along the rivers, using native labor to fuel Elysea''s growing wealth.


    "The Emperor would be pleased with the result," General Roux muttered.

 Chapter 100 - 100: Celebratory Victory at Carthage

    September 1696.


    The city of Carthage, now a vital colonial stronghold of the Elysean Empire, stood as a beacon of European power on the African continent. Two months after the final conquest of the northern half of the continent, General Armand Roux arrived in Carthage for a grand victory celebration.


    The city had been transformed under Elysean rule¡ªforts, stone roads, and factories had been established, ensuring that Carthage was not just a military outpost but a thriving economic hub. The docks were filled with merchant ships, bringing goods and supplies from Elysea and exporting gold, ivory, and spices from the newly conquered territories. Soldiers and officials walked proudly through the streets, their uniforms pristine, their posture confident. They were no longer just conquerors¡ªthey were rulers.


    The streets of Carthage were lined with banners bearing the Elysean eagle, and the people¡ªElysean settlers, merchants, and even the native populace¡ªgathered to witness the grand victory parade.


    At the center of the spectacle was General Armand Roux, dressed in full military regalia, riding a black warhorse. His blue and gold uniform bore the medals awarded by the Emperor himself, and his saber hung at his side¡ªa weapon that had tasted more blood than he cared to count.


    Behind him marched thousands of soldiers, their polished rifles glinting in the midday sun. The drums beat in unison, their thunderous rhythm echoing off the stone walls of the city. The crowd cheered as the troops marched past¡ªthough some of the native inhabitants watched in silence, their expressions unreadable.


    At the rear of the procession, prisoners of war were paraded through the streets. These were the chieftains, warriors, and nobles of the conquered kingdoms¡ªstripped of their weapons, their heads bowed in defeat. Some would be sent to Elysea as captives; others would be kept as bargaining pieces to ensure the obedience of their people. Sear?h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Roux glanced at them briefly but said nothing. The message was clear: resistance was futile.


    Later that evening, the governor''s palace was the site of an extravagant banquet in Roux''s honor. The massive stone hall, built in the style of Elysean architecture, was adorned with golden chandeliers and long banquet tables laden with food¡ªroasted meats, exotic fruits, and fine Elysean wine.


    The city''s most influential figures were present¡ªmilitary officers, colonial governors, merchants, and aristocrats. Even a few native rulers who had submitted to Elysea were given seats, though they were treated more like guests of necessity than equals.


    Governor Louis Marchand, the highest-ranking Elysean official in Carthage, raised a glass as the banquet reached its height.


    "To General Armand Roux, the man who has expanded our Empire, crushed the rebels, and brought Elysean order to these wild lands! Let us drink to his victory!"


    The hall erupted in applause as the glasses clinked, and the celebrations continued.


    Roux accepted the toast with a nod, but as he sipped his wine, his mind wandered. The war had been won¡ªbut ruling would be another challenge entirely.


    As the banquet progressed, Roux excused himself and was escorted to the governor''s war room, where his most trusted officers, including Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud and Chief Ibara, awaited.


    On the table before them lay an updated map of the continent, now marked with Elysean provinces. The conquest had been swift, but keeping such a vast land under control would require constant military presence.


    Governor Marchand entered the room, closing the doors behind him. His expression was serious. "The Emperor is pleased with your success, General. He has approved additional funds and reinforcements to secure our new territories."


    "That is good news," Roux said, though his tone remained cautious. "But there is unrest in the newly annexed provinces. Not everyone accepts our rule."


    Marchand nodded. "There have been small uprisings in the Great River Kingdoms. Even with their kings swearing loyalty, some factions refuse to accept their defeat."


    Giraud leaned forward. "Should we crush them immediately? Make an example out of them?"


    Roux thought for a moment. "Not yet. If we react too harshly, we risk pushing more people into rebellion. We need to be strategic."


    Ibara, who had remained silent, finally spoke. "Your empire is strong, but strength alone will not hold these lands. My people respect power, but they also respect leaders who understand them."


    Roux studied the map, his fingers tracing the newly claimed territories. "Then we will do both. We will continue expanding our settlements, enforce strict military rule, but also use local rulers to keep the population in check."


    Marchand smirked. "A wise approach, General."


    Roux exhaled. "This is only the beginning."


    The next morning, as Roux rode through Carthage, he observed the daily life under Elysean rule.


    Elysean settlers were arriving from the homeland, building homes, shops, and businesses.


    Native merchants traded in the markets, adapting to the new economy.


    Factories operated near the docks, processing resources for export.


    Soldiers patrolled the streets, maintaining order.


    Though the city was stable, Roux knew that beneath the surface, resentment still burned in some hearts.


    As he reached the military headquarters, an officer approached. "General, a message from the King. He wishes for you to return to Elysea within the next month."


    Roux took the sealed letter, opening it carefully.


    The King had summoned him back to receive his reward for the conquest.


    He smirked slightly. He would enjoy the trip home¡ªbut he knew he would return.


    The Elysean Kingdom had taken half of the continent, but there was still more land to claim.


    And Roux would ensure that it belonged to Elysea.


    As he stood on the balcony of the governor''s palace, looking over the bustling streets of Carthage, Roux felt the weight of both his accomplishments and the challenges that lay ahead. The military had done its part¡ªconquering, subjugating, and expanding the empire''s reach¡ªbut now came the harder part: governing.


    Below, the city moved with a rhythm shaped by Elysean influence. Soldiers patrolled the streets, ensuring order among the settlers and native merchants. The markets were lively, with traders from both the homeland and the annexed territories bartering over spices, ivory, and gold. Along the docks, merchant ships carried Elysea''s wealth across the sea, strengthening the empire''s economy with each shipment.


    Roux exhaled, stepping back from the railing. The conquest had been swift, but there were still areas of resistance¡ªpockets of rebellion that refused to accept Elysean rule. They were scattered, disorganized, and ultimately doomed, but if left unchecked, they could become a problem.


    A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.


    "Enter," Roux said.


    Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud stepped in, his uniform crisp, his expression serious. "General, we''ve received reports from the western frontier. Some of the native factions are resisting our rule. Small skirmishes, but they''re not backing down."


    Roux narrowed his eyes. "How many incidents?"


    Giraud set a stack of reports on the table. "At least six in the past two weeks. Isolated attacks on patrols, traders, and supply lines. No large-scale uprisings yet, but they''re testing our control."


    Roux picked up one of the reports, scanning the details. The rebels had no real chance of driving Elysea out, but they could disrupt the empire''s grip if they were left unchecked.


    "Any captured insurgents?" Roux asked.


    "A few. They refuse to speak."


    Roux smirked. "They always do at first."


    Giraud nodded. "What are your orders, General?"


    "Double patrols in the western regions," Roux instructed. "I want fortifications built along our key roads and settlements. If they want to fight, we''ll make sure they bleed for every inch of ground they think they can take."


    "And the prisoners?"


    Roux set down the report and met Giraud''s gaze. "Make an example of them."


    Giraud smirked. "Understood."

 Chapter 101 - 101: The Marshall

    The Royal Palace in Elysea was filled with military officers, noble dignitaries, and government officials, all gathered for an important announcement from King Bruno. The empire had expanded further than ever before, and with that came the need for recognition and rewards for those who had made it happen.


    General Armand Roux stood among them, freshly arrived from Carthage after months of consolidating Elysea''s rule in the conquered territories. He wasn''t entirely comfortable in the grand halls of the palace, far removed from the battlefields where he felt most at home. But today was about honoring the empire''s military, and Roux knew he was at the center of it.


    A hush fell over the crowd as the doors of the throne room opened. Trumpets sounded, and King Bruno entered, dressed in his formal robes, with a confident and composed expression. He stepped toward the throne and addressed the assembled court.


    "Today, we take an important step forward for our empire. Our armies have achieved great victories, expanding Elysea''s reach across the seas. Those who have fought and bled for this empire deserve recognition, not just in words, but in action."


    The room remained silent, waiting for the King to continue.


    "To ensure that those who serve Elysea with distinction are honored properly, I am establishing the Elysean Legion of Honor. This will be the highest military distinction in our empire, awarded to those who have displayed exceptional bravery and leadership."


    There was murmuring among the nobles and officers. While medals and titles were nothing new, the way King Bruno spoke suggested that this would be something greater.


    "The first recipient of this honor," the King said, looking directly at Roux, "is General Armand Roux."


    All eyes turned to Roux as the room erupted into applause. The general stood still, waiting for the formal call.


    "Step forward, General," Bruno commanded.


    Roux approached the throne and knelt.


    The King gestured toward a velvet cushion held by a court official, on which lay a golden medal, marked with the emblem of Elysea''s imperial eagle surrounded by a laurel wreath.


    "This medal represents more than just past victories," Bruno stated. "It is a symbol of our empire''s strength, of the men who fight for it, and of the new order we are building."


    The King pinned the medal onto Roux''s chest. sea??h th§× N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Rise, Marshal of the Empire, Armand Roux."


    Roux rose to his feet, his expression unreadable. He had expected an honor, perhaps a title, but Marshal of the Empire was something far greater. It was a newly created rank, one that placed him above all other generals and gave him direct authority over Elysea''s military operations, both in the homeland and overseas.


    The court applauded again, but Roux could see some of the older nobility exchanging glances. This new rank meant that power was shifting¡ªnot just to him, but to the military as a whole.


    Bruno continued. "From this day forward, the rank of Marshal will be reserved for those whose service goes beyond mere duty. It is not inherited. It is not given for status. It is earned."


    The King then turned back to the assembled officers. "Furthermore, the Legion of Honor will be awarded not just to Marshals, but to officers and soldiers who distinguish themselves in battle. These men will receive rewards beyond medals¡ªthey will be granted land, wealth, and noble status."


    At this, the murmurs among the nobility grew louder. Titles had always belonged to the aristocracy, but now, the King was declaring that military service could elevate a commoner to nobility. This was a major shift in Elysea''s power structure.


    Bruno ignored the murmurs and continued. "Our empire is built on conquest and discipline. We cannot afford to cling to outdated traditions. Those who fight for Elysea should be rewarded accordingly."


    He turned back to Roux. "As Marshal of the Empire, you will oversee the expansion and organization of our military forces. You will have command over all colonial armies and the authority to restructure our forces as you see fit."


    Roux nodded. "I understand, Your Majesty."


    Bruno gave a small smile. "Then let us drink to your success."


    That night, the palace hosted a large banquet in Roux''s honor. The grand hall was filled with military officers, government officials, and foreign dignitaries. A long table stretched down the center, covered in fine food and drink.


    Roux sat near the head of the table, with King Bruno seated beside him. Around them, the conversation was lively, though Roux noted that some of the older noble families seemed uneasy. The introduction of the Legion of Honor and the rank of Marshal was a shift in Elysea''s power dynamics¡ªone that did not sit well with everyone.


    Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud leaned in from across the table. "So, the first Marshal of Elysea," he said with a smirk. "That''s quite the promotion."


    Roux took a sip of his wine. "The King wants the military to have a stronger role in the empire."


    Giraud nodded. "Giving land and noble status to officers and soldiers¡­ That will change everything."


    Roux knew he was right. This wasn''t just about rewarding service. It was about securing loyalty. A man who had fought and bled for the empire and was then given land and wealth would be far more loyal than a noble who had inherited his power.


    Bruno, overhearing their conversation, spoke up. "The nobility fears change," he said, "but change is necessary."


    Roux looked at the King. "And what will happen when they resist it?"


    Bruno smirked. "Then we remind them who truly holds power."


    Roux glanced around the banquet hall. He could see the tension among some of the aristocrats. The military was rising in status, and some of them didn''t like it.


    But that was not Roux''s concern. His duty was clear¡ªexpand the empire, strengthen the army, and ensure Elysea remained dominant.


    As the banquet continued, Roux listened as the King and his ministers discussed further military expansions. Settlements were being planned in the newly conquered territories, and new laws were being drafted to govern them. The war for the continent was not over¡ªit had simply entered a new phase.


    By the time the night ended, Roux understood his next mission. As Marshal of the Empire, he would oversee not just military campaigns, but the long-term control of Elysea''s vast new lands.


    He had won battles. He had crushed rebellions.


    Now, he would build an empire that would last.


    And if anyone dared challenge it, they would be reminded why Elysea was not to be defied.

 Chapter 102 - 102: New Frontier

    King Bruno sat in his office, a large map of the world spread out before him. The red ink of Elysea''s territories now stretched across the northern half of Africa, marking the empire''s latest conquests. The campaign had been a success beyond expectation, bringing in vast tracts of land, resources, and trade routes. However, it was not enough.


    The empire had to grow further.


    Sitting across from him was Antoine Leclerc, his Chief of Staff, a man known for his sharp political mind and his ability to turn military victories into lasting dominance. He had been instrumental in managing the African conquest''s administrative aspects¡ªsetting up governors, drafting colonial policies, and ensuring that the new territories were properly integrated into the empire.


    Bruno tapped the western portion of the map. "We''ve secured the resources of Africa, but we need more. If Elysea is to dominate the world, we must expand into Pan-America."


    Leclerc studied the map carefully. In this world, the lands west of Elysea were vastly different from the North American continent that Bruno had known in his past life. Instead of large, unified nations stretching from coast to coast, Pan-America was a collection of scattered colonial settlements, indigenous tribes, and small European forts. No single power had consolidated control.


    "This region is¡­ fragmented," Leclerc observed. "Unlike Africa, there are no major kingdoms¡ªonly small outposts, settlements, and local rulers fighting among themselves." S§×arch* The Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Bruno nodded. "Exactly. And that is why it is ripe for the taking."


    The resources of Pan-America were unknown, but if it was anything like the world Bruno had come from, there would be untapped gold, timber, and fertile lands. It would not only expand Elysea''s reach but also secure key trade routes in the western hemisphere.


    Leclerc rubbed his chin. "A direct invasion?"


    Bruno shook his head. "No. We do not know the full extent of what lies in these lands. We send a military expedition first. A colonial vanguard."


    Leclerc leaned forward, intrigued. "How many men?"


    "At least 5,000 troops¡ªtrained, well-armed, and supplied. They will land on the eastern coast and push inward, securing key locations. Settlements, forts, and trade posts will be established to form a permanent Elysean presence. But for this task, we need someone who understands war and conquest."


    Leclerc smirked. "You already have someone in mind."


    Bruno nodded. "Marshal Armand Roux."


    That evening, General Roux was summoned to the palace once more. He arrived dressed in his new uniform, the insignia of Marshal of the Empire freshly embroidered on his coat. He had barely begun organizing the consolidation of Africa, and now he was being called in again.


    Bruno wasted no time. As Roux stood before him and Leclerc, the King gestured to the map.


    "You have crushed the resistance in Africa and secured the empire''s hold over the continent," Bruno began. "Now, I need you to do the same in the West."


    Roux raised an eyebrow, looking at the marked regions of Pan-America. "The West?"


    Bruno nodded. "Pan-America is a land of opportunity, but it is divided. Small settlements, minor colonial powers, and warring native factions. There is no true authority there. We are going to change that."


    Roux examined the map closely. "The terrain will be difficult, and we have no established bases there."


    Leclerc chimed in. "Which is why you will be leading a colonial expeditionary force¡ª5,000 of Elysea''s finest troops, warships for transport, and supplies to establish a permanent colony."


    Roux crossed his arms. "And the objective?"


    Bruno''s voice was firm. "Establish Elysean rule in Pan-America. Subjugate the local settlements, establish forts, and eliminate any resistance. We are not there to trade; we are there to rule."


    Roux gave a small smirk. "Sounds like Africa all over again."


    Bruno smirked back. "Except this time, we start with the advantage."


    Within a week, the preparations for the Elysean Expeditionary Force were underway. The docks of Port Solenne, Elysea''s largest naval base, were alive with activity. Warships were being loaded with supplies¡ªcannons, crates of muskets, gunpowder, rations, and tools for building forts.


    Roux personally oversaw the selection of his men. This was no mere exploratory mission; this was the foundation of a future colony. He chose experienced officers, men who had fought with him in Africa and understood colonial warfare.


    Alongside him, Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud was placed in command of the cavalry and rapid deployment forces. His role would be to scout ahead, identify key areas, and ensure swift military victories.


    "Five thousand men," Giraud mused as they observed the preparations. "It''s a small force for an entire continent."


    Roux nodded. "We won''t conquer it in a day. But if we establish forts and alliances, the conquest will happen naturally. We will divide and conquer, as always."


    In addition to soldiers, the expedition included engineers to build roads and settlements, merchants to establish trade routes, and diplomats to negotiate with any colonial powers they might encounter.


    But there was one rule that Roux made clear: Elysean rule was absolute. There would be no compromises.


    By the end of the month, the expedition fleet¡ªthirty warships and transport vessels¡ªwas ready.


    Before they set sail, Roux met with King Bruno one last time.


    Bruno stood at the palace balcony, watching the military preparations below. Roux joined him, both men looking at the sight before them.


    "This is the beginning of something greater," Bruno said.


    Roux nodded. "A new empire."


    Bruno turned to him. "Remember, the continent as we know of is not yet unified. We must strike before the other powers realize what we are doing. Expand our presence. If any of the local colonial forces stand against you¡ªcrush them. If any native factions resist¡ªannihilate them."


    Roux nodded. "Understood."


    Bruno placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "This will be your legacy as much as mine, Roux. Make Elysea proud."


    With that, Roux departed for the docks.


    On November 3, 1696, the Elysean Expeditionary Force set sail from Port Solenne, heading westward toward the uncharted lands of Pan-America.


    The journey would take weeks, and the future of their conquest was uncertain.


    But Roux was certain of one thing:


    By the time they were finished, Pan-America would belong to Elysea.

 Chapter 103 - 103: Arrival at Fort Saint-Louis

    February 1697 .


    After three grueling months at sea, the Elysean Expeditionary Force finally spotted land. The coast of Pan-America stretched before them¡ªa vast, untamed land of dense forests, rolling hills, and winding rivers. But their destination was not the wilderness.


    Their fleet was headed for Fort Saint-Louis, the only known Elysean settlement in the region. It was supposed to be their foothold on the continent, a functioning outpost that would serve as their staging ground for expansion.


    But as their warships approached, something felt off.


    First Sight of the Fort


    Marshal Armand Roux stood at the bow of the lead ship, his eyes narrowing as he examined the fort through his spyglass. The wooden walls were intact, but there was no movement¡ªno sign of soldiers on the watchtowers, no patrols along the walls. The fort''s flag, though still present, hung limp and faded.


    Beside him, Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud frowned. "It doesn''t look abandoned, but it doesn''t look well-maintained either."


    Roux lowered the spyglass. "Something isn''t right."


    The ships slowed as they neared the shoreline, their sails lowering. Cannons remained primed, and soldiers stood ready on deck, muskets loaded.


    Then, as if sensing their presence, a single cannon fired from the fort.


    The shot missed entirely, splashing harmlessly into the water.


    A Misunderstanding


    The Elysean fleet immediately prepared for combat. Officers barked orders, men rushed to battle positions, and the cannons were aimed at the fort. But before Roux could give the order to return fire, a small rowboat emerged from the fort''s dock, making its way toward them.


    Through the spyglass, Roux could see Elysean uniforms.


    "Hold fire," Roux ordered.


    A few minutes later, the rowboat reached them, and a ragged-looking officer climbed aboard. His uniform was faded, his boots were worn, and his face was lined with exhaustion. He snapped into a salute despite his disheveled appearance.


    "Lieutenant Adrien Vasseur, commanding officer of Fort Saint-Louis!" The man''s voice was hoarse.


    Roux studied him carefully. "Your fort just fired on us."


    Vasseur looked embarrassed. "That was¡­ a mistake. We had no idea what was happening. No word from the mainland in nearly a year, and when we saw an entire fleet, we feared the worst."


    Giraud scoffed. "You thought we were here to invade our own fort?"


    Vasseur straightened. "For all we knew, the fort had been forgotten. We''ve been left on our own, with dwindling supplies and no reinforcements."


    Roux exhaled, glancing back at the fort. He had expected an organized outpost, but this was turning into a liability.


    "We''ll discuss the state of your fort soon," Roux said. "For now, tell your men to stand down. We are taking over."


    Vasseur hesitated but nodded. "Yes, Marshal."


    By the afternoon, the fleet had docked, and the soldiers disembarked. Fort Saint-Louis, though still standing, was in a state of disrepair. The wooden palisades were rotting in places, the cannon emplacements rusted, and the supply stores nearly empty.


    The garrison was in no better condition. The remaining 200 soldiers were thin, underfed, and poorly equipped. Most of them had never seen battle, and the few that had looked exhausted.


    As Roux walked through the fort, his frustration grew.


    "This place is a disgrace," he muttered.


    Giraud nodded. "If this was supposed to be Elysea''s stronghold in Pan-America, it''s no wonder no one took us seriously here."


    Inside the fort''s main hall, Roux sat at a wooden table with Vasseur, his officers, and representatives of the existing garrison. A map of the surrounding land was spread out before them.


    "I want answers," Roux said. "How did this fort fall into such neglect?"


    Vasseur sighed. "We were supposed to receive supply shipments every six months, but after the last one never arrived, we realized something was wrong. We sent a ship back to Elysea to request reinforcements, but it never returned."


    Roux frowned. "And the native tribes?"


    Vasseur''s face darkened. "At first, we maintained decent relations with the local tribes. We traded, and some even saw us as useful allies. But when supplies started running low, tensions rose. Some tribes began raiding our outposts, taking what little we had left."


    Roux exchanged glances with Giraud.


    "So you''ve been cut off, under constant threat, and barely surviving," Roux summarized.


    Vasseur nodded grimly. "Yes, Marshal. We held the fort, but just barely."


    Roux leaned back in his chair, thinking. This was worse than he had expected. The fort was not a stronghold¡ªit was a forgotten relic. It had no strategic value in its current state.


    But it could be rebuilt.


    "From this moment on," Roux declared, "Fort Saint-Louis is the headquarters of the Elysean expansion in Pan-America. We will restore order, build new fortifications, and expand our presence."


    He turned to Vasseur. "You will remain in command of the fort''s existing garrison. You will assist our engineers in rebuilding and oversee recruitment from the local settlers."


    Vasseur''s eyes widened. "You mean¡­ we''re not being replaced?"


    "You''re being reinforced," Roux corrected. "But you are expected to perform now that you have the resources to do so."


    Vasseur straightened. "Yes, Marshal!"


    Roux then turned to Giraud. "Take a detachment of cavalry and scout the surrounding region. Find out which tribes are hostile and which ones can be turned into allies. If we are to expand, we need intelligence."


    Giraud smirked. "Finally, something to do."


    Lastly, Roux addressed the entire assembly. S~ea??h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "We are not here to struggle. We are here to conquer. Within the year, I want new settlements, strongholds, and roads leading inland. Pan-America will belong to Elysea, and this fort is only the beginning."


    The officers saluted. The mood in the fort had shifted from hopelessness to purpose.


    Roux looked around one last time. There was work to be done.


    But soon, Elysea would rule the West.


    The next morning, the reconstruction of Fort Saint-Louis began. Soldiers and engineers worked tirelessly, tearing down rotting wooden palisades and replacing them with sturdier logs. Cannon emplacements were repaired, and stockpiles of gunpowder and ammunition were restocked from the fleet''s supplies.


    Roux personally inspected every aspect of the fort, ensuring that it would no longer be a symbol of neglect but a bastion of Elysean power in Pan-America. The barracks were reinforced, food rations were distributed, and officers were assigned to train the garrisoned troops into a force worthy of the empire.


    Meanwhile, Giraud and his cavalry detachment rode out into the wilderness, seeking intelligence on the surrounding tribes and foreign settlements. Roux knew that the fort alone would not be enough¡ªElysea needed to expand further inland.


    As he stood atop the fort''s main watchtower, overseeing the renewed activity, Roux allowed himself a rare moment of satisfaction.


    Elysea had finally arrived in Pan-America.


    And this time, they would not be forgotten.

 Chapter 104 - 104: What to Know in the Land

    The hammering of nails, the chopping of timber, and the shouting of orders filled the air as Fort Saint-Louis came to life once more. The once-neglected outpost was now a bustling center of activity, with soldiers and engineers working tirelessly to rebuild its walls, reinforce its gates, and restore its weapon emplacements. The Elysean Expeditionary Force had wasted no time in turning what had been a forgotten relic into the first stronghold of their new conquest.


    Marshal Armand Roux stood at the center of it all, watching as teams of laborers hauled supplies from the ships. Fresh lumber, barrels of gunpowder, crates of muskets, and iron reinforcements were being unloaded and taken straight into the fort. Every hour, the fort''s defenses grew stronger.


    But fixing the fort was only the first step. Understanding the land was just as important.


    Inside the Command Hall


    Roux sat inside the fort''s command hall, a crude but functional wooden structure reinforced with stone. It was sparsely furnished¡ªjust a few wooden chairs, a table, and maps of the region. In front of him stood Lieutenant Adrien Vasseur, the man who had kept Fort Saint-Louis standing despite its dire situation.


    Vasseur still looked exhausted, but now, with a fresh uniform, food in his belly, and an army at his back, he was more composed than before.


    Roux gestured to the chair in front of him. "Sit."


    Vasseur hesitated before nodding and taking a seat. Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud stood nearby, arms crossed, listening intently. S§×arch* The n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "I need information," Roux began, tapping his fingers on the table. "We didn''t sail across the ocean just to sit inside this fort. You''ve been here for a year. Tell me about this land."


    Vasseur took a deep breath before speaking. "Pan-America is¡­ wild. Vast forests, mountains, rivers¡ªmore land than any empire has claimed. But unlike Africa, there are no great kingdoms. Just scattered settlements, tribes, and a few foreign outposts."


    Roux nodded. "And what of the native tribes?"


    Vasseur''s expression darkened. "There are many. Some are small, isolated groups that don''t concern us. Others are larger confederations, powerful enough to control vast regions. Some of them were friendly at first, willing to trade. But when our supplies stopped coming, they lost faith in us. Others¡ªparticularly the warrior clans inland¡ªalways saw us as invaders."


    Giraud smirked. "I assume we''ll be dealing with them soon."


    Roux ignored him and leaned forward. "Which tribes are the strongest?"


    Vasseur reached for a map on the table, unrolling it. It was old and faded, but it showed what little was known of the land. He pointed to a region to the northwest.


    "The Akunza Confederation is the most powerful in this region. They control the trade routes along the rivers. Their warriors are skilled¡ªmuskets, horses, and iron weapons, likely obtained from Iberian traders."


    Roux frowned. "And the Europeans?"


    Vasseur nodded. "The Iberians have a few forts along the coast to the south, but their presence is weak. The Britannians have their own colony further north, but they''re struggling. Neither has made serious efforts to push inland. The land is too dangerous, and they lack the manpower."


    Roux smirked. "Then we will succeed where they failed."


    Roux tapped the map. "Tell me about the land itself. Resources, trade goods, anything of value."


    Vasseur sighed. "We haven''t explored much, but from what we''ve gathered, there''s gold in the rivers, timber in the forests, and rich farmland waiting to be claimed. The problem is getting people to settle here. Right now, it''s all wilderness."


    Roux nodded. "That will change. We''ll send for settlers from Elysea once we establish order. But first, we secure the land."


    Vasseur leaned back. "Marshal, I won''t lie to you. This place will not be easy to tame. The tribes are unpredictable, the land is harsh, and the other European powers¡ªthough weak¡ªwill not ignore us forever."


    Roux smirked. "I don''t expect it to be easy, Lieutenant. I expect it to be war."


    With the information gathered, Roux laid out his immediate plan for expansion.


    Fort Saint-Louis must be secured. The outer walls would be reinforced with stone and iron, watchtowers would be built, and supply lines established.


    Scouting operations would begin immediately. Giraud and his cavalry would push inland, mapping the rivers, hills, and forests. They would determine where the next settlements and fortifications should be built.


    Tribes would be divided and conquered. The weaker ones would be brought under Elysean rule through diplomacy or intimidation. The hostile ones would be eliminated.


    European rivals would be monitored. The Albionites and Iberians were not threats yet, but that could change. Roux needed to know their movements.


    That afternoon, drills began for the Fort''s garrison. The thin, underfed soldiers who had once struggled to hold Saint-Louis were given proper training, discipline, and weapons.


    Roux watched as the men lined up in formation, muskets at the ready. A sergeant barked orders, and volleys of gunfire rang out over the fort.


    Vasseur stood beside Roux. "They''ll need time."


    "They don''t have time," Roux said coldly. "They either become soldiers now, or they die when the fighting begins."


    Giraud rode back into the fort later that evening, his cavalry detachment returning from a brief scouting mission.


    "We found a few scattered villages to the west," he reported. "No warriors, just farmers. They might be useful."


    Roux nodded. "Send emissaries. If they join us peacefully, they will be protected. If not¡­"


    Giraud grinned. "Then they will burn."


    Just before sundown, a scout came running into the fort. His uniform was torn, and he was out of breath.


    "Marshal!" he gasped. "One of our patrols was ambushed! We lost five men!"


    Roux''s expression hardened. The war had already begun.


    "Who?" he demanded.


    "We don''t know," the scout admitted. "But the attack was quick¡ªarrows, spears, and a few muskets. The survivors said they saw war paint."


    Vasseur cursed. "The Akunza Confederation."


    Roux clenched his fists. "Then they have just made their first mistake."


    He turned to his officers. "Prepare the men. We will send them a message they will never forget."


    The following morning, Elysea''s first military campaign in Pan-America was set into motion.


    With 300 elite soldiers, cavalry scouts, and local guides, Roux led his first strike force inland. Their mission was clear¡ªfind the enemy, crush them, and establish Elysean dominance.

 Chapter 105 - 105: The Akunza

    The Elysean army marched through the dense Pan-American wilderness, muskets at their sides and eyes scanning the trees for signs of movement. The humid air was thick with the scent of wet earth and the distant calls of unseen animals. Marshal Armand Roux rode at the head of the column, his face impassive, but his mind focused. The ambush of an Elysean patrol had set this expedition in motion¡ªnow, it was time to respond with force.


    Behind him, 300 elite soldiers, hardened from the African campaigns, marched in disciplined formations. Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud led a cavalry detachment of 50 men, their horses carefully picking through the uneven terrain. Native scouts, recruited from friendly villages, moved ahead of the main force, guiding them toward the suspected Akunza stronghold.


    The mission was simple: find the enemy, eliminate the threat, and establish Elysean dominance in the region.


    By midday, the column had covered nearly fifteen miles of rough terrain, following trails marked by the scouts. Roux studied the surrounding jungle¡ªthick, untamed, and full of dangers. Unlike the open savannas of Africa, Pan-America''s interior was a labyrinth of towering trees, fast-moving rivers, and valleys that could easily hide an entire army.


    Suddenly, one of the scouts returned at full sprint.


    "Marshal!" the man gasped. "We''ve found something¡ªa camp. About a mile ahead."


    Roux motioned for the column to halt. "How many?"


    "Fifty to seventy warriors," the scout reported. "It''s a forward camp, not a main village. They don''t know we''re here."


    Giraud grinned. "Then let''s make sure they never do."


    Roux dismounted his horse and quickly gathered his officers. A surprise attack was the obvious choice, but it had to be done efficiently. The goal was not just to win¡ªbut to send a message.


    "We will surround the camp from three sides," Roux ordered. "Giraud, take the cavalry and block the escape route to the west. I will lead the main force in from the north. No survivors."


    The officers nodded.


    The Elyseans moved into position, silent as death.


    As the sun began to dip, Roux gave the signal.


    Gunfire erupted from the jungle, tearing into the camp. Warriors barely had time to react before musket balls ripped through their tents and bodies. Screams filled the air as men scrambled for weapons, but the attack was overwhelming.


    The Elysean infantry advanced methodically, firing in disciplined volleys. Any warriors who tried to escape were cut down by Giraud''s cavalry, their sabers flashing in the evening light.


    Within minutes, the battle was over.


    The ground was littered with bodies. The camp, once a temporary base, was now a massacre site.


    Roux stepped through the wreckage, his saber still drawn. Among the dead, he spotted a wounded warrior, struggling to crawl away. The man''s chest was painted with tribal symbols, and a musket lay just out of reach.


    Roux knelt beside him. "Where is your main camp?"


    The warrior only glared at him.


    Roux sighed, raised his pistol, and fired point-blank.


    The rest of the warriors who had been captured were quickly executed. This was not a war for negotiations¡ªit was conquest.


    As night fell, Roux gathered his officers near the burning remains of the enemy camp. The first engagement had been a success, but it was only a step in a much larger war.


    "This camp was small," Roux said. "The real enemy is still out there."


    Giraud wiped blood from his saber. "We keep pushing, then."


    Roux turned to the scouts. "What do we know about their main settlement?"


    One of the guides stepped forward. "The Akunza Confederation''s main village lies twenty miles west, near the great river. That is where their warriors gather."


    Roux considered the map. A direct march would take them there within two days, but it would also give the enemy time to prepare. He needed an advantage.


    "We will move at dawn, but we won''t attack immediately," Roux said. "We''ll set up camp near the river and draw them into a fight on our terms."


    Giraud raised an eyebrow. "And if they don''t take the bait?"


    Roux smirked. "Then we burn their homes and force them to come to us."


    At first light, the Elysean army continued westward, leaving behind the smoldering ruins of the enemy camp. They moved swiftly, keeping off the main paths to avoid detection.


    By midday, they reached the banks of the great river¡ªa wide, winding waterway that cut through the land like a natural fortress.


    Roux ordered the men to set up a defensive encampment, positioning artillery on a nearby hill to give them a tactical advantage.


    If the Akunza Confederation wanted to fight, they would be marching straight into Elysean firepower.


    As the soldiers dug trenches and built fortifications, scouts reported movement to the west.


    Giraud grinned. "Looks like they''re coming."


    Roux nodded. The real battle was about to begin.


    By nightfall, the first war drums echoed from the distance. The sound was low, rhythmic¡ªa warning and a challenge.


    Roux stood at the edge of the camp, staring into the dark jungle beyond the river.


    "They''re gathering," he said. S~ea??h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Giraud smirked. "Good. Let them come."


    Throughout the night, the Elysean soldiers reinforced their positions. Muskets were loaded, artillery cannons were checked, and scouts reported that a large force of warriors was approaching from the west.


    By dawn, the Akunza Confederation''s army had arrived.


    Hundreds of warriors lined the trees, their bodies painted in war symbols, their weapons gleaming in the morning light. They shouted and banged their spears against their shields, a display of power and intimidation.


    Roux stood atop a small ridge, watching them carefully.


    "This is their final mistake," he said.


    Giraud grinned. "Time to teach them what war truly means."


    As the sun rose over Pan-America, the battle for the Akunza Confederation''s future was about to begin.


    And Elysea would crush everything in its path.


    The warriors of the Akunza Confederation began to advance, their formation loose but filled with fierce energy. Their chants grew louder, their weapons raised high as they prepared to charge. Roux remained motionless, his gaze fixed on the approaching force.


    "Hold the line," he ordered calmly.


    Elysean artillery officers stood at the ready, waiting for the signal. The cannons were loaded, their barrels aimed toward the enemy''s ranks. Behind them, musketeers positioned themselves in disciplined formations, their rifles leveled, fingers hovering over the triggers.


    Roux raised his hand.


    "Fire."

 Chapter 106 - 106: The Battle Against the Natives

    The command to fire was met with an earth-shaking roar as the Elysean artillery unleashed its first volley. Cannonballs tore through the advancing Akunza warriors, sending bodies flying and shattering shields like dry twigs. The impact sent plumes of dirt and smoke into the air, momentarily obscuring the battlefield.


    Then came the musket fire.


    A thunderous crack rolled across the riverbank as disciplined volleys of lead ripped into the enemy ranks. Warriors collapsed mid-charge, some screaming in pain while others fell lifeless without a sound. The Akunza formation faltered but did not break. Their war cries did not cease; if anything, they grew louder.


    Roux watched the chaos unfold from his vantage point atop the ridge. He had seen this before¡ªoutnumbered enemies charging headlong into musket fire, relying on numbers and sheer will to close the distance. He knew that if they reached the Elysean lines, the fight would become brutal, close-quarters combat.


    "Steady!" Roux called out. "Keep firing!" S§×ar?h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    The Elysean soldiers obeyed. Their training kept them disciplined, reloading with precision as another volley was unleashed into the enemy ranks. More warriors fell, but the rest pressed on.


    Giraud, leading the cavalry positioned on the right flank, gritted his teeth. "They''re still coming, Marshal."


    Roux gave a single nod. "Let them."


    The Akunza warriors finally reached the outer trenches, vaulting over the dirt barriers with astonishing speed. Some carried crude muskets acquired through trade or raids, firing wildly at the Elysean soldiers. Others brandished spears, axes, and clubs, aiming to close the distance.


    "Bayonets!" Roux barked.


    With a practiced motion, the front-line soldiers fixed their bayonets onto their muskets just as the enemy crashed into them. The air filled with the sounds of metal clashing against wood and flesh.


    The disciplined Elysean formations held firm. Warriors lunged at them, but were met with bayonet thrusts to the gut or rifle stocks smashing into their skulls. Some managed to strike down an Elysean soldier, but for every man they killed, five of their own fell.


    Giraud saw his moment. "Cavalry! Charge!"


    The right flank erupted as fifty horsemen galloped forward, sabers flashing. They slammed into the enemy''s exposed side, cutting through warriors with ruthless efficiency. Horses trampled over fallen bodies as Giraud''s men hacked down stragglers.


    Roux shifted his gaze to the enemy rear. The Akunza warriors were fully committed, all of their forces now engaged in the fight. Their main weakness was clear¡ªthere was no reserve, no fallback plan.


    "Signal the left flank," Roux ordered. "Send in the second line."


    A rider waved a red flag, signaling the hidden detachment positioned further along the riverbank. More Elysean troops emerged from the tree line, muskets at the ready.


    Caught between disciplined musket fire, relentless cavalry, and a fresh wave of reinforcements, the Akunza warriors began to waver. Their fierce war cries turned into desperate shouts. Some tried to flee, but they were already surrounded.


    Roux did not hesitate.


    "Advance!" he commanded.


    The Elysean line surged forward, bayonets driving deep into the enemy ranks. The Akunza warriors fought desperately, but without formation or coordination, they were overwhelmed. The battlefield turned into a slaughter.


    The sun was high in the sky when the last warrior fell. Blood soaked the grass, mingling with the bodies of the fallen. The Elysean soldiers stood victorious, their uniforms stained with dirt and blood.


    Giraud wiped his saber on a dead warrior''s tunic before turning to Roux. "It''s over."


    Roux surveyed the battlefield, his expression unreadable. "Not yet."


    Survivors, those who had surrendered or were too wounded to fight, were rounded up. Many were defiant, even in defeat, but their fate had already been sealed.


    "What do we do with them?" one of the officers asked.


    Roux''s answer was immediate. "Execute them."


    There was no need for prisoners. This was not a war of diplomacy. It was conquest.


    Gunshots echoed through the clearing as the captured warriors were systematically put to death.


    The Akunza Confederation had been broken.


    By nightfall, the Elysean army set up camp near the battlefield. Fires burned low as soldiers ate rations and tended to their wounded. Victory was theirs, but this was just the beginning.


    Inside a makeshift war tent, Roux met with his officers. A large map of the region was spread across a wooden table, marked with crude drawings of settlements and rivers.


    "We''ve crushed their warriors," Roux said, his voice steady. "Now, we take their land."


    The officers nodded.


    Giraud traced his finger along the river. "With the Akunza Confederation gone, we have an open path deeper into Pan-America. Their villages will either submit or be wiped out."


    Vasseur, the commander of Fort Saint-Louis, had accompanied them to the battle. He looked hesitant. "Marshal, if I may¡ªsome of these villages could be useful if they choose to cooperate."


    Roux glanced at him. "You believe they will surrender?"


    "Some might," Vasseur admitted. "If they see the power of Elysea, if they know resistance means death, they may accept our rule."


    Roux considered it. He was not opposed to using local populations for labor, scouting, and supply chains, but he would not waste time on negotiations.


    "Fine," he said. "Send riders to the nearest villages. Offer them a simple choice¡ªsubmit to Elysea and be allowed to live under our rule. Resist, and they will share the fate of the Akunza Confederation."


    Giraud smirked. "That should make things clear enough."


    Roux stood, his gaze firm. "We move at dawn. This region belongs to Elysea now."


    The following days were spent securing the surrounding territory. The villages that had once been under the Akunza Confederation''s protection were defenseless.


    Some resisted. They were burned to the ground.


    Others surrendered. Their chiefs bent the knee, their people allowed to live under Elysean rule¡ªso long as they followed orders.


    Fort Saint-Louis, once a neglected outpost, had now become the center of a growing colonial empire. Reinforcements arrived from the main fleet, bringing more soldiers, supplies, and even settlers eager to carve a new life in Pan-America.


    As Roux stood atop the walls of the fort, looking out over the land that had once been wild and untamed, he knew one thing:


    This was only the beginning.


    Elysea had arrived.


    And there was no one left to stop them.

 Chapter 107 - 107: Expanding the Territory

    The victory over the Akunza Confederation had sent shockwaves through the region. Word of the Elysean army''s brutal efficiency spread quickly, reaching distant villages and settlements. Some sent envoys to pledge their submission, hoping to avoid the same fate. Others retreated further into the wilderness, clinging to the belief that they could resist.


    Marshal Armand Roux had no intention of giving them that chance.


    From his command post at Fort Saint-Louis, Roux wasted no time in organizing the next phase of the campaign. The fort was no longer just a neglected outpost¡ªit had become the heart of Elysea''s expansion in Pan-America. Engineers and laborers, both Elysean and native conscripts, worked day and night to expand the fortifications.


    Stone walls replaced the rotting wooden palisades. Artillery emplacements were reinforced. A new barracks was built to house the growing garrison, and supply depots were stocked with rations, ammunition, and medical supplies.


    Giraud, ever eager for action, stood beside Roux as they observed the construction efforts. "It''s coming together," he noted. "This place was a ruin when we arrived."


    Roux nodded. "A ruin won''t hold an empire. When we''re done, Fort Saint-Louis will be an unbreakable stronghold."


    More soldiers arrived from the fleet, bringing Elysea''s forces in Pan-America to nearly 6,000 men. Settlers from the homeland had also begun to arrive, eager to claim land and wealth in the new colony.


    Despite the rapid progress, resistance still simmered. Some villages accepted Elysean rule but remained passive, refusing to assist the occupiers. Others harbored fugitives from the Akunza Confederation or plotted in secret.


    Roux would not tolerate it.


    One morning, scouts reported that a village to the south had refused to send tribute. Worse, they had killed an Elysean patrol and left their bodies to rot on the outskirts of their settlement.


    Roux acted immediately.


    Leading 500 men, he marched on the village. The soldiers arrived at dawn, surrounding the settlement before the inhabitants could flee.


    The village chief, an elderly man with a defiant glare, stood at the center as his people were forced to their knees. "We do not answer to foreigners," he spat.


    Roux did not argue. He gave a simple order: "Burn it down."


    The soldiers set fire to the thatched huts while the villagers watched in horror. Smoke rose into the sky as the flames consumed their homes, their food stores, their way of life. Those who had resisted were executed on the spot. The survivors were marched back to Fort Saint-Louis, where they would be put to work expanding the colony.


    Roux turned to Giraud. "Make sure word of this spreads."


    Giraud smirked. "Oh, it will."


    By the next week, three more villages surrendered without a fight.


    With the surrounding region pacified, Roux turned his attention to securing the land for Elysean settlers. Surveyors were sent out to map the terrain, identifying fertile land for agriculture and sites for new settlements.


    The first colonial town, Nouvelle-Solenne, was established twenty miles west of Fort Saint-Louis along the banks of the Great River. It would serve as both a trading post and a hub for Elysean expansion. Roads were cleared through the dense wilderness, connecting the fort to the new settlement.


    However, expansion was not without difficulties.


    Disease was a constant threat. The humid jungle climate bred sickness, and supplies of medicine were limited. Some soldiers and settlers fell to fever, their bodies buried in shallow graves outside the fort''s walls.


    Wildlife posed another danger. Stories of massive beasts lurking in the rivers spread among the men, and some patrols had gone missing in the night. The local tribes knew the dangers well, but they did not share their knowledge freely.


    "We need more native scouts," Roux admitted to Giraud one evening. "Ones who understand this land better than we do."


    "We''ll find them," Giraud assured him. "Everyone has a price."


    As Elysea tightened its grip on Pan-America, Roux knew that their presence would not go unnoticed. The scattered colonial settlements in the region belonged to other European powers, and sooner or later, there would be conflict. S§×arch* The novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    The first sign of trouble came when an Elysean patrol encountered a group of foreign soldiers near the eastern coastline. The soldiers bore the flag of the Iberian Crown, a rival empire with its own ambitions in Pan-America.


    The Iberian officer, a grizzled veteran named Captain Hernando Castillo, was brought to Fort Saint-Louis under orders to "discuss" the situation.


    In Roux''s command tent, the two men faced each other across a wooden table.


    "You Elyseans move quickly," Castillo said, his tone neutral. "We had assumed Fort Saint-Louis was abandoned."


    "Assumptions can be dangerous," Roux replied. "Especially in war."


    Castillo smirked. "War? No, no, Marshal. This is not war. This is discovery. Pan-America is a vast land, unclaimed by any one power. My king believes in peaceful expansion."


    "Peaceful expansion," Roux repeated. "And yet, here you are, wandering into my territory."


    "Is it your territory?" Castillo asked. "Or are you simply claiming what does not belong to you?"


    Roux leaned forward. "Everything belongs to Elysea if we decide it does."


    The tension in the room was palpable.


    Castillo chuckled. "A bold statement. But you and I both know the truth¡ªour nations will not settle this with words."


    Roux did not smile. "Then prepare for what comes next."


    Castillo stood, giving a slight bow. "A pleasure meeting you, Marshal. Let us see who claims Pan-America in the end."


    The Iberians left the fort peacefully, but the message was clear¡ªconflict was coming.


    Roux wasted no time. If war was inevitable, he would strike first.


    Giraud was placed in charge of training additional cavalry units. Fortifications around Nouvelle-Solenne were reinforced. More supply ships were requested from the homeland.


    At night, Roux stood atop the walls of Fort Saint-Louis, staring out into the darkness. The land ahead was vast, untamed, and full of enemies.


    Elysea had carved its first foothold into Pan-America.


    Now, they would take the rest.


    The wind carried the distant sounds of drums from the wilderness, a reminder that the native tribes still watched, still resisted. Roux tightened his grip on the stone battlements. The Iberians, the natives, and the wilderness itself¡ªall stood in Elysea''s path. But the empire did not stop for obstacles. It crushed them.

 Chapter 108 - 108: The New Threat

    The Iberians were not fools.


    Marshal Armand Roux knew that Captain Castillo''s visit was no mere diplomatic encounter. It was a test, a warning, and a message wrapped in pleasantries. The Iberian Crown was watching, measuring Elysea''s strength, and planning its next move. Roux had no intention of waiting for them to act first.


    Fort Saint-Louis was expanding rapidly, but it was still vulnerable. If the Iberians struck before Elysea could solidify its foothold, everything Roux had built in Pan-America would be at risk.


    He wouldn''t let that happen.


    Preparing for the Inevitable


    Roux wasted no time. Orders were sent out across the colony¡ªmore defenses, more troops, and more supplies. Every available man was put to work reinforcing the walls, digging trenches, and expanding the outer defenses of both Fort Saint-Louis and Nouvelle-Solenne.


    Cavalry patrols were doubled, with orders to monitor every known Iberian outpost along the eastern coastline. Any sign of movement¡ªany troop reinforcements, any supply convoys, anything out of the ordinary¡ªwas to be reported immediately.


    In the governor''s office, Roux met with his officers to finalize their preparations.


    "We need more artillery," Giraud pointed out, tapping the map spread out before them. "If the Iberians decide to attack, we won''t be able to rely on our muskets alone."


    "We have six cannons at the fort and four in Nouvelle-Solenne," Lieutenant Vasseur added. "That''s enough to hold out, but not enough to launch an offensive."


    Roux nodded. "I already sent a request for reinforcements from the homeland. More cannons, more troops, more ships. But it will take time for them to arrive."


    Giraud smirked. "Then we make sure we survive until then."


    By the end of March, reports from the cavalry scouts confirmed what Roux had suspected¡ªthe Iberians were preparing for something.


    Several warships had arrived along the eastern coast, reinforcing their outposts. More importantly, their soldiers had begun patrolling deeper into the interior, encroaching upon lands that Elysea claimed as its own.


    It was a provocation.


    Roux rode out with a small detachment of cavalry to see for himself. He and Giraud observed from a ridge as an Iberian patrol moved through the valley below¡ªfifty men, muskets slung over their shoulders, their captain riding at the head of the column.


    "They''re testing us," Giraud muttered.


    "They want to see how far they can push before we react," Roux agreed.


    Giraud adjusted his grip on the reins. "Should we remind them of their place?"


    Roux considered it. They could open fire, cut them down, and send a message¡ªbut that would trigger war immediately. He wasn''t ready yet.


    "No," Roux decided. "Let them pass¡ªfor now."


    But war was coming.


    While tensions with the Iberians escalated, Roux pushed forward with expanding Elysea''s colonial presence. More settlements were established along the river, forming a chain of fortified villages that would act as supply points for future campaigns.


    He ordered the construction of a new fort, Fort Verdun, thirty miles inland from Nouvelle-Solenne. Positioned on a natural high ground overlooking the surrounding valley, it would serve as a defensive stronghold against both native and Iberian threats.


    The settlers who arrived from the homeland were eager but wary. They knew the risks¡ªhostile terrain, disease, and the constant threat of attack. But the promise of land, wealth, and a new life was enough to lure them across the ocean.


    Roux made it clear to the new arrivals: this was not a place for weakness.


    "If you cannot work, you do not eat," he told them bluntly. "If you cannot fight, you will learn."


    The colony was not a paradise. It was a battleground for the future.


    The peace¡ªif it could be called that¡ªdid not last.


    On the morning of April 7th, an Elysean supply convoy traveling between Nouvelle-Solenne and Fort Verdun was attacked. The soldiers escorting the wagons were found dead, their bodies left on display along the road as a warning.


    It was an ambush.


    And it had been carried out by Iberian soldiers.


    The scouts tracked the attackers back to a small Iberian outpost near the coastline. Roux did not hesitate.


    "They think they can strike us and walk away unscathed?" he growled.


    That night, the Elysean army struck back. sea??h th§× n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Roux led 200 of his best men in a swift retaliatory raid. They descended upon the Iberian outpost under the cover of darkness, muskets firing in controlled volleys as they stormed the settlement. The Iberians, caught off guard, barely had time to mount a defense before the Elyseans were upon them.


    Giraud''s cavalry cut down the sentries before they could raise the alarm. The outpost commander, a lieutenant, was dragged from his quarters and brought before Roux.


    "You murder my men, you challenge my rule, and you think you can walk away?" Roux said coldly.


    The lieutenant spat at his feet.


    Roux drew his pistol and shot him in the head.


    The rest of the Iberian survivors were executed, their bodies left hanging from the trees along the road. The outpost itself was burned to the ground.


    It was a message.


    By mid-April, the conflict had escalated beyond mere skirmishes. The Iberians had fortified their own positions, bringing in reinforcements and preparing for what was quickly becoming an inevitable war.


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    Letters arrived from King Bruno himself, commending Roux for his actions and promising further support. But Elysea''s forces in Pan-America were still outnumbered. The Iberians had more men, more ships, and a stronger foothold along the eastern coast.


    Roux needed an edge.


    He gathered his officers once more, laying out the next phase of the campaign.


    "We cannot allow the Iberians to entrench themselves," Roux said. "We will strike first."


    Giraud grinned. "Now we''re talking."


    Roux pointed to the map. "Their largest outpost, Fort San Rafael, is thirty miles east of Nouvelle-Solenne. If we take it, we cut off their reinforcements and cripple their operations."


    Vasseur frowned. "It won''t be easy. The Iberians will defend it fiercely."


    Roux smirked. "Then we make sure they don''t live long enough to do so."


    By the end of April, Elysea and Iberia were on the brink of open war. Fort Saint-Louis bristled with soldiers preparing for the inevitable conflict. Supplies were stockpiled, cannons were primed, and the settlers braced for what was to come.


    On the night before the campaign against Fort San Rafael, Roux stood at the edge of the fort, staring eastward.


    The Iberians were strong, but Elysea was stronger.


    The wilderness of Pan-America would be reshaped in blood.


    And Roux would ensure that it was Elysean blood that ruled the land.

 Chapter 109 - 109: No Turning Back

    The time for diplomacy had passed. Elysea and Iberia were now locked in a conflict that would decide the fate of Pan-America. Marshal Armand Roux had no interest in waiting for the Iberians to make the next move. He would bring the fight to them.


    Fort San Rafael, the largest Iberian outpost in the region, was the key. If Elysea took it, Iberia''s ability to reinforce its colonial holdings would be crippled. Their supply lines would be cut, and their influence in Pan-America would collapse.


    Roux was not one for hesitation. He ordered his forces to prepare for war.


    On April 15, 1697, the Elysean army departed Fort Saint-Louis. It was a force built for conquest¡ª1,200 infantry, 300 cavalry, and six artillery pieces. Giraud led the cavalry, scouting ahead for enemy patrols, while Vasseur commanded the rear guard, ensuring that the supply wagons kept pace.


    As they moved eastward, the terrain changed. The dense jungle gave way to rolling hills and open plains, ideal for a siege. Scouts had reported that Fort San Rafael was well-defended¡ªhigh stone walls, a garrison of 800 men, and enough supplies to last for weeks. But Roux was not planning a long siege. Sear?h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    He intended to break them in days.


    After four days of marching, the Elysean army reached the outskirts of the fort. Roux and his officers observed it from a ridge. The Iberians had positioned sentries along the walls, their banners fluttering in the wind. Smoke rose from within, signaling an active and prepared garrison.


    "They know we''re coming," Giraud muttered.


    "Let them prepare," Roux replied. "It won''t help them."


    That night, Roux summoned his officers for a final strategy meeting.


    "We strike at dawn," he announced. "Artillery will target the main gate and weaken their defenses. Infantry will attack from the west, while Giraud leads the cavalry around to cut off their escape. There will be no retreat for them."


    Vasseur nodded. "And if they refuse to surrender?"


    Roux''s expression was cold. "Then we kill them all."


    As the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, the Elysean cannons roared.


    The first volley smashed into the fort''s outer walls, sending stone and debris flying. The second volley struck the main gate, splintering its wooden frame. Inside, the Iberians scrambled to mount a defense, musketeers rushing to the parapets and returning fire.


    Elysean soldiers advanced in disciplined formations, their muskets raised as they marched toward the weakened defenses. Drummers beat a steady rhythm, driving the troops forward.


    From his position at the front, Roux watched as the Iberians struggled to contain the assault. Their walls were strong, but they were not indestructible. Another round of artillery fire hammered the gate, and with a final explosion, the structure collapsed inward.


    "Charge!" Roux commanded.


    The Elysean infantry surged forward, storming through the broken gates. Inside, the Iberians fought desperately, but they were outmatched. The disciplined volleys of the Elysean musketeers cut them down as they tried to rally.


    Giraud''s cavalry had positioned themselves along the eastern road, waiting for any attempt to flee. When a group of Iberian soldiers tried to break out, they were met with sabers and gunfire. None escaped.


    For hours, the battle raged. The Iberians fought fiercely, but one by one, their defensive positions crumbled. Blood stained the cobblestone streets as the fighting spread into the heart of the fort.


    By midday, the Iberian garrison was in full retreat. Some barricaded themselves inside the central keep, hoping to hold out, but Roux had no patience for a prolonged fight.


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    He ordered the cannons to be brought forward. The first shot crashed into the keep''s outer wall, sending a section crumbling down. The second blew a hole large enough for men to enter.


    The Elyseans stormed in.


    The last remnants of Iberian resistance were wiped out in brutal close-quarters combat. Those who surrendered were executed.


    By nightfall, Fort San Rafael belonged to Elysea.


    Roux stood atop the fort''s walls, surveying the battlefield. Fires still burned where the fighting had been fiercest. The ground was littered with the dead¡ªboth Iberian and Elysean.


    Vasseur approached, wiping blood from his uniform. "It''s done. The last of them have been dealt with."


    Roux nodded. "Casualties?"


    "Seventy dead, nearly two hundred wounded," Vasseur reported. "We won, but it wasn''t easy."


    Roux turned his gaze toward the east, where the coastline lay beyond the hills. "We need to reinforce this position immediately. The Iberians will retaliate."


    And he was right.


    Over the next week, reports arrived that Iberian warships were moving along the coast. They would not let Fort San Rafael fall without a response. Roux ordered fortifications to be strengthened and artillery to be positioned along the walls. If the Iberians came, they would be ready.


    The capture of Fort San Rafael had given Elysea control of the eastern frontier. But the war was far from over.


    As Roux stood in the captured fort, he knew that the real battle was still ahead.


    Elysea had won a major victory.


    Now, they had to hold it.


    The days following the capture of Fort San Rafael were spent fortifying the stronghold. Engineers reinforced the damaged walls, artillery was repositioned for optimal defense, and trenches were dug along the outer perimeter. Supplies from Fort Saint-Louis were brought in, and wounded soldiers were treated as best as the limited medical resources allowed.


    Roux wasted no time in preparing for the inevitable Iberian counterattack. Scouts had already spotted enemy warships patrolling the coastline, and reports indicated that a relief force was being mustered inland. The Iberians would not let this loss go unanswered.


    "We need more men," Vasseur said as he studied the defenses. "If they attack with full force, we''ll be outnumbered."


    "We hold with what we have," Roux replied. "We have artillery, we have the high ground, and we have no intention of retreating."


    Giraud, standing nearby, smirked. "Let them come. They''ll break against these walls like the others."


    Still, Roux knew that numbers alone could turn the tide. If the Iberians launched a full-scale assault, Fort San Rafael would become a bloodbath. He needed reinforcements. He needed more supplies. And most of all, he needed to crush the Iberians before they could mount a proper retaliation.

 Chapter 110 - 110: No Chance

    April 30, 1697 ¨C Fort San Rafael, Pan-America.


    The Iberian retaliation was inevitable. Marshal Armand Roux knew that the capture of Fort San Rafael had sent shockwaves through the region, and the enemy would not sit idly while one of their strongest bastions fell into Elysean hands. The fort was a crucial foothold, giving Elysea control over trade routes and the interior of Pan-America, but holding it would be another battle entirely.


    Inside the walls, the fort buzzed with activity. Soldiers repaired damages, artillery crews positioned cannons on the ramparts, and laborers dug trenches beyond the outer perimeter. Supplies continued to arrive from Fort Saint-Louis, but Roux knew they were limited. The Iberians had superior naval strength in the region, and if they moved to blockade the coastline, resupply would become a nightmare.


    From the highest tower, Roux observed the horizon through his spyglass. The sun had barely risen, casting a golden glow over the surrounding hills. He scanned the eastern coastline, searching for any sign of approaching ships. Nothing yet. But that would change soon.


    Vasseur climbed up the stairs behind him, his uniform still stained with the blood from the previous battle. "Marshal, the scouts have returned. We have confirmation¡ªan Iberian force is on the move."


    Roux lowered his spyglass. "How many?"


    "Rough estimates place them at around 2,000 men, marching from the south. They''re bringing artillery and supply wagons, likely preparing for a siege."


    Roux exhaled, considering their options. "And the coastline?"


    "No sightings of enemy ships yet," Vasseur said. "But the sailors say it''s only a matter of time."


    Roux nodded. The Iberians were being methodical. They would strike from land first, hoping to weaken the fort''s defenses before blockading them from the sea. It was a sound strategy, but one Roux had no intention of allowing to succeed.


    "Send word to Fort Saint-Louis," Roux ordered. "Tell them we need every available soldier. The Iberians think they can starve us out, but they''ll find themselves trapped instead."


    Vasseur saluted. "Understood, sir."


    May 2, 1697.


    The Iberian army was less than five miles from Fort San Rafael when the first scouts spotted them. Dust clouds rose from the distant hills, marking the movement of their troops.


    Roux stood atop the main gate, watching as enemy banners appeared along the ridgeline. The Iberians had arrived.


    A single rider, bearing a white flag, emerged from their ranks and approached the fort at a steady pace. The Elysean sentries tensed, gripping their muskets, but Roux raised a hand, signaling them to stand down.


    "Open the gate," he ordered.


    The heavy wooden doors creaked open, and the Iberian emissary rode through. He dismounted just outside the inner courtyard, removing his helmet to reveal a weathered face marked by years of service.


    "Marshal Roux," the man greeted, his accent thick with Iberian tones. "I am Colonel Alejandro de Vargas, commander of the forces before you. I have come to offer terms."


    Roux stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back. "Iberia is in no position to offer terms."


    De Vargas smirked. "On the contrary. You are outnumbered. You hold a captured fort with no direct supply lines. If you surrender now, we will spare your men."


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    Roux chuckled. "And if I refuse?"


    "Then we will take this fort back by force."


    Roux''s expression turned cold. "Try it."


    De Vargas sighed, shaking his head. "Very well. You will regret this decision, Marshal."


    Without another word, the Iberian commander turned and rode back toward his army.


    Roux turned to his officers. "Prepare the men. They''ll attack soon."


    May 3, 1697.


    At dawn, the Iberians fired the first cannon volley.


    The thunderous roar echoed across the valley as iron shot slammed into the fort''s walls, sending debris flying. Elysean artillery responded immediately, returning fire from the ramparts. Explosions rippled across the battlefield as both sides exchanged heavy bombardments.


    From his command post, Roux assessed the situation. The Iberians were advancing in three formations¡ªone column pressing the southern wall, another moving to flank from the west, and a third hanging back with their cannons, pounding the fort''s defenses.


    "Hold your fire until they''re in range!" Roux ordered.


    The Iberians closed the distance quickly, musketeers forming ranks as they advanced. Drummers beat a steady rhythm, driving their soldiers forward.


    Then, the Elyseans fired.


    The first volley tore through the enemy lines, cutting down the front ranks. Smoke filled the air as musket fire erupted from the ramparts. The Iberians faltered but pressed on, returning fire.


    At the southern wall, ladders were raised as enemy soldiers scrambled to climb.


    "Push them back!" Vasseur shouted. S~ea??h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Elysean grenadiers hurled explosives over the walls, sending fire and shrapnel raining down. Muskets cracked, cutting down those who tried to scale the ladders. The Iberians fought viciously, but the defenders held firm.


    On the western flank, Giraud led a cavalry detachment through the sally port, launching a sudden counterattack. His riders smashed into the enemy ranks, sabers flashing. The Iberians reeled, struggling to maintain formation against the surprise assault.


    For hours, the battle raged. The air was thick with gunpowder and the screams of the dying. The Iberians threw everything they had at the fort, but the Elyseans refused to break.


    By midday, the enemy''s assault began to waver. Their ranks thinned, their officers shouted desperate orders, but it was clear¡ªthey were losing.


    Then, Roux saw his opportunity.


    "Prepare to counterattack!" he roared.


    The gates swung open, and Elysean infantry poured out, bayonets fixed. They crashed into the exhausted Iberians, driving them back with ruthless efficiency. The battlefield became a slaughter as the enemy''s formations collapsed.


    By nightfall, the Iberians were in full retreat. Their dead littered the field, their wounded left behind. The survivors fled toward the hills, their banners abandoned in the dirt.


    Fort San Rafael had held.


    The victory was decisive. The Iberian threat had been repelled, and their forces shattered. But Roux knew this was only the beginning.


    As he stood atop the bloodstained walls, staring into the distance, he knew one thing for certain.


    Elysea was here to stay.

 Chapter 111 - 111: Another War?

    September 1697 ¨C The Royal Palace of Elysea


    King Bruno sat at the head of the grand war council chamber, a massive oak table stretching before him, covered with maps, reports, and letters from across the empire. The room was filled with high-ranking officials¡ªmilitary commanders, colonial administrators, and members of the royal cabinet. The scent of burning candles and ink filled the air as scribes prepared to record the discussions.


    At the far end of the table, Marshal Armand Roux''s latest report from Pan-America lay open, detailing Elysea''s dominance over the continent''s eastern regions. The war in Pan-America was progressing faster than expected, but it was also drawing unwanted attention.


    Bruno tapped his fingers against the table as he read the details. Fort San Rafael was now an impenetrable stronghold, Iberian resistance had been obliterated, and Elysea had established multiple settlements, including Nouvelle-Solenne, which had rapidly grown into a strategic colonial city.


    The Iberians had underestimated them.


    A smirk tugged at the King''s lips. "It seems Marshal Roux has exceeded expectations."


    Antoine Leclerc, his Chief of Staff, nodded. "Elysea''s presence in Pan-America is now undeniable. We control key trade routes, military outposts, and a growing colonial population. The Iberians have been driven back, and their influence is waning."


    Bruno leaned forward, his expression turning serious. "And yet, they still refuse to accept their defeat."


    Leclerc sighed. "That brings us to our next issue. The Iberian ambassador has requested an audience."


    A murmur passed through the room.


    Bruno raised an eyebrow. "And what does he want?"


    Leclerc handed him a sealed letter. "He demands an explanation regarding the recent battles in Pan-America. According to him, the Iberian Crown considers the engagements near Fort San Rafael to be an act of war, even though no official declaration was made."


    Bruno let out a low chuckle. "They send an army to wipe us out, we slaughter them, and now they want an ''explanation''?" He shook his head. "Typical."


    Leclerc gave a knowing smile. "It appears that they did not expect the kind of firepower we brought to the field."


    Bruno thought back to the Gatling guns Roux had deployed. Reports described how the Iberian forces had been torn apart, their tactics shattered by a weapon they had never encountered before.


    "They assumed we would fight with muskets and sabers," Bruno mused. "Instead, we gave them something far deadlier."


    A general on the council leaned forward. "Sire, do we grant the ambassador his audience?"


    Bruno smirked. "Of course. Let''s hear what he has to say. But make no mistake¡ªwe will not apologize for our victories." Explore more stories at My Virtual Library Empire S~ea??h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Later that afternoon, Ambassador Hernando de Villanova arrived at the royal palace, escorted by a pair of Elysean guards. He was an older man, his graying beard neatly trimmed, and his silk Iberian robes displaying the colors of his king. His expression was carefully neutral, but his eyes held undisguised tension.


    Bruno sat upon his throne, dressed in a regal black and gold coat, his crown resting lightly atop his head. Leclerc and several advisors stood behind him, forming a wall of silent authority.


    De Villanova bowed stiffly before speaking. "Your Majesty, I come as a representative of the Iberian Crown, seeking clarification on the unprovoked aggression that has occurred in Pan-America."


    Bruno raised an eyebrow. "Unprovoked?"


    De Villanova adjusted his stance. "Our forces in Pan-America were defending our rightful lands, and yet they were met with overwhelming force from your armies. Fort San Rafael was taken by bloodshed, and our soldiers were massacred in the fields."


    Bruno''s smirk did not fade. "Ah, so now it is a massacre when you lose?"


    De Villanova''s lips tightened. "Your Majesty, you must understand that these engagements cannot be ignored. The Iberian Crown demands an explanation. Are we at war, or are these mere accidents?"


    Bruno exhaled slowly, as if considering his words carefully. Then, he leaned forward.


    "Tell me, Ambassador, did your king declare war before sending an army to attack our holdings?"


    De Villanova hesitated. "The forces that engaged your troops were merely responding to an unlawful occupation¡ª"


    Bruno interrupted with a sharp chuckle. "Unlawful? Elysea claims what it can hold. Your Iberian commanders thought they could wipe us out, yet they failed. And now, instead of victory, they send you here to save face."


    The ambassador''s expression hardened. "The Iberian Crown does not take this lightly, Your Majesty. If an agreement is not reached, Iberia will be forced to take action."


    Bruno sat back, amusement in his eyes. "Then take action."


    The room fell silent.


    De Villanova''s face paled slightly. "Your Majesty¡­"


    Bruno''s voice was smooth, but firm. "Elysea will not back down. We will not return Fort San Rafael. We will not halt our expansion. And we will not answer to the Iberian Crown." He leaned forward again. "If your king wishes to escalate this into war, then let him try. We will be ready."


    De Villanova swallowed. The ambassador had likely expected a negotiation, perhaps some reparations to smooth things over. Instead, he had encountered absolute defiance.


    Realizing that no further discussion would change the King''s mind, de Villanova straightened his posture. "I will relay your words to my king."


    Bruno gave him a dismissive wave. "Do so. And tell him Elysea is here to stay."


    With that, the meeting was over.


    As soon as the ambassador left, Leclerc chuckled. "That certainly did not go the way he had hoped."


    Bruno smirked. "No, but it went exactly the way I wanted."


    One of the advisors frowned. "Sire, if Iberia declares war, it could bring European powers into the conflict. We must be prepared for more than just Pan-America."


    Bruno nodded. "Then we prepare."


    He turned to Leclerc. "Increase production of gatling guns and modern weaponry. We will need more for the coming war."


    Leclerc nodded. "I will see to it immediately."


    Bruno''s gaze fell back to the map of Pan-America, his fingers tracing the newly conquered territories. Elysea had made its first real move on the world stage, and now, there was no turning back.


    Iberia had a choice¡ªaccept their defeat, or fight a war they could not win.


    And Bruno knew exactly which one they would choose.

 Chapter 112 - 112: Nope...Treaty

    The Iberian Royal Palace in Madrid was a grand structure of towering marble columns and golden chandeliers, a testament to the empire''s power and legacy. Yet, within its halls, a quiet tension had settled. The Royal Council had gathered in the Hall of State, where King Felipe IV of Iberia sat at the head of a long, polished table, surrounded by his most trusted ministers and military leaders.


    The subject of the meeting was clear¡ªthe Elysean incursion in Pan-America.


    The recent battles at Fort San Rafael had been a humiliating defeat. The Iberian forces had underestimated the Elyseans, believing them to be just another European power looking to establish a few minor colonies. Instead, Elysea had brought weapons never seen before¡ªGatling guns, which had ripped through entire battalions with horrifying efficiency.


    Felipe''s fingers tapped against the table as his generals and advisors spoke.


    "The reports confirm that the Elyseans have solidified their hold over the eastern territories," stated Duke Fernando de Mendoza, the Iberian Minister of War. "Our forces have retreated to the western regions, and our commanders have advised against launching another attack."


    Felipe''s expression was unreadable. "You mean to tell me that we have already lost Pan-America?"


    A silence filled the chamber before Mendoza finally spoke again.


    "Sire¡­ it is not that we have lost. It is that we must decide if Pan-America is worth fighting for."


    Felipe narrowed his eyes. "Explain."


    Mendoza sighed. "We have greater concerns elsewhere¡ªour holdings in Africa, the continued conflict with the League of Italian States, and the constant threat from the Habsburgs. Pan-America was never a core region of our empire, merely an extension of our reach. What has been taken by the Elyseans is land that, while valuable, is not critical to our sovereignty." Sear?h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    The king leaned back in his chair. "So, you are saying we should give them the frontier?"


    The Duke nodded. "Yes, but not freely."


    The room stirred.


    "We sell it to them," Mendoza continued. "We make it official¡ªElysea wants to claim Pan-America? Let them. But they will pay Iberia for the right to keep it."


    Felipe considered this. "And if they refuse?"


    "Then nothing changes," Mendoza replied. "They already hold the land, and we have neither the means nor the desire to fight them over it. But if they accept, we turn a humiliation into an advantage. The funds we receive will be invested into our military and naval forces, preparing us for the wars that truly matter."


    Felipe''s ministers exchanged glances. The plan made sense. Stay connected with My Virtual Library Empire


    "Very well," Felipe said at last. "Summon the Elysean ambassador."


    October 20, 1697 ¨C The Elysean Royal Palace.


    The Iberian Ambassador Hernando de Villanova once again found himself standing before King Bruno. Unlike his previous visit, his posture was more relaxed, and his expression less tense.


    Bruno, dressed in his usual black and gold coat, studied the ambassador carefully from his throne. Antoine Leclerc, his Chief of Staff, stood at his right, along with other high-ranking officials.


    "Ambassador," Bruno greeted. "I did not expect you so soon. Has the Iberian Crown decided on war?"


    De Villanova shook his head. "No, Your Majesty. Iberia has no intention of engaging in an unnecessary conflict over Pan-America."


    Bruno raised an eyebrow, intrigued.


    "Your victories have been acknowledged," de Villanova continued. "You have proven that Elysea is willing to fight for the frontier. But my king believes that war over such a distant land is not worth the cost."


    Bruno leaned forward slightly. "Then why are you here?"


    De Villanova straightened his posture. "The Iberian Crown is prepared to recognize Elysea''s dominion over the Pan-American frontier. However, sovereignty comes with a price."


    Bruno smirked. "You wish to sell us what we have already taken?"


    The ambassador met his gaze firmly. "You have won through battle, yes. But without official recognition, your presence remains a disputed claim. This means other European powers may see an opportunity to challenge your expansion. If you purchase the land from Iberia, that challenge disappears. No other nation will question your ownership."


    Bruno leaned back in his throne, considering the proposal. It was a clever move¡ªIberia was turning its defeat into a financial gain, ensuring that even in losing, it still benefited.


    Leclerc spoke up. "And what price does Iberia demand?"


    De Villanova handed over a document. "Two million livres, paid in gold or silver, over the course of five years. In exchange, the Iberian Crown will officially cede all territorial claims in Pan-America to Elysea."


    A silence settled in the room as the Elysean officials examined the document. It was a reasonable sum¡ªnot an exorbitant demand, but enough to be a profitable arrangement for Iberia.


    Bruno tapped his fingers against the armrest of his throne. Two million livres was a small price to pay for full sovereignty.


    He turned to Leclerc. "Thoughts?"


    Leclerc smirked. "It is a good deal, Your Majesty. A fraction of our war budget. And once we control the resources of Pan-America, it will pay for itself within a decade."


    Bruno chuckled. "So, Iberia is selling its failure to us. Interesting." He turned back to de Villanova. "Tell your king that Elysea accepts the terms."


    De Villanova nodded. "Then it is settled."


    Bruno smiled. "I suppose I should thank your king for making this easier than expected."


    De Villanova exhaled. "His Majesty believes this is the wisest course for Iberia."


    Bruno''s grin widened. "Oh, I agree. But understand this, Ambassador¡ªyour king just sold an entire continent to me. One day, he may regret that decision."


    De Villanova said nothing.


    The meeting was over.


    November 1697.


    On November 15, 1697, Elysea and Iberia formally signed the Treaty of Madrid, finalizing the transfer of all Iberian claims in Pan-America to Elysea in exchange for two million livres.


    With the stroke of a pen, Elysea had become the undisputed ruler of the frontier.


    As news of the treaty spread, Elysean settlers and soldiers celebrated. There would be no more Iberian resistance, no more looming threat of war. The continent was theirs to shape as they saw fit.


    In Fort Saint-Louis, Marshal Armand Roux read the news with a satisfied smirk. "So, the Iberians are tucking their tails between their legs?" he remarked to Captain Giraud.


    "They were smart enough to cut their losses," Giraud replied. "But we both know this isn''t over."


    Roux nodded. "No. Now, we must claim the rest of Pan-America before another power does."


    From the royal palace, Bruno watched as Elysean trains set their steams, carrying settlers, supplies, and weapons to their new land.


    Pan-America belonged to Elysea now.


    And soon, the entire world would know it.

 Chapter 113 - 113: Next Move

    The Treaty of Madrid had secured Elysea''s rule over Pan-America, but Marshal Armand Roux knew that their work was far from finished. Iberia had ceded its claims, but other European powers still had footholds in the region¡ªthe Germania and the Dutch Republic. While they had not yet made moves against Elysea, it was only a matter of time before they turned their attention to the rapidly growing colonial empire.


    From his command post in Fort Saint-Louis, Roux stood over a massive map of Pan-America, studying the regions that remained beyond Elysea''s control. To the north, the Germania had established small but well-defended settlements along the coast, trading furs and resources. To the south, the Dutch held several fortified outposts, supported by their powerful navy. The Wallachia, meanwhile, controlled a few strategic ports, acting as middlemen in the transatlantic trade.


    Elysea''s path to complete dominance would not come without resistance.


    ***


    Inside Fort Saint-Louis, Roux gathered his top officers¡ªCaptain ¨¦tienne Giraud, Lieutenant Adrien Vasseur, and several colonial administrators. The room was filled with the scent of burning candles and parchment, the map before them marked with enemy territories. S§×ar?h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Roux''s voice was firm. "The Iberians are gone, but our work is far from over. Pan-America is not yet ours."


    Giraud leaned forward, arms crossed. "The Dutch are the next logical target. Their outposts are weak. If we strike quickly, we can seize them before reinforcements arrive."


    Vasseur hesitated. "But their navy is strong. If we move against them, their fleet could blockade us."


    Roux nodded. "Which is why we do this efficiently. We hit them before they can react."


    He pointed to the Dutch outposts on the southern coast. "If we take Willemshaven, their strongest colony, the rest will crumble. Their economy in the region depends on that trade hub."


    Giraud grinned. "Then we cut them off."


    May 1698.


    On May 12, 1698, Elysea''s forces marched south toward Willemshaven, the largest Dutch stronghold in Pan-America. The settlement was heavily fortified, with stone walls and coastal artillery, but its garrison was small¡ªno more than 800 soldiers.


    Roux led an army of 1,500 men, accompanied by four field cannons and two Gatling guns¡ªthe newest addition to Elysea''s arsenal. These weapons had devastated the Iberians, and now, they would do the same to the Dutch.


    The Battle Begins


    At dawn, Elysea''s artillery opened fire, blasting the outer walls of Willemshaven. Cannonballs tore through the stone, sending debris raining down on the defenders.


    Inside the fort, Dutch officers scrambled to organize their troops, but the Gatling guns had already been deployed. As the gates shattered, Elysean troops advanced, and the machine guns opened fire.


    The effect was catastrophic.


    The Dutch defenders, trained for muskets and cannons, were unprepared for the relentless barrage of bullets. Their lines collapsed instantly, soldiers cut down before they could even raise their weapons.


    Panic spread.


    Some Dutch troops attempted to retreat, but Giraud''s cavalry flanked them, cutting down those who fled.


    By midday, the battle was over.


    Willemshaven had fallen.


    Roux stood atop the fort''s walls, overlooking the battlefield below. Hundreds of Dutch soldiers lay dead, their bodies littering the streets.


    Vasseur approached. "The survivors are surrendering. Willemshaven is ours."


    Roux nodded. "Good. Secure the armory and the docks. Any Dutch warships that try to escape¡ªsink them."


    Within hours, Elysea''s banners flew over Willemshaven.


    With their largest colony lost, the remaining Dutch outposts surrendered within days.


    Elysea now controlled the southern trade routes.


    But while the Dutch had been swiftly eliminated, Germania had been watching.


    June 1698.


    One week after the fall of Willemshaven, a Germania warship arrived off the coast of Fort Saint-Louis, carrying an envoy from Prince Wilhelm von Triesenberg, the governor-general of their Pan-American holdings.


    Roux stood at the docks, watching as the envoy approached, flanked by Elysean guards. The man¡ªCount Lukas von Austerlitz¡ªhad the calm demeanor of a diplomat, but his steel-gray eyes hinted at the power Germania still held in the region.


    He bowed slightly. "Marshal Roux, Germania wishes to discuss the recent¡­ developments."


    Roux smirked. "You mean our victories."


    Von Austerlitz didn''t react. "The Prince wishes to know Elysea''s intentions. We have observed your forces expanding aggressively, absorbing Dutch territory. If your ambitions extend further south, we will be forced to respond."


    Roux crossed his arms. "And if they do not?"


    Von Austerlitz met his gaze. "Then we will remain at peace. Germania is not interested in war¡ªnot yet."


    Roux considered the statement. Germania was testing Elysea''s resolve. They wanted to see if Elysea would provoke them directly or if there was room for an unspoken agreement.


    "Tell your Prince that Elysea has no quarrel with Germania¡ªunless Germania stands in our way."


    Von Austerlitz smiled faintly. "Then let us hope we do not."


    With that, the envoy departed, leaving Roux and his officers to consider the next move.


    Back in Fort Saint-Louis, Roux gathered his officers for a strategy meeting.


    "We have secured the Dutch ports and sent a message to Germania," Roux said. "The question now is¡ªdo we stop here, or do we keep pushing?"


    Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud leaned forward. "Germania is waiting for an excuse to fight. If we cross into their lands, they''ll respond. But if we move north, against Germania, we avoid them entirely."


    Vasseur frowned. "Germania''s settlements are small, but they have strong ties to their homeland. If we take them, we risk bringing the full force of their navy upon us."


    Roux tapped his fingers against the table. Both paths carried risks.


    Push south, and Triesenberg would retaliate.


    Push north, and Germania would intervene.


    He exhaled. "We need time. We consolidate our forces, strengthen our defenses, and prepare for war. But when the time comes¡­ we strike first."


    The officers nodded.


    Elysea had crushed Iberia and annihilated the Dutch.


    Now, only Wallachia and Germania remained.


    And Roux had no intention of stopping. After all, his mission here is not yet completed. The mission given to him by the King was to conquer Pan-America and turn it into a territory of Elysea.

 Chapter 114 - 114: Conquered Continent

    July 1698.


    Marshal Armand Roux knew that Elysea''s position in Pan-America had never been stronger. The Iberians were gone, the Dutch had been annihilated, and Germania had chosen to stand aside¡ªfor now. That left only one major power to challenge them: Wallachia.


    Unlike Germania, which had scattered settlements focused on fur trading, Wallachia controlled key ports along the southern coastline. These ports acted as critical nodes in the transatlantic trade, bringing in valuable resources from Africa and Europe.


    Taking them would be no easy task.


    Wallachia was a naval power, boasting a fleet far stronger than anything Elysea had encountered thus far. If Elysea moved too quickly, Wallachian warships could cut off supply lines and trap their forces inland.


    But if they struck first¡ªbefore Wallachia could react¡ªPan-America would belong to Elysea.


    The Strategy Meeting


    Inside Fort Saint-Louis, Roux met with Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud, Lieutenant Adrien Vasseur, and their key officers. The command room was dimly lit, the scent of wax and parchment heavy in the air. A massive map of Pan-America was spread across the table, marked with enemy locations and Elysea''s expanding territory.


    Roux tapped a finger against the southern coastline. "Wallachia has three major port cities: Constanta, Varna, and Sarmizegetusa. If we take these, we take their ability to resupply. We starve them out."


    Giraud smirked. "Simple enough. We storm the cities, force them into open battle, and wipe them out like we did the Dutch."


    Vasseur, ever the strategist, shook his head. "It''s not that simple. The Dutch were weak, outnumbered, and unprepared. Wallachia is not. They have a powerful fleet. If they send reinforcements from Europe, we''ll be fighting a war we can''t win."


    Roux exhaled. "Then we don''t give them the chance to call for help."


    Silence fell over the room as the officers absorbed his words.


    "We take all three ports in a single campaign," Roux continued. "We move fast, strike hard, and destroy their ability to fight back before they can react."


    The plan was bold¡ªrisky even¡ªbut it was the only way.


    Giraud grinned. "A full-scale blitz. I like it."


    Preparing for War


    Over the next few weeks, Elysea''s army prepared for the largest military operation in Pan-America yet.


    3,000 soldiers were assembled¡ªa mix of veteran infantry, cavalry, and artillery crews.


    Six Gatling guns were positioned alongside ten field cannons, ensuring that their firepower would be overwhelming.


    Supply lines were reinforced, ensuring they would not be cut off mid-campaign.


    The Elysean Navy, though small, was strengthened with additional ships, including captured Dutch vessels to transport troops along the coast.


    By August 1, 1698, the Elysean army was ready.


    The First Target: Constanta


    The first strike was aimed at Constanta, the northernmost Wallachian stronghold. The city was protected by high walls, a garrison of 1,200 soldiers, and coastal artillery capable of repelling a naval assault.


    But they were not prepared for the Gatling guns.


    On August 5, Elysea attacked. sea??h th§× N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    At dawn, Elysean cannons roared, battering the city walls. Wallachian defenders returned fire, but they were soon met with the terrifying hail of bullets from the Gatling guns.


    The Wallachian lines collapsed almost immediately.


    Elysean troops stormed the gates, cutting down any resistance.


    By midday, Constanta had fallen.


    The survivors surrendered, and Elysea took full control of the port.


    With Constanta under Elysean control, the army marched south toward Varna, the second-largest Wallachian stronghold.


    The Wallachians knew the attack was coming.


    They had fortified their defenses, reinforcing the city walls and preparing their troops for a last stand.


    But Roux was already two steps ahead.


    Instead of attacking from the front, he split his forces, sending Giraud and his cavalry behind the city, cutting off escape routes.


    When the Elysean cannons opened fire, the Wallachians tried to hold the walls.


    But the Gatling guns once again shattered their ranks.


    When Giraud''s cavalry struck from behind, the battle was over in hours.


    By August 12, Varna belonged to Elysea.


    The last remaining Wallachian stronghold was Sarmizegetusa¡ªthe most important city in Wallachia''s Pan-American trade network.


    If it fell, Wallachia''s presence in the New World would be finished.


    But this time, the Wallachians were ready.


    By the time Elysea arrived on August 18, Wallachian warships had gathered in the harbor, cutting off a direct naval assault. The city itself was fortified, with over 2,000 Wallachian soldiers prepared to defend it to the last man.


    This would be the hardest battle yet.


    At dawn, Elysea attacked.


    The Gatling guns shredded through the Wallachian ranks as artillery pounded the walls.


    But this time, the Wallachians fought back harder than expected.


    Their naval guns bombarded the Elysean lines, forcing Roux''s troops to take cover.


    For hours, the battle raged.


    Elysean forces struggled to break through.


    But then, Giraud spotted a weakness.


    The eastern gate was lightly defended, its walls weakened from the bombardment.


    Giraud led a cavalry charge, smashing through the gates and flanking the defenders.


    The Wallachians, already struggling to hold the main line, panicked.


    Within three hours, the city had fallen.


    Sarmizegetusa was in Elysean hands.


    By August 20, Wallachia''s last stronghold was gone.


    Their warships fled, their colonists abandoned the settlements, and their government withdrew all claims to the region.


    Wallachia''s empire in Pan-America had ceased to exist.


    King Bruno listened as the final reports came in.


    Leclerc, standing beside him, smirked. "So, Pan-America is completely ours?"


    Bruno grinned. "Yes."


    Elysea had done the impossible.


    From a small colonial power to the undisputed ruler of an entire continent.


    Bruno raised his glass. "To Elysea."


    His officers toasted.


    Pan-America was no longer a battlefield.


    It was Elysea''s empire.


    Two months had passed since the fall of Wallachia in Pan-America, and the final reports had finally reached the Elysean capital.


    King Bruno sat in his private study, the warm glow of candlelight illuminating the stacks of documents before him. Across the polished mahogany table, Antoine Leclerc, his Chief of Staff, stood with a satisfied smirk.


    "It is done, Your Majesty," Leclerc said, placing the final set of reports before the king. "Pan-America is completely under our control. The last Wallachian ships have withdrawn, and their colonial government has formally surrendered all claims."


    Bruno leaned back, letting the weight of those words settle. Elysea had done what no other European power had accomplished¡ªabsolute dominance over an entire continent.


    "The world will take notice," Bruno murmured, a grin forming.


    Leclerc nodded. "They already have."

 Chapter 115 - 115: Do I Still Need a King?

    With the conquest of Pan-America complete, the banners of Elysea flew unchallenged across the vast continent. Iberia, Wallachia, and the Dutch had fallen. No other European power had dared to lay claim to the New World.


    The only challenge that remained was the untamed wilderness itself.


    From the frozen north to the dense jungles of the south, vast territories remained beyond Elysea''s reach. The indigenous tribes had seen what happened to those who resisted. Some had submitted, becoming allies or subjects of Elysea. Others had fled deeper into the wilds, refusing to bow to the empire.


    King Bruno was not satisfied with half a continent. Elysea would rule from the icy tundras of the north to the southernmost reaches of the world.


    For that, he needed Marshal Armand Roux to do what he did best¡ªconquer.


    Inside the newly expanded Fort Saint-Louis, Roux stood over a massive map of the Americas, the flickering candlelight casting shadows across the room. His top officers were gathered¡ªCaptain ¨¦tienne Giraud, Lieutenant Adrien Vasseur, and several colonial administrators.


    "Pan-America is ours," Roux said, his voice steady. "But our work is far from done."


    Vasseur nodded, studying the map. "To the north, we have frozen wilderness, dense forests, and scattered tribes. It will be difficult terrain to settle."


    "And to the south?" Giraud asked.


    Roux''s expression hardened. "A land untouched by civilization. Mountains, rivers, jungles, and native warriors who will not surrender easily. If we take it, Elysea will stretch across the entire continent."


    Bruno had given the order. The entire landmass must be brought under Elysean control.


    The officers leaned in as Roux laid out the plan.


    "We will divide our forces into three campaigns."


    The Northern Expedition: A force of 2,000 soldiers and settlers would push north, claiming the frozen tundras and river valleys.


    The Central Expansion: A network of roads, towns, and forts would be established to solidify Elysea''s hold over the land.


    The Southern Conquest: A massive campaign into the jungles, mountains, and plains of the south, where the last great native strongholds remained.


    Roux smirked. "We''re going to finish what we started."


    March 1699


    The first campaign pushed into the frozen north, where endless pine forests, ice-covered lakes, and roaring rivers stretched for thousands of miles.


    Led by Lieutenant Adrien Vasseur, 2,000 Elysean soldiers, trappers, and settlers set out to tame the frontier.


    The greatest challenge was the harsh environment.


    Blizzards tore through their camps.


    Frozen rivers made travel difficult.


    Native war parties launched ambushes before disappearing into the snow.


    The Elyseans responded with brutal efficiency.


    Armed with Gatling guns and artillery, they tore through defensive villages that tried to resist. Entire tribes fled further north, unwilling to fight against the unstoppable march of Elysea.


    By July 1699, the north had been secured.


    New forts and trading outposts were established, allowing fur trappers and settlers to push deeper into the region. Elysea now ruled the frozen north.


    While the northern campaign raged on, Elysea''s central territories were transformed.


    The goal was simple: turn the land into an empire.


    Roads were built, connecting towns and military forts.


    New cities were founded, attracting settlers eager for land and opportunity.


    Bridges and river docks allowed goods to flow from one region to another.


    Elysea was no longer just a military force¡ªit was a civilization stretching from coast to coast.


    By October 1699, the heartland of the empire was flourishing.


    But one final challenge remained¡ªthe southern frontier.


    And it would be the bloodiest campaign yet.


    November 1699


    The southern territories were a different beast entirely.


    Unlike the frozen north, where small bands of natives had scattered, the south was home to powerful tribes and warrior kingdoms that had ruled for centuries.


    The Elyseans called them the "People of the Last Lands"¡ªproud, fierce, and determined to resist until the very end.


    To claim this land, Marshal Roux led the largest military force ever assembled in Elysea''s history:


    5,000 soldiers


    Cavalry units trained for jungle warfare


    Heavy artillery and six Gatling guns Sear?h the novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Engineers to build forts and supply lines


    This was not just a military campaign.


    This was extermination.


    By December 1699, Elysea had pushed deep into the southern jungles and mountains.


    The native warriors fought harder than any enemy before. They knew the land, using ambushes, traps, and guerrilla tactics.


    But they had never faced the firepower of Elysea.


    Gatling guns mowed down entire warbands.


    Artillery flattened enemy strongholds.


    Cavalry cut down warriors trying to flee.


    For months, the battles raged.


    Entire villages burned, their warriors slaughtered. Some tribes surrendered and were absorbed into Elysea''s empire. Others fought to the last man, refusing to kneel.


    By March 1700, the last native kingdom had fallen.


    The south belonged to Elysea.


    With the north, center, and south secured, Elysea''s dominion over the New World was absolute.


    No enemy remained. No territory stood outside their grasp.


    From the frozen tundras to the endless jungles, the entire landmass was Elysean territory.


    In April 1700, King Bruno received the final reports.


    Leclerc stood beside him, reading the documents. "It''s done, Your Majesty. There are no more enemies left."


    Bruno smirked. "Then we have done what no empire has ever done before."


    He turned to face his advisors and generals, lifting his glass.


    "Elysea is now the sole ruler of the Americas."


    "No challengers. No rivals. Only us."


    The cheers of the court echoed through the palace.


    In just a few short years, Elysea had transformed from a rising power into the greatest empire on Earth.


    And for Bruno, this was only the beginning.


    The New World belonged to Elysea.


    With Pan-America firmly under Elysean rule, Marshal Armand Roux stood at the peak of his power.


    His armies had crushed every enemy before them. His name was spoken with both fear and reverence. The native tribes whispered it in the dark, and even the officers who served under him could not deny the iron grip he held over the continent.


    From Fort Saint-Louis, Roux ruled the land like a king in all but name.


    And that was the problem.


    The victories, the conquests, the expansion¡ªit was all under his banner.


    Yes, it had been King Bruno''s vision, but it was Roux''s hands that had shaped it. Roux''s soldiers had bled for it. Roux''s strategy had delivered it.


    And with every city that fell, with every battlefield that was claimed, Roux''s head grew heavier with pride.


    For years, he had been the sword of Elysea, carrying out the King''s will.


    But now, standing over a map of a continent he had conquered, Roux found himself asking a question that had once been unthinkable.


    Does the King still need me?


    Or more dangerously¡ªDo I still need the King?

 Chapter 116 - 116: Growing Tension

    Marshal Armand Roux had spent years at war, carving out an empire from the untamed wilderness. His hands had shaped Elysea''s future, and now, the entire continent belonged to the crown.


    Yet, as he stood in Fort Saint-Louis, overseeing the daily affairs of what had become the de facto capital of the New World, he felt something that had never weighed on him before.


    Discontent.


    The land was his to rule in all but name. His orders governed the territories, his generals controlled the garrisons, and his soldiers marched at his command.


    And yet, across the ocean, King Bruno sat on a throne, signing documents as if he had fought for any of this.


    Roux dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come. He was no king. He was a soldier.


    But soldiers were meant to fight, to conquer, to create. What happened when there were no more wars left to win?


    He pushed the thought away and turned to his officers.


    "We move forward," Roux said, his voice firm. "The conquest is over, but Elysea''s work has just begun. We must ensure our rule lasts beyond our lifetimes."


    The empire was built. Now, it had to be secured.


    Two weeks later, a royal courier arrived at Fort Saint-Louis.


    The men gathered as Roux opened the sealed letter, reading it in silence. It was a summons.


    King Bruno was calling him back to the capital.


    For what purpose, the letter did not say.


    His officers waited for him to speak.


    Giraud crossed his arms. "You''ve not even finished settling the new territories, and already the King calls you back."


    Vasseur nodded. "Perhaps he means to reward you."


    Roux exhaled. "Or remind me that he is still my King."


    He folded the letter and set it aside. "We will go."


    There was no hesitation. He was still loyal.


    Wasn''t he?


    When Roux arrived in the royal capital, it was the first time he had set foot in the homeland in years.


    It was different. Softer.


    The people did not march; they strolled. There was no scent of gunpowder or iron in the air, only perfume and the sweet aroma of street vendors selling fresh bread.


    Roux should have been comforted. Instead, he felt out of place.


    Inside the royal palace, he was met with grandeur beyond anything in the New World. Gold-trimmed walls, high marble ceilings, and nobles dressed in the finest silks.


    They whispered as he passed.


    This was not his world.


    King Bruno sat on his throne, watching as Roux approached.


    The Marshal knelt, though only briefly. It was a formality, not an act of submission.


    Bruno studied him carefully before speaking. "Marshal Roux, you have given me a continent."


    Roux nodded. "It was your vision, Your Majesty."


    The King smiled, but there was something calculated behind it. "Yes. And your strength that made it reality."


    A pause.


    Bruno leaned forward. "And now, tell me, Roux¡ªwhat should I do with you?"


    Roux blinked. What should I do with you?


    It was an odd question, but it carried weight.


    Bruno wasn''t just thanking him. He was probing. Testing.


    The court listened in silence. Would the Marshal ask for power? For a title? For more?


    Roux''s answer would shape what came next.


    But Roux, ever the soldier, kept his response simple.


    "I serve Elysea, Your Majesty. That has not changed."


    Bruno studied him. He didn''t believe it.


    And for the first time, Roux wondered if he truly believed it himself.


    The meeting ended shortly after, but the question still lingered.


    As the weeks passed, Roux remained in the capital. And he realized something unsettling.


    He had not been summoned to be rewarded.


    He had been summoned to be contained.


    Bruno was no fool. He saw what Roux had become¡ªmore than a soldier, more than a governor.


    To the people, to the army, Roux was a legend. A hero.


    And a hero was a dangerous thing.


    Bruno had no intention of letting that power grow any further.


    One evening, Roux met with Leclerc, the King''s most trusted advisor.


    Leclerc, ever the shrewd politician, poured them both a glass of wine.


    "You know why you''re here, don''t you?" Leclerc asked.


    Roux sipped his drink, saying nothing.


    Leclerc chuckled. "The King does not need to say it aloud. You are too powerful."


    Roux finally spoke. "I serve the crown."


    Leclerc smirked. "And yet, the soldiers do not cheer for the crown. They cheer for you."


    Roux exhaled, setting his glass down. This was not a conversation. It was a warning.


    The King was watching.


    Waiting for Roux to overstep.


    And if he did¡­ it would mean war.


    Two days later, Roux received his new orders.


    Bruno was sending him back.


    Not to govern, not to expand¡ªbut to remove him from the capital.


    The message was clear. Stay in the New World. Stay away from the throne.


    Roux left the capital without protest, but as he boarded the ship, he understood something he had never considered before.


    Bruno feared him.


    Not as a rival.


    But as a potential king. S§×arch* The Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    And now that the thought had entered his mind, Roux could not let it go.


    As Roux returned to Fort Saint-Louis, he was no longer just a Marshal.


    He was something more.


    Something the King could not control.


    And that meant only one thing.


    Elysea was at peace. But war was coming.


    ***


    Meanwhile, back in the Royal Palace. King Bruno knew it''s better safe than sorry. After all, the rise of Marshal Roux reminded him of that one historical figure from his previous world, Napoleon Bonaparte.


    A brilliant general who had led France to glory, only to turn on his own monarch and seize power. The similarities between Napoleon and Roux were too striking to ignore.


    Both were war heroes, beloved by their men. Both had been given great power by their kings, only to outshine the throne itself. And now, Roux was in a position no general should ever be in¡ªa ruler in all but name.

 Chapter 117 - 117: Snapped

    May 1700 ¨C Fort Saint-Louis, New World


    Marshal Armand Roux had returned to the New World, but something had changed.


    Before, he had seen himself as a soldier of Elysea. Now, he was the architect of its empire.


    The days passed as they always had¡ªinspections, orders, governance¡ªbut the words of King Bruno and his advisor Leclerc never left him.


    "And now, tell me, Roux¡ªwhat should I do with you?"


    "You are too powerful."


    Even here, thousands of miles from the royal palace, he could feel Bruno''s watchful eyes upon him.


    The King feared him.


    And for the first time, Roux wondered if he should fear the King in return.


    Despite the subtle warning sent by Bruno, Roux wasted no time in consolidating his power.


    Within weeks of his return to Fort Saint-Louis, he began restructuring the colonial administration.


    He appointed only those loyal to him to key positions¡ªgovernors, military officers, supply coordinators. Many were veterans who had fought by his side, men who had bled for Elysea but owed their survival to him, not the King.


    By July 1700, Roux had made himself indispensable.


    No decree could be enforced in the New World without his approval.


    No army could march without his command.


    No city could rise without his hand guiding it.


    He was still loyal to Elysea.


    But was he loyal to the crown?


    August 1700 ¨C The Royal Palace, Elysea


    King Bruno stood in his private chamber, staring at the map of the New World pinned to the wall.


    Elysea had become the largest empire in history, its territory unmatched. And yet, the true ruler of that empire was not him.


    It was Roux.


    Leclerc entered the chamber and set down a report. "It''s worse than we thought," he said.


    Bruno read it in silence.


    The Marshal had rewired the entire colonial government, ensuring no authority from the capital could function without his approval. Even officers loyal to the monarchy had been gradually removed from key positions.


    He was building his own court, his own power base.


    Bruno placed the report down. "He is making his move."


    Leclerc nodded. "But not openly. Not yet."


    Bruno clenched his jaw. If Roux''s ambitions remained unchecked, there would come a day when he would have no choice but to declare himself sovereign.


    And by then, it would be too late to stop him.


    The King would not wait for that day to come.


    By September 1700, Roux received a new decree from the royal court.


    He was being recalled to Elysea.


    Bruno had ordered his return, this time with no ambiguity.


    The official reason?


    To "celebrate the full unification of the New World" with a grand parade in the capital.


    The real reason?


    To remove him from his power base. To keep him under control.


    Roux read the letter carefully, his expression unreadable.


    His officers waited in silence.


    Finally, Captain Giraud spoke. "This is a trap."


    Lieutenant Vasseur crossed his arms. "If you leave, they will never let you return."


    Roux knew that.


    If he left for the capital, he would be surrounded by men loyal to Bruno. The King would either imprison him, strip him of his command, or worse.


    But if he refused¡­


    Then it would mean war.


    For a long moment, Roux said nothing.


    Then, he folded the letter and placed it on the table.


    "I will not go."


    The room fell silent.


    This was treason.


    And with those words, the fate of Elysea had changed.


    October 1700 ¨C The Royal Palace, Elysea


    Bruno''s fist slammed against the table.


    "He refused?" The words dripped with disbelief.


    Leclerc, standing beside him, nodded grimly. "He has sent word that ''his duty remains in the New World, where his presence is needed.''"


    Bruno clenched his jaw. Roux was challenging him openly now.


    "He has declared himself my equal," the King muttered. His eyes flickered with a dangerous light.


    "No, Your Majesty," Leclerc corrected. "He has declared himself above you."


    The King took a long breath.


    Roux had made his move.


    Now, Bruno had to make his.


    November 1700 ¨C Fort Saint-Louis


    The decision had been made.


    Roux would not bow. And that meant Bruno would come for him.


    The royal fleet was already preparing. Soon, ships would set sail from Elysea carrying an army meant to reclaim the New World from the Marshal.


    But Roux was not the same man who had left Elysea years ago.


    He was no longer a soldier who followed orders.


    He was a ruler.


    He summoned his officers.


    "We must prepare," Roux said simply. "Bruno will not forgive this."


    His men did not waver.


    They were no longer Elysean soldiers.


    They were Roux''s soldiers.


    And they would fight for him.


    For the true ruler of the New World.


    Marshal Armand Roux stood atop the ramparts of Fort Saint-Louis, his eyes fixed on the vast ocean beyond. Somewhere beyond that horizon, the royal fleet was coming.


    He could feel it.


    The empire he had built was no longer just a colony. It was a nation. His nation. And King Bruno sought to take it from him.


    Roux turned to Captain Giraud and Lieutenant Vasseur, who stood at his side, their expressions hard. S~ea??h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Has there been word from the coast?" Roux asked.


    Giraud nodded. "Scouts report that the King''s fleet has set sail. Twenty warships, carrying soldiers and supplies."


    Vasseur exhaled. "They mean to retake the New World in one swift stroke."


    Roux smirked. "Then they underestimate us."


    The soldiers of Fort Saint-Louis had seen war. They had carved an empire out of the wilderness. And they would not surrender it so easily.


    He turned to his men.


    "Prepare the defenses. We are no longer just a colony. We are the true Elysea."


    King Bruno paced inside his war chamber, his advisors seated in silence. Before him, a massive map of the New World stretched across the table. Fort Saint-Louis, once a symbol of Elysean conquest, now stood as a fortress of defiance.


    Bruno''s gaze hardened. "Roux believes he is untouchable."


    Leclerc, standing beside him, spoke carefully. "He has fortified the colonies. If we wish to reclaim them, we must be prepared for war."


    Bruno''s fingers curled into a fist. "Then we give him war."


    The royal fleet would reclaim what was his.


    Roux had forgotten one thing.


    He may have built the empire¡­ but it belonged to the crown.

 Chapter 118 - 118: Preparation for War

    Marshal Armand Roux stood in his war room, surrounded by his officers. A map of Pan-America stretched across the table, marked with troop movements, supply routes, and fortifications. The reality was clear.


    Elysea was coming.


    The royal fleet, carrying thousands of soldiers and enough supplies to wage a full-scale war, had set sail. Roux knew that a direct battle would be suicide.


    They could not outlast Elysea in an open war.


    The New World had been built with resources, manpower, and weapons from the mainland. The guns his soldiers carried, the cannons mounted on the forts, the food that sustained them¡ªall had come from Elysea.


    Without resupply from the homeland, they were vulnerable.


    And King Bruno knew it.


    The siege was inevitable. If Elysea cut them off from trade, Fort Saint-Louis would crumble within months.


    For years, the colony had been dependent on the crown. Roux had known this, and so, he had planned for it.


    Long before his defiance against Bruno, Roux had taken steps to make Pan-America independent.


    Factories had been built across the continent, using both Elysean technology and native craftsmanship. Weapons were forged locally, gunpowder was produced in makeshift mills, and food reserves were stocked in hidden locations.


    Trade routes had been established with hidden smuggling operations, allowing Roux to acquire additional supplies through neutral merchants.


    By 1699, the New World had become less reliant on the homeland.


    Not enough to win a war outright¡ªbut enough to fight one.


    Still, Roux knew that factories and supplies alone would not be enough.


    He needed men.


    Deep within the interior of Pan-America, Roux rode out to a hidden meeting place¡ªa great stone plateau where native leaders from across the continent had gathered.


    Some of these men had fought against Elysea. Others had submitted in fear. And some had watched from the shadows, waiting to see which side would win.


    But now, the war had come to all of them.


    Roux, dressed in a simplified military uniform without the golden embellishments of an Elysean officer, stood before the gathered chiefs.


    They watched him with suspicion.


    To them, he was a conqueror.


    A man who had led the armies that burned their villages, slaughtered their warriors, and crushed their empires.


    And now, he asked for their aid.


    It was a gamble.


    He did not kneel before them, but he spoke with respect.


    "You all know me," Roux said, his voice steady. "You know what I have done."


    Silence.


    "You know that my armies have taken these lands for Elysea."


    A murmur rippled through the crowd. Some shifted uncomfortably.


    "But now," Roux continued, "I no longer fight for Elysea."


    That caught their attention.


    "I fight for the New World. And if you fight with me, then this land will be yours once again."


    The chiefs exchanged glances.


    "Why should we trust you?" one of the elder warriors asked. "You have only ever taken from us."


    Roux exhaled. "Because if you do not fight, Elysea will return. And they will take from you again."


    Silence.


    "You have seen what their King does. He treats you as lesser, as nothing more than obstacles in his path." Roux looked at them all, his gaze fierce. "But I have fought beside your warriors. I have seen their strength. And I tell you now¡ªyou are not lesser."


    He gestured toward the distant horizon.


    "The Elysean fleet is coming. When they arrive, they will not distinguish between you and me. They will take everything. Your land. Your people. Your freedom."


    He let the words settle before delivering the final blow.


    "If you fight for me, you will not be slaves. You will be free." sea??h th§× Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    The room was silent for a long moment.


    Then, one of the younger warriors stood.


    "We will fight," he said.


    A ripple of voices followed. First, a few. Then dozens. Then all of them.


    The alliance had been made.


    The natives would fight.


    And Roux had found his army.


    January 1701 ¨C Fort Saint-Louis, New World


    The final preparations were underway.


    Every factory, every workshop, every forge was working at full capacity. Guns were being made, bullets forged, cannons reinforced. The New World was turning into a war machine.


    The native warriors had begun to arrive.


    Thousands of them. Fierce, battle-hardened men who had spent their entire lives fighting in the dense jungles, the mountains, and the frozen wilderness. They knew the land better than any Elysean soldier.


    They would be the key.


    The last line of defense between independence and destruction.


    Roux watched as his army assembled before him.


    It was no longer an Elysean army.


    It was something new.


    A force made up of soldiers, frontiersmen, native warriors, and former slaves who had fled Elysean plantations. A force built not for empire¡ªbut for survival.


    Roux stepped forward, his gaze sweeping across his men.


    "They think we will kneel," he said. "They think we will submit. That we will cower before their fleet and their soldiers."


    His voice rose.


    "But they do not understand what we have built here. They do not understand who we are."


    A murmur of approval spread through the ranks.


    Roux drew his saber and pointed it toward the sea.


    "We do not fight for a King who has abandoned us." His voice was steady, filled with conviction. "We fight for ourselves."


    A roar of agreement followed.


    "For our homes!" Roux shouted.


    "For the New World!"


    The army erupted in cheers.


    The battle was coming.


    And Roux had no intention of losing.


    The war drums had begun to sound across the New World.


    As the cheers of his army echoed into the cold night air, Roux felt it. The moment when men shed their doubts and embraced their cause¡ªnot as subjects of a distant king but as the rightful rulers of their own destiny.


    There was no turning back now.


    He gazed upon his forces¡ªElysean deserters who had chosen loyalty to their commander over the monarchy, native warriors who had cast aside centuries of division to unite under one banner, and freed slaves who now held the very weapons once used to oppress them.


    They stood together, not as conquerors or conquered, but as brothers-in-arms.


    The world would soon hear their name.


    The New World was no longer Elysea''s colony.


    It was Roux''s nation.


    And when the Elysean fleet arrived, they would meet not rebels¡ªbut a revolution.

 Chapter 119 - 119: The Fleet Arrives

    March 17th, 1701.


    The vast Elysean fleet cut through the Atlantic, its twenty warships carrying thousands of soldiers across the sea. The war for the New World had begun.


    But this time, King Bruno had chosen his weapon carefully.


    At the helm of this expedition was General Andr¨¦ Mass¨¦na¡ªa man who, like Roux, was a master of war.


    Mass¨¦na was no ordinary commander. He had risen through the ranks not by birthright but through brilliance on the battlefield. A student of strategy, a ruthless tactician, and a man who had spent his life winning wars others deemed impossible.


    King Bruno had not chosen him out of desperation.


    He had chosen him because he was the only man who could defeat Roux.


    Mass¨¦na stood on the deck of the Iron Resolve, the largest ship in the fleet. The ocean wind howled as he studied a detailed map of the New World.


    "Fort Saint-Louis is the key," he said, his sharp gaze locking onto the marked fortress. "We take it, we cut off the heart of Roux''s rebellion."


    Beside him, Admiral Jacques Dufresne nodded. "We should expect a siege. Roux knows he can''t win in open battle."


    Mass¨¦na smirked. "Which is why we won''t give him one."


    His plan was already set in motion. Unlike past campaigns, this would not be a war of attrition. There would be no drawn-out siege, no slow starvation of the rebels.


    They would strike hard and fast¡ªbefore Roux could solidify his new nation.


    "We land in three days," Mass¨¦na said. "And when we do, we burn his rebellion to the ground."


    The scouts arrived at midnight.


    Roux stood on the ramparts, his eyes locked on the young messenger who had traveled miles without stopping. The man''s face was drenched in sweat, his breath ragged.


    "They''re coming," he gasped. "The fleet has been sighted."


    Silence settled over the fort.


    Roux turned to Giraud and Vasseur, his most trusted officers. "How many?"


    "Twenty warships. Thousands of men," the scout confirmed. "They''ll be here in three days."


    Giraud exhaled. "So, it begins."


    Vasseur crossed his arms. "And if they lay siege to us?"


    "They won''t," Roux said.


    His mind was already working.


    Bruno hadn''t sent an ordinary general. He would not waste time on a traditional siege.


    No.


    Whoever led this force would be aiming for a decisive blow.


    "We need to draw them inland," Roux said. "Into the jungle. Into our land."


    The fort was strong, but its walls were not invincible. The Elyseans had more firepower, more artillery. They had an entire navy backing them. If they fought them on Elysea''s terms, they would lose.


    But if they fought them on their own terms¡­


    They could bleed them dry.


    "Vasseur, get the native forces ready," Roux ordered. "Giraud, gather the cavalry. We fight them in the wilds."


    His men nodded, and the preparations began.


    Roux turned back toward the ocean. Somewhere beyond the horizon, his enemy was coming.


    And he would be ready.


    March 20th, 1701.


    The first ships appeared at dawn.


    Dark silhouettes against the golden horizon.


    The cannons of Fort Saint-Louis roared to life, sending a warning shot across the sea.


    From the deck of the Iron Resolve, General Mass¨¦na watched the fort''s response with amusement.


    "They still think they can fight," he murmured.


    Admiral Dufresne smirked. "They will learn otherwise soon enough."


    The fleet anchored just beyond cannon range. The smaller vessels disembarked, carrying the first wave of Elysean soldiers to shore.


    Mass¨¦na stepped onto the sand, the waves crashing behind him.


    "Send the scouts ahead," he ordered. "We find their weak spot."


    The first skirmishes began within hours.


    Mass¨¦na''s advance scouts clashed with Roux''s forward forces¡ªnative warriors striking from the jungles, cavalry hitting fast before vanishing into the forests.


    It was textbook guerilla warfare.


    Ambush. Withdraw. Bleed them. Repeat.


    Mass¨¦na, however, was not fooled.


    He saw the pattern immediately.


    "This is Roux''s game," he mused. "He wants to lure us into the jungle."


    His second-in-command frowned. "Should we hold position?"


    Mass¨¦na smiled coldly. "No. We go deeper."


    The officers blinked in surprise.


    "But, General, that''s exactly what he wants," one protested.


    Mass¨¦na nodded. "Yes. And that is why we do it."


    His men hesitated, but they had learned never to question Mass¨¦na''s instincts.


    "If Roux believes we will fall into his trap, then we will make it look like we have," Mass¨¦na explained.


    He pointed to the dense jungle beyond.


    "We will let him think he is leading us into an ambush. And when he springs the trap¡­"


    Mass¨¦na''s smile widened.


    "¡­We will already be behind him."


    Deep in the jungle, Roux watched from the shadows as Elysean soldiers moved forward.


    "They''re taking the bait," Giraud whispered.


    Roux nodded. "Good."


    The signal was given.


    From the trees, hundreds of native warriors descended upon the Elysean ranks. Arrows whistled through the air, striking down soldiers. Gunfire erupted from hidden positions, cutting through the Elysean lines.


    For a brief moment, it looked like a slaughter. sea??h th§× N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    And then¡ªMass¨¦na countered.


    Roux''s eyes narrowed.


    The Elysean soldiers did not retreat. They did not break.


    Instead, they shifted as if expecting the attack.


    A second Elysean force emerged from behind, having circled around without making a sound.


    It was a trap.


    Roux''s men were no longer the hunters.


    They were the hunted.


    The battle was chaos.


    Gunfire ripped through the trees. Smoke filled the air.


    Roux fought his way back, his sword cutting through enemy soldiers. But for the first time since the war began, he felt something foreign.


    A sensation he had not known since his early days as a soldier.


    Doubt.


    Mass¨¦na had matched him move for move.


    And now, he knew¡ªthis war would not be easy.


    The first battle ended in a draw, both sides pulling back to regroup.


    But one thing was clear.


    The real war had just begun.


    March 21st, 1701.


    Roux stood amidst the smoldering ruins of the battlefield, gripping the hilt of his sword tightly. The dense jungle had been reduced to chaos, the underbrush littered with bodies¡ªElysean soldiers, native warriors, his own men.


    For the first time in years, he had not won decisively.


    He wondered who was the general leading the expedition.

 Chapter 120 - 120: Aftermath of the First Encounter

    March 22nd, 1701.


    Marshal Armand Roux sat in his war tent, the dim glow of lanterns flickering against the fabric. The scent of blood and gunpowder still clung to the air, and outside, the wounded moaned as medics worked tirelessly to tend to them.


    He exhaled, staring at the map of the battlefield spread before him.


    The battle had not gone as planned.


    He had expected the Elyseans to fall into his trap, to be bled dry in the dense jungle where they could not bring their full force to bear. Instead, they had turned the trap against him.


    How?


    His mind replayed the battle¡ªthe way the enemy had reacted swiftly, countering his ambush as if they had known exactly what he would do. That was no ordinary battlefield instinct.


    No. That was calculated. S§×arch* The n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    And there was only one conclusion: King Bruno had sent someone who thought like him.


    "Who is he?" Roux muttered to himself.


    A new enemy. One unlike any he had faced before.


    The flap of the tent parted, and Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud entered, his uniform stained with dirt and blood. He saluted but didn''t wait for permission to speak.


    "The scouts have returned," Giraud said. "We have a name."


    Roux straightened, his sharp eyes locking onto Giraud. "Go on."


    "General Andr¨¦ Mass¨¦na."


    Silence.


    Roux''s fingers curled into a fist.


    The name wasn''t unknown to him. Mass¨¦na was a soldier of legend, a man whose victories had earned him a reputation as a brilliant strategist in the Elysean military.


    And now, he was here.


    A slow exhale left Roux''s lips.


    "So, that''s who they sent," he murmured. "King Bruno didn''t send a lapdog. He sent a wolf."


    Giraud nodded grimly. "We have a problem."


    Roux smirked, but there was no humor in it.


    "A problem?" He leaned back in his chair and continued. "No, my friend. We have a worthy opponent."


    March 22nd, 1701.


    Mass¨¦na sat on a makeshift wooden bench inside his command tent, writing in his journal by candlelight. The first battle had gone well¡ªnot a victory, but certainly not a loss.


    He had expected Roux to be formidable. The man had built an empire from nothing. He had waged war, crushed enemies, and carved out the New World for himself.


    But war was not about past glories.


    It was about adapting.


    A knock at the tent entrance.


    "Enter," Mass¨¦na said without looking up.


    A tall officer stepped inside¡ªColonel Jean Devereux, his second-in-command. The man was a hardened veteran, loyal to the crown, and had fought in campaigns across the world.


    "The men are ready," Devereux reported. "Our scouts have identified Roux''s fallback position. He has pulled his forces deeper into the jungle."


    Mass¨¦na smirked.


    "Of course, he has."


    Devereux frowned. "He''ll try to lure us into another ambush."


    "Let him." Mass¨¦na dipped his quill into ink, continuing his writing. "The more he thinks we are playing into his hands, the easier it will be to tighten the noose."


    Devereux hesitated before speaking again. "Shall we pursue immediately?"


    Mass¨¦na shook his head.


    "No. We wait."


    Devereux''s brow furrowed. "Wait?"


    Mass¨¦na placed his quill down and stood, his sharp gaze fixing on his officer.


    "Roux is expecting us to chase him. He thinks we will follow him into his terrain, where he holds the advantage."


    He smirked.


    "But we won''t."


    Devereux nodded slowly. "Then what do we do?"


    Mass¨¦na pointed at the map.


    "We cut him off."


    March 23rd, 1701.


    The native scouts returned at dawn, their faces grim.


    Roux was already awake, sitting outside his tent, drinking from a tin cup.


    "Tell me," he said simply.


    One of the scouts knelt before him. "Mass¨¦na''s army has not moved into the jungle."


    Roux''s grip on the cup tightened slightly.


    Not moving?


    Giraud and Lieutenant Adrien Vasseur stood nearby, listening. Vasseur spoke first.


    "If he''s not moving toward us, then what is he doing?"


    The scout hesitated. "They are fortifying their position. Establishing supply lines. They are digging in."


    Roux frowned.


    That was¡­ unexpected.


    Giraud scowled. "He''s not taking the bait."


    Vasseur exhaled. "Which means he knows what we''re trying to do."


    A cold realization settled over them.


    Mass¨¦na was not going to fight Roux on his terms. He was shifting the battlefield, forcing Roux to be the one to make the first move.


    Clever.


    Very clever.


    Roux tapped his fingers against his knee, thinking.


    So, Mass¨¦na wanted to force him into a siege?


    If the Elyseans held their ground and secured their supply lines, it would be Roux''s forces that would be starved out. The rebels were still producing weapons and supplies, but not fast enough to sustain a prolonged war.


    Mass¨¦na had flipped the entire battle upside down.


    And now, Roux had a choice.


    Attack first¡­ or watch his forces starve.


    Giraud folded his arms. "We can''t sit back. If we let them entrench themselves, they''ll grind us down."


    Vasseur nodded. "Then we attack?"


    Roux let out a breath. His instincts screamed for him to strike now. But something about Mass¨¦na''s strategy unnerved him.


    This wasn''t just about brute force.


    This was about positioning.


    Roux''s eyes drifted to the map, his mind racing.


    There was one way to break Mass¨¦na''s hold before it could tighten around them.


    Destroy his supplies.


    A slow grin crept onto his face.


    "Giraud," he said. "How many cavalry units do we still have?"


    Giraud blinked. "Around 500. Not enough for a direct assault, but¡ª"


    "Enough to launch a raid."


    Vasseur straightened. "A raid?"


    Roux pointed to the Elysean supply depots on the map.


    "If Mass¨¦na wants to sit behind his fortifications, then we''ll make sure he has nothing to eat, nothing to fire, and nothing to reinforce his men."


    His eyes gleamed.


    "We will burn everything he has."


    Giraud grinned. "Now that''s a plan I like."


    March 24th, 1701.


    A scout burst into Mass¨¦na''s tent, breathless.


    "General! The supply line¡ªit''s under attack!"


    Mass¨¦na rose instantly. "Where?"


    The scout pointed to the map. "Near the main depot. Cavalry hit us in the night. They torched the supply wagons and disappeared into the jungle."


    Mass¨¦na''s expression remained calm, but sharp.


    Roux was adapting.


    Good.


    "How much did we lose?" he asked.


    "Food stores, ammunition¡­ nearly half of it is gone."


    Devereux cursed. "That will cripple us."


    Mass¨¦na smiled.


    "No, Colonel. That will make him think he has crippled us."


    Devereux hesitated. "You mean¡ª"


    Mass¨¦na looked at the burning remains of their supply line in the distance.


    "This is a game of moves and countermoves," he murmured.


    "Roux believes he has struck a critical blow."


    His eyes narrowed.


    "Let him believe it."


    Mass¨¦na turned to Devereux.


    "Ready the men. The real battle begins now."

 Chapter 121 - 121: Siege

    March 25th, 1701.


    The flames of Mass¨¦na''s burning supply wagons flickered against the night sky, their embers drifting into the wind like silent warnings.


    Marshal Armand Roux stood on a rocky outcrop overlooking the charred remains, his cavalry having already retreated into the jungle. Their raid had been a success, but his expression was far from triumphant.


    He knew Mass¨¦na wasn''t beaten.


    Not yet.


    Behind him, Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud dismounted from his horse, brushing soot off his jacket. "That should slow them down," he said, his voice laced with satisfaction.


    Roux didn''t answer immediately. His gaze remained fixed on the enemy camp below, where Elysean soldiers were scrambling to assess the damage.


    Then, finally, he murmured, "No. It won''t."


    Giraud frowned. "We burned half their food and ammunition. Without supplies, they can''t hold out for long."


    Roux turned to him, his jaw tightening. "You still don''t see it, do you?"


    Giraud''s expression hardened. "See what?"


    Roux took a deep breath. "Mass¨¦na let us destroy those supplies."


    Silence.


    Vasseur, who had just approached, overheard the words and stiffened. "Let us?"


    Roux nodded. "Think about it. A general of his caliber doesn''t leave his supply lines exposed like that¡ªnot unless he wants us to hit them."


    Giraud paled slightly. "Then¡­ what was the real objective?"


    Roux clenched his fists. "He''s drawing us in."


    Everything was starting to make sense.


    Mass¨¦na knew Roux wouldn''t engage him in a head-on fight. He knew Roux relied on mobility, on striking fast and withdrawing before a decisive battle could take place.


    So Mass¨¦na had set a different kind of trap. S§×ar?h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Instead of forcing Roux into battle, he had given him a target. One that Roux couldn''t ignore.


    The supply raid had been Roux''s move.


    Now it was Mass¨¦na''s turn.


    March 26th, 1701.


    Dawn.


    The jungle was quiet.


    Too quiet.


    Lieutenant Adrien Vasseur led a small scouting party through the undergrowth, their movements cautious, rifles at the ready.


    They had expected to find an enemy force trying to recover their losses.


    Instead, they found nothing.


    No tracks.


    No encampments.


    Mass¨¦na was gone.


    Vasseur swallowed, a pit forming in his stomach.


    This was wrong.


    He turned to his second-in-command, a native scout named Tahu. "Something''s off. The Elyseans should be reinforcing their position after last night."


    Tahu narrowed his eyes, sniffing the air. "No fresh fires. No scent of horses." He shook his head. "They didn''t stay here."


    Vasseur''s pulse quickened. "Then where the hell did they go?"


    A horn sounded in the distance.


    Vasseur stiffened.


    Then¡ªgunfire.


    The crack of musket shots echoed through the jungle, followed by distant shouting.


    One of his scouts turned, eyes wide. "That''s coming from the main camp!"


    Vasseur''s heart dropped. Mass¨¦na hadn''t waited.


    He had struck first.


    "Back to camp!" Vasseur shouted.


    They turned and ran.


    The first explosion shattered the dawn.


    Marshal Roux barely had time to react before the entire northern perimeter of Fort Saint-Louis erupted into chaos.


    The Elyseans were attacking.


    Roux sprinted toward the ramparts as cannon fire roared in the distance. Smoke was already rising over the jungle''s edge, where Mass¨¦na''s forces had seemingly appeared out of nowhere.


    How?


    Giraud stormed up beside him, his rifle in hand. "How the hell did they flank us?!"


    Roux''s mind raced. They had tracked Mass¨¦na''s forces in the jungle. They had anticipated his next move.


    So how had he slipped past them?


    Then it hit him.


    Mass¨¦na had never been in the jungle.


    The entire time, he had distracted them with supply raids and false movements. Meanwhile, he had split his army, taking his main force directly toward the fort.


    Roux cursed under his breath.


    Mass¨¦na had turned the battlefield upside down.


    "Sound the alarm!" Roux bellowed. "Get the men to the walls!"


    The fort''s bells rang out as Elysean artillery opened fire. Cannonballs tore through wooden barricades, splinters flying like deadly shrapnel.


    The siege had begun.


    From his position on a hill overlooking Fort Saint-Louis, Mass¨¦na watched with cold expression.


    Everything had gone according to plan.


    His decoy movements had lured Roux into believing the real battle would take place in the jungle. But while Roux was busy playing guerilla warfare, Mass¨¦na had led his elite forces straight to the fort.


    Now, with his artillery in place, he would smash through its defenses before Roux could regroup.


    Colonel Devereux approached, musket slung over his shoulder. "The bombardment is effective, but they''re holding."


    Mass¨¦na smiled. "They won''t hold for long."


    He turned to the signal officer. "Prepare the second wave."


    Devereux frowned. "A frontal assault?"


    Mass¨¦na''s gaze never wavered. "Roux expects me to break his defenses from a distance. He believes I''ll spend days bombarding him."


    Devereux nodded. "So we do the opposite?"


    Mass¨¦na smirked. "Exactly."


    He turned toward the battlefield, eyes gleaming.


    "We take the walls today."


    The first wave hit the walls like a tidal wave.


    Roux stood his ground, shouting orders as muskets fired from the ramparts. His native warriors fought with bows and spears, striking down Elysean soldiers as they scaled the walls with ladders.


    Giraud reloaded his rifle, firing into the mass of enemy troops. "They''re coming in too fast!"


    Roux knew why.


    Mass¨¦na wasn''t waiting for a prolonged siege. He was here to break them immediately.


    He had to act now.


    Roux turned to Vasseur. "Get the reserves! We reinforce the east wall!"


    Vasseur saluted and sprinted into the fort''s inner defenses.


    Roux''s hands tightened around his saber.


    Mass¨¦na wanted a decisive battle?


    Then Roux would give him one.


    The battle raged for hours.


    The walls of Fort Saint-Louis shook under cannon fire.


    Elysean troops swarmed the defenses, their bayonets clashing with Roux''s rebels.


    Mass¨¦na pushed forward relentlessly. He never stopped moving, leading his men into the bloodiest parts of the battle.


    Roux met him head-on, fighting in the thick of the fray.


    Then¡ª


    A deafening explosion.


    One of the fort''s eastern gates collapsed.


    Mass¨¦na''s forces poured through.


    Roux turned, his expression grim.


    The battle was shifting.


    If he didn''t act now, it would be over.


    He made a split-second decision.


    "Fall back to the inner keep!" Roux shouted.


    Giraud''s eyes widened. "We''re retreating?"


    "Not retreating," Roux growled. "We''re regrouping."


    Mass¨¦na had won the first engagement.

 Chapter 122 - 122: Game Changing?

    The wooden doors of the inner keep slammed shut behind Roux as his men rushed in, panting and bloodied from the brutal fight outside. The air was thick with the smell of gunpowder, sweat, and the metallic tang of blood.


    Fort Saint-Louis was falling.


    And Roux knew it.


    His forces had fought fiercely, but Mass¨¦na''s assault had been relentless. The east gate had crumbled under cannon fire, and now, Elysean troops swarmed through the breach like a flood. If they had remained any longer, they would have been overwhelmed.


    Roux turned to Captain Giraud and Lieutenant Vasseur, his most trusted officers, who had followed him into the keep. Their expressions were grim, their uniforms stained with the blood of both friend and foe.


    "We hold here," Roux said, his voice sharp but unwavering. "Mass¨¦na wants to end this today? Then let''s see if he has the stomach for a final fight."


    Giraud wiped a streak of dirt from his forehead. "How long can we last?"


    Roux exhaled. "Long enough."


    He didn''t know if that was a lie. sea??h th§× ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Outside the keep, the battlefield was a wasteland.


    The once-imposing walls of Fort Saint-Louis now lay in ruins, shattered by Mass¨¦na''s artillery. Smoke curled into the air, drifting over the bloodied bodies of Elysean soldiers and rebels alike.


    General Andr¨¦ Mass¨¦na stood at the edge of the destroyed east gate, his cold eyes scanning the battlefield. His plan had worked¡ªRoux had been forced into retreat.


    But he knew better than to celebrate early.


    Colonel Jean Devereux approached, wiping his blade clean. "They''ve fallen back to the keep."


    Mass¨¦na nodded. "Expected."


    Devereux frowned. "They''ll make their last stand there."


    Mass¨¦na smirked. "And they''ll die there."


    He turned to his officers. "Prepare the final assault. We finish this tonight."


    Inside the inner keep, Roux''s men braced themselves.


    They knew what was coming.


    The fortress was all but lost, and now they had nowhere left to run.


    Many of the native warriors had already retreated into the jungle, knowing that the fort was doomed. Some of the Elysean deserters, however, chose to stay and fight, loyal to Roux until the bitter end.


    A deafening thud echoed through the keep as Mass¨¦na''s cannons began their final bombardment.


    The walls trembled. Dust and splinters rained down.


    Roux tightened his grip on his saber.


    So, this was how it would end. Not on a battlefield, but inside a crumbling fortress, surrounded by the enemy.


    He had fought for the New World.


    And now, he would die for it.


    March 26th, 1701.


    Mass¨¦na stood at the head of his veteran troops, his eyes fixed on the shattered entrance to the keep.


    This was it.


    The final push.


    He turned to his men. "We do not take prisoners. End this."


    The soldiers roared in response, raising their bayonets as they surged forward.


    The battle erupted in a storm of gunfire, steel, and death.


    Roux fought like a demon.


    His saber clashed against bayonets, cutting down any Elysean soldier that came too close. His men fought with desperate fury, knowing that there was no escape.


    But it wasn''t enough. There were too many.


    One by one, Roux''s defenders fell.


    Giraud, his rifle out of ammunition, was cut down by an Elysean soldier''s blade.


    Vasseur, bloodied but still fighting, was struck by a bullet to the chest.


    Roux saw them fall, but he could do nothing.


    The end had come.


    Mass¨¦na stepped forward, his sword drawn.


    For the first time, the two greatest commanders of Elysea stood face to face.


    Roux was breathing heavily, blood dripping from his wounds.


    Mass¨¦na, calm as ever, raised his blade.


    "It''s over, Marshal," Mass¨¦na said.


    Roux gritted his teeth, his hand tightening around his saber.


    "You think so?" he snarled.


    With a final roar, Roux lunged.


    Steel clashed.


    The battle had come down to two men.


    One would walk away.


    The other would not.


    The world around them disappeared.


    There were no soldiers, no cannons, no walls crumbling under fire.


    There was only Roux and Mass¨¦na.


    Steel clashed as Roux''s saber met Mass¨¦na''s blade, the force of their strikes sending sparks into the air. A master of war against another. Their swords moved like lightning, neither man willing to give an inch.


    Mass¨¦na, ever the calculated tactician, fought with precise, measured strikes¡ªalways testing, always controlling the tempo. He moved like a fencer, sharp and efficient, his blade an extension of his will.


    Roux, by contrast, fought like a storm. His saber struck with raw power, unpredictable and relentless. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing. He had fought through jungles, across rivers, in the burning streets of conquered cities. He had bled for every inch of the New World.


    And he would not let it be taken from him.


    Their swords met again, the ring of steel cutting through the chaos of battle.


    Mass¨¦na twisted, aiming a thrust at Roux''s side, but Roux parried and countered, forcing the general to step back.


    The rebels had begun to crumble around them, yet no Elysean soldier dared to intervene. This was not a battle between armies anymore. This was war in its purest form¡ªtwo men, two blades, and the fate of a nation hanging in the balance.


    Mass¨¦na''s blade flashed, slicing across Roux''s arm. Blood splattered onto the dirt.


    Roux grunted but did not falter. Instead, he pressed forward, swinging his saber in a brutal arc, forcing Mass¨¦na onto the defensive.


    The general dodged, then countered with a swift riposte. Roux barely twisted out of the way, but Mass¨¦na''s blade still grazed his ribs.


    Both men were wounded now. Both breathing hard.


    Yet neither slowed.


    A final exchange of blows¡ªlightning-fast, brutal, and unrelenting.


    Mass¨¦na moved first, stepping in and delivering a powerful downward slash. Roux barely managed to block it, but the sheer force of the strike drove him to one knee.


    Mass¨¦na raised his blade for the killing blow.


    For a moment, it seemed like it was over.


    Then¡ª


    Roux lunged.


    Not with his sword¡ªwith his fist.


    Mass¨¦na''s eyes widened in shock as Roux''s fist slammed into his face, knocking him off balance. The general staggered back, blood dripping from his nose.


    Before he could recover, Roux was already back on his feet.


    The two glared at each other, both panting, both wounded.


    Both unwilling to yield.


    They charged again.


    Another clash of steel. Another exchange of near-fatal blows.


    But neither could land the decisive strike.


    The duel raged on, but time was against them both.


    The fortress was collapsing. Fire spread through the inner walls. The battlefield had become a graveyard.


    And suddenly¡ªa cannon roared.


    The impact shook the ground beneath them.


    The explosion was too close, the shockwave too powerful. Both men were sent flying, crashing into the rubble as stone and debris rained from above.


    The world spun.


    For a long moment, there was only silence.


    Then, movement.


    Mass¨¦na pushed himself up first, his uniform torn, his vision hazy. He reached for his sword, but his fingers barely grasped the hilt before pain shot through his entire body. He could not fight any longer.


    A few feet away, Roux lay motionless.


    Blood seeped from a deep gash on his forehead, his saber buried in the dirt beside him. He was barely conscious.


    Neither man had won.


    Neither man had lost.


    It was a tie.


    The battle of Fort Saint-Louis had reached its climax¡ªbut it had no victor.


    Mass¨¦na gritted his teeth, glancing toward his approaching officers. Reinforcements were coming.


    They could capture Roux.


    They could end this now.


    But as Mass¨¦na looked at the broken fort, the dead on both sides, and the man who had matched him blow for blow, he made his decision.


    He turned away.


    "Withdraw the troops," he ordered.


    Devereux, approaching with a squad of soldiers, hesitated. "General?"


    Mass¨¦na wiped the blood from his face. "We''ve done enough."


    Devereux frowned. "But¡ª"


    Mass¨¦na''s eyes were cold. "Withdraw."


    Without another word, the Elysean forces began pulling back.


    By dawn, Fort Saint-Louis was abandoned.

 Chapter 123 - 123: Determination to Hunt

    March 27th, 1701.


    The air was thick with smoke. The ruins of Fort Saint-Louis stood as a broken skeleton against the morning light, its walls shattered, its banners burned. The battlefield was a graveyard of men and ambition.


    Yet, Armand Roux still lived.


    General Andr¨¦ Mass¨¦na sat at the edge of the war tent, staring at the bloodstained bandages wrapped around his forearm. His wound throbbed, but it was nothing compared to the frustration boiling inside him.


    He had come to end the rebellion.


    He had come to kill Roux.


    And yet, the Marshal had slipped through his fingers.


    The battle should have been a victory. Roux''s forces had been shattered, his stronghold obliterated, and his command structure crippled. It should have been over.


    And yet, it wasn''t.


    Mass¨¦na clenched his jaw. He had failed.


    Mass¨¦na sat in his command tent, his hands pressed against the table, the map of Pan-America spread before him. His officers stood around him in tense silence. None dared to speak first.


    Devereux finally cleared his throat. "General, we won the battle. Fort Saint-Louis is no more."


    Mass¨¦na''s cold gaze snapped up. "Is that what you call this? A victory?"


    Devereux hesitated. "Sir, we forced Roux into retreat. His forces are scattered. His supply lines are severed. Without a stronghold, he has nowhere to consolidate his forces."


    Mass¨¦na exhaled sharply. He knew all of that. He had planned it. He had executed it.


    And yet, it didn''t feel like a victory.


    Because Roux still breathed.


    Because his men, even scattered, still followed him.


    And because as long as Roux lived, the rebellion would not die.


    Mass¨¦na ran a hand through his disheveled hair, suppressing the growing rage inside him. One single mistake had cost him everything. If the cannon hadn''t interrupted their duel¡­ If his men had reached Roux''s body first instead of retreating...


    He had underestimated Roux''s resilience. And now, they would pay the price for it.


    Devereux shifted uncomfortably. "What are your orders, General?"


    Mass¨¦na stared at the map. Pan-America was vast, but it was fragile.


    Roux had held it together through sheer will and charisma. Without him, the entire region would collapse.


    All Mass¨¦na had to do was find him and finish what he started.


    He tapped a finger against the map. "We should have never pulled back."


    Devereux tensed. "With all due respect, General, our troops were exhausted. We had broken their defenses, but our men were bleeding. Another push could have stretched us too thin."


    Mass¨¦na''s expression darkened. "Another push would have ended this war."


    Silence.


    Mass¨¦na inhaled slowly, calming himself. It was useless to dwell on what had already happened. Now, he had to plan what came next.


    March 28th, 1701.


    The officers gathered once more, this time with reinforcements arriving from the fleet. The Elysean banner still flew over the wreckage of Fort Saint-Louis, but it was meaningless until Roux was dead.


    Mass¨¦na took his place at the head of the war table.


    "Roux is still alive." His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. "And as long as he is, this war is not over."


    One of the younger officers shifted. "His forces are scattered, sir. We could¡ª"


    Mass¨¦na cut him off with a sharp glare. "Do not mistake this as weakness. Roux has done what he always does. He has survived."


    The room fell silent.


    Mass¨¦na placed his hands on the table. "If we do not strike now, he will rebuild. He will recover. And next time, he will not be so easily outmaneuvered."


    Devereux spoke next. "Where do we start?"


    Mass¨¦na exhaled, then pointed to the map.


    "Everything hinges on Roux. The people follow him, the soldiers fight for him, and the natives see him as their only hope. If we kill him, this rebellion will crumble. There is no other leader strong enough to take his place."**


    He traced a path along the map, showing the thick forests and riverways that stretched beyond Fort Saint-Louis.


    "He''s injured, possibly gravely. He will need a place to recover. He can''t run forever."**


    Another officer spoke up. "If we don''t know his location, then where do we strike?"


    Mass¨¦na tapped the map again.


    "The villages. The settlements. The people who would shelter him."


    Devereux frowned. "You mean to smoke him out?"


    Mass¨¦na''s eyes were cold. "If they give him refuge, they are enemies of the crown."


    The tent went silent.


    One of the officers swallowed. "Sir¡­ these are civilians."


    Mass¨¦na didn''t flinch. "They are rebels."


    This was no longer a simple war between armies. This was a war of survival.


    If the New World wanted to stand with Roux, then it would burn with him.


    Devereux shifted uncomfortably but nodded. "Then we begin immediately."


    March 30th, 1701.


    Across Pan-America, Elysean forces spread out like a storm. S§×arch* The N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Villages were searched. Towns were interrogated. Any sign of Roux was met with iron and fire.


    Those who sheltered him were branded as traitors. Those who resisted were crushed.


    But Roux was still nowhere to be found.


    Mass¨¦na rode through one of the occupied villages, watching as his men rounded up the inhabitants. Some of the natives spat at their feet. Others remained silent, their eyes burning with defiance.


    They would rather die than betray him.


    Mass¨¦na exhaled through his nose. Roux had built more than an army. He had built something dangerous. Something stronger than weapons and forts.


    He had built loyalty.


    And loyalty was hard to kill.


    April 2nd, 1701.


    Mass¨¦na sat in his tent, the latest reports stacked before him. Every lead had gone cold. Every attempt to corner Roux had failed.


    He was still out there.


    And as long as he was, the war was not won.


    Mass¨¦na clenched his fists.


    The New World should have been his victory.


    Instead, it was slipping away.


    He rose from his chair, grabbing his sword.


    This wasn''t over.


    Not until Armand Roux was dead.


    And once he is dead, his mission will be fulfilled and he will be allowed to return home and receive reward from the king. Though it was already an honor serving the king without expecting return, he sure will be rewarded for this.

 Chapter 124 - 124: The Hunt Tightens

    The flames crackled as another village burned.


    Mass¨¦na watched from atop his horse, his expression impassive. The orange glow of fire danced across his features, the distant screams of fleeing villagers fading into the night. His men had done their work well.


    Still, there was no sign of Armand Roux.


    Devereux approached, wiping sweat from his brow. "Another empty settlement, General. No sign of him."


    Mass¨¦na didn''t reply immediately. His grip on the reins tightened, frustration simmering beneath the surface. This was not how he had envisioned the campaign.


    He had expected resistance. He had expected guerilla tactics. But he had not expected silence.


    Roux was vanishing before his eyes.


    Every time his scouts brought back a promising lead, it led to nothing. Every time they thought they had cornered him, he slipped away.


    Mass¨¦na inhaled sharply, exhaling through his nose. "And the prisoners?"


    Devereux hesitated. "None willing to speak."


    Of course.


    Roux''s influence ran deeper than any ordinary commander''s. These people did not see him as a mere leader. He was their hope.


    Mass¨¦na''s jaw clenched. Hope was a dangerous thing.


    Hope had made a colony defy a kingdom. Hope had turned farmers and laborers into soldiers. Hope had let Armand Roux escape death.


    And hope had to be crushed.


    Mass¨¦na turned his horse toward the next village. "We continue."


    Devereux frowned. "Sir, with all due respect, these people will never betray him. No matter how much we burn, they will not give him up."


    Mass¨¦na''s gaze hardened. "Then we give them a choice."


    April 6th, 1701.


    The people of Valencia gathered in the village square, their hands bound, their faces smeared with dirt and soot.


    They had been spared¡ªfor now.


    Mass¨¦na stood before them, his expression cold, his voice calm. "You have one chance. Tell me where Roux is, and you will live."


    No one spoke.


    The silence was expected.


    Mass¨¦na nodded. "If you will not speak, then we will assume you are hiding him."


    He turned to his men. "Execute ten of them."


    The reaction was immediate. Cries of horror, gasps of disbelief. The soldiers hesitated, looking at their general with uncertainty.


    Devereux stepped forward. "Sir, they''re civilians¡ª"


    Mass¨¦na''s glare stopped him mid-sentence. "They are traitors."


    Devereux hesitated. But the look in Mass¨¦na''s eyes left no room for argument.


    The first shot rang out.


    A man crumpled to the ground, blood pooling beneath him.


    Then another.


    And another.


    By the time the tenth body hit the dirt, the village had fallen into sobs.


    Mass¨¦na looked around. "I will return in three days. If by then, you have given me nothing, the rest of you will share their fate."


    And with that, he left.


    April 7th, 1701.


    Miles away, Armand Roux sat inside a makeshift war room, deep in the jungle. His wounds still ached, his body stiff from the battle at Fort Saint-Louis.


    Yet, there was no time for weakness.


    He read the latest report brought in by a scout.


    Mass¨¦na was burning the countryside.


    Roux exhaled, rubbing his forehead. "He''s trying to draw me out."


    Captain ¨¦tienne Giraud sat beside him, his arm in a sling. "And it''s working."


    Roux didn''t argue. He knew his people. They would never betray him.


    But they would die for him.


    And that was something he could not allow.


    He crumpled the report in his fist. "We need to act."


    Vasseur, still pale from his injuries, spoke up. "We don''t have the numbers to fight him directly. He''s got the fleet, the guns, the resources."


    Roux''s eyes flickered toward the map on the table. "Then we take his resources."


    Giraud frowned. "You''re not thinking of another supply raid?"


    Roux shook his head. "No. I''m thinking bigger."


    He pointed to Port-Libert¨¦¡ªthe largest supply hub of the Elysean forces. S§×arch* The Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "If we hit them here, we don''t just slow them down." His gaze hardened. "We cripple them."


    Silence.


    Then, a slow grin crept across Giraud''s face. "Now that''s a plan."


    April 9th, 1701.


    The night was dark, the sea calm. The Elysean supply ships sat anchored in the harbor, their holds filled with ammunition, food, and medicine.


    Unaware of the storm about to strike.


    Roux and his men moved like ghosts. Boats cut through the water, silent and deadly. Native warriors, rebel soldiers, and former slaves¡ªall united under one banner.


    By the time the first gunshot rang out, the docks were already in chaos.


    Explosions erupted along the shoreline as kegs of gunpowder were ignited. Flames consumed the wooden piers.


    Elysean soldiers scrambled to form defenses, but Roux''s men were already among them, striking fast and ruthless.


    The air was filled with shouting, gunfire, and the scent of burning wood.


    Roux led the charge, his saber cutting down a soldier before firing his pistol at another. His men followed, overwhelming the defenders.


    Within minutes, the harbor was theirs.


    Giraud grabbed Roux''s shoulder. "The main warehouses¡ªMass¨¦na''s entire reserve stockpile is in there!"


    Roux turned to his men. "Burn it all."


    And so they did.


    By dawn, Port-Libert¨¦ was in ruins.


    Mass¨¦na''s supplies¡ªgone.


    April 10th, 1701.


    The command tent was silent.


    Mass¨¦na stood in front of the ruined map, staring at the words "Port-Libert¨¦ DESTROYED" scrawled across it.


    He did not speak.


    Did not move.


    Did not breathe.


    The officers stood still, waiting. Afraid.


    Then, the table flipped.


    Mass¨¦na''s fist slammed into the wooden surface, sending papers and ink bottles flying.


    His eyes blazed with fury.


    Roux had not only escaped him¡ªhe had humiliated him.


    Port-Libert¨¦ was the lifeblood of the Elysean campaign. Without it, resupplying his army would become a nightmare.


    Devereux, ever cautious, spoke carefully. "Sir, we¡ª"


    Mass¨¦na cut him off. "Enough."


    His voice was cold. Dangerous.


    "We have been playing Roux''s game for too long."


    He turned to the map, his hands gripping its edges.


    "No more raids. No more chasing shadows."


    His next words were filled with finality.


    "We draw him into one last battle."


    The officers stared.


    Devereux swallowed. "And if he refuses?"


    Mass¨¦na''s lips curled into a dangerous smirk.


    "Then we make him understand¡­"


    His voice dropped into a deadly whisper.


    "That there is nowhere left to run."

 Chapter 125 - 125: Nowhere Left to Run

    April 12th, 1701.


    The rain fell in heavy sheets over the jungle, washing away the bloodstains left behind from the last skirmish. The scent of damp earth mixed with the lingering stench of smoke and gunpowder, a constant reminder that war had consumed the New World.


    Armand Roux sat beneath the tattered canopy of his war tent, watching the flames flicker against the soaked fabric. His body ached from the battle at Port-Libert¨¦, but he had no time to rest.


    Mass¨¦na would not take this loss lightly.


    Across from him, ¨¦tienne Giraud tightened the bandages around his arm, grimacing. "Port-Libert¨¦ was a success, but it won''t stop him. That bastard is relentless."


    Roux exhaled, his fingers drumming against the wooden crate beside him. "No, it won''t stop him. But it will force him to act."


    Vasseur, still weak from his injuries, shifted where he sat. "How do you know?"


    Roux leaned forward, his sharp eyes flickering with certainty. "Because Mass¨¦na is too smart to let this war stretch on. He knows time favors us, not him. The longer we drag this out, the more we adapt¡ªwhile he struggles to maintain supplies, control, and morale."


    He gestured toward the map spread before them, a crude outline of the New World, with markings indicating the last known positions of Elysean forces. "He''s going to try to force a decisive battle."


    Giraud scoffed. "And what? He expects us to just walk into it?"


    Roux smirked. "No. He knows I won''t fall for something obvious. Which means he''s going to make sure I have no choice but to fight."


    A beat of silence.


    Vasseur frowned. "How?"


    Roux didn''t answer immediately. He already knew.


    Mass¨¦na was done playing games.


    If he couldn''t get to Roux, he would make Roux come to him¡ªby taking something Roux could not afford to lose.


    And that something... was the people.


    April 13th, 1701.


    Miles away, General Andr¨¦ Mass¨¦na sat atop his horse, watching as his army advanced toward the town of Saint-Michel.


    The heavy rain had turned the roads to mud, but his men pressed forward without hesitation. They moved like a tidal wave, unstoppable, unrelenting.


    Devereux rode beside him, his expression cautious. "Are we certain this will work?"


    Mass¨¦na didn''t look at him. "It will."


    Devereux exhaled. "Saint-Michel is no military stronghold. It has no defenses. No real army."


    Mass¨¦na''s cold gaze remained fixed on the horizon. "Exactly."


    This was not about capturing a fortress.


    This was about capturing Roux''s heart.


    Saint-Michel was one of the largest settlements in the New World¡ªa refuge for civilians, former rebels, and those who had chosen to follow Roux rather than live under Elysean rule.


    It was the heart of the resistance.


    And once it was in Mass¨¦na''s hands, Roux would have no choice but to come to him.


    Devereux hesitated. "And if they resist?"


    Mass¨¦na''s answer was simple. "Then we burn it."


    No more chasing. No more waiting.


    This war would end here.


    April 14th, 1701.


    The sound of marching boots shook the earth.


    Women clutched their children, men gathered whatever weapons they could, and the elders watched in silent horror as the Elysean army arrived at the gates of Saint-Michel.


    The people had heard of Mass¨¦na.


    They knew what had happened to the villages that had defied him.


    And now, they were next.


    The Elysean forces halted just outside the town. The banners of Elysea fluttered in the wind, a reminder that the empire would not be defied.


    Mass¨¦na rode to the front, his posture composed, his voice carrying through the rain.


    "People of Saint-Michel," he called out, "I will give you one chance."


    Silence.


    A single villager stepped forward¡ªa man well into his fifties, his hands calloused from years of labor. His eyes were sharp, unafraid.


    "We have nothing to give you, Elysean," he said. "We are farmers. Traders. You have already taken enough from us."


    Mass¨¦na studied him. Then, his voice dropped to something almost dangerous.


    "I don''t need your things."


    The man frowned. "Then what do you want?"


    Mass¨¦na''s expression remained unreadable.


    "Roux."


    Gasps rippled through the crowd.


    The old man''s face darkened. "And if we don''t give him to you?"


    Mass¨¦na smiled. "Then I take this town instead."


    April 14th, 1701.


    The scout rode into camp at full speed, his horse nearly collapsing from exhaustion.


    "Marshal!" he gasped, stumbling off the saddle. "Saint-Michel¡ªMass¨¦na''s there!"


    Roux''s stomach twisted.


    Saint-Michel.


    His fingers curled into a fist. Mass¨¦na had forced his hand.


    There was no avoiding it now.


    If he did not go, the town would burn.


    If he did, he would be walking into Mass¨¦na''s trap.


    Giraud placed a hand on his shoulder. "It''s a setup, Roux. You know that."


    Roux exhaled sharply. "Of course it is."


    Vasseur clenched his jaw. "Then what do we do?"


    Roux looked at his men¡ªhis people.


    They were tired. Wounded. Many had lost everything.


    And yet, they still followed him.


    Because he was not fighting for power.


    He was fighting for them.


    His voice was steady when he spoke.


    "We fight."


    April 15th, 1701.


    The rain had stopped by morning.


    The sun rose over the horizon, casting a golden glow over the dense forests and rolling hills leading to Saint-Michel.


    Roux and his army marched forward.


    They had no artillery. S~ea??h the Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    No grand fleet.


    But they had heart.


    And sometimes, that was enough.


    April 15th, 1701.


    Mass¨¦na stood atop the gates of Saint-Michel, watching the dust rise in the distance.


    He smiled.


    "They came."


    Devereux adjusted his grip on his rifle. "They always would."


    Mass¨¦na''s eyes burned with determination. "Then let''s finish this."


    With a single motion, he raised his sword.


    And the Elysean army prepared to meet its final war.


    April 15th, 1701.


    The battlefield was set.


    Saint-Michel stood in the valley below, its buildings lined with simple thatched roofs, its people hiding in their homes, their fate hanging in the balance.


    On one side, Mass¨¦na''s army stood in perfect formation¡ªElysean muskets gleaming under the morning sun, bayonets fixed, cannons positioned on the higher ridges, ready to rain fire on the town below.


    On the other, Roux''s forces approached through the tree line, a patchwork army of veteran soldiers, native warriors, and those who had refused to kneel.


    Mass¨¦na took a deep breath and lowered his sword.


    The first cannon fired.

 Chapter 126 - 126: Last Battle Part 1

    April 15th, 1701.


    The boom of the first cannon shattered the morning stillness.


    A split second later, a section of Saint-Michel''s wooden palisade exploded into splinters. Smoke and dust filled the air, and the cries of civilians echoed through the town as debris rained down upon them.


    The battle had begun.


    Armand Roux barely flinched at the sound. His focus remained on the battlefield ahead, his hands gripping the reins of his horse as he rode at the head of his army.


    "Hold your lines!" he barked, his voice carrying over the rustling leaves and shifting armor of his troops.


    His forces were a ragtag coalition¡ªveteran soldiers, former Elysean deserters, native warriors, and civilians who had taken up arms in the name of freedom. They had no cannons, no disciplined formations, and no professional cavalry.


    But they had will.


    They had rage.


    They had something to fight for.


    "We keep moving," Roux said to Giraud, who rode beside him, his rifle slung over his back. "We need to get inside the town before Mass¨¦na''s artillery does too much damage."


    "And if he marches forward to meet us?" Giraud asked.


    Roux smirked grimly. "Then we hit them harder."


    Vasseur, still pale from his wounds, pulled his horse closer. "If we take too long, the town will be gone before we even reach it."


    Roux didn''t respond. He knew that better than anyone. But charging blindly would mean slaughter. Mass¨¦na was waiting for him to be reckless.


    Not today.


    "Flanking units, move into position!" he ordered.


    Scattered groups of native warriors and light cavalry peeled away into the forests, disappearing into the dense undergrowth.


    Their job was simple: hit and run. Keep the Elyseans guessing. Make Mass¨¦na feel like the jungle itself was his enemy.


    The rest of them would push straight ahead.


    Mass¨¦na watched from the high ground, his eyes narrowing as Roux''s forces continued forward.


    He had expected hesitation. Maybe even a delayed approach. But no¡ªRoux was moving fast.


    The Marshal of the New World was wasting no time.


    "Interesting," Mass¨¦na murmured.


    Devereux stood beside him, spyglass in hand. "He''s not stopping."


    "Of course not," Mass¨¦na replied. "He knows if he hesitates, Saint-Michel burns."


    Devereux lowered the spyglass, his expression grim. "The flanking forces have already moved into the jungle. If we advance too far, we''ll get picked apart."


    Mass¨¦na smirked. "And that is exactly why we will not move too far."


    Devereux frowned. "Sir?"


    Mass¨¦na turned toward his officers. "Adjust artillery fire. Aim for his reinforcements. Scatter them. Make them feel like there is no safe approach."


    "And the main force?" Devereux asked.


    Mass¨¦na looked back toward Roux''s approaching army.


    "Let them come."


    Devereux hesitated, but nodded.


    Mass¨¦na''s forces held the high ground. Their lines were unbroken. Their cannons thundered down onto Roux''s men, blasting craters into the earth and sending bodies flying.


    But the rebels kept moving.


    And Mass¨¦na knew what that meant.


    Roux was willing to sacrifice men to reach him.


    And if Mass¨¦na wanted to crush them, he would have to do it before they reached the town.


    The moment they entered firing range, Roux shouted, "FIRE!"


    Muskets cracked, and the first line of Elysean soldiers staggered as rebel bullets tore through their ranks.


    Mass¨¦na''s men responded immediately, their own muskets unleashing a disciplined volley.


    Smoke filled the battlefield.


    Men fell, screaming. S§×ar?h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    But Roux did not stop.


    He led from the front, his saber drawn as he carved a path toward the Elysean lines. His officers fought beside him, rallying their men as the gap between the two armies closed.


    And then¡ªthe melee began.


    Bayonets clashed with sabers.


    Rifles became clubs.


    Men screamed, steel met flesh, and the world descended into chaos.


    Roux parried an Elysean soldier''s thrust and drove his saber into the man''s throat. Another came from the side, swinging a musket like a club¡ªRoux dodged, grabbed the man''s wrist, and drove a knee into his stomach before slashing across his chest.


    Blood sprayed onto the mud.


    Giraud was beside him, his rifle empty, now using the bayonet as a spear, stabbing into anyone who got too close.


    "Vasseur! Keep the line moving!" Roux roared.


    Vasseur, still weakened but relentless, led the next charge.


    And then¡ªthe flanking units struck.


    Native warriors erupted from the jungle, their arrows and muskets striking Mass¨¦na''s rear lines.


    For the first time, the Elyseans wavered.


    Mass¨¦na''s forces were pinned¡ªpressed from the front, harassed from the back.


    Devereux cursed. "Sir! We need to fall back!"


    Mass¨¦na''s expression was unreadable.


    Then¡ªhe smiled.


    Mass¨¦na raised his sword and shouted, "Cavalry! Now!"


    A horn blasted through the battlefield.


    And suddenly¡ªfrom behind the town, a hidden Elysean cavalry regiment surged forward.


    Roux''s eyes widened.


    Mass¨¦na had held a reserve force.


    The cavalry smashed into Roux''s flanking units, cutting them down before they could retreat. The jungle fighters, caught between the town and Mass¨¦na''s forces, were trapped.


    And then¡ªthe Elysean lines pushed forward.


    It was like a hammer and anvil.


    Mass¨¦na had absorbed the first attack.


    Now, he was crushing them from both sides.


    Roux gritted his teeth.


    "We''re being encircled!" Giraud shouted.


    Roux looked to the battlefield.


    His forces were fighting tooth and nail¡ªbut now, the momentum was shifting.


    They were no longer the attackers.


    They were the ones being overwhelmed.


    Mass¨¦na had turned the battle against them.


    "Orders, Marshal?!" Vasseur yelled.


    Roux knew they had to break free¡ªor they would all die here.


    He scanned the battlefield, looking for one weak point.


    Then, he saw it.


    Mass¨¦na''s artillery positions were still largely unprotected.


    A plan formed instantly.


    "Vasseur! Take the cavalry¡ªhit their cannons!" Roux ordered. "If we can take them out, we can push through their right flank!"


    Vasseur''s eyes widened, then hardened.


    "Understood!"


    He and the remaining cavalry charged toward the ridgeline, where the Elysean artillery continued to fire.


    Roux turned back toward Giraud.


    "We hold here. No matter what."


    Giraud nodded grimly.


    The battle was not over.


    But now¡ªit was a race against time.


    From his vantage point, Mass¨¦na watched everything unfold.


    Roux was not retreating.


    He was counterattacking.


    A slow, impressed smirk crept onto Mass¨¦na''s lips.


    "Let''s see if you can pull it off, Marshal," he murmured.


    He raised his sword again.


    "All units¡ªhold the line."


    The Battle of Saint-Michel was far from over.


    And only one man would walk away victorious.

 Chapter 127 - 127: Last Battle Part 2

    The thunder of hooves and cannons roared across the valley.


    Armand Roux stood in the heart of the battlefield, bloodied but unyielding. His forces were splintering. The flanking units had been decimated by the hidden Elysean cavalry, and the center¡ªhis own position¡ªwas slowly being pushed back under the relentless pressure of Mass¨¦na''s disciplined advance.


    Still, he fought.


    His saber was slick with blood, his coat torn, his breath ragged. Around him, the wounded screamed, the dead lay still, and the mud turned red beneath a sky that refused to rain.


    He could feel it¡ªthe moment slipping away.


    "Hold the line!" Roux shouted, slashing his blade downward. "Do not give them the town!"


    Giraud was beside him, face cut and smeared with ash. "We''re losing ground, Marshal!"


    "I know!" Roux growled.


    Another volley of musket fire tore into their left flank. Men collapsed. The rebels were faltering.


    On the ridgeline, the Elysean cannons continued their deadly rhythm. Vasseur and the cavalry had managed to reach them, but the artillery crews had dug in deep, shielded by makeshift barricades and defended by a small detachment of musketeers.


    Roux turned to see Vasseur locked in brutal close-quarters fighting, trying to silence the guns. Explosions lit the sky as one of the smaller cannons was destroyed.


    But it wasn''t enough.


    Mass¨¦na''s trap had been perfectly executed. He had waited, endured, and then struck when Roux committed.


    Now, it was working.


    And still¡ªRoux refused to break.


    He parried another blow, drove his saber into a young Elysean officer''s chest, and turned to rally the remaining men.


    "We fight here! If Saint-Michel falls, everything we''ve built dies with it!"


    Their cheers were hoarse, tired.


    But they fought harder.


    Across the field, Mass¨¦na stood among his command officers, calm, composed, his cloak rippling in the wind.


    Devereux stepped up, sweat streaking his brow. "Their cavalry''s making progress on the guns, but the rebel line is starting to collapse. If we press now, we''ll crush them."


    Mass¨¦na nodded, eyes fixed on Roux in the distance.


    The Marshal was still alive. Still leading.


    Mass¨¦na hated how much he respected him for that.


    "Order the final push," he said. sea??h th§× ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Devereux blinked. "Now?"


    Mass¨¦na''s voice was sharp. "Now. Break them."


    Elysean drums rolled across the battlefield, followed by a rallying cry that shook the bones of every man still standing.


    From the rear lines came Mass¨¦na''s reserve infantry¡ªfresh, disciplined, untouched by the chaos.


    They surged forward.


    Roux turned just in time to see them coming. His heart sank.


    "Giraud¡ªfall back to the church steps!" he barked. "We hold the last line there!"


    He and his remaining men pulled back toward the heart of Saint-Michel, where the old stone chapel stood surrounded by scattered barricades and wounded defenders. It had become their final redoubt.


    The townspeople had already fled into the hills or hidden underground. Only the fighters remained.


    The rebels dug in.


    Roux climbed the steps of the chapel, sword still in hand. His legs screamed from exhaustion, his lungs burned.


    But he would not die with his back turned.


    He turned to Giraud and the few dozen survivors still holding rifles.


    "This is our stand," Roux said, voice steady. "They want to kill us and break what we built. But if we fall here¡­ we fall fighting."


    Giraud gave a bloody grin. "Wouldn''t have it any other way."


    Then¡ªMass¨¦na''s final wave struck.


    The Elyseans came with ruthless precision. Musket volleys shredded the rebel barricades, and then bayonets followed. It was no longer a battle¡ªit was an execution.


    Giraud was struck in the shoulder and fell. Another man screamed as a bayonet plunged into his gut. Roux stood atop the steps, swinging his blade, blood flying with every strike.


    He killed one.


    Then two.


    But there were too many.


    A saber caught him across the ribs. He staggered.


    Another blow struck his leg, and he fell to one knee.


    All around him, his men were falling.


    And then¡ªit was quiet.


    Elysean soldiers surrounded the chapel, muskets aimed.


    Mass¨¦na stepped forward, his uniform stained with soot, his face lined with exhaustion.


    He walked slowly up the chapel steps, stopping a few feet away from Roux, who now sat slumped against the stone wall, bleeding, breathing hard.


    "You fought well," Mass¨¦na said quietly.


    Roux coughed, spitting blood into the dirt. "Didn''t come here to fight poorly."


    Mass¨¦na looked around. Saint-Michel was his now. The town had fallen.


    And Roux¡­ Roux had nothing left to give.


    But still, the man had not yielded.


    "I should kill you," Mass¨¦na said.


    Roux looked up, eyes burning. "Then do it."


    Mass¨¦na raised his sword.


    But it didn''t move.


    For a long, quiet moment, the two men stared at each other. Two soldiers who had given everything. Two men who had bled for what they believed in.


    Then¡ªMass¨¦na lowered the blade.


    "I came here to end a rebellion," he said. "And I have. You''re finished, Roux. Whether you live or die changes nothing."


    Roux didn''t speak. His body trembled, his blood stained the stones.


    But he smiled.


    "A soldier¡­ doesn''t stop fighting¡­ because he''s beaten," Roux rasped. "He stops¡­ when he''s dead."


    Mass¨¦na nodded once, slowly.


    "I''ll let history decide what you were, Marshal."


    He turned away.


    "Take him," Mass¨¦na ordered. "Alive."


    Two soldiers approached, carefully lifting Roux''s broken body.


    Mass¨¦na stood at the center of Saint-Michel, now silent, save for the crackling of fires and the groans of the wounded.


    It was over.


    The rebellion was crushed.


    The New World, once on the verge of freedom, was now under Elysean rule once more.


    And yet¡ªeven as he looked out across his victory, Mass¨¦na could not shake the feeling in his chest.


    He had won.


    But something still felt like a loss.


    Mass¨¦na looked up at the sky¡ªclear now, the storm gone. Sunlight fell upon the broken chapel, casting long shadows over the bodies of the fallen. The scent of blood lingered in the air.


    Behind him, Devereux approached. "We''ve secured the town. The last pockets of resistance have surrendered."


    Mass¨¦na gave a slight nod, but didn''t speak.


    He had silenced the rebellion. The crown would praise him. The king would reward him.


    And yet¡­


    His heart felt heavy.


    Because somewhere deep down, he knew:


    He had not just conquered a people.


    He had buried a dream.

 Chapter 128 - 128: Execution

    April 16th, 1701


    Saint-Michel


    The fires had gone cold, but the smell of smoke and blood still clung to the streets like rot.


    The battle was over.


    But the reckoning had just begun.


    Rows of Elysean soldiers marched through the ruined town, their boots crunching on shattered wood and scattered debris. The rebel flags had been torn down. The walls repainted with the imperial crest. And in the center of Saint-Michel''s town square, the rebellion''s last remnants had been gathered like livestock awaiting slaughter.


    Nearly two hundred men knelt in the mud¡ªwounded, bruised, beaten into submission. Some still bled from bayonet wounds. Others bore black eyes, split lips, and cracked ribs. Their weapons had been taken. Their uniforms stripped. Many wore nothing but undergarments or rags. The Elyseans had made sure to humiliate them, parading them through the streets like trophies.


    Civilians who hadn''t fled peeked from behind broken doors and shattered windows, silent witnesses to the fall of their defenders.


    General Andr¨¦ Mass¨¦na stood before them, flanked by Colonel Devereux and a retinue of officers. He wore no ceremonial cloak, no polished armor. Only the same blood-stained coat he''d worn in battle. His expression was unreadable.


    The prisoners were forced to kneel in rows, heads down, hands bound behind their backs.


    "Names," Devereux barked to the clerks standing by with ink and parchment.


    The scribes stepped forward, reading off lists, cross-referencing faces.


    "Lieutenant Beno?t, 4th rebel infantry."


    "Captain Julian, rebel artillery."


    "Corporal ¨¦mile Marat¡­"


    The process was cold. Mechanical. Names were logged. Ranks identified. Sentences pre-written.


    Treason.


    The word was written next to every name.


    Mass¨¦na watched in silence as the rebels were processed like cattle. He didn''t speak. Not yet. His gaze drifted across the faces¡ªsome young, barely more than boys. Others grizzled, hardened veterans who had followed Roux since the war began.


    Most didn''t look afraid.


    They looked proud.


    That irritated Devereux more than anything.


    "These bastards still think they''re heroes," he muttered.


    Mass¨¦na didn''t answer.


    Giraud, still bleeding from the shoulder, was shoved forward by a soldier. He stumbled but stayed on his knees. His glare was defiant.


    "You''re wasting your breath," he spat at the clerk. "You want names? We already gave you everything we had on the battlefield."


    Devereux stepped forward, striking him across the face with the back of his hand.


    Giraud coughed blood but laughed. "If this is victory, I hope you choke on it."


    Devereux raised his hand again, but Mass¨¦na stopped him with a sharp look.


    "Enough," the general said quietly.


    Devereux stepped back, his jaw clenched.


    Mass¨¦na stepped forward, his boots sinking slightly into the blood-soaked earth. He addressed the prisoners directly, his voice calm but carrying.


    "You stand accused of rebellion against the Crown of Elysea. You raised arms against your king. You burned his banners. You defied his rule. That is treason."


    Murmurs rose among the kneeling rebels. Some cursed. Some bowed their heads. Others said nothing.


    Mass¨¦na continued. "Under Elysean law, treason is punishable by death. And by the power vested in me, I will see that sentence carried out."


    There was a pause.


    Then Giraud spoke again, voice loud enough for all to hear.


    "If we''re to be executed, then do it now. Don''t waste time pretending you''re merciful."


    Mass¨¦na''s jaw tightened.


    He walked down the line slowly, looking into the eyes of each man. He stopped in front of a boy¡ªno older than sixteen. His face was pale, his lips trembling. A farm boy who had picked up a musket to defend his home.


    The boy didn''t speak. But his eyes said everything.


    Why?


    Mass¨¦na turned away.


    "To those who lay down their arms willingly," he said, "you will be given mercy. Prison camps, hard labor. A chance to live."


    "But those who fought to the end¡­" He looked toward the bloodied chapel. "Those who chose to stand and kill Elysean soldiers until the very last moment¡­"


    He let the silence finish the sentence.


    Vasseur was among those kneeling. He couldn''t stand anymore. His side had been torn by shrapnel, and his arms were bound tight.


    He looked up with blurry eyes and whispered, "You can kill us, Mass¨¦na. But the idea lives."


    Mass¨¦na turned to face him.


    "That''s what they all say," he murmured. "But ideas die when no one is left to fight for them."


    He raised his hand.


    Devereux nodded to the execution squads.


    A group of Elysean soldiers lined up with muskets. They marched into position, twenty paces from the front row of prisoners.


    Some of the rebels flinched. Others raised their heads high. A few began praying.


    Roux was not among them.


    He had been taken elsewhere, too wounded to kneel, guarded night and day.


    Mass¨¦na gave the order.


    "Begin."


    Crack.


    The first volley fired.


    Bodies collapsed. Screams followed.


    The second row was marched forward.


    Devereux looked to Mass¨¦na. "Shall we continue with the rest?"


    Mass¨¦na''s eyes were distant.


    He did not answer immediately.


    Then finally, he spoke. "No." Sear?h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Devereux''s brow furrowed. "Sir?"


    "Keep the remaining prisoners alive. Let them see what happens when rebellion fails."


    Devereux hesitated. "And Roux?"


    Mass¨¦na exhaled slowly. "He will stand trial. Publicly. Let the world see that even the great Marshal of the New World kneels before the king''s justice."


    The executions were halted.


    The surviving rebels were shackled and marched through the burned streets of Saint-Michel, jeered at by Elysean loyalists, watched by hollow-eyed villagers. They were a symbol now.


    A warning.


    Mass¨¦na stood alone after the square was cleared. The blood soaked into the soil at his feet.


    It was over.


    The rebellion had been crushed not only with cannon and blade¡ªbut with humiliation.


    And yet, as he looked up at the broken chapel, where Roux had made his final stand, something gnawed at him.


    He had won.


    He had obeyed the king.


    But he wondered¡ªhow long before another spark caught flame?


    How long before someone else rose?


    In the silence, there was no answer.


    Only the wind.


    And the memory of what had been lost.

 Chapter 129 - 129: Receiving the News After the Battle

    The Royal Palace of Elysea stood tall and proud, its gilded towers gleaming beneath the midday sun. At its heart, behind heavy oak doors and thick marble walls, King Bruno of Elysea sat in quiet contemplation.


    The chamber was grand, but its silence was unnerving.


    Outside, courtiers whispered in polished corridors, and ministers scurried between meetings, but inside the king''s private study, only the crackling of a hearth and the soft scratch of a quill disturbed the stillness.


    He had been waiting for news for months.


    The last official dispatch from the New World had arrived six weeks ago, dated April 10th. It had spoken of a looming confrontation¡ªMass¨¦na closing in on Saint-Michel, Roux gathering the remnants of his rebellion. A final battle was coming. The outcome uncertain.


    But since then¡ªnothing.


    Until now.


    The heavy doors creaked open. The king did not look up.


    A footman entered, followed closely by Antoine Leclerc, his long cloak damp from the rain.


    Antoine bowed deeply.


    "Sire," he said, his voice steady, but his eyes alive with something King Bruno had not seen in some time¡ªexcitement. "A dispatch has arrived from General Mass¨¦na. It bears the seal of finality."


    Bruno placed his quill down and finally looked up. His blue eyes were sharp despite the weariness on his face.


    "Well?" he asked.


    Leclerc approached slowly, holding a weatherworn leather pouch in both hands. Inside it, a sealed scroll¡ªstamped with the unmistakable crest of the New World Expeditionary Force.


    He handed it to the king.


    Bruno broke the seal and began to read.


    The room was silent again, save for the flick of parchment and the soft hum of firewood crackling behind him.


    Minutes passed.


    When Bruno finally looked up, his expression was unreadable.


    Leclerc waited.


    Bruno stood.


    "He did it," the king said at last.


    A single sentence.


    But it held centuries of weight.


    Leclerc stepped forward. "Saint-Michel has fallen, then?"


    Bruno nodded. "Roux is alive¡ªbut the rebellion is crushed. The New World is ours once more."


    He walked slowly to the tall window overlooking the palace gardens, where the roses had bloomed early that year.


    "So much blood," he murmured. "So much death."


    Leclerc said nothing. He knew better than to interrupt the king''s reflection.


    Bruno let the scroll fall to his side.


    "There was a time I feared Roux would succeed," he admitted. "Not just because he was brilliant. But because he was beloved."


    He turned.


    "That is a dangerous kind of enemy, Minister. One who fights with conviction. One who inspires others to do the same."


    Leclerc folded his hands. "And now he sits in chains."


    The king gave a bitter smile. "Yes. And Mass¨¦na¡­ he will return to us a hero."


    There was a pause.


    Then Bruno added, "But not unscarred."


    Leclerc tilted his head. "Sire?"


    Bruno gestured to the dispatch. "Read his words. The victory was costly. The rebellion may be over, but he speaks of Saint-Michel like a man describing a funeral."


    Leclerc accepted the parchment and quickly scanned the pages.


    "''I have ended the war,''" he read aloud. "''But I cannot say I won.''"


    Bruno nodded slowly.


    "That is a soldier''s truth. The maps will say otherwise. So will the court. The nobles. The merchants hungry for New World gold."


    He turned away from the window and walked back to his desk.


    "But Mass¨¦na¡­ he knows the cost. And perhaps that makes him the best man I''ve ever sent to war."


    Bruno sat again, this time more slowly, his joints aching. He felt every year of his reign in that moment.


    "We must prepare the court," he said. "There will be celebrations. Honors. A grand welcome."


    Leclerc nodded. "Shall I begin preparations for the victory parade?"


    "Yes. And ensure that when Mass¨¦na returns, he is given every comfort he deserves. The people must see him as the man who preserved our empire."


    "And Roux, Your Majesty?" Leclerc asked carefully.


    Bruno did not answer immediately.


    He stared down at the empty parchment before him. Then, quietly, he said:


    "There will be a trial. Public. The people must see justice."


    Leclerc inclined his head. "Treason cannot be allowed to linger."


    "No," Bruno said. "It cannot. But neither can we pretend he was a mere villain."


    Leclerc looked puzzled.


    Bruno''s voice dropped.


    "If we turn Roux into a monster, we risk creating a martyr. If we turn him into a man¡­ a man who lost¡­ we remind the world that rebellion ends in ruin."


    He stood again, slower this time.


    "Bring the Council together. We begin preparations for Mass¨¦na''s return."


    "As you wish, Your Majesty."


    Leclerc turned to leave.


    But as he reached the door, the king''s voice stopped him.


    "And Renaud¡­"


    Leclerc turned.


    "Yes, sire?"


    "Send a private letter to General Mass¨¦na. Tell him¡­ I understand."


    Leclerc bowed once more, then left. S§×ar?h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Alone again, Bruno walked back to the window.


    Outside, the bells of Elysea began to ring¡ªword of victory spreading through the palace, across the city, into every alley and courtyard.


    But the king stood still.


    There was no joy in his face. Only gravity.


    He had his empire back.


    But he had seen enough history to know what victories like this truly cost.


    Far away, across the sea, the soil of the New World was still fresh with blood. The stones of Saint-Michel''s chapel still bore the memory of Roux''s last stand.


    And somewhere in the dungeons of the Elysean colony, the man who nearly changed the world sat in chains.


    Bruno closed his eyes.


    He had preserved the realm.


    But like Mass¨¦na, he too could not shake the feeling:


    That something beautiful had died with the rebellion.


    And history would never be able to bury it completely.


    A breeze drifted through the open window, carrying with it the distant echoes of church bells and cheering crowds. The city celebrated a war they hadn''t seen, a victory they couldn''t measure. Bruno remained still.


    In the quiet, he picked up the scroll once more and gently rolled it closed.


    They would write songs of Mass¨¦na. They would curse Roux in court.


    But time would decide the truth.


    "Let the bards sing," the king murmured. "Let the poets lie."


    For deep down, he knew¡ª


    They had crushed the selfish rebellion.

 Chapter 130 - 130: Proposing New Law

    June 19th, 1701 ¨C Royal Palace of Elysea


    The candlelight flickered softly within the king''s private chamber, casting long shadows across the carved bookshelves and oil paintings of dead monarchs. Outside, the palace gardens shimmered in the moonlight, undisturbed by the weight that sat so heavily on King Bruno''s shoulders.


    He did not sleep.


    Instead, he sat by the hearth once more, nursing a half-finished cup of wine, the scroll from Mass¨¦na still on the table beside him¡ªunread for the tenth time.


    A soft knock came at the door.


    "Enter," Bruno said, not turning.


    Antoine Leclerc stepped inside, less formal than usual. His coat was unbuttoned, and fatigue clung to him like dust.


    "You summoned me, sire?"


    Bruno gestured to the seat across from him. "Sit. I need a clear mind tonight."


    Leclerc obeyed.


    There was a long silence between them, broken only by the crackle of fire and the distant howl of wind brushing against the palace walls.


    Then Bruno spoke.


    "Roux was a man we raised," he said, his voice calm but heavy. "We clothed him in titles. We placed him in command. He dined in our halls. And yet, when the moment came, he turned against the very crown that fed him."


    Leclerc nodded slowly. "The pain of betrayal from within always cuts deepest."


    "It does more than cut," Bruno murmured. "It rots."


    He turned to look at his minister. "We gave him everything. Autonomy. Command. Respect. He did not lack privilege. And yet, it was not enough. His ideals outgrew his duty. His vision eclipsed his loyalty."


    Leclerc folded his hands on his lap. "You''re wondering how to prevent another like him."


    Bruno''s gaze lingered on the fire.


    "Yes. We cannot allow another rebellion to rise from within our own circle. Not from governors. Not from generals. Not even from ministers who sit beside me."


    Leclerc''s brow furrowed. "Then what are you proposing, sire?"


    Bruno stood slowly, walking toward the tall arched window overlooking the courtyard. The city beyond sparkled with lanterns and quiet joy, unaware of the storm raging in his thoughts.


    "I once believed that giving power to the capable was enough. That men of merit, if trusted, would act in the interest of the crown. But I was wrong."


    He turned back. Sear?h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Power alone does not corrupt. It reveals. And unchecked, it multiplies ambition."


    Leclerc stayed quiet, absorbing the words.


    Bruno continued.


    "Roux was not corrupted by enemies or coin. He was corrupted by belief. By the idea that he was better suited to lead than the throne itself."


    "A dangerous conviction," Leclerc said softly.


    Bruno returned to his chair.


    "We must rebuild the system of appointments. No longer will military governors hold civil authority unchecked. From now on, every colonial general will answer not only to the court¡ªbut to an inspector appointed directly by the crown."


    Leclerc raised an eyebrow. "Even generals like Mass¨¦na?"


    Bruno hesitated.


    "Yes," he said. "Especially generals like Mass¨¦na. No man must ever stand so tall that he sees the empire beneath him."


    Leclerc leaned forward slightly. "That will anger the military establishment."


    "Let them be angered," Bruno said sharply. "It is better they grumble in barracks than rise in rebellion."


    He stood again, pacing now.


    "There will be oversight. There will be rotation. No governor will rule more than four years in the same colony. Loyalty must be renewed through service, not sustained through entrenchment."


    Leclerc tapped his fingers together. "And the civilian governors?"


    "They will be drawn only from those without ties to local factions. Neutral. Loyal. And they will have no standing army. Their protection will be provided by the Crown Guard."


    Leclerc gave a small nod. "Checks and balances."


    "Exactly," Bruno said. "We trusted one man too much. We trusted that his love for the New World would not eclipse his duty to Elysea."


    He looked Leclerc in the eye.


    "And we were wrong."


    Leclerc folded his arms. "There''s one more matter, sire."


    "What is it?"


    Leclerc hesitated before saying it.


    "The court will call for more than reforms. They''ll want punishment. Examples. They''ll want to purge the institutions Roux touched."


    Bruno exhaled through his nose.


    "Then let them. But no blood for its own sake. No witch hunts. Find those who conspired with Roux knowingly¡ªwho armed, funded, or protected him. The rest¡­ we discipline, not destroy."


    "And the clergy in the colonies who preached in his favor?"


    Bruno frowned. "Summon them to the capital. Reassign them. Silence the symbols. Do not let them become icons of resistance."


    Leclerc nodded. "Understood."


    Bruno moved back to the fire. The warmth didn''t seem to reach him.


    "The irony," he said quietly, "is that Roux wanted to give his people freedom. And in doing so, he only justified their chains."


    Leclerc stood as well.


    "And you, Your Majesty? What do you want now?"


    Bruno''s face was distant.


    "Stability. Peace. An empire that does not require blood to keep its borders intact."


    He looked at his minister.


    "But if we must choose between loyalty and liberty, we must always choose loyalty. The realm cannot afford dreamers."


    He walked to the shelf, pulling a new parchment scroll from the drawer.


    "I will begin drafting the Royal Decree of Colonial Reform tonight. When it is ready, you will present it to the Council."


    "Yes, Your Majesty."


    Bruno placed the blank parchment on his desk.


    "One more thing, Leclerc."


    "Yes, sire?"


    "When the poets write of this war, ensure they do not forget what Roux did. Let him be remembered for his brilliance¡ªand his betrayal."


    He met Leclerc''s gaze.


    "But not his martyrdom."


    Leclerc bowed. "As you command."


    He turned to leave.


    Bruno stared down at the parchment, quill hovering.


    For a brief moment, he hesitated.


    Then he began to write.


    The rebellion was over.


    But the preservation of the empire had only just begun.


    The ink flowed steadily across the parchment as Bruno drafted the first lines of the Royal Decree. It wasn''t written like a speech or a grand proclamation¡ªit was a plan. A system of rules meant to stop the next Roux before he could even rise.

 Chapter 131 - 131: The New Law

    June 21st, 1701 ¨C Royal Palace of Elysea


    The throne room of the Royal Palace, usually reserved for ceremonies and state functions, had been repurposed for something more solemn. The long marble floor, polished until it reflected the gold chandeliers above, now echoed with the deliberate steps of ministers, military officials, and court scribes.


    At the far end, beneath the towering banners of Elysea, King Bruno sat on his throne¡ªnot in ceremonial garb, but in his plain royal coat, the same he wore during war councils and long nights in the palace study. A stack of parchment sat beside him. At the top: the completed Royal Decree of Colonial Reform.


    This was not a document born of celebration. It was a product of necessity¡ªof blood, of betrayal, and of harsh lessons learned.


    Bruno glanced to his left, where Antoine Leclerc stood holding a bound copy of the decree. The minister''s face was unreadable, but Bruno could sense the weight in his stance. Everyone in the room knew that today marked a turning point in the empire''s governance.


    The king looked toward the gathered assembly.


    "Gentlemen," he began, his voice calm but clear, "you all know why we are here."


    Silence.


    He rose from the throne, pacing slowly before the gathered ministers and generals.


    "The rebellion is over. General Mass¨¦na has done what we asked of him¡ªhe ended a war that should never have begun."


    His words echoed across the chamber.


    "But what happened in the New World was not born out of foreign meddling or external threat. It was born from within. From our own system. From the way we entrusted too much to one man¡ªand expected loyalty to carry the rest."


    Some shifted uncomfortably.


    Bruno continued.


    "We gave Marshal Armand Roux command of both military and civil authority. We allowed him to grow too powerful, too independent. His rebellion was not just about the New World¡ªit was a warning."


    He looked directly at General Tissot, one of the senior military leaders present.


    "No man, no matter how decorated, should ever hold unchecked authority over crown territories."


    Tissot gave a small nod, though his jaw was tight.


    Bruno gestured to Leclerc.


    "The Royal Decree of Colonial Reform outlines a complete restructuring of our overseas administration. From this day forward, all colonial military commanders will be subject to royal-appointed inspectors. No longer will civil and military power be concentrated in a single figure."


    He turned to face the civilian officials.


    "Governors will be rotated every four years. Their appointments must be approved by the Council and reviewed annually. No local ties. No private militias. Their safety will come from the Crown Guard alone."


    A few murmurs rippled through the crowd. Bruno didn''t flinch.


    "This is not about distrust," he continued. "It''s about balance. About ensuring that the colonies serve the empire¡ªnot the ambitions of those who rule them."


    He nodded to Leclerc, who stepped forward and unrolled the parchment.


    "With your permission, sire," Leclerc said, "I will read the opening provisions."


    Bruno gave a small nod.


    Leclerc''s voice rang out through the hall.


    "By order of His Majesty King Bruno of Elysea, the Royal Decree of Colonial Reform is hereby enacted. Article One: All colonial military commanders shall report not only to the Crown, but to an Office of Colonial Oversight, formed under the Ministry of War and the Royal Council."


    "Article Two: No colonial governor shall serve more than one four-year term in the same territory. Reappointment requires royal approval and recommendation by the oversight office."


    "Article Three: Civilian governors are prohibited from maintaining private armed forces. All security is to be managed through the Crown Guard, whose command remains with the Ministry of Defense."


    "Article Four: All sermons, public writings, and political gatherings in colonial territory shall be monitored by a Crown-appointed magistrate to ensure loyalty to the realm."


    Bruno held up a hand, and Leclerc paused.


    "Let the rest be read later," the king said. "The core message is clear."


    He looked out over the room once more.


    "This is not an act of vengeance. It is an act of preservation. If we do not adapt, we will invite another Roux. And next time, we may not be so fortunate."


    He stepped forward, accepting the decree from Leclerc''s hands.


    "I, Bruno of Elysea, sovereign and protector of the realm, do hereby sign and enact this Royal Decree."


    He dipped the quill into the ink and, without hesitation, signed his name at the bottom of the parchment.


    The seal of the crown was pressed into the wax moments later.


    It was law.


    A round of formal bows followed. The ministers nodded respectfully. The generals gave stiff salutes. But the mood remained somber. They all knew the implications.


    Bruno returned to his throne, resting his hand on the armrest.


    "There will be resistance," he said quietly. "Some will call it overreach. Others will call it fear."


    Leclerc stepped closer, lowering his voice. "But they will obey. Because they saw what happened when we didn''t act."


    Bruno nodded once.


    "Begin dissemination to the colonies. I want every general, every governor, and every magistrate to have a copy within the month."


    "Yes, Your Majesty."


    "And inform General Mass¨¦na of the decree. Send him a personal letter¡ªhe must understand this is not a slight against him."


    Leclerc hesitated, then asked, "And Roux?"


    Bruno looked down at the empty floor for a long moment.


    "The trial proceeds. But there will be no execution."


    Leclerc blinked. "Sire?"


    Bruno looked up, eyes tired but certain.


    "We will strip him of his titles. Sentence him to life imprisonment in the capital, where no cause can grow around him."


    "Why spare him?"


    Bruno exhaled slowly.


    "Because death is too easy. And because¡­ I want future rebels to see what happens when you fight the crown."


    Leclerc gave a single nod. "As you command." S§×arch* The n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    The session ended. One by one, the ministers and commanders filed out, whispering among themselves. The kingdom would shift in the coming months¡ªrules rewritten, old allies tested, new rivalries formed. But Bruno didn''t fear that.


    He feared silence. The kind that had allowed Roux to grow unchecked.


    Later that evening, alone once more, Bruno returned to his study. The fire still burned low. On the desk, next to the empty wine cup, sat the original copy of the decree¡ªhis handwriting still fresh.


    He ran his fingers across the page.


    He had signed away the old way of ruling. What would rise in its place was still uncertain.


    But for now, he had done what kings must do.


    He had acted.


    And history, as always, would decide the rest.

 Chapter 132 - 132: Massenas Reaction

    July 3rd, 1701 ¡ª Governor''s Estate, Port-Soleil, Pan America


    The sun was high over Port-Soleil, casting long golden beams across the lush green hills that surrounded the Elysean governor''s estate. The sound of birds echoed in the distance, mixed with the occasional hammering of repairs still being made in the aftermath of the war. Troops patrolled the outer perimeter. Civilians passed through checkpoints. But inside the estate''s grand office, the world was quiet.


    General Andr¨¦ Mass¨¦na sat behind a wide oak desk, the sea breeze filtering through the open shutters. On the table in front of him was a scroll, sealed with the red wax of the crown and the insignia of King Bruno.


    He had known something like this would come.


    But not so soon.


    Mass¨¦na turned the scroll over once more in his hand before finally breaking the seal and unfurling the parchment. His eyes scanned the opening lines slowly, his brow furrowing with each sentence.


    Royal Decree of Colonial Reform...


    He read every word. Twice. Then a third time. When he was finished, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment, letting the words settle.


    A knock came at the door.


    "Enter," Mass¨¦na said without looking.


    Colonel Devereux stepped in, removing his hat.


    "You received it, sir?"


    Mass¨¦na nodded. "It''s exactly what we expected."


    Devereux approached the desk, glancing at the decree. "The rumors were true, then. Inspectors. Term limits. Civil and military power separated."


    Mass¨¦na let out a breath. "Yes. All of it."


    The colonel frowned. "Do you think it''s aimed at us?"


    Mass¨¦na gave a tired chuckle and stood, walking slowly to the open window. From there, he could see the distant hills where skirmishes had once raged.


    "No," he said. "It''s aimed at what we failed to see."


    Devereux remained silent, waiting.


    Mass¨¦na continued, "Roux didn''t rise overnight. He grew powerful because the system allowed it. Too much autonomy. Too much trust. We were all so focused on defending Elysea''s holdings that we forgot to watch what was happening inside them."


    Devereux stepped forward. "But you brought down Roux. You ended the rebellion."


    "Yes," Mass¨¦na replied, turning around. "But only after thousands died. After a town was burned. After a nation nearly slipped away."


    He returned to the desk and tapped the parchment.


    "The king knows we cannot afford another Roux. And he''s right. If someone like me can be stationed here for too long¡­ I too could forget who I answer to."


    Devereux looked surprised. "Sir, no one doubts your loyalty."


    Mass¨¦na gave a small smile. "Loyalty fades when a man begins to think of himself as essential. When he starts believing the colony cannot run without him. When he begins shaping policy instead of executing orders."


    He paused.


    "That''s what happened to Roux. And it could happen again."


    Devereux lowered his gaze. "Then you support the decree?"


    "I understand it," Mass¨¦na said. "Even if it feels like a noose."


    He walked to a nearby cabinet and poured two glasses of wine, handing one to Devereux.


    "I don''t take offense to oversight," he continued. "It means the crown is watching again. That''s better than silence."


    They both drank quietly.


    Devereux finally spoke again. "They''re going to rotate us out within the year, aren''t they?"


    Mass¨¦na nodded. "Most likely."


    There was a brief silence before he added, "I don''t mind. I''ve given enough to this land. More than enough. If the king wants new eyes here, let them come."


    Devereux looked at his commander. "And what will you do? When you return to Elysee?"


    Mass¨¦na looked out the window once more.


    "I''ll stand before the court. Accept the praise. Let the nobles clap for a war they never fought. I''ll walk the parade route and bow when the king calls my name."


    He turned back, voice steady.


    "And then I will ask to serve somewhere else. Somewhere smaller. Somewhere quieter."


    Devereux blinked. "You''re stepping back?"


    Mass¨¦na nodded. "I''ve seen enough. Done enough. The war is over, Colonel. And I don''t want to become the kind of man they write decrees about."


    The words hung in the air.


    Mass¨¦na picked up the scroll and rolled it shut again.


    "Send copies of this to all officers under our command. Make sure they read it. Understand it. And accept it."


    "Yes, General."


    Devereux paused at the door.


    "Sir," he said, "you could''ve refused. You could''ve fought this. The law¡­ it limits men like you."


    Mass¨¦na''s eyes were tired but calm.


    "That''s why I accept it, Devereux. Because I am a man like me."


    When the door closed, Mass¨¦na sat again.


    The room was quiet, save for the wind and the rustle of leaves.


    He looked down at his own hands¡ªscarred, calloused, steady. S~ea??h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    They had ended a war.


    And now, they would surrender power.


    It was the right thing.


    Even if it stung.


    A few days later, a formal letter arrived from the Royal Council.


    It bore King Bruno''s personal signature and the royal seal, written in clean, deliberate script. It summoned General Mass¨¦na to Elysee, to attend a private audience with the King followed by a formal commendation ceremony.


    The tone was respectful. The invitation absolute.


    Mass¨¦na stood at the balcony of the governor''s estate, the letter in one hand, the other resting on the railing. Below, soldiers continued their drills, their rifles clicking in perfect rhythm. Repairs to the southern wall of Port-Soleil continued, but the mood had shifted¡ªlighter now, steadier. The war was behind them.


    "I suppose it''s time," he muttered.


    He folded the letter and slipped it into his coat.


    Later that evening, Mass¨¦na called his senior staff together. His voice was calm and direct as he outlined the transfer of authority. Colonel Devereux would temporarily assume command until the royal-appointed inspectors arrived. Orders were to maintain peace, finish reconstruction, and ensure the reforms were smoothly implemented.


    There were no protests. Only nods of understanding.


    Before dawn broke, he mounted his horse and made his way to the harbor.


    The ship that would carry him back to Elysee was already being loaded. Its sails were furled, its deck polished. Royal marines stood ready to escort him.


    Mass¨¦na turned once, casting a long look at the land he had fought to keep.


    He did not wave.


    He did not smile.


    But he felt, for the first time in a long while, that it was truly over.


    And now, he would face the King.

 Chapter 133 - 133: Recognition of Victory

    Port of Brest, Western Elysea


    The morning fog rolled in from the Atlantic, low and heavy, casting a pale sheen over the Port of Brest. Gulls circled lazily overhead, and the salty air carried the quiet creak of mooring ropes and the muffled clamor of dockhands unloading cargo. The royal vessel Ardent had arrived at dawn, cutting through the mist like a blade through silk.


    General Andr¨¦ Mass¨¦na stood near the gangplank, dressed in his uniform¡ªnot parade regalia, but the dark navy coat he had worn during the final days in Pan America. It bore the scuffs of travel, but the medals pinned to his chest gleamed.


    A small detachment of royal soldiers greeted him on the dock. Their lieutenant, young and stiff-backed, saluted sharply.


    "General Mass¨¦na, welcome home, sir. Your transport to the capital awaits."


    Mass¨¦na nodded. "Thank you, Lieutenant."


    He stepped onto the dock, boots landing with a solid thud. He was back in Elysea. And yet, it felt more foreign than the colonies ever had.


    He was led past the port buildings to a waiting platform¡ªnew, freshly built, with iron rails stretching inland like black veins through the countryside. At the center stood a sleek steam locomotive, painted black with crimson accents, the crest of the Elysean crown mounted proudly on its engine. This was the pride of the kingdom''s newest infrastructure: the Royal Western Line. A direct route from Brest to Elysee.


    Mass¨¦na boarded without ceremony, escorted to a private car furnished in rich red velvet and polished mahogany. The whistle blew, long and sharp, and the train lurched forward.


    Through the window, the fields of western Elysea slid past¡ªgolden with wheat, dotted with grazing cattle, small villages tucked beneath rolling hills. Children waved as the train sped by. Mass¨¦na nodded absently in return.


    He hadn''t taken the time to look at his country like this in years.


    It was quiet. Almost too quiet.


    For hours, he sat alone with his thoughts, watching the landscape change. The rugged coast softened into farmland, which then gave way to sprawling suburbs. The smell of coal and steam clung to the air.


    By late afternoon, the skyline of Elysee appeared through the haze¡ªtall domes, gleaming towers, and the unmistakable spires of the royal palace in the distance. The capital had grown, even in the short time he''d been away. New roads, new bridges, and the skeletal frames of factories rising on the city''s outskirts.


    The train hissed to a stop at the Central Terminal, an iron-and-glass behemoth that had only recently opened to the public. The platform bustled with travelers, workers, and soldiers¡ªbut Mass¨¦na''s arrival caused a hush. People turned to look. Some saluted. A few simply stared.


    A royal carriage waited outside, flanked by Crown Guard riders. The footman opened the door and bowed low.


    "General Mass¨¦na," he said respectfully.


    Mass¨¦na climbed inside.


    The carriage rolled forward, iron-clad wheels crunching over cobblestone as they moved through the heart of Elysee. Along the boulevard, citizens paused to catch a glimpse of the man they had heard so much about¡ªthe general who had ended the rebellion.


    There was no parade. No band. No cheering crowds.


    That would come later.


    For now, it was just him, the city, and the long road to the palace.


    The Royal Residence loomed ahead¡ªan enormous complex of marble and limestone, ringed by iron fences and manicured gardens. Flags fluttered from every turret. Guards stood at attention as the carriage passed through the gates.


    Mass¨¦na stepped out in the courtyard, greeted by the warm light of the late afternoon sun.


    A senior court official approached with a tight smile.


    "His Majesty is waiting."


    Mass¨¦na nodded and followed.


    The palace interior had not changed¡ªits floors gleamed with wax, its tapestries told stories of old wars and older kings. But it all felt different now. As if everything had shifted slightly in the wake of what had happened.


    At last, the doors to the royal reception chamber opened.


    Inside, King Bruno stood near a tall arched window, hands clasped behind his back. At his side stood Queen Amelie, regal as ever in a light silver gown. Her expression was calm but watchful.


    Mass¨¦na stepped forward and knelt, head bowed.


    "Sire. Your Majesty."


    Bruno turned. "Rise, Andr¨¦."


    Mass¨¦na obeyed.


    Bruno stepped forward, studying the man before him.


    "You look older."


    Mass¨¦na gave a slight smile. "The colonies have that effect."


    Queen Amelie stepped forward. "You look thinner," she said gently. "I hope you''ve been eating."


    "I''ve done my best, Your Majesty."


    Bruno motioned toward a chair. "Sit. This is not a trial. This is a conversation."


    Mass¨¦na sat.


    Bruno remained standing, gaze steady.


    "I received your reports. The dispatches. The letters." He paused. "And now you''ve read mine."


    Mass¨¦na nodded. "The reforms are sound."


    "You agree with them?"


    "I do."


    There was a moment of quiet.


    "You could have fought them," Bruno said. "Claimed insult. Argued that your authority had been undermined."


    "I could have," Mass¨¦na said evenly. "But I didn''t."


    "Why?"


    Mass¨¦na looked at the king.


    "Because the war showed me what happens when we wait too long to act. Roux didn''t start as a traitor. He started as a patriot with too much leeway. Too much power. I don''t want to become that man, sire."


    Bruno studied him for a long moment. Then, he nodded.


    "That''s why I summoned you."


    Mass¨¦na blinked. "Not for the ceremony?"


    Bruno gave a small smile. "That, too. But more importantly¡ªI wanted to see if you still understood the weight of your uniform."


    Mass¨¦na''s eyes did not waver. "I do."


    Queen Amelie stepped forward again. "You saved the colonies, General. And though the kingdom will remember the battles, we will also remember the restraint."


    Bruno added, "You could have made yourself a second Roux. You chose not to."


    "I''m a soldier, not a ruler."


    "Good," the king said. "Because soldiers can be recalled. Replaced. But rulers¡­ they forget who they serve."


    He stepped closer and placed a hand on Mass¨¦na''s shoulder.


    "You''ve done your duty. And for that, you have my gratitude."


    Mass¨¦na inclined his head. "Thank you, sire." S§×arch* The ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Bruno straightened.


    "There will be honors. A parade. You will attend. Smile, if you can. The people must see the man who kept Elysea whole."


    Mass¨¦na hesitated. "And after?"


    Bruno''s voice softened. "Then, you may go. A post will be arranged¡ªquiet, as you requested. A command in the southern provinces. Peaceful. Agricultural."


    Mass¨¦na exhaled. "That would be welcome."


    Bruno turned to the guards. "Escort the general to his chambers. He is to be treated as an honored guest."


    As Mass¨¦na stood to leave, Queen Amelie spoke once more.


    "Rest, General. You''ve earned it."


    Mass¨¦na bowed deeply.


    "Your Majesties."


    He turned and left the chamber.


    The doors closed behind him.


    And for the first time in many years, Andr¨¦ Mass¨¦na walked away from power¡ªnot in disgrace, not in rebellion, but in peace.


    And that, he believed, was a victory all its own. ?

 Chapter 134 - 134: Grand Procession

    July 5th, 1701 ¨C Elysee, Capital of the Kingdom of Elysea.


    Day of the Grand Procession


    The morning sun climbed over the skyline of Elysee, turning the domes and spires of the capital a brilliant gold. Church bells rang across the districts, their echoes overlapping in a rhythm that made the entire city feel alive. From the royal avenue to the outer boulevards, the streets were lined with red and gold banners bearing the royal crest and Mass¨¦na''s insignia¡ªan eagle with outstretched wings above crossed sabers.


    It was a day of celebration. A national day of honor.


    But for General Andr¨¦ Mass¨¦na, seated in his formal carriage near the palace gates, it didn''t feel like a victory parade. Not to him.


    He adjusted the collar of his decorated uniform as servants affixed fresh white gloves to his hands. He had been dressed by the royal tailors that morning¡ªhis old, worn campaign coat traded for a crisp ceremonial uniform tailored specifically for the event. Medals gleamed on his chest, polished so brightly they nearly blinded him in the mirror. A sword¡ªone he hadn''t drawn in months¡ªhung at his side. It was all ceremonial now.


    A knock on the carriage signaled the beginning of the procession.


    "General," said the steward, bowing. "The palace gates are open. The city awaits you."


    Mass¨¦na nodded once and leaned back in the cushioned seat. The carriage began to roll forward, its iron wheels clattering softly against the cobblestone as it exited the palace courtyard.


    Outside, a sea of people filled the wide avenue. Elysee had turned out in numbers not seen since the coronation of King Bruno. Children waved small flags. Merchants and workers stood shoulder to shoulder with noble families, all pressing closer to catch a glimpse of the man who had saved the empire.


    As his carriage passed, people cheered.


    "Vive Mass¨¦na!"


    "Savior of Pan America!"


    "Hero of the Empire!"


    Mass¨¦na nodded politely. He raised his hand in acknowledgment, as expected. But he felt strangely detached¡ªlike he was watching it all through glass.


    Behind his carriage came a column of Elysean cavalry in polished breastplates, followed by a marching band playing the national anthem. And then, soldiers from the New World Expeditionary Force¡ªsome fresh, some veterans¡ªmarched in unison. Their uniforms were spotless, their steps perfectly timed.


    At the grand plaza before the Royal Forum, a massive stage had been erected. On it stood King Bruno, Queen Amelie, and senior members of the Royal Council. Nobles lined the upper tiers, diplomats and foreign envoys filling the rest. A crowd of thousands surrounded the plaza.


    As Mass¨¦na''s carriage came to a stop, the crowd erupted once more.


    The footman opened the door.


    "General," he said with a respectful bow, "this way."


    Mass¨¦na stepped out into the sunlight. His boots struck the marble stairs as he ascended to the platform.


    The king was the first to approach him.


    "In front of the people," Bruno said quietly, "we are not kings and generals. We are symbols. Stand tall."


    Mass¨¦na inclined his head. "As you wish, Your Majesty."


    Queen Amelie stepped beside the king, offering a warm smile.


    Then the king raised both hands.


    The crowd quieted instantly.


    "People of Elysea," Bruno began, "we gather today not merely to celebrate a victory¡ªbut to honor the man who made it possible."


    He gestured to Mass¨¦na.


    "General Andr¨¦ Mass¨¦na was given an impossible task. To end a war not against a foreign enemy¡ªbut against our own. And he did so with skill, restraint, and loyalty."


    The crowd burst into applause again.


    Bruno continued.


    "Let no one say this was an easy war. It was fought with blood and fire. It took from us many sons and daughters. But it also revealed something greater¡ªthe strength of our unity, and the importance of our vigilance."


    He turned to Mass¨¦na.


    "For your service, and your unwavering loyalty to the crown, the realm bestows upon you the title of Marshal of the Empire."


    A herald stepped forward and unrolled a scroll.


    "In recognition of acts of valor, command, and devotion to the Kingdom of Elysea, His Majesty hereby grants Andr¨¦ Mass¨¦na the rank of Marshal, to serve as protector of the empire, counselor of war, and guardian of the realm."


    A ceremonial sword was presented to Mass¨¦na¡ªa gilded weapon with an ivory grip, engraved with his name.


    Mass¨¦na accepted it and bowed.


    "Thank you, sire."


    The applause resumed. The band played once more. Petals were thrown from balconies above. A full twenty-one gun salute echoed from the hills behind the city.


    But as the celebration went on, Mass¨¦na''s mind wandered. Not to the cheering crowd or the shining sword in his hands¡ªbut to the jungles of Pan America. To the ruins of Saint-Michel. To the faces of soldiers who had not made it back.


    He stood tall through the ceremony, through the banquets and the endless toasts later that evening, but it was not glory he tasted.


    It was duty.


    That night, as the city continued to celebrate with fireworks and music, Mass¨¦na sat alone in a guest chamber at the royal palace. He removed the marshal''s uniform and placed the sword carefully in its case. Then he looked out the window.


    From there, he could see the entire city of Elysee¡ªbright and grand, untouched by the horrors of rebellion. The people here had danced in the streets while others bled in the colonies.


    And yet¡­ they were still his people.


    A knock came at the door.


    It was Leclerc, the king''s minister.


    "Marshal," he said with a polite nod.


    "Minister."


    "I bring a letter. From His Majesty. It confirms your next post."


    Mass¨¦na accepted the envelope and opened it.


    He read quietly.


    After a moment, he nodded.


    "Agricultural command in the Southern Provinces," he said aloud. "As promised."


    Leclerc smiled. "The king keeps his word."


    Mass¨¦na folded the letter.


    "I will leave within the week."


    "The court will miss you."


    "They''ll forget me by the next ceremony," he said dryly.


    Leclerc chuckled softly.


    "Perhaps. But your reforms will not be forgotten. Nor your war."


    Mass¨¦na looked out the window again.


    "I don''t want to be remembered. I just want peace to hold."


    Leclerc bowed slightly and excused himself.


    Mass¨¦na remained at the window long after the noise faded.


    The next day, he visited the war memorial being constructed near the Ministry of Defense. It was unfinished¡ªscaffolding still wrapped around the base¡ªbut the names were already being carved.


    He found the section labeled "Saint-Michel."


    There were hundreds of names. Some he recognized. Others he would never know.


    He ran his fingers along the stone.


    And then, with no guards, no ceremony, and no audience, he bowed his head and stood there in silence.


    A marshal of the empire.


    A man who had won a war.


    And a man who knew¡ªbetter than most¡ªthat the price of keeping the empire intact would never truly be paid.


    Not by decrees.


    Not by medals.


    Only by remembering.


    Mass¨¦na stood before the memorial a while longer, his fingers lingering on the cold stone. His eyes moved from name to name, pausing at one he hadn''t expected to see¡ªCaptain Arnaud Giraud. He stared at it for a long time.


    He remembered the man clearly¡ªsharp, loyal, always ready with a biting remark during the long, tense days at Saint-Michel. Giraud had died defending the chapel stairs, buying minutes that allowed others to fall back. Mass¨¦na hadn''t known he''d been confirmed dead. The last reports had listed him as missing.


    "I should''ve sent a letter to his family," Mass¨¦na whispered to no one.


    He pressed his hand flat against the engraving. For a moment, the noise of Elysee¡ªits carriages, its voices, its cheers¡ªvanished. All he could hear were the crack of muskets, the scream of orders, the silence that followed the end.


    A soft voice broke the moment.


    "Marshal?"


    It was a young soldier, barely older than twenty, standing respectfully a few paces away. He wore the uniform of the Crown Guard, his posture stiff, his eyes nervous.


    "Yes?"


    "I was ordered to escort you back to the palace, sir. The king has requested your presence for a final portrait session¡­ for the Hall of Marshals."


    Mass¨¦na exhaled. "Of course he has."


    He gave one last glance to the wall, then turned away from it.


    As they walked down the gravel path, Mass¨¦na spoke quietly.


    "Do they teach you about Saint-Michel in the academies?"


    The young man looked surprised. "Not yet, sir. Only basic lessons about the rebellion. Mostly about Roux."


    Mass¨¦na nodded slowly. "One day, they''ll teach it properly. Make sure when they do, you remember the names on that wall more than the speeches they gave."


    "Yes, Marshal."


    They reached the waiting carriage. Mass¨¦na hesitated before climbing in. He looked back at the construction site one final time, watching as workers laid more stones and an artist chiseled letters under a canvas tarp.


    History was already being written.


    But he had seen the truth behind it.


    He climbed into the carriage, closed the door behind him, and allowed it to take him back to the palace.


    There were still ceremonies to attend, paints to pose for, and dinners to endure.


    But soon, he would be gone. S§×arch* The novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 135 - 135: Peace

    July 10th, 1701 ¨C Elysee, Capital of the Kingdom of Elysea


    Royal Palace


    Marshal Andr¨¦ Mass¨¦na sat quietly in a comfortable chair, his hands resting on his knees as he waited for King Bruno to speak. He had been summoned to the king''s private study, a place he had visited many times before, though never comfortably. It always meant orders, discussions, or debates¡ªrarely good news.


    King Bruno finished writing something down and looked up, placing his pen aside. He gave Mass¨¦na a thoughtful look before leaning forward slightly.


    "Marshal," the king began, "I know we previously discussed assigning you to a quiet post in the Southern Provinces, something easy and restful after all you''ve been through."


    Mass¨¦na listened carefully, instantly realizing where this conversation might be going. He remained silent, nodding politely.


    The king hesitated, tapping his fingers gently against the polished wooden desk. "However, there have been developments in the colonies. Pan America, specifically."


    Mass¨¦na felt his chest tighten slightly, but he kept his expression neutral. "Developments, Your Majesty?"


    Bruno sighed and shook his head slowly. "Nothing major. No rebellion, no threats like before. But stability in Pan America remains fragile. There is still some resentment among the colonists and local leaders regarding the reforms we put in place."


    "I see," Mass¨¦na said carefully.


    "I need someone to take command there," Bruno continued, his voice calm but firm. "Someone who knows the land, who understands the people. Most importantly, someone who commands respect without needing force. Marshal, you are the only one capable of ensuring peace there."


    Mass¨¦na''s eyes shifted slightly downward. He had just returned, and now the thought of returning to the colonies weighed heavily on him. He had seen enough of war and rebellion. Going back was the last thing he wanted.


    "I understand your hesitation," Bruno said gently, noticing Mass¨¦na''s unease. "This is not a command given lightly. But I trust you completely."


    Mass¨¦na finally met the king''s gaze. "Your Majesty, forgive me for asking, but isn''t there anyone else? Someone younger, perhaps eager for the assignment?"


    Bruno smiled lightly, understanding Mass¨¦na''s point. "There are many young officers willing, certainly. But they lack your experience, your calm authority. Sending them would risk repeating past mistakes."


    Mass¨¦na sighed quietly, accepting the reality. "And you fear another Roux."


    The king nodded solemnly. "Exactly. Roux was a lesson we cannot afford to repeat. Your presence alone will reassure the colonists and remind the military that Elysea remains watchful but fair. You''ve already shown restraint and wisdom. They respect you."


    Mass¨¦na sat quietly for a long moment, his thoughts conflicted. Finally, he gave a slow nod. "I accept, Your Majesty. If that is what the kingdom needs, I will return to Pan America."


    Bruno visibly relaxed, nodding gratefully. "Thank you, Marshal. You will have full authority as the governor, reporting directly to me. I trust you to enforce the new reforms without excessive force."


    Mass¨¦na stood and bowed. "I will do my best."


    "I know," Bruno replied warmly. "That is why I chose you."


    October 25th, 1701 ¨C Port-Soleil, Pan America


    Governor''s Residence


    The journey back across the ocean had been smoother than Mass¨¦na anticipated. He spent most of his time on the deck of the ship, gazing out over the rolling ocean waves, quietly reflecting on what awaited him in Pan America. The sailors and marines on board treated him respectfully but kept their distance, sensing the marshal''s need for solitude.


    When the ship finally docked at Port-Soleil, Mass¨¦na found the port bustling with trade and commerce, busier and more energetic than he''d seen it before. New buildings had risen along the harbor front, businesses reopened, and the streets buzzed with life once more.


    Colonel Devereux met him at the docks, smiling genuinely as they shook hands. "Welcome back, Marshal."


    "Colonel," Mass¨¦na greeted him warmly. "I trust everything has been calm since my departure?"


    Devereux walked alongside him, leading him toward a waiting carriage. "Relatively calm, sir. The colonists are adjusting slowly to the new reforms. Most accept them, though there have been some minor issues. Complaints mostly."


    Mass¨¦na nodded. "Understandable. Change is rarely popular, especially after a war."


    Devereux opened the carriage door, and both men stepped inside. The ride through Port-Soleil felt oddly comforting to Mass¨¦na. The familiar sights and sounds of the colony¡ªvendors selling fruit and bread, children playing along the cobblestone streets, soldiers patrolling with relaxed discipline¡ªfelt reassuring. Maybe the king had been right after all. Perhaps his return here would indeed help keep the peace.


    Upon arriving at the governor''s residence, Mass¨¦na immediately noticed the changes. Repairs had been fully completed. The estate now had freshly painted walls, new tiles along the courtyard, and neatly trimmed gardens. It felt less like a war command post and more like a genuine home.


    He walked through the rooms slowly, inspecting everything with approval. Devereux followed, patiently updating him on various minor issues that required attention¡ªgrain shortages in one area, minor disputes over land titles elsewhere. Nothing major.


    "I''ve had your chambers prepared upstairs," Devereux said after completing the tour. "I assumed you''d prefer familiarity."


    Mass¨¦na smiled slightly. "You know me well, Colonel."


    As Mass¨¦na settled back into his office that evening, he felt a quiet sense of peace for the first time in a very long while. He opened the windows to let in the evening breeze, carrying with it the faint scent of the sea mixed with blooming flowers.


    October 30th, 1701 ¨C Port-Soleil, Pan America


    Town Square


    The next few days passed without major incidents. Mass¨¦na had quietly met with town leaders, reassured nervous colonists, and listened patiently to complaints from both soldiers and civilians. He managed to resolve most issues with compromise rather than threats, reinforcing his image as fair and measured.


    One afternoon, Mass¨¦na decided to walk through the town himself. Without the usual guard escort, he strolled calmly through the streets, quietly observing daily life. Most citizens recognized him, bowing or tipping their hats politely.


    At the market square, he paused by a vendor''s stall, examining some fresh fruit. The vendor, an older man named Lucien, eyed him with quiet curiosity.


    "You''re Marshal Mass¨¦na, aren''t you?" Lucien asked respectfully.


    Mass¨¦na nodded politely. "I am."


    Lucien smiled softly. "Never thought I''d see the governor himself here buying fruit."


    Mass¨¦na returned the smile. "Even governors must eat."


    Lucien laughed warmly. "Well then, Marshal, allow me." He handed Mass¨¦na a small basket of ripe peaches. "On the house. A thank-you for bringing peace back to us."


    Mass¨¦na hesitated briefly but then accepted the gift graciously. "Thank you, Lucien."


    Returning to the residence later, he reflected on the conversation. Perhaps his presence here was exactly what the colony needed. Not forceful authority, but calm leadership.


    But deep down, Mass¨¦na still carried a lingering fear. Roux had also started as a popular, respected governor, beloved by his people. Could Mass¨¦na himself change, lose sight of his loyalty? It worried him.


    He promised himself quietly, "I will not become Roux."


    That night, he invited Devereux and several other officers to dine informally. Over dinner, they discussed colonial matters, future plans, and local rumors. The mood was comfortable and relaxed.


    Afterwards, Mass¨¦na stood on the balcony of his chambers alone, gazing over Port-Soleil lit by lanterns below. The town seemed peaceful, serene, untouched by past violence. Yet, he knew peace was fragile.


    He thought again of Roux, imprisoned far across the sea. Roux had been talented, charismatic, trusted¡ªbut ultimately, he failed Elysea. Mass¨¦na wondered if Roux regretted his choices now, locked in a cell, forgotten by most of Elysea.


    Mass¨¦na exhaled quietly into the night air. He would not repeat Roux''s mistakes. He would govern with humility, always remembering whom he served and why.


    "One day at a time," he whispered softly.


    And so, days passed steadily. Mass¨¦na settled into a quiet routine. He visited local farms, attended town meetings, resolved minor disputes peacefully, and always reminded himself quietly of the lessons learned from Roux''s rebellion. sea??h th§× N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Weeks turned into months. The colonies stabilized under his careful governance. No major crises emerged, only the daily challenges of colonial administration. Mass¨¦na rarely drew his sword; instead, he used patience, negotiation, and empathy.


    The people came to respect him deeply. Soldiers obeyed him willingly. Colonists trusted him.


    Slowly, Mass¨¦na began feeling something he had not felt in years¡ªcontentment.


    Yet, every morning when he woke, Mass¨¦na whispered a quiet promise to himself.


    He would never become Roux. He would remain loyal, humble, cautious.


    And for now, peace held.


    He turned away from the balcony and returned to his desk, sitting quietly to review paperwork for tomorrow''s meetings. The papers were simple, ordinary¡ªreports on crops, trade, minor disputes. No war, no battles. Just daily life. He felt a quiet relief, knowing that his leadership could make these normal days continue. Perhaps, Mass¨¦na thought, peace was not found in grand victories, but in small, careful choices. And as he placed his pen down and prepared for bed, he silently hoped those choices would always remain clear to him.


    For tonight, at least, he was content.

 Chapter 136 - 136: A Child?

    July 15th, 1701 ¨C Elysee, Capital of the Kingdom of Elysea


    Royal Palace


    It was early morning in Elysee, the capital city slowly waking beneath a warm summer sky. Servants moved quietly through the marble halls of the Royal Palace, carrying trays laden with breakfast and fresh linens. Guards stationed at their posts exchanged sleepy nods, waiting for their shifts to change.


    In the royal apartments, Queen Amelie stood by a tall window overlooking the gardens below. She was quiet, reflective. She had felt unwell lately, something subtle yet persistent, something she had only shared quietly with her most trusted maid, Sylvie. But now, after careful consideration and whispered conversations with her personal physician, Amelie knew she could no longer keep the news to herself.


    She placed a gentle hand on her stomach, feeling a flutter of nervous excitement. After years of hoping, wishing, and the heartbreak of quiet disappointment, this time it felt real. The physician''s confirmation had been gentle but clear. Queen Amelie was with child.


    She turned from the window, her mind spinning softly with questions. How would Bruno react? Would he be joyful or cautious, given their past experiences? She took a slow breath to steady herself, deciding there was no point in waiting any longer.


    "Sylvie," Amelie called softly, her voice calm but purposeful.


    Sylvie appeared promptly, stepping through the chamber doors. "Yes, Your Majesty?"


    "Please have the king informed that I would like to speak with him privately," Amelie said softly. "Tell him it is important."


    Sylvie nodded respectfully. "At once, Your Majesty."


    Queen Amelie settled into a comfortable chair near the window, the morning sun casting gentle light onto her soft, pale gown. She waited quietly, her heart beating a bit quicker, but a peaceful smile beginning to form on her lips.


    After only a short wait, footsteps echoed down the hall. The heavy oak door opened, and King Bruno stepped into the room. He was dressed informally, in a simple white shirt and dark trousers, his hair slightly mussed from the morning''s activities. His face immediately showed concern mixed with curiosity.


    "Amelie?" he asked gently, crossing the room to her. "Is everything alright?"


    She looked up, smiling warmly as she reached out to gently take his hand. "Everything is more than alright, Bruno. I have some news to share with you."


    The king knelt beside her chair, concern easing slightly at her calm expression. "What news?"


    Amelie took a gentle breath, her eyes filled with quiet emotion. "Bruno¡­ I''m pregnant."


    The room went utterly quiet for a long moment. Bruno''s eyes widened slightly, as though he wasn''t sure he''d heard correctly. "Pregnant?" he repeated softly, almost to himself.


    She nodded gently, her fingers softly gripping his. "Yes, the physician confirmed it yesterday evening. After all these years, after all we''ve endured, we are going to have a child."


    Bruno stayed quiet, absorbing her words slowly. His hand tightened gently around hers, and Amelie could see a mixture of cautious joy and lingering concern in his eyes. Finally, he spoke softly. "Are you certain? The doctor is sure this time?"


    Amelie nodded reassuringly. "He was certain. I am in good health, and the signs are all there. We have every reason to be hopeful."


    Bruno exhaled, his shoulders visibly relaxing. He gently pressed a kiss to her hand. "Amelie, this is wonderful news," he murmured, a cautious smile forming on his lips. "But I cannot help but worry. After everything we''ve been through¡­"


    She squeezed his hand gently. "I understand, my love. I''m cautious too. But this feels different. Something deep inside tells me this child will be strong, healthy. I feel it."


    Bruno stood slowly, still holding her hand, and gently pulled her up with him. He wrapped his arms around her in a warm, protective embrace. "Then we will have faith together," he whispered softly. "Whatever comes, we face it together."


    She smiled into his chest, closing her eyes. "Yes, together."


    Over the following days, word of the queen''s pregnancy spread quietly through the palace, though not yet publicly announced. Bruno and Amelie decided to wait until they felt fully secure, mindful of the kingdom''s watchful eyes and the delicate politics that surrounded royal heirs. They took comfort in small, quiet moments shared alone in the palace gardens, discussing the future in hushed, hopeful whispers.


    July 30th, 1701 ¨C Elysee


    Royal Palace Gardens


    On a warm summer afternoon, King Bruno and Queen Amelie walked together slowly through the expansive gardens behind the royal palace. Flowers bloomed around them in brilliant colors¡ªdeep blues, bright reds, and soft yellows¡ªwhile the sounds of gently splashing fountains filled the air. They held hands, their conversation gentle and relaxed.


    "Have you thought about names?" Bruno asked softly, glancing down at his wife.


    Amelie laughed gently, shaking her head. "So soon? You''re hopeful."


    Bruno smiled warmly. "I can''t help it. We''ve waited so long."


    She paused, considering his question thoughtfully. "I suppose I have. If it''s a boy, perhaps Louis or Charles. If a girl¡­ maybe Sophie or Marguerite?"


    Bruno considered this thoughtfully. "Louis. That was my grandfather''s name. A strong name. Sophie, too¡ªit has a gentle strength to it."


    They continued walking slowly, discussing the future, the possibilities, the simple joys they hoped to share as parents. Despite Bruno''s earlier worries, Amelie''s quiet optimism began to reassure him. For the first time, he allowed himself to truly believe that they might soon have the family they both desperately wanted.


    August 20th, 1701 ¨C Elysee, Capital of the Kingdom of Elysea


    Royal Palace


    As weeks passed, Queen Amelie''s pregnancy continued smoothly, with no sign of complications. The palace''s best doctors and midwives attended to her daily, ensuring her health remained strong and stable. Bruno remained watchful but gradually relaxed, reassured by each passing day.


    Finally, the couple decided it was time to announce the news officially.


    King Bruno arranged a formal gathering in the royal audience chamber, inviting senior nobles, ministers, military officers, and other prominent figures of the kingdom. Standing side by side on the dais, with the warmth of afternoon sunlight streaming through the high windows, the king addressed those gathered.


    "Lords and ladies, loyal subjects," Bruno announced warmly, "we have called you here today to share a joyous announcement with the kingdom."


    The hall grew quiet, filled with anticipation.


    "It is with great happiness and gratitude," Bruno continued, glancing lovingly toward his wife, "that we announce Queen Amelie is expecting a child."


    Cheers immediately erupted across the audience chamber. Nobles smiled broadly, clapping and offering enthusiastic congratulations. Ministers nodded approvingly, visibly pleased and relieved that the kingdom might finally have an heir. Even the usually reserved military officers allowed themselves brief smiles and nods of approval.


    Bruno raised a hand, quieting the applause gently. "Your joy is our joy. Your hopes are our hopes. May this child be a symbol of peace, unity, and prosperity for all of Elysea."


    Later that evening, in the quiet privacy of their chambers, Bruno sat with Amelie by the fireside, her head resting comfortably on his shoulder.


    "It felt good to share our joy today," Bruno said quietly, his voice calm and content.


    Amelie smiled softly. "Yes, it did. And it felt right."


    Bruno squeezed her hand gently. "You''ve brought so much happiness to me, Amelie. More than I ever imagined."


    She kissed him softly on the cheek. "And you to me. Now, we have even greater happiness to look forward to."


    For a while, they sat together quietly, simply enjoying each other''s presence.


    As the months passed, preparations for the child''s arrival filled the palace. A nursery was prepared, decorated in gentle colors, carefully furnished with soft fabrics and toys crafted by the kingdom''s finest artisans. Bruno remained constantly attentive, visiting his wife several times each day to check on her health and comfort.


    As the queen''s belly grew rounder and the child grew stronger, so did the hopes and excitement of the kingdom. People whispered about the royal baby in taverns, marketplaces, and homes, quietly hoping that the long-awaited heir would bring continued peace and prosperity.


    One cool autumn morning, as Amelie sat in her chamber reading quietly, Bruno entered with a small gift box in his hands. He placed it gently in her lap.


    Amelie raised an eyebrow curiously. "What''s this?" S§×ar?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    He smiled softly. "Something I had made for you and our child."


    Opening the box carefully, she revealed a beautifully crafted silver locket engraved with the royal crest. Inside was a tiny, delicate portrait of herself and Bruno.


    She looked up, eyes glistening. "It''s beautiful."


    Bruno knelt beside her chair, taking her hand gently in his. "Our child will always know they are loved, Amelie. Whatever happens, we''ll always protect and cherish them."


    She squeezed his hand softly. "Always."


    For now, in this quiet moment, they allowed themselves to fully believe and hope. That the future felt bright, filled with promise and joy.


    And so, Elysea waited patiently, joyfully anticipating the day their heir would finally arrive.

 Chapter 137 - 137: The Birth of the Son

    ?Months passed since the joyful announcement of Queen Amelie''s pregnancy. The anticipation within the Royal Palace of Elysea grew with each day, as preparations for the arrival of the heir reached a fever pitch. The once-quiet halls now buzzed with activity, servants bustling about to ensure everything was perfect for the forthcoming royal birth.?


    March 3rd, 1702 ¨C Elysee, Capital of the Kingdom of Elysea


    The early spring air was crisp, carrying the scent of blooming flowers from the palace gardens. Inside the royal chambers, Queen Amelie sat by the window, her hands gently resting on her swollen belly. Her gaze drifted over the gardens below, where she and King Bruno had spent countless moments dreaming about their future child.?


    A sharp pain suddenly coursed through her abdomen, causing her to gasp softly. She had been experiencing mild contractions throughout the day, but this felt different¡ªmore intense. Amelie took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She knew the time was drawing near.?


    "Sylvie," she called out, her voice calm but firm.


    Her ever-attentive maid appeared almost instantly, concern etched on her face. "Yes, Your Majesty?"?


    "Please inform the midwives that I believe the baby is coming," Amelie said, offering a reassuring smile despite the discomfort.?


    Sylvie nodded briskly and hurried out of the room. Amelie closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing as another wave of pain washed over her.?


    Royal Palace ¨C The Birthing Chamber


    The chamber had been meticulously prepared for this moment. Soft linens adorned the bed, and a warm fire crackled in the hearth, casting a comforting glow. The kingdom''s most skilled midwives assembled, their expressions a mix of professionalism and anticipation.?


    King Bruno paced just outside the chamber, his usual composed demeanor faltering. The waiting was agonizing. He longed to be by Amelie''s side, to offer his support, but tradition dictated otherwise. His thoughts were a whirlwind of hope, fear, and excitement.?


    Hours stretched on, each minute feeling like an eternity. Inside, Amelie endured the pains of labor with remarkable strength, her mind focused solely on bringing their child into the world.?


    Late Evening


    As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting hues of orange and pink across the sky, a new sound filled the palace¡ªa baby''s cry. The clear, strong wail echoed through the halls, reaching Bruno''s ears. He froze mid-step, his heart pounding.?


    The door to the birthing chamber opened, and the head midwife stepped out, her face breaking into a wide smile. "Your Majesty, you have a son."?


    Relief and joy surged through Bruno as he rushed into the room. Amelie lay on the bed, exhaustion evident but a radiant smile gracing her lips. In her arms, wrapped in a soft blanket, was their newborn son.?


    Bruno approached cautiously, his eyes misting as he beheld the tiny, delicate features of his child. He knelt beside the bed, gently caressing Amelie''s hair. "You did wonderfully, my love."?


    She looked up at him, her eyes shining with tears. "Meet our son, Bruno."?


    He reached out, his large hand dwarfing the baby''s tiny fingers as they instinctively curled around his index finger. The baby''s eyes fluttered open briefly, revealing a glimpse of deep blue before closing again.?


    "He''s perfect," Bruno whispered, his voice thick with emotion.?


    Amelie nodded, her gaze never leaving their child. "What shall we name him?"?


    Bruno pondered for a moment, recalling their earlier conversations. "Louis. After my grandfather."?


    Amelie''s smile widened. "Prince Louis. It''s a strong name."?


    He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. "Thank you, Amelie. You''ve given me the greatest gift."?


    The Kingdom Rejoices


    News of Prince Louis''s birth spread rapidly throughout Elysea. Bells tolled joyously in the city, and celebrations erupted as citizens danced and sang in the streets. The birth of an heir symbolized hope and continuity, a beacon of stability for the kingdom.?


    In the days that followed, dignitaries and nobles from neighboring realms arrived to offer their congratulations and present gifts. The palace was adorned with flowers and banners, the atmosphere one of unbridled joy.?


    Private Moments


    Despite the grandeur of public celebrations, Bruno and Amelie cherished the quiet, intimate moments with their son. Late at night, Bruno would hold Louis close, marveling at the miracle in his arms. He would whisper stories of valor and wisdom, dreams he held for his son''s future.?


    Amelie, ever the nurturing mother, spent hours cradling Louis, singing lullabies passed down through generations. She found solace in these moments, a deep bond forming between mother and child.?


    Reflections


    One evening, as the palace settled into a rare quiet, Bruno and Amelie sat together in their chambers, Louis sleeping peacefully in a cradle nearby.?


    Bruno broke the silence, his voice contemplative. "I never imagined I could feel such profound happiness."?


    Amelie reached for his hand, intertwining their fingers. "Our journey hasn''t been easy, but perhaps that''s what makes this joy so deep."?


    He nodded, his gaze fixed on their sleeping son. "I vow to protect him, to guide him. To be the father he deserves."?


    Amelie leaned her head against Bruno''s shoulder, watching the rise and fall of little Louis''s chest as he slept. "He will have the best of both of us," she said softly. "Your strength. And I hope, my patience."


    Bruno chuckled quietly. "Let''s hope he inherits both, not one without the other."


    They sat in silence for a while, simply listening to the gentle crackle of the fireplace and the distant murmur of guards changing shifts outside the window. The calmness of the evening felt well-earned¡ªlike a small reward after years of ruling, hoping, and waiting.


    After a few minutes, Amelie whispered, "Have you thought about when to present him formally to the people?"


    Bruno nodded. "Soon. Not too soon¡ªwe should wait until he''s stronger. But the people are eager. This child has brought more joy to the capital than anything I''ve seen in years. They''ll want to see him with their own eyes."


    Amelie smiled. "Then we''ll do it properly. A day of blessing, in the cathedral, followed by a procession."


    Bruno squeezed her hand. "He''ll be loved by this kingdom. But more importantly, he''ll be raised to love it in return."


    As the night deepened, they both rose and stood beside the cradle, watching Louis sleep peacefully. His small fists were curled, and every so often he made a quiet, contented noise.


    Bruno placed a hand gently on the side of the cradle. "Welcome to the world, little prince."


    And in that moment, all felt right in the kingdom of Elysea.


    S§×arch* The novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 138 - 138: Celebration to the Young One

    ?In the days following Prince Louis''s birth, the Kingdom of Elysea was awash with jubilation. The capital, Elysee, had transformed into a vibrant tapestry of celebration, with streets adorned in the royal colors of blue and gold. Banners fluttered from every window, and the air resonated with the melodies of minstrels and the cheerful chatter of citizens. The birth of an heir was not merely a royal event; it was a national festival.?


    The royal palace, a magnificent edifice of marble and gold, stood at the heart of the city. Its grand balconies overlooked the sprawling courtyards where preparations for the official presentation of the prince were underway. Artisans and decorators bustled about, ensuring that every detail was perfect for the moment when the royal family would introduce the newborn to the people.?


    Inside the palace, Queen Amelie cradled her son in the royal nursery. The room was bathed in soft sunlight filtering through tall, arched windows, casting a warm glow on the ornate furnishings. Prince Louis, swaddled in the finest silks, slept peacefully in his mother''s arms. King Bruno entered quietly, his eyes reflecting a mixture of pride and tenderness as he approached his wife and son.?


    "The city is alive with celebration," Bruno remarked, his voice filled with awe. "Our people rejoice with us."?


    Amelie smiled, her gaze fixed on their child. "He is a symbol of hope for them," she said softly. "After all the kingdom has endured, Louis represents a new beginning."?


    Bruno nodded, understanding the weight of their son''s birth. The kingdom had faced years of turmoil, and this moment was a beacon of stability and promise.?


    As the day of the prince''s presentation approached, the palace grounds were meticulously prepared for the grand event. Invitations were sent to nobility and dignitaries from across the realm, and the citizens of Elysee eagerly anticipated the opportunity to glimpse their future king.?


    On the morning of the presentation, the palace gates opened to a sea of people. The grand courtyard was transformed into a spectacle of splendor, with colorful banners, fragrant floral arrangements, and a grand dais adorned with the royal crest. The nobility took their places in the front rows, dressed in their finest attire, while the common folk filled the remaining space, their faces alight with excitement.?


    Trumpets sounded, announcing the arrival of the royal family. A hush fell over the crowd as King Bruno and Queen Amelie stepped onto the dais, the infant prince cradled in his mother''s arms. Amelie, radiant in a gown of deep blue velvet, her golden hair crowned with a delicate tiara, held Louis up for all to see. The baby''s eyes opened briefly, revealing a striking shade of blue that mirrored his father''s.?


    Bruno raised his hand, and the crowd erupted into cheers and applause. Tears streamed down the faces of many, moved by the sight of their sovereigns and the promise embodied in the tiny prince.?


    "People of Elysea," Bruno''s voice rang out, commanding yet warm, "behold our son, Prince Louis. May he grow to serve and lead our great kingdom with honor and wisdom."?


    The crowd responded with fervent cries of "Long live Prince Louis! Long live the King and Queen!" The atmosphere was electric with unity and shared joy.?


    Following the presentation, a grand feast was held in the palace gardens. Tables laden with sumptuous dishes stretched as far as the eye could see. Roasted meats, fresh fruits, and an array of pastries delighted the senses. Barrels of the finest wines were opened, and goblets were raised in countless toasts to the royal family.?


    Amidst the festivities, Queen Amelie took a moment to walk among the people, Prince Louis nestled in her arms. She spoke with citizens, accepted their blessings, and allowed them to glimpse the child who represented their future. This gesture endeared her even more to the hearts of the Elysean people, reinforcing the bond between the monarchy and its subjects.? Sear?h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    As night fell, the city of Elysee was illuminated by thousands of lanterns. Fireworks painted the sky with bursts of color, each explosion met with gasps and cheers from the gathered crowds. The celebrations continued into the early hours, a testament to the profound joy that the birth of Prince Louis had brought to the kingdom.?


    In the quiet of their chambers, as the festivities echoed in the distance, Bruno and Amelie watched over their sleeping son. The weight of their responsibility was immense, but in that moment, surrounded by the love of their people and the promise of a new dawn, they felt an overwhelming sense of hope.?


    "Our journey is just beginning," Amelie whispered, her fingers gently brushing against Louis''s tiny hand.?


    "Together, we''ll build a future worthy of him," Bruno replied, determination and love shining in his eyes.?


    And so, under the starlit sky of Elysea, the royal family embraced the challenges and triumphs that lay ahead, united in their devotion to each other and their kingdom.


    A gentle breeze drifted in through the open window, rustling the curtains of the royal chamber as Queen Amelie leaned her head on Bruno''s shoulder. The baby stirred slightly in his cradle nearby, then settled again with a soft sigh. The fire in the hearth crackled low, casting a warm orange glow across the room. Outside, the last of the fireworks had faded, but the sound of distant singing and laughter still lingered faintly.


    Bruno exhaled slowly, his arm wrapped around his wife. "He will grow up in a different Elysea than the one we knew," he said quietly.


    Amelie nodded. "And we will make sure it is better. Safer. Kinder."


    Bruno looked toward the cradle. "He doesn''t know it yet, but the weight of the realm is already his to carry someday."


    "Then let him sleep," Amelie said with a small smile. "The burden can wait."


    They sat together in silence for a while, listening to their son''s breathing. The night outside deepened, and the palace slowly settled into quiet. Servants retired to their quarters, the halls darkened, and the world beyond the palace walls turned toward sleep.


    But within that chamber, within that family, a light remained¡ªa steady, unwavering glow that would guide Elysea forward.


    The heir had come. The people had celebrated. And now, the future waited patiently. Not with fear. Not with sorrow. But with hope. Hope wrapped in silk, asleep in a cradle.

 Chapter 139 - 139: A Simple Joy

    The morning sun streamed through the expansive windows of the royal palace, casting a warm glow across the polished marble floors. Queen Amelie sat in the nursery, gently rocking Prince Louis in her arms. The infant''s tiny fingers curled around a lock of her golden hair, his peaceful expression bringing a serene smile to her lips.?


    King Bruno entered quietly, his gaze softening as he beheld his wife and son. Dressed in a simple linen shirt and dark trousers, he exuded a relaxed demeanor uncommon in the formalities of court life. He approached them, placing a tender kiss on Amelie''s forehead before gazing down at Louis.?


    "He''s growing so quickly," Bruno murmured, marveling at the delicate features of his son.


    Amelie nodded, her eyes never leaving the baby''s face. "Each day brings something new. I don''t want to miss a moment."


    Bruno reached out, gently taking Louis into his arms. The baby stirred slightly but remained asleep, his tiny chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Bruno''s heart swelled with a profound sense of love and responsibility.


    "Let''s spend the day together," Bruno suggested. "Just the three of us. No court matters, no interruptions. A simple family day."


    Amelie''s eyes lit up with delight. "That sounds wonderful. Where shall we go?"


    Bruno smiled. "The palace gardens are in full bloom. We can take a leisurely stroll and enjoy the fresh air."


    Amelie agreed, and soon they were ready. Amelie donned a flowing lavender gown, its soft fabric allowing ease of movement. Bruno carried Louis, now awake and alert, dressed in a tiny outfit of pale blue. The family made their way through the grand corridors of the palace, their footsteps echoing softly against the stone walls.


    As they stepped into the gardens, a gentle breeze carried the sweet scent of blooming roses and jasmine. The meticulously maintained hedges formed intricate patterns, and fountains bubbled melodiously, creating a tranquil ambiance.?


    Amelie took Bruno''s free hand, intertwining her fingers with his as they walked along the winding paths. Louis gazed around with wide, curious eyes, occasionally gurgling in delight at the vibrant colors surrounding him.?


    They paused beneath a sprawling oak tree, its ancient branches providing a canopy of dappled shade. Bruno spread a soft blanket on the grass, and they settled down, forming a cozy circle.?


    Amelie leaned against Bruno, resting her head on his shoulder. "It''s been too long since we''ve had a moment like this," she sighed contentedly.?


    Bruno kissed the top of her head. "I know. The demands of the crown can be relentless. But today, it''s just us."?


    Louis cooed, reaching out toward a butterfly that fluttered nearby. Amelie laughed softly, guiding his tiny hand. "Look, Louis. The world is full of wonders."?


    They spent the morning in the garden, sharing stories and dreams for the future. Bruno spoke of teaching Louis to ride when he was older, while Amelie imagined reading him tales from the royal library. They envisioned a childhood filled with love, learning, and the freedom to explore.?


    As the sun climbed higher, they decided to visit the palace''s aviary, a place Amelie had always cherished. The aviary was a grand structure of wrought iron and glass, housing exotic birds from distant lands. Inside, the air was filled with the melodic calls of colorful parrots, delicate finches, and majestic peacocks.?


    Louis''s eyes widened in fascination as a vibrant macaw perched nearby, its feathers a dazzling array of reds and blues. Bruno held him closer, allowing the baby an unobstructed view.?


    Amelie reached out to a nearby feeder, collecting a handful of seeds. She extended her hand toward a small canary, which hopped onto her fingers and began to peck at the offering. She smiled, turning to Louis. "Would you like to try?"?


    Bruno guided Louis''s tiny hand to mimic Amelie''s actions. With patience, they waited until a curious finch landed lightly on the baby''s fingers. Louis gurgled with delight, his laughter echoing through the aviary.?


    After spending time with the birds, they continued their exploration, eventually arriving at the palace''s orchard. The trees were heavy with ripe fruits¡ªapples, pears, and plums. The sweet aroma was irresistible.? S~ea??h the N?vel(F)ire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Bruno plucked a ripe apple, polishing it on his sleeve before taking a bite. He offered it to Amelie, who took a small nibble, savoring the crisp sweetness.?


    "One day, Louis will be running through these orchards, picking his own fruit," Amelie mused, watching her son as he observed his surroundings with keen interest.?


    Bruno chuckled. "And we''ll be chasing after him, trying to keep up."?


    They found a secluded spot beneath a cherry blossom tree, its petals beginning to fall like delicate pink snowflakes. Bruno lay down, placing Louis on his chest. The baby nestled against his father, his tiny hands grasping at Bruno''s shirt.?


    Amelie reclined beside them, her fingers tracing gentle patterns in the grass. They remained there for a while, enveloped in the tranquility of the moment.?


    As the afternoon waned, they made their way back to the palace. The corridors were quiet, the usual hustle of court life momentarily subdued. They returned to the nursery, where Amelie settled Louis into his crib.?


    Bruno wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder as they watched their son sleep.?


    "Today was perfect," Amelie whispered.?


    Bruno nodded. "We should make time for days like this more often. Amidst everything we deal with¡ªpolitics, councils, decisions¡ªit''s this that matters most."


    Amelie leaned back into him, her voice soft. "I agree. It reminds me why we do it all. For him. For us."


    They stood like that for a while, just watching Louis sleep, his small chest rising and falling in a calm rhythm. Outside, the last golden rays of the sun bathed the city in warm light, casting long shadows across the palace gardens.


    Bruno kissed the side of Amelie''s head. "Let''s make it a tradition. A day each week, just the three of us. No ministers. No court. Just family."


    Amelie smiled and nodded. "I''d like that very much."


    As evening settled over Elysee, the royal couple stepped out of the nursery hand in hand, the doors closing softly behind them. Peace hung in the air¡ªnot just in the palace, but within them.


    For today, there were no burdens to carry. Just laughter in the gardens, the flutter of wings in the aviary, and the soft breath of a sleeping child.


    A simple day.


    A perfect day.


    And in the quiet halls of the palace, the memory of it would linger¡ªjust as steady as the heartbeat of the family it sheltered.

 Chapter 140 - 140: A Royal Stroll Through the Marketplace

    The sun had barely risen over the Kingdom of Elysea when an unexpected proclamation spread through the bustling streets of Elysee: King Bruno and Queen Amelie would visit the central marketplace that very day. Such appearances were rare, and the news sent waves of excitement rippling through the city. Merchants hurried to arrange their stalls, artisans displayed their finest wares, and citizens donned their best attire, all eager for a chance to glimpse their sovereigns.?


    By mid-morning, the marketplace was a vibrant tapestry of colors and sounds. Stalls overflowed with fresh produce, handcrafted goods, and exotic spices. The air was thick with the aroma of baked bread, roasted meats, and sweet confections. Street performers entertained clusters of onlookers, their melodies and acrobatics adding to the festive atmosphere.?


    A sudden hush fell over the crowd as the royal procession approached. King Bruno and Queen Amelie walked side by side, their presence commanding yet approachable. Bruno, dressed in a tailored navy coat with gold embroidery, exuded a regal air balanced by his warm smile. Amelie, radiant in a flowing emerald gown, her golden hair cascading down her back, waved gracefully to the assembled citizens.?


    Flanking them were the royal guards, their uniforms crisp and their expressions stoic. Each guard carried a bolt-action rifle, a symbol of the kingdom''s modernized military. The sleek design of these weapons, with polished wooden stocks and gleaming metal barrels, reflected the advancements Elysea had embraced in recent years.?


    As the royal couple ventured deeper into the marketplace, the initial awe of the crowd transformed into enthusiastic applause and cheers. Children perched on their parents'' shoulders, waving small flags emblazoned with the royal crest. Elderly citizens bowed respectfully, their eyes glistening with emotion.?


    Bruno and Amelie paused at a fruit vendor''s stall, drawn by the vibrant display of ripe peaches, plums, and cherries. The vendor, an elderly man with a weathered face and kind eyes, bowed deeply.?


    "Your Majesties," he said, his voice trembling with reverence, "it is an honor beyond words to have you here."


    Bruno picked up a peach, its skin blushing with perfect ripeness. "Your fruits are a testament to Elysea''s fertile lands and hardworking people," he remarked, taking a bite. The juice dribbled down his chin, and he laughed heartily, wiping it away with the back of his hand.?


    Amelie selected a handful of cherries, offering one to Bruno before tasting one herself. "Delicious," she declared, her eyes twinkling. She turned to the vendor. "Your dedication brings joy to many tables."?


    The vendor''s chest swelled with pride. "Thank you, Your Majesty. May these fruits nourish you as your leadership nourishes our kingdom."?


    Moving along, they approached a stall displaying intricate textiles. Scarves, shawls, and garments in a myriad of colors and patterns fluttered in the gentle breeze. A young woman, her hands stained with dyes, stood behind the counter, nervously twisting a piece of fabric.?


    Amelie reached out to touch a finely woven shawl, its threads shimmering in the sunlight. "Your work is exquisite," she praised, draping the shawl over her shoulders.?


    The artisan''s eyes widened in astonishment. "Thank you, Your Majesty. Each piece is crafted with love and tells a story of our heritage."?


    Bruno nodded appreciatively. "It''s artisans like you who keep our culture alive and thriving."?


    As they continued their stroll, the royal couple made a point to engage with as many citizens as possible. They listened to the concerns of fishermen, admired the craftsmanship of blacksmiths, and even sampled confections offered by eager bakers.?


    At one point, a group of children gathered around, their eyes wide with wonder. One brave boy stepped forward, clutching a wooden toy sword.?


    "Your Majesty," he addressed Bruno, his voice wavering, "one day, I want to be a knight and protect the kingdom."


    Bruno knelt to the boy''s level, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "The realm will always need brave souls like you," he said warmly. "Train hard, be just, and perhaps one day, you shall stand among the finest."?


    The boy beamed with pride, his friends cheering him on.?


    Throughout their visit, the presence of the royal guards was both a symbol of security and a testament to Elysea''s progress. The bolt-action rifles they carried represented the kingdom''s commitment to modernization and defense. Citizens glanced at the weapons with a mix of curiosity and respect, understanding their significance in safeguarding the peace they cherished.?


    As the sun began its descent, casting a golden hue over the marketplace, Bruno and Amelie prepared to take their leave. Bruno addressed the crowd, his voice resonant and filled with emotion.?


    "People of Elysee," he began, "today has been a reminder of the bond we share. Your resilience, creativity, and spirit are the heart of this kingdom. Together, we shall continue to build a future of prosperity and unity."


    The crowd erupted into applause, voices rising in unison with chants of "Long live the King and Queen!"?


    Hand in hand, Bruno and Amelie made their way back to the palace, their hearts full from the day''s encounters. The marketplace, now illuminated by the warm glow of lanterns, buzzed with stories of the royal visit, a day that would be etched in the memories of Elysea''s people for generations to come.?


    Within the palace walls, as night enveloped the city, Bruno and Amelie reflected on their day.?


    "It''s easy to become consumed by the affairs of state," Amelie mused.


    Bruno nodded as he slipped off his coat and set it aside. "Yes. But today reminded me of why we do it all. Not for power, not for politics¡ªbut for them. The people. Their lives, their hopes." sea??h th§× N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Amelie smiled as she removed her earrings and placed them on the dresser. "They seemed truly happy to see us. Even the little ones¡­ especially the little ones."


    "They gave us more than we gave them," Bruno said, stepping beside her. "Their warmth, their cheers. I hadn''t felt that kind of connection in a long time."


    Amelie gently cupped his cheek. "Then let''s not let that fade. Let''s visit more often. Speak to them. Listen to them. Be more than faces behind palace walls."


    Bruno leaned in and kissed her forehead. "We will."


    They walked together toward the nursery, peeking in at Prince Louis who was fast asleep in his crib. The baby stirred slightly, then settled again with a content sigh.


    The king and queen stood there quietly, watching him.


    The day had been long. But it had been good.


    A day among the people.


    A reminder of their purpose.


    And as they turned in for the night, Bruno whispered, "We''ll do better. For him. For all of them."

 Chapter 141 - 141: The Grand Railway Station in Elysee

    The morning sun cast a golden hue over the city of Elysee, illuminating the grandeur of the newly constructed Central Railway Station. Today marked a significant milestone for the Kingdom of Elysea¡ªthe inauguration of the railway that would seamlessly connect the capital to the distant provinces, fostering unity and progress. King Bruno and Queen Amelie, accompanied by their infant son, Prince Louis, were to grace the occasion with their presence, symbolizing the royal family''s commitment to the nation''s advancement.?


    The station itself was an architectural marvel, blending classical design with modern engineering. Its grand fa?ade boasted towering columns and intricate carvings depicting the kingdom''s rich history. Inside, expansive arched ceilings stretched over polished marble floors, while massive iron and glass windows allowed natural light to flood the vast concourse. The air buzzed with anticipation as citizens from all walks of life gathered to witness the historic event.?


    Amidst the crowd, merchants displayed their goods, hopeful that the new railway would usher in an era of prosperity. Children clutched miniature wooden trains, their eyes wide with excitement. Street performers entertained with lively tunes, adding to the festive atmosphere. Uniformed railway workers stood proudly by the gleaming locomotives, ready to showcase the fruits of their labor.?


    A hush fell over the assembled throng as the royal procession arrived. King Bruno, exuding a regal yet approachable demeanor, donned a tailored charcoal suit adorned with subtle gold embroidery. Queen Amelie, radiant in a sapphire-blue gown that complemented her luminous complexion, cradled Prince Louis, who was swathed in delicate white linens. The royal guards, ever vigilant, formed a protective yet unobtrusive perimeter, their polished boots reflecting the morning light.?


    As the royal family ascended the platform, the stationmaster, an elderly gentleman with a neatly trimmed beard and eyes that twinkled with pride, stepped forward and bowed deeply.?


    "Your Majesties," he began, his voice resonant with emotion, "it is with the utmost honor that we welcome you to the Central Railway Station. This endeavor stands as a testament to Elysea''s dedication to progress and unity."


    King Bruno nodded appreciatively. "The efforts of countless individuals have culminated in this moment. We are here not only to inaugurate a railway but to celebrate the spirit of our people who made this vision a reality."?


    Queen Amelie stepped forward, her gaze sweeping over the gathered crowd. "This railway is more than steel and steam; it is a bridge that will connect families, cultures, and dreams across our beloved kingdom."?


    The stationmaster gestured toward the gleaming locomotive poised on the tracks. "Would Your Majesties do us the honor of christening the first train to embark on this journey?"?


    A ceremonial bottle of champagne was presented, its label adorned with the royal crest. King Bruno took the bottle, and with a swift motion, shattered it against the locomotive''s iron frame. A cheer erupted from the crowd as the train''s whistle echoed through the station, signaling the dawn of a new era.?


    With the formalities concluded, the royal family expressed a desire to tour the station and engage with the citizens. They descended from the platform, immersing themselves in the vibrant tapestry of Elysea''s populace.?


    At a nearby kiosk, a young boy with tousled hair and smudged cheeks displayed intricately carved wooden train models. Queen Amelie approached, her interest piqued by the craftsmanship.?


    "Did you make these?" she inquired gently.


    The boy nodded, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and excitement. "Yes, Your Majesty. My father taught me."?


    She picked up one of the models, examining its fine details. "Your talent is evident. Such artistry brings joy to many."?


    The boy beamed with pride, bowing deeply as the queen moved on.?


    Further along, King Bruno engaged with a group of engineers who had been instrumental in the railway''s construction. They discussed the challenges faced during the project, from treacherous terrains to unpredictable weather.?


    "Your perseverance has paved the way for Elysea''s future," Bruno commended, clasping each man''s hand firmly.?


    As they continued their tour, the royal couple encountered a choir of young girls singing a melodic tune that resonated through the station''s vast halls. Their harmonies spoke of journeys, reunions, and the promise of tomorrow.?


    Queen Amelie, moved by the performance, approached the choir''s director. "Your music captures the essence of this day. Thank you for sharing your gift."?


    The director, a woman with silver-streaked hair and kind eyes, curtsied deeply. "It is our honor, Your Majesty."?


    As the day progressed, the royal family partook in a ceremonial ride aboard the inaugural train. The locomotive chugged steadily along the newly laid tracks, offering panoramic views of Elysea''s diverse landscapes¡ªfrom rolling meadows to dense forests, each scene a testament to the kingdom''s natural splendor.?


    Inside the opulent carriage, adorned with plush velvet seats and gilded accents, Prince Louis gurgled happily on his mother''s lap, seemingly entranced by the rhythmic motion of the train.?


    King Bruno gazed out the window, his expression contemplative. "This railway will change lives. Farmers can transport their harvests more efficiently, families can reunite with ease, and knowledge can flow freely between provinces."?


    Queen Amelie nodded in agreement. "It is a conduit for growth, understanding, and unity. Our kingdom grows stronger when its people are connected."?


    Upon their return to the station, the royal family was met with a jubilant reception. The citizens'' faces shone with hope and excitement for the opportunities the railway promised.?


    As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm amber glow over the city, King Bruno addressed the assembled crowd once more. He stood atop a small platform near the train, the last rays of sunlight catching the gold trim of his coat as he looked out across the sea of expectant faces.


    "People of Elysea," Bruno said, his voice carrying across the plaza, "this is more than a station. This is more than rail and steel. Today marks the first step toward a more connected kingdom. One where no province feels forgotten. One where the heartbeat of Elysee reaches even the most distant village."


    The applause was loud and sincere. He continued, letting his words settle into the hearts of those present.


    "Our ancestors laid roads with stone and sweat. Today, we lay tracks of progress. But remember¡ªthis railway is not the destination. It is the path. A path we build together."


    Beside him, Queen Amelie smiled, bouncing a sleepy Louis gently in her arms. He had grown quiet after the train ride, his little head nestled against her shoulder. Citizens pointed and whispered fondly at the sight, many of them visibly moved. S~ea??h the n?vel_Fire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    When Bruno stepped down, the people surged forward¡ªnot chaotically, but with reverence. Some to offer flowers, others simply to bow or say thank you. Amelie and Bruno remained for several more minutes, meeting hands, hearing names, receiving blessings from elders, and the hopeful wishes of children.


    By the time they departed, night had fully settled over Elysee. Lanterns flickered to life throughout the city, glowing like stars against the stone streets. As their carriage made its way back to the palace, Bruno and Amelie sat quietly, watching the city they loved pass by in gold and shadow.


    "I think we''ve done something good today," Amelie said softly.


    Bruno reached over and gently placed a hand on hers. "No. We''ve done something good. As one people. One kingdom."


    And in the quiet that followed, Prince Louis stirred once more, opened his eyes¡ªand smiled.

 Chapter 142 - 142: A Day of Reflection

    The morning sun filtered softly through the ornate windows of the royal bedchamber, casting a gentle glow upon the intricately woven tapestries that adorned the walls. Queen Amelie stirred beneath the silken sheets, her eyes fluttering open to the serene ambiance of the room. Beside her, King Bruno lay in peaceful slumber, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest a comforting sight. Between them, nestled in the crook of his father''s arm, was Prince Louis, his tiny features relaxed in sleep.?


    Amelie smiled softly, reaching out to brush a stray curl from her son''s forehead. The events of the previous day¡ªthe inauguration of the Central Railway Station¡ªhad left them both exhilarated and exhausted. The significance of the occasion still resonated deeply within her.?


    As if sensing her wakefulness, Bruno''s eyes slowly opened. He turned his head to meet Amelie''s gaze, a tender smile gracing his lips.?


    "Good morning," he murmured, his voice husky with sleep.


    "Good morning," she replied, her fingers entwining with his over Louis''s small form. "Did you sleep well?"


    Bruno nodded, his thumb gently stroking the back of her hand. "I did. Though I must admit, I could have used a few more hours."?


    Amelie chuckled softly. "The demands of the crown wait for no one."?


    They lay in comfortable silence for a few moments, simply enjoying the presence of their son between them. Eventually, Louis began to stir, his tiny fists rubbing at his eyes as he let out a soft whimper.?


    "Good morning, my little prince," Amelie cooed, lifting him into her arms. "Did you have sweet dreams?"


    Louis responded with a gurgle, his bright blue eyes blinking up at her.?


    Bruno sat up, stretching his arms above his head before leaning over to press a kiss to his son''s forehead. "What do you say we spend the day together? No meetings, no audiences¡ªjust us."?


    Amelie''s eyes lit up with delight. "That sounds wonderful. Perhaps we could take a walk through the palace gardens?"?


    Bruno nodded in agreement. "Let''s make it a family tradition¡ªto set aside time for just the three of us."?


    After a leisurely breakfast, the royal family prepared for their outing. Amelie donned a simple yet elegant lavender gown, the soft fabric flowing gracefully around her. Bruno opted for a crisp white shirt and tailored trousers, his attire reflecting a more relaxed demeanor. Louis was dressed in a charming ensemble of pale blue, his tiny feet clad in soft leather shoes.?


    As they stepped into the palace gardens, a gentle breeze carried the sweet scent of blooming flowers. The meticulously maintained hedges and vibrant flowerbeds created a picturesque setting, the colors vivid under the clear blue sky.?


    Amelie took Bruno''s hand as they strolled along the winding paths, Louis cradled in his father''s arms. The baby gazed around with wide-eyed wonder, his attention captivated by the fluttering butterflies and chirping birds.?


    They paused beneath a grand oak tree, its sprawling branches providing a canopy of dappled shade. Bruno spread a soft blanket on the grass, and they settled down together.?


    Amelie leaned against Bruno, her head resting on his shoulder as she watched Louis grasp at the blades of grass with fascination.?


    "It''s moments like these that I cherish the most," she murmured.


    Bruno pressed a kiss to her temple. "As do I. It''s important to remember why we do what we do¡ªto ensure a bright future for him."?


    They spent the morning in the garden, sharing stories and dreams for the future. Bruno spoke of teaching Louis to ride when he was older, while Amelie imagined reading him tales from the royal library. They envisioned a childhood filled with love, learning, and the freedom to explore.?


    As the sun climbed higher, they decided to visit the palace''s aviary, a place Amelie had always cherished. The aviary was a grand structure of wrought iron and glass, housing exotic birds from distant lands. Inside, the air was filled with the melodic calls of colorful parrots, delicate finches, and majestic peacocks.?


    Louis''s eyes widened in fascination as a vibrant macaw perched nearby, its feathers a dazzling array of reds and blues. Bruno held him closer, allowing the baby an unobstructed view.?


    Amelie reached out to a nearby feeder, collecting a handful of seeds. She extended her hand toward a small canary, which hopped onto her fingers and began to peck at the offering. She smiled, turning to Louis. "Would you like to try?"?


    Bruno guided Louis''s tiny hand to mimic Amelie''s actions. With patience, they waited until a curious finch landed lightly on the baby''s fingers. Louis gurgled with delight, his laughter echoing through the aviary.?


    After spending time with the birds, they continued their exploration, eventually arriving at the palace''s orchard. The trees were heavy with ripe fruits¡ªapples, pears, and plums. The sweet aroma was irresistible.?


    Bruno plucked a ripe apple, polishing it on his sleeve before taking a bite. He offered it to Amelie, who took a small nibble, savoring the crisp sweetness.?


    "One day, Louis will be running through these orchards, picking his own fruit," Amelie mused, watching her son as he observed his surroundings with keen interest.


    Bruno chuckled. "And we''ll be chasing after him, trying to keep up."? S§×ar?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    They found a secluded spot beneath a cherry blossom tree, its petals slowly drifting to the ground like soft pink snow. The grass beneath was a patchwork of color¡ªgreen speckled with fallen blossoms¡ªand the air smelled faintly sweet.


    Bruno lay back against the trunk, stretching his legs as he rested Prince Louis gently against his chest. The baby let out a happy coo, batting at a blossom that had landed on his tiny hand. Amelie sat close, her head resting against Bruno''s shoulder, her hand gently stroking Louis''s back.


    They stayed like that for some time¡ªno duties, no advisors, no expectations. Just a quiet moment between a king, a queen, and their child.


    "This is what I dreamed of," Amelie whispered.


    Bruno turned to her, brushing a kiss across her cheek. "Me too."


    The breeze picked up, scattering more petals across their little corner of the orchard. Above them, the sky remained a clear and perfect blue.


    Eventually, as the shadows began to stretch across the grass, they gathered up their things and returned slowly to the palace, hearts full and spirits calm.


    It had been another simple day.


    Another perfect day.


    And for the royal family of Elysea, it was one of many more to come.

 Chapter 143 - 143: The Last Tranquil Moments

    The following morning in the Kingdom of Elysea began in a soft hush, as light filtered gently through the tall, arched windows of the royal palace. The air was cool and fresh, carrying the distant sounds of birdsong from the gardens below. It was a quiet day¡ªno ceremonies, no urgent court matters. Just calm.


    Queen Amelie stood by the window of her private sitting room, swaying gently with Prince Louis in her arms. He was bundled in a soft cotton wrap, his tiny head nestled against her shoulder. His eyes were wide and curious this morning, calmly taking in the sights around him. Amelie smiled, rocking slowly as she hummed a quiet melody¡ªsomething her own mother had once sung to her.


    King Bruno entered moments later, a book in one hand and a warm expression on his face. "He''s wide awake already?" he asked, walking over to press a kiss to Amelie''s cheek and then brushing his fingers through Louis''s soft curls.


    "He didn''t want to sleep in," Amelie said with a soft chuckle. "He''s too curious for his own good."


    Bruno offered her the book. "I thought we could spend the morning in the library. Something quiet. I found a few children''s books tucked away on the upper shelves¡ªmight as well start reading to him early."


    Amelie''s eyes lit up. "I''d love that."


    Soon after, the royal couple made their way through the palace halls. The staff bowed as they passed, but none interfered. Everyone in the palace knew that when the king and queen walked with their son like this, it was time to step back and let the family enjoy their moments.


    The royal library was one of the most treasured parts of the palace. Located in the eastern wing, it featured high ceilings supported by polished wooden beams, rows upon rows of bookshelves, and tall windows that filled the space with natural light. A fireplace in the corner offered warmth in colder months, and the scent of old parchment and binding glue gave the room a comforting, lived-in feel.


    Bruno opened the large double doors for Amelie and followed her inside, their footsteps muted on the thick red carpet. "It''s quieter than I remember," he remarked, lowering his voice automatically.


    "That''s the charm of it," Amelie whispered, settling into a high-backed reading chair near the windows. She gently repositioned Louis in her lap, his small hands waving lazily in the air.


    Bruno joined her in a matching chair beside hers, setting a small stack of books on the table between them. "I picked a few things," he said. "Simple stories. Legends, nursery rhymes, a fable or two."


    He picked up the first book¡ªits cover bore an illustration of a lion and a mouse¡ªand began to read aloud in a calm, steady tone. Louis blinked slowly, eyes shifting between his father''s face and the colors on the page. He couldn''t understand the words, of course, but the sound of his father''s voice seemed to soothe him.


    Amelie smiled, resting her head against Bruno''s shoulder as he read. "You have a good storyteller''s voice," she said. S§×arch* The N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Do I?" Bruno chuckled softly. "I suppose that''s one way to keep an audience."


    "For now," she murmured, "your audience is a six-month-old who''s drooling on my sleeve."


    Bruno looked over and grinned. "He''s very focused, though. That''s promising."


    They spent the morning reading, occasionally swapping books and stories. Amelie read an old Elysean folk tale about a clever fox who tricked a greedy merchant, while Bruno followed it with a poem about the stars that sailors used to navigate the southern seas. Every so often, Louis would babble or giggle, kicking his little feet in approval.


    By midmorning, they had moved to the cushioned window nook, where Amelie sat with Louis nestled against her chest. Bruno brought over a small tray of tea and scones, freshly delivered by one of the palace maids.


    "You''d think we were still dating," Amelie teased, accepting a cup from him.


    "Well," Bruno said, settling beside her and taking a bite of scone, "I''d say we''ve upgraded to the ''reading fairy tales in a library with a baby'' stage of romance."


    "I like this stage," she replied, sipping slowly.


    So did he. There was something deeply comforting in the stillness of the morning, in the closeness of their little family, in knowing that¡ªeven for just a day¡ªthe weight of the world could wait.


    Later, Bruno pointed toward one of the high shelves. "Do you remember that book?" he asked.


    Amelie squinted. "The one with the red spine?"


    He nodded. "We used to sneak in here during our engagement. You''d pretend to read it to avoid being spotted by the advisors."


    She laughed quietly. "It worked. Barely."


    "Now we don''t have to sneak around anymore," Bruno said, reaching for her hand. "We can be together openly, happily, with our son. I don''t think I''ll ever take that for granted."


    Louis stirred again in Amelie''s arms, letting out a sleepy sigh as he nestled deeper into her embrace. She looked down at him, brushing his cheek with her thumb. "He''s going to grow up in this library. I can already tell."


    "Then we''ll fill it with stories he''ll love. Teach him about kings, and heroes, and kindness."


    "And mischief," Amelie added with a playful grin. "Let''s not forget about the fox and the merchant."


    Bruno chuckled. "He''ll have your cleverness, I''m sure."


    They remained in the window seat for another hour, exchanging stories and softly singing lullabies as Louis drifted off to sleep. Time passed unnoticed as the sun climbed higher, casting golden rays through the windows and illuminating the dust motes floating gently in the air.


    Eventually, one of the maids appeared at the doorway, bowing respectfully. "Your Majesties, shall I prepare the nursery?"


    Bruno waved her off gently. "Let him sleep here a little longer."


    Amelie nodded in agreement. "This is a good spot."


    The maid smiled and retreated, leaving the family once again to the stillness of the library.


    As the noon bells chimed faintly in the distance, Bruno stood and carefully lifted Louis into his arms. The baby stirred, yawned, and blinked slowly, but didn''t cry. Amelie smoothed the blanket over his chest, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.


    "Back to the nursery?" Bruno asked.


    Amelie rose and stretched. "Yes. Then perhaps a walk in the garden before supper."


    They walked slowly through the quiet halls of the palace, passing portraits and tapestries that depicted generations of Elysean monarchs. But today, it wasn''t the past that mattered. It was the present¡ªthe peaceful rhythm of a young family enjoying the calm of everyday life.


    As they returned to the nursery and tucked Louis into his cradle, Amelie turned to Bruno and smiled.


    "This morning was perfect."


    Bruno took her hand and kissed her knuckles. "Let''s do it again tomorrow."

 Chapter 144 - 144: The Disaster

    ?In the weeks following the inauguration of the Central Railway Station, the Kingdom of Elysea basked in a sense of progress and unity. The new railway facilitated trade, travel, and communication between the capital and distant provinces, fostering economic growth and cultural exchange. King Bruno and Queen Amelie, along with their infant son, Prince Louis, often reflected on this achievement with pride, believing it marked the dawn of a prosperous era for their realm.?


    However, beneath this veneer of advancement, an insidious threat began to take root. Unbeknownst to the royal family and their court, whispers of a mysterious illness emerged from the kingdom''s outskirts. Initially dismissed as isolated incidents, reports of severe, watery diarrhea and rapid dehydration surfaced among the rural communities. Local healers and physicians, unfamiliar with the disease, were ill-equipped to manage its swift progression, leading to a mounting death toll.?


    The railway, while a symbol of progress, inadvertently became a conduit for the disease''s spread. Infected individuals traveled to the capital seeking medical aid or visiting relatives, unknowingly carrying the pathogen with them. The bustling marketplaces, teeming with citizens and merchants from various regions, became hotspots for transmission. Street vendors, utilizing water from contaminated sources, unknowingly facilitated the disease''s proliferation through the sale of tainted food and beverages.?


    Within the palace walls, life proceeded with customary grandeur. King Bruno remained engrossed in matters of state, addressing diplomatic correspondences and overseeing infrastructural projects. Queen Amelie dedicated her days to nurturing Prince Louis and engaging in charitable endeavors. The royal family remained insulated from the burgeoning crisis, their awareness limited to the sanitized reports presented by their advisors.?


    It was during a routine council meeting that the gravity of the situation began to pierce the royal bubble. Lord Chamberlain Alistair, a seasoned advisor with a penchant for meticulous detail, presented a report that deviated from the usual agenda of trade figures and diplomatic overtures.?


    "Your Majesty," Alistair began, his tone measured yet tinged with urgency, "there have been unsettling accounts from the northern provinces. A malady of unknown origin is afflicting the populace, characterized by severe diarrhea and rapid dehydration. The mortality rate is alarmingly high."


    King Bruno furrowed his brow, the weight of leadership pressing heavily upon him. "Why am I only hearing of this now? How widespread is this affliction?"?


    Alistair hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "The initial reports were sporadic and lacked coherence. It was only upon further investigation that the extent of the outbreak became apparent. Moreover, there are indications that the illness has reached the capital."?


    A palpable silence enveloped the chamber. Queen Amelie, who had been observing the proceedings with growing concern, interjected. "What measures have been implemented to contain this?"?


    Alistair exchanged uneasy glances with his fellow council members. "Local authorities have been instructed to isolate the afflicted and improve sanitation. However, our understanding of the disease is limited, and resources are stretched thin."?


    Determined to grasp the reality of the situation, King Bruno resolved to visit the affected districts within the capital. Despite protests from his advisors citing safety concerns, the king''s resolve remained unshaken. Accompanied by a contingent of royal guards and physicians, he ventured into the heart of the crisis.?


    The scenes that greeted him were harrowing. Makeshift infirmaries overflowed with the sick and dying. The air was thick with the acrid scent of illness and despair. Families huddled together, their faces etched with fear and grief. Physicians, overwhelmed and understaffed, moved frantically from patient to patient, administering what limited aid they could.?


    In one such infirmary, Bruno approached a weary-looking physician who was tending to a young girl writhing in pain.?


    "Doctor, what can you tell me of this illness?" the king inquired, his voice steady despite the turmoil around him.


    The physician, momentarily startled by the royal presence, bowed hastily before responding.?


    "Your Majesty, the affliction strikes swiftly. Patients present with profuse diarrhea and vomiting, leading to severe dehydration. Without prompt intervention, many succumb within hours." S~ea??h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Bruno''s jaw tightened. "What is the source? How does it spread?"?


    The physician wiped his brow, smearing it with a mixture of sweat and grime.?


    "We suspect contaminated water sources, sire. Many of the afflicted reside in areas with poor sanitation and rely on communal wells."


    The king nodded solemnly, the pieces of the puzzle coalescing in his mind. The rapid urbanization and the influx of travelers via the new railway had strained the city''s infrastructure, leading to compromised sanitation.?


    Upon returning to the palace, Bruno convened an emergency council meeting.?


    "We can no longer afford complacency," he asserted, his gaze sweeping across his assembled advisors. "We must act decisively to stem this tide."


    Lord Alistair stepped forward again, a stack of fresh reports clutched in his hands. "Sire, I recommend immediate mobilization of all city physicians. We should designate quarantine zones in the hardest-hit districts and restrict travel in and out of those areas. Furthermore, public access to wells must be halted until water sources can be tested and secured."


    "Done," Bruno said without hesitation. "Issue the proclamations today. I also want printed notices posted in every market, inn, and church¡ªsomething the common folk can read or hear aloud. They must know what signs to watch for and what to avoid."


    Queen Amelie, seated nearby with Louis in her arms, glanced at the chamber''s map of the capital pinned on the wall. "What of the outer villages and towns? If the reports only now reach us, surely the countryside suffers in silence."


    Alistair nodded grimly. "You''re correct, Your Majesty. We''ve dispatched riders, but more will be needed."


    "Then send them," Bruno ordered. "Couriers, physicians, priests¡ªanyone with the knowledge to instruct and assist. I want one dispatched to every province before nightfall."


    The council dispersed quickly, their task clear. Bruno remained in the chamber a moment longer, staring at the map as if trying to will the plague into submission.


    Amelie joined him quietly. "This is our test," she said gently. "We face it together."


    Bruno took her hand, and for a moment, amid the storm, he felt anchored.


    "We will not fail them."

 Chapter 145 - 145: Resolution for this Event

    ?In the days following the emergency council meeting, King Bruno''s directives were swiftly set into motion. Proclamations detailing the symptoms of the illness and preventive measures were disseminated throughout Elysee. Town criers relayed the king''s messages in marketplaces and public squares, emphasizing the importance of boiling drinking water, maintaining personal hygiene, and avoiding consumption of raw or unwashed foods. Printed notices adorned the walls of inns, churches, and communal gathering spots, ensuring the information reached even the most secluded corners of the city.?


    Recognizing the urgency of the situation, Bruno ordered the immediate inspection and closure of contaminated wells. Teams of engineers and laborers were dispatched to assess the city''s water sources, sealing those deemed unsafe and identifying alternative supplies. Temporary water distribution points were established, providing citizens with access to clean water. Guards were stationed to ensure order and prevent the desperate from resorting to tainted sources.?


    To bolster the medical response, the king summoned physicians from neighboring provinces, offering incentives for their service in the capital. Makeshift infirmaries were erected in public halls and churches, equipped with beds, linens, and medical supplies. Queen Amelie took a personal interest in these efforts, coordinating with charitable organizations to ensure the infirmaries were adequately staffed and supplied.?


    Despite these measures, the epidemic''s grip tightened. Reports flooded in of entire households succumbing overnight. The city''s air grew heavy with the scent of hastily arranged pyres, as bodies were burned to prevent further contagion. The once vibrant streets of Elysee became eerily silent, save for the wails of the bereaved and the distant tolling of funeral bells.?


    Amidst this turmoil, a breakthrough emerged from an unexpected quarter. Dr. Alaric Voss, a physician recently arrived from the eastern provinces, approached the royal council with a radical proposition. Having studied similar outbreaks in other regions, Dr. Voss was convinced that the disease spread through contaminated water sources. He advocated for the immediate implementation of large-scale sanitation measures, including the construction of a comprehensive sewer system to divert waste away from the city''s water supply.?


    Skepticism met Dr. Voss''s assertions. The prevailing belief among many council members was that miasmas¡ªnoxious airs arising from decaying matter¡ªwere the primary culprits behind such diseases. The notion that invisible entities in water could transmit illness was a contentious departure from traditional thought.?


    However, King Bruno, recalling the physician''s dedication witnessed during his visits to the infirmaries, was inclined to listen. "If there is merit to Dr. Voss''s claims," the king addressed his council, "we cannot afford to dismiss them. Let us investigate further."?


    Under the king''s directive, a pilot project commenced in one of the most affected districts. Laborers worked tirelessly to clear refuse from the streets, repair broken aqueducts, and establish rudimentary drainage channels. Public bathhouses were constructed, offering citizens a place to cleanse themselves with clean water. Additionally, barrels of sand were distributed to households for waste disposal, reducing the prevalence of open cesspits.?


    Queen Amelie spearheaded an educational campaign, organizing gatherings where Dr. Voss and his colleagues could instruct citizens on the importance of hygiene and sanitation. Demonstrations on proper handwashing techniques, food preparation, and waste disposal were conducted, empowering the populace with knowledge to protect themselves and their families.?


    As weeks passed, a noticeable decline in new cases was observed in the pilot district. Encouraged by these results, King Bruno ordered the expansion of these measures throughout Elysee. Resources were allocated for the construction of a more extensive sewer network, and architects were commissioned to redesign public spaces with sanitation in mind.?


    The combined efforts began to bear fruit. The number of new infections steadily decreased, and the city slowly stirred back to life. Markets reopened, children played in the streets once more, and the oppressive pall of death began to lift.?


    Reflecting on the crisis, King Bruno convened his council to discuss long-term strategies. "We have weathered this storm," he began, "but let us not be complacent. We must invest in our city''s infrastructure, ensuring that such a tragedy does not befall us again."?


    Plans were set in motion for the establishment of a dedicated public health board, tasked with monitoring sanitation standards and coordinating responses to future outbreaks. Funds were allocated for the continued education of physicians and the populace alike, fostering a culture of proactive health consciousness.?


    Queen Amelie, holding Prince Louis in her arms, added, "Our son will inherit a kingdom that has learned from its past. Let us ensure that the lessons we''ve gleaned guide us toward a healthier, more resilient future."?


    The council members nodded in agreement, the weight of recent events etched into their expressions. The cholera epidemic had exacted a heavy toll, but it had also ignited a transformative movement within Elysea. The kingdom emerged with a renewed commitment to the well-being of its citizens, laying the foundation for a legacy of public health and unity.


    The council members nodded in agreement, the weight of recent events etched into their expressions. The cholera epidemic had exacted a heavy toll, but it had also ignited a transformative movement within Elysea. The kingdom emerged with a renewed commitment to the well-being of its citizens, laying the foundation for a legacy of public health and unity.


    King Bruno sat back in his chair, his gaze resting on the city map pinned to the council room''s wall. Once it had been a simple tool of governance¡ªterritories, roads, trade routes. But now, the red pins that marked areas affected by the epidemic were a stark reminder of what had been lost¡­ and what needed to change.


    "We cannot treat this as a singular event," Bruno said firmly, breaking the silence. "This epidemic has revealed the gaps in our system. Let us fill them¡ªnot just for now, but for the generations to come."


    "I propose we establish a permanent Royal Health Commission," suggested Lord Alistair. "Physicians, engineers, educators, all working under a single body to oversee matters of public health across the kingdom." S§×arch* The novel(F~)ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Bruno nodded. "Make it so. I want them funded, trained, and given authority to act swiftly in the face of any future crisis."


    Across the chamber, Queen Amelie sat with Prince Louis asleep in her arms. Her expression was gentle but resolute. "Let us also teach our people. Knowledge is the first defense against fear."

 Chapter 146 - 146: Lesson Learned

    Spring unfolded gently over Elysea. The worst of the cholera epidemic had passed, and with each passing day, the scars left behind slowly began to heal. While some districts of the capital still bore the quiet weight of mourning, others had begun to hum again with signs of life¡ªstreet vendors reopening their stalls, school bells ringing in the distance, and the faint music of a lute drifting through an open window.


    In the heart of the palace, King Bruno stood on the balcony of his study, looking out over the city. The rooftops of Elysee stretched far into the horizon, red-tiled and sunlit, and for the first time in weeks, he heard laughter drifting up from the streets.


    Behind him, Lord Alistair and Minister of Infrastructure Gerald Duval stood beside a large table where scrolls and architectural plans were spread out. They had been summoned early that morning for a follow-up discussion on the Royal Health Commission and the long-term goals Bruno had laid out.


    "The sewer lines in the Western District are halfway complete," Duval reported, adjusting his spectacles. "We''ve diverted two streams away from the drinking wells and installed clay piping along most of the southern lanes."


    "Good," Bruno said, turning to face them. "I want regular updates from each district. Let''s avoid relying solely on written reports¡ªinspectors must visit every site personally. No shortcuts."


    "Yes, Your Majesty," Alistair nodded. "We''ve also received a proposal from Dr. Voss. He wishes to open a permanent training facility for sanitation officers and health workers¡ªhe''s calling it the College of Hygiene."


    Bruno raised an eyebrow, impressed. "And he''s willing to lead it?"


    "He is. He believes Elysea could become a model for disease prevention if we maintain our momentum."


    Bruno gave a short nod. "Approve it. Give him whatever resources he needs."


    As the officials departed to carry out their duties, Bruno remained behind, rolling one of the maps back into its scroll. The war against disease had cost the kingdom dearly, but in that cost came clarity¡ªElysea''s strength could no longer lie solely in its armies or trade routes. Its foundation would be the health and resilience of its people.


    Later that day, Queen Amelie stepped into the royal nursery with Prince Louis in her arms. The child cooed softly, grabbing at the lace curtain that fluttered by the window. He had grown visibly in the past month, now more curious and vocal than ever before. His cheeks were round, and his bright eyes seemed to take in everything with quiet wonder.


    "Would you like to go out, Louis?" Amelie asked softly, brushing his hair back. "Shall we show you the city your father is rebuilding?"


    Wrapped snugly in a woolen shawl, Louis was carried through the palace and down into the central courtyard, where a modest carriage awaited. Amelie, dressed in a light traveling gown, was joined shortly by Bruno, who wore a plain blue tunic without royal embroidery¡ªhis only mark of office was the ring on his finger. sea??h th§× N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Their destination was the newly completed public bathhouse in the Southern Quarter, a facility that had been prioritized after the pilot sanitation project had proven successful. Constructed of white stone and decorated with simple floral mosaics, the bathhouse was unlike any building the capital had seen before. It housed not only cleansing pools but a small medical station and classroom, where citizens were taught hygiene practices and basic first aid.


    As the royal carriage arrived, a modest crowd had already gathered¡ªmany eager to see the royal family, others simply waiting for their turn to use the new facilities.


    Bruno and Amelie stepped down from the carriage, carrying Louis between them. Though the guards remained at a distance, the royal couple walked without fanfare through the bathhouse courtyard, offering greetings and smiles.


    "Your Majesty," a woman bowed, her child clutching her hand, "thank you¡­ My husband recovered because of the help we received here."


    Bruno placed a hand on her shoulder. "I''m glad. That''s what this is for. No one should have to suffer without aid."


    Inside, they were met by Dr. Voss himself. The physician had abandoned his court attire in favor of a simple white coat stained with chalk and ink. On a table beside him lay a wooden model of a water filtration system.


    "Your Majesties," he greeted them, dipping his head, "welcome. We''ve begun daily classes for the local residents. Everything from water safety to recognizing early symptoms. Our first group will graduate this week¡ªthirty individuals trained in basic health response."


    Amelie smiled. "That''s remarkable, Doctor. Will they stay here or be sent to other parts of the city?"


    "Some will remain," Voss explained, "but many have volunteered to return to their home villages to spread what they''ve learned. The people are eager to help now. It''s as though the sickness awakened something in them."


    Bruno nodded. "Pain can do that. It reminds us what matters."


    After a short tour of the facilities, the royal family joined a gathering of mothers and children in the courtyard for a communal meal organized by the palace charity. Amelie sat among the women, bouncing Louis on her lap while speaking softly to a young girl who had lost her parents during the outbreak. Bruno stood nearby, engaged in conversation with two young men who hoped to train as sanitation officers.


    As the sun dipped lower in the sky, a quiet calm settled over the bathhouse. For all the planning and orders and speeches, it was these quiet moments¡ªshared food, stories, and laughter¡ªthat made the struggle worthwhile.


    On their return to the palace, Amelie leaned her head against Bruno''s shoulder inside the carriage.


    "You''ve done well," she said softly. "Not just as king, but as a man. As a father."


    Bruno turned his eyes toward the city outside the window. The lanterns along the newly cleaned streets had just begun to flicker on.


    "No," he said. "We''ve done well. All of us."


    That evening, as Prince Louis slept soundly in his crib and the city outside fell into a peaceful silence, Bruno penned a letter addressed to all provincial governors.


    The message was clear:


    Elysea has faced darkness. But from that darkness, we rise¡ªcleaner, stronger, and united. You are to follow the capital''s example. Clean water. Public education. Sanitation facilities. And above all¡ªcare for your people, as you would your own blood.


    With a firm signature, he sealed the letter with the royal crest.


    The cholera epidemic had taken many things¡ªbut it had also awakened Elysea. And now, under Bruno and Amelie''s reign, the kingdom would rise again¡ªnot in fear, but in strength and knowledge.


    The foundations had been laid.


    And the future would be built¡ªone lesson, one life, one act of compassion at a time.

 Chapter 147 - 147: A Kings Speech

    The great plaza of Elysee had not seen a gathering of this scale since the birth of Prince Louis. Yet now, it was filled once more¡ªshoulder to shoulder, from the fountain at its center to the marble steps of the Grand Hall, where a platform had been erected beneath the banner of Elysea. Blue and gold silk fluttered overhead, anchored to polished iron poles and framed by fresh garlands of spring flowers. The morning sun shone warmly upon the city, the streets still damp from their routine washing.


    From every corner of the kingdom they had come: farmers and smiths, scholars and tradesmen, nobles and commoners alike. The city guard lined the plaza''s perimeter, their presence watchful but unintrusive. Children sat atop their parents'' shoulders. Vendors moved quietly among the gathered, offering sweetbread and water. There was no laughter today¡ªonly the quiet buzz of anticipation, a respectful silence that settled over the crowd like a held breath.


    At the center of it all stood King Bruno.


    He was dressed in a navy blue military coat trimmed in silver, without ostentation but unmistakably regal. A ceremonial sash crossed his chest, pinned with the crest of the House of Lysandre. Queen Amelie stood at his side, holding Prince Louis, now seven months old, bundled in a modest cloak. Behind them were members of the royal council, city officials, and representatives from the provinces¡ªsome in traditional garb, others in the uniformed attire of their stations.


    The king stepped forward.


    A herald struck a bell once.


    Silence.


    Bruno''s eyes scanned the sea of faces. Tired, worn, but present. Alive. And waiting.


    He began.


    "People of Elysea," his voice echoed across the plaza, strong and resolute. "When last I stood before you like this, it was in celebration. That day, I introduced you to my son¡ªand through him, I shared my hopes for the future."


    He paused. S~ea??h the N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "But hopes are easily tested. Dreams do not shield us from pain. And in the months that followed, we were tested more than I could have ever imagined."


    A murmur ran through the crowd, low and solemn.


    Bruno''s gaze did not falter.


    "We faced an enemy with no face, no flag, and no mercy. An illness that crept through our streets, filled our homes with grief, and left no family untouched. The cholera epidemic claimed thousands. It took mothers and sons, friends and neighbors. It tested not just our medicine or our laws¡ªbut our compassion. Our unity."


    He looked down for a moment, letting the silence honor the dead.


    "But Elysea did not fall."


    He lifted his head.


    "You¡ªeach of you¡ªstood firm. You shared your homes. You dug trenches. You carried water to strangers, and comforted the sick when even physicians feared to enter their homes. I saw you. Queen Amelie saw you. And the world should know what kind of people call this kingdom home."


    Scattered applause rippled outward, hesitant but growing in strength.


    Bruno held up a hand to quiet the noise.


    "We made mistakes. I did. I was slow to act. I underestimated the threat. And for that, I will carry the burden all my days. But in that failure, I found resolve."


    He stepped aside and gestured toward a large banner that had been unveiled behind him¡ªdepicting not the royal family, but scenes from the public health efforts: a sanitation officer teaching children to wash their hands, a bathhouse crowded with citizens, a nurse tending to a patient with care.


    "We built. We reformed. We learned. And now, we rise."


    The crowd stirred with emotion.


    "Today," Bruno continued, "I do not speak to you as your king. I speak to you as a fellow citizen. A father. A man who lost friends. A man who feared for his people, his wife, his child. And I make this vow to you¡ªnever again will Elysea be caught unprepared."


    He turned slightly to gesture to the architects and engineers gathered behind him.


    "The Royal Health Commission has been formed. A permanent body dedicated to public sanitation, education, and disease prevention. No longer will health be the burden of the poor or the privilege of the noble. It is the right of every Elysean."


    More cheers now. Louder.


    He raised his voice slightly, commanding the moment.


    "In every city and village, clean water systems will be built. Public bathhouses and infirmaries will be funded. Schools will teach hygiene and first aid. The College of Hygiene will train future generations of health workers. And our newly appointed officers of sanitation¡ªmany of whom were once carpenters, farmers, and clerks¡ªwill ensure every street, every home, every well is safe."


    He paused to let the message sink in.


    "We are not rebuilding the Elysea that was," he said. "We are building the Elysea that must be. One where knowledge stands beside strength. One where compassion is not a luxury, but our greatest weapon."


    Amelie stepped forward beside him now, raising Prince Louis gently so that all could see. The infant blinked at the crowd, clutching the folds of his mother''s cloak.


    Bruno turned slightly toward his family.


    "I want him to grow up in a kingdom where no child dies from a disease we could prevent. I want him to know a people who care for one another, who don''t wait for orders to do what is right. I want him to know that this¡ªwhat we''ve built¡ªis worth every sacrifice."


    The crowd erupted.


    "Long live the King!"


    "Long live Queen Amelie!"


    "Long live Prince Louis!"


    Bruno allowed the cheers to carry on before raising his hand once more.


    "One last thing," he said. "Let this day be remembered not for what we lost¡ªbut for what we chose to become. Let this plaza, this city, this kingdom, be a beacon to the world. Elysea stands. And Elysea cares."


    As the sun reached its peak, bells rang out across the capital¡ªechoing from towers, cathedrals, and the Central Railway Station. Pigeons scattered into the air as church bells followed suit, tolling not in sorrow but in celebration.


    After the speech, a public feast was held in the plaza. Long tables were set out, filled with bread, stew, fruits, and clean water poured from fresh clay jugs. Bruno and Amelie walked among the people, accepting handshakes, listening to stories, and embracing weeping citizens who had no words, only gratitude.


    Children chased one another through the flower-lined avenues. Old men lifted their mugs in toasts. A musician played a slow tune on a violin beneath the statue of Queen Isabeau.


    And somewhere, watching from the edge of the crowd, a boy turned to his mother and whispered, "One day, I want to be like him."


    "Like who?" she asked.


    He pointed to the king.


    "Not just him," he said. "All of them. The ones who helped us."


    She nodded, brushing his hair from his eyes. "Then learn. And never forget."


    As dusk approached, Bruno stood once more on the balcony of the Grand Hall, now quiet, looking out over the capital.


    A kingdom reborn.


    He turned back toward the interior of the hall, where Amelie waited with Louis in her arms.


    And together, they walked inside.


    ¨C¨C¨C

 Chapter 148 - 148: Beneath the Street

    The morning haze clung low over Elysee, rising slowly as the sun peeked over the eastern hills. The capital city, still healing, had begun to breathe again. Street vendors were back in the alleys. Children laughed as they chased each other down cobbled roads. The bells of Saint Lisette''s Chapel rang clear at sunrise, a sound that had once been drowned out by wails and funeral tolls.


    In the Southern Quarter, the air buzzed with something different¡ªlabor.


    Pickaxes struck earth. Foremen shouted instructions. Wagons filled with stone and clay clattered along hastily built paths. Amidst the noise, scaffolding creaked, bricks were passed hand to hand, and teams of engineers scribbled notes on damp parchments as they observed the work.


    And standing in the middle of it all, boots caked in mud, was King Bruno.


    He wore no crown today. No cloak, no crest-bearing sash. Just a simple dark tunic, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and a pair of worn gloves already soiled by the morning''s inspection. A plain steel brooch at his collar was the only sign of who he truly was.


    Beside him, Lord Alistair and Chief Engineer Tobias Meraux followed closely, dodging wheelbarrows and piles of stone as they made their way through the bustling site.


    "This main shaft will run beneath the Southern Quarter," Tobias explained, pointing to a large trench where workers were laying sections of glazed clay pipe. "The width allows for direct waste diversion out to the western canal, well past the city walls."


    Bruno watched the line of workers lower a new pipe segment into place, their coordination quick and efficient. "And filtration?"


    Tobias nodded. "We''ll pass all water runoff through sedimentation tanks near the aqueduct gates. From there, cleaner water continues to the public baths and cisterns."


    "Good," Bruno said, folding his arms. "This has to work. We can''t afford another outbreak. Not here. Not ever again."


    Alistair adjusted his hat, wiping the sweat from his brow. "The pace is ambitious, Your Majesty. We''re already pushing men to the limit with six active sectors across the city."


    "Then we recruit more," Bruno replied. "Offer better wages, warm meals, housing if needed. Tell the guilds they will be rewarded for every skilled hand they send to us."


    The king moved on, stepping down a short ladder into a newly dug tunnel that smelled of wet earth and freshly cut limestone. He paused as he passed a group of young workers, nodding to each of them as he inspected the stonework reinforcement along the sides.


    One boy, no older than seventeen, looked up, wide-eyed. "You''re¡­ you''re the king."


    Bruno offered a small smile. "I am. And you''re helping build something that''ll outlast both of us."


    The boy blinked, dumbfounded, before returning to work, his movements suddenly more focused, more careful.


    Back above ground, Bruno walked the perimeter of the site. Timber markers outlined the future expansion zones¡ªplans to connect every major street to a functioning sewer line. In a cleared courtyard nearby, a team of masons was laying the foundation for a sanitation tower¡ªa facility where waste would be filtered, recorded, and studied to ensure future outbreaks could be tracked early.


    Queen Amelie arrived just before midday, escorted by two attendants and a nursemaid carrying Prince Louis. She wore a wide-brimmed hat to shield herself from the sun and a practical walking dress of soft gray and white.


    Bruno turned as he saw them, and his tired expression brightened. "I didn''t expect you here."


    Amelie smiled, stepping closer with Louis nestled in her arms. "You said this was the future of Elysea. I wanted our son to see it."


    The workers nearby stopped briefly, some bowing their heads, others just watching in silent awe as their queen stepped among them. Amelie''s presence, graceful and calm, brought a quiet pride to the chaotic site.


    As they stood together, Bruno gestured to the open trench. "It may not look like much now, but someday this will save lives."


    Amelie glanced down, eyes thoughtful. "And they''ll never know it. They''ll never see what''s beneath their feet. But we will."


    Bruno nodded. "That''s the burden of leadership, isn''t it? Doing what must be done, even when it won''t be remembered."


    A short while later, Dr. Voss arrived with several new recruits¡ªyoung apprentices recently enrolled in the College of Hygiene. They wore simple brown tunics with a red cross stitched at the shoulder, eager to learn from the infrastructure teams on-site.


    "Your Majesty," Voss said with a nod. "We''re hoping to station health inspectors in each district permanently. They''ll maintain water quality records, inspect wells, and collect samples for the university."


    "Good," Bruno said. "Every quarter, every village. I want the same standards here applied across the entire kingdom." S§×arch* The N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Over the next few hours, Bruno continued his rounds¡ªclimbing down muddy trenches, reviewing sketches with engineers, checking the strength of masonry by hand. He was not a figurehead today, nor a distant monarch. He was a king in the trenches, guiding his people not with proclamations, but with presence.


    By the time the sun had begun to sink behind the rooftops of Elysee, the work crews slowed, torches were lit, and the clamor gave way to the weary but satisfied silence of men and women who had done meaningful labor.


    Bruno stood by the water tower''s base, watching the workers pack up their tools. Amelie joined him again, Louis now asleep in her arms.


    "You should rest," she said softly.


    "I will," he replied. "But I want to see the last pipe lowered first."


    He remained until the final segment was secured into place, the engineers stepping back to nod with approval.


    Only then did Bruno let out a long breath, feeling a deep sense of purpose settle in his chest.


    "We''re not just building sewers," he said to Amelie as they made their way back to the carriage. "We''re building trust. In every brick, every pipe. We''re proving that Elysea protects its people."


    Amelie leaned her head gently against his shoulder. "And that''s the kingdom our son will inherit."


    They returned to the palace beneath a velvet sky, stars beginning to dot the heavens above Elysee.


    And far below the city''s surface, beneath its streets and homes, a new network of protection quietly began its eternal watch.

 Chapter 149 - 149: The Foundation of Renewal

    The first light of dawn cast a golden hue over the city of Elysea, illuminating the intricate dance of laborers and engineers working tirelessly to transform the city''s underbelly. King Bruno stood at the edge of a deep trench, the scent of freshly turned earth mingling with the crisp morning air. The rhythmic sounds of chisels against stone and the murmur of coordinated efforts filled the atmosphere, underscoring the monumental task at hand: the construction of Elysea''s new sewage system¡ªa project that symbolized not only infrastructural advancement but also a renewed commitment to the health and well-being of its citizens.


    Bruno''s attire was devoid of royal embellishments; he wore a simple tunic and sturdy boots, both bearing the marks of the construction site. Today, he was not just a monarch but a fellow laborer, deeply invested in the city''s transformation.


    As he navigated the maze of trenches and scaffolding, Bruno observed the progress with a discerning eye. Massive stone conduits were being meticulously laid to channel waste away from the city''s heart, ensuring cleaner living conditions. Engineers consulted blueprints, their brows furrowed in concentration, while laborers worked tirelessly to bring the vision to life.


    Approaching a section where workers were assembling a crucial junction, Bruno paused to engage with the site overseer, a seasoned man named Gareth.


    "How proceeds the work here, Gareth?" Bruno inquired, his voice carrying the weight of both authority and genuine concern.


    Gareth wiped his brow with a cloth, glancing up from the plans spread before him. "Your Majesty, we''re on schedule. The main conduits are nearly complete, and we''re reinforcing the tunnel walls to withstand the pressures of time and nature."


    Bruno nodded, appreciating the dedication. "Excellent. And the workers? Are they being cared for?"


    "Aye, sire," Gareth replied. "We''ve set up rest areas and ensure they have ample food and water. Their spirits are high, knowing the significance of this endeavor."


    Satisfied, Bruno moved deeper into the site, where he encountered Dr. Alaric Voss, the visionary physician whose insights had been instrumental in initiating these reforms. Voss was engaged in animated discussion with a group of young apprentices, gesturing towards a detailed diagram of the sewage system.


    "Dr. Voss," Bruno greeted, prompting the physician to turn and offer a respectful bow.


    "Your Majesty," Voss responded, his eyes alight with enthusiasm. "I was just elucidating the principles of waste management and its impact on public health to these eager minds."


    Bruno''s gaze shifted to the apprentices, noting their attentive expressions. "Education is as vital as construction. These systems will serve no purpose if not maintained and understood."


    "Precisely," Voss agreed. "We''ve integrated practical training into the curriculum at the College of Hygiene. These students will become the custodians of our city''s health."


    The king''s heart swelled with pride at the collective effort. "Together, we forge a future where such tragedies as the recent epidemic become but distant memories."


    As the day progressed, Bruno immersed himself in the work, assisting where he could, offering words of encouragement, and ensuring that the laborers felt the weight of their contribution to Elysea''s renaissance.


    By late afternoon, as the sun cast elongated shadows over the city, Bruno stood atop a vantage point overlooking the construction. The network of tunnels and conduits sprawled beneath him, a testament to human ingenuity and resilience. S§×arch* The N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Queen Amelie arrived, accompanied by Prince Louis, now a curious toddler with eyes wide with wonder. Amelie approached her husband, noting the grime on his hands and the fatigue etched into his features.


    "Bruno," she began softly, "you''ve been here since dawn. Come, rest with us."


    Bruno turned, a weary smile gracing his lips as he beheld his family. "Amelie, Louis," he greeted, lifting the boy into his arms despite the dirt. "I wanted him to see this¡ªto understand the foundations upon which his future stands."


    Amelie placed a gentle hand on Bruno''s arm. "And he will. But you must also care for yourself. The kingdom needs its king."


    Acknowledging her wisdom, Bruno nodded. "You''re right, as always. Let''s return home."


    As the royal family made their way back toward the palace, Bruno glanced over his shoulder for a final look at the sprawling worksite. The construction teams continued undeterred, some waving briefly as they caught sight of the king and queen departing. Bruno returned their waves with a raised hand and a nod of deep appreciation. Though physically exhausted, his heart felt full.


    The carriage ride through the city was slow, deliberate¡ªBruno had requested it so they could observe the streets and the people. They passed through neighborhoods that had once suffered greatly during the cholera outbreak. Now, they showed cautious signs of recovery. Children played in alleyways, their laughter ringing through open courtyards. Women scrubbed clothes near public water pumps newly installed by city engineers. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted from a corner bakery that had recently reopened.


    "You see?" Amelie said gently, adjusting Louis on her lap as the boy pointed out the window. "The city is healing. One day, all this will be part of his earliest memories¡ªstreets not of plague and panic, but of rebuilding and hope."


    Bruno reached over, resting his hand over hers. "Let''s make sure that when he''s grown, this work will still be standing¡ªstronger, cleaner, and even better than we imagined."


    When they returned to the palace, Bruno didn''t retreat to his private chambers as expected. Instead, he made his way to the planning hall, where maps, ledgers, and reports had accumulated. One by one, he reviewed them by lamplight, making notations and signing off on new supply requests for the sanitation teams.


    The hours passed quietly as the lamplight flickered against the tall windows of the palace''s planning hall. Bruno''s quill scratched steadily across parchment, each stroke sealing a new directive or approving another section of pipe to be laid. Servants came and went, offering trays of food and drink, though most went untouched.


    When at last he set his pen down, Bruno leaned back in his chair and exhaled slowly. The day had been long, but not wasted. Outside, the moon cast a pale glow over Elysee''s rooftops, the city settling into the calm of night.


    A knock sounded gently at the door.


    "Enter," he said.


    It was Amelie, still in her gown, holding a sleeping Louis wrapped in a soft blanket. She walked to his side without a word and placed a hand on his shoulder.


    "It''s time," she said with a small smile.


    Bruno stood, brushing off the dust from his sleeves. He looked down at their son, then back at the open maps before him.


    "I''ll continue tomorrow."

 Chapter 150 - 150: The Heart of the City

    The following morning, King Bruno rose earlier than usual. Though the skies above Elysee were still streaked with the cool blues of dawn, the city below was already stirring¡ªbakers lighting their ovens, street sweepers clearing debris from cobbled paths, and builders gathering near scaffolding and brick carts with fresh tools in hand. Bruno dressed in silence, choosing a plain gray tunic and worn leather boots. He fastened his belt, checked the satchel slung over his shoulder, and left the royal quarters before the rest of the palace had properly woken.


    He made his way to the central district of the city¡ªnot the glamorous squares filled with boutiques or theaters, but the older neighborhoods where alleyways twisted like a maze and tenement buildings leaned close to one another. This area, once badly hit by the cholera outbreak, had become the focal point of a new urban revitalization effort. And today, something important would begin. S§×ar?h the N?vel?ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    A fresh crew of architects and masons waited at a street corner just outside a boarded-up inn. Beside them, iron rods, wheelbarrows, and stacks of freshly fired bricks sat under canvas awnings. When Bruno approached, a few men straightened up, unsure how to address the monarch who looked more like one of them.


    "Your Majesty," one of the supervisors said with a respectful nod. "Didn''t expect you so early."


    Bruno smiled faintly. "It''s my city too. I''d rather see it wake up than wait for a report after it''s asleep."


    He surveyed the narrow canal that had once been an open sewage ditch¡ªfilthy, stagnant, and the source of countless infections. Today, it would begin its transformation into a proper drainage system: enclosed, reinforced, and connected to the growing underground network being built throughout Elysee.


    "We begin here," Bruno said simply, resting his hand on the shoulder of a young apprentice. "In the places people were afraid to walk."


    The workers got moving. Stones were laid, bricks passed down the line, mortar mixed in large wooden troughs. Bruno didn''t just supervise¡ªhe joined in. With his sleeves rolled up and hands thick with dust and grit, he helped lift beams and shovel earth. Though his technique wasn''t perfect, no one dared correct him. More importantly, no one felt the need to. He worked alongside them, quietly and steadily, just as he had during the earliest weeks of the recovery.


    By midmorning, Queen Amelie arrived, not in her usual carriage but on foot, accompanied by a small group of palace aides carrying food baskets. She wore a soft linen dress and a wide-brimmed hat to shade her from the sun. Prince Louis clung to her side, his curious eyes scanning the activity around them.


    Amelie approached the workers with gentle greetings, offering bread, dried fruits, and flasks of clean water. She made time to speak with each group, asking how their families fared, whether their homes had received the new wells, and if the children had returned to school.


    When she found Bruno resting under the shade of a scaffolding frame, she handed him a cloth to wipe the sweat from his brow.


    "You never stop," she said softly, handing him a flask.


    "Not when I see how far we still have to go," Bruno replied, taking a sip. "But look around, Amelie¡­ they believe in it now. In what we''re building."


    She glanced around¡ªthe workers laughing and shouting across the site, children waving from second-floor balconies, the elderly woman sitting beside a small cart selling slices of pear and plum.


    "They do," Amelie agreed. "And they believe in you."


    They stood together for a while, watching as a new stone archway was lowered into place¡ªa key connector that would soon allow water to drain properly through the street. Dr. Voss soon joined them, carrying a series of updated sketches and measurements under one arm. He looked worn but determined.


    "We''ve begun tests in the western slums," he explained. "Using charcoal filters and gravel beds to clean runoff before it enters the reservoirs. The results are promising¡ªif they hold, we can expand the method to smaller towns."


    "Good," Bruno said. "Keep pushing. I want us to set the standard for sanitation in all of Valden."


    "Some nobles will resist it," Voss cautioned. "Especially those in the outer regions. They see water as the concern of peasants."


    "Then they''ve forgotten what nobility means," Bruno said, voice steady. "Let them protest. We''ll outlast them."


    Later in the day, the royal couple moved toward a nearby square where families had gathered for an impromptu midday rest. The square had once been a dumping ground for waste and refuse, but now, it had been cleared and planted with simple shrubs and benches. Children chased each other in circles around a dry fountain soon to be restored. Bruno sat on the edge of the fountain, boots dusty, his face sun-warmed.


    A young boy approached him timidly, no older than six, clutching a small wooden cart with broken wheels. Bruno looked down, his smile returning.


    "Your cart needs fixing," he said.


    The boy nodded shyly. "Papa used to fix it, but he''s¡­ he''s gone now."


    Bruno took the cart gently in his hands. "I''ll see what I can do."


    With the tools in his satchel, he quickly secured the axle with a bit of twine and a strip of wood he found nearby. When he handed the cart back, the boy''s face lit up.


    "Thank you, sire!"


    "No need to thank me," Bruno said. "Your papa would be proud you kept it safe."


    Amelie watched from a distance, Louis on her lap, a soft smile playing on her lips. The king of Elysea, seated in a dusty square, repairing a boy''s toy. There was no pomp, no ceremony. Only a city being healed, piece by piece.


    As evening fell, Bruno and Amelie returned home with Louis tucked between them in the carriage. The city outside passed slowly, the street lamps now lit, casting soft golden halos onto the cobbled roads. There were still scars¡ªvacant lots, damaged buildings, neighborhoods still in need of care¡ªbut there was also laughter, movement, life.


    Inside the palace, Bruno stood once more in the planning hall, gazing down at the city map. Red pins marked where outbreaks had been worst. Green markers now stood where sewage systems, clean wells, and clinics had been completed.


    Amelie joined him quietly, her fingers brushing his.


    "We''re turning red into green," she said.


    Bruno nodded. "And we won''t stop until the whole map has changed."


    They remained like that a while¡ªtwo figures standing over a table, not as rulers alone, but as people committed to the lives behind every marker, every street, every home.


    And in the silence of that room, one thing was clear: Elysea''s foundation wasn''t just brick and stone¡ªit was compassion, resilience, and a king who dared to build from the ground up.

 Chapter 151 - 151: The Sound of Hammers and Hope

    The bells of Elysee rang out across the capital just as the morning mist began to lift from the rooftops. From the palace''s high veranda, King Bruno could see it all¡ªsunlight creeping over brick and slate, chimneys releasing trails of smoke from early hearths, and the steady movement of wagons heading toward the central districts. The city, bruised but healing, stirred with a quiet rhythm that reminded him of a living organism¡ªdamaged once, but now steadily recovering. Every stone laid, every trench dug, every clean bucket of water drawn from a new well added strength to its pulse.


    Today would be one of the most critical days since the epidemic had passed. Not one of ceremony or spectacle¡ªbut of grit and resolve.


    "Ready?" Queen Amelie asked as she approached, Prince Louis wrapped snugly against her chest in a sling. She wore a practical coat over her dress, her hair tied back in a scarf. She knew it would be a long day in the open.


    Bruno nodded. He had already changed into his work clothes¡ªsimple brown trousers, a cotton shirt, and a leather apron slung over one shoulder. His boots were the same pair he''d worn on the first day of sewage trenchwork.


    "I want him to remember these days," Bruno said, gently touching the back of Louis''s head. "Not the suffering, but the building that came after."


    Amelie smiled. "Then let''s get to it." sea??h th§× n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    By midmorning, they had arrived at the southern edge of the Eastbank District. The streets here were still uneven¡ªstones missing from years of neglect and flood. It was one of the oldest parts of Elysee, and one of the poorest. Bruno had walked these roads as a young man under disguise, long before the crown ever touched his brow. He remembered the children playing barefoot in puddles tainted with runoff, the smell of rot in summer, and the quiet dignity of families who endured it all without complaint.


    Now, however, the district had become a focus for transformation.


    Dozens of laborers stood waiting near a cleared plot of land where the old tenements had been razed. Behind them were stacks of timber, coils of pipe, and bundles of gravel and clay. Engineers moved between tents, comparing blueprints. At the center of the site was a half-dug pit where the next segment of Elysea''s subterranean sewage network would be laid.


    When the royal carriage arrived, most expected only an inspection. They didn''t expect the king to dismount, roll up his sleeves, and join them with a shovel already slung across his shoulder.


    Bruno greeted the foreman, a broad-shouldered man named Seban, with a firm shake. "We start with the lateral trench, yes?"


    "Yes, sire," Seban said, clearing his throat. "We''ll lay the drainage tile first, then the piping. The slope''s been measured twice."


    "Good," Bruno said. "Let''s put spade to earth."


    The work began.


    Bruno joined one of the digging crews, shoveling into the damp soil with slow, steady strokes. He said little, except to encourage those who were flagging or share quiet jokes with the younger apprentices. As sweat trickled down his brow and soaked into his collar, he felt the strain settle into his shoulders, but he didn''t complain. Neither did anyone else.


    By noon, Amelie had joined a separate group across the site, where women had gathered to learn from Dr. Voss''s aides about proper waste disposal and household hygiene. Some women brought their children, others their aging parents. Charts were hung from tent poles showing how diseases spread and how to prevent them. Amelie didn''t just observe¡ªshe listened, asked questions, and spoke with the mothers about their daily lives. Many of them were widows or caretakers of orphaned siblings. To each, Amelie offered warmth, patience, and support.


    When she was handed a hand-drawn map of the local homes still lacking clean water access, she studied it for several minutes, committing it to memory.


    "These houses," she said to the aide beside her, "mark them for well installation priority. I''ll speak with the city engineers tonight."


    "Of course, Your Majesty."


    Back at the trench, Bruno and the diggers finally reached the depth required for the first pipe segment. With ropes and planks, they carefully maneuvered the stone pipe into position, checking its gradient and alignment. The workers had been cautious around the king at first, but after several hours of shared labor, the lines blurred. He was simply another man with a shovel and a goal.


    As the pipe was locked into place, Seban called out, "That''s another one down! Only three more to go before the end of the block!"


    A cheer went up¡ªnot loud or raucous, but proud.


    Bruno stepped back and wiped his face with a cloth as Amelie approached with Louis now awake and alert in her arms.


    "I think he''s impressed," she teased, glancing at the pipe below.


    Bruno chuckled. "He''s got his mother''s good judgment then."


    Louis cooed in response, reaching toward the shovel still clutched in his father''s hand.


    The afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the worksite, but the energy never waned. New shifts of workers arrived to relieve the exhausted crews, bringing with them fresh strength and laughter that echoed down the narrow lanes. Nearby, the scent of stew wafted from communal pots as volunteers handed out meals to the laborers and their families. It wasn''t just a construction zone¡ªit was becoming a community.


    King Bruno handed off his shovel, stretching his aching arms as he walked toward a temporary canopy erected at the edge of the site. There, several city officials and engineers had gathered around a table covered with maps and cross-sections of the growing sewage network.


    Seban was already speaking with one of the lead architects. "We''re proposing a redirect here," he said, pointing to a line on the parchment. "That culvert runs too close to the old well, and if we have another overflow¡­"


    Bruno leaned in. "Divert it through the south alley," he said, tapping the map. "It''s less occupied, and we''ve already secured permission from the residents. They''ll even help with the paving."


    The architect raised an eyebrow. "The people offered that themselves?"


    Bruno nodded. "They asked what more they could do. This project has become theirs too."


    That sentence lingered in the air. For all its symbolism, it was the truth. The people of Elysea, once passive recipients of royal decrees, were now active participants in their city''s rebirth.


    Amelie approached, her eyes scanning the same map. "We passed through Mill Lane earlier¡ªthere''s still standing water from last week''s rain. It''s not draining properly."


    "We''ve had trouble there before," Seban admitted. "That section of pipe predates the new system."


    Bruno leaned over the table. "Then it needs to be replaced. Prioritize it. I don''t want puddles becoming breeding grounds."


    Amelie added, "And send a health team. We should ensure there aren''t any new infections starting."


    Orders were jotted down, dispatches prepared. Couriers left on horseback within the hour, riding for other districts and nearby villages with instructions and updates. The coordination was no longer limited to Elysee''s core. Rural sanitation projects had begun, spurred by the success in the capital. What started as emergency response was evolving into a national infrastructure campaign.


    As evening crept closer, Bruno took a moment to walk through the streets. He passed under hanging laundry, around children playing with wooden toys, and by old men seated on crates watching the world go by. Some recognized him. A few greeted him with bows, but more simply waved or offered quiet words of thanks.


    In one alley, he encountered a woman kneeling by a washbasin, scrubbing her children''s clothes. The water she used flowed from a newly installed pump. She looked up and smiled shyly.


    "Thank you," she said simply.


    Bruno crouched beside her. "Is the water clean?"


    She nodded. "Clean, cold, and near. I used to walk a mile for water. Not anymore."


    He smiled, placing a hand on her shoulder. "If ever you need more, send word."


    As the sky turned amber with sunset, lanterns flickered to life across the worksite. Workers began stacking tools and covering materials for the night. A few sang quietly as they packed away supplies.


    Bruno returned to where Amelie and Louis waited near the carriage, the boy now drowsy in his mother''s arms.


    "He''s had quite a day," Amelie whispered, rocking gently.


    "We all have," Bruno said. "But it''s a day worth remembering."


    They rode back to the palace in quiet reflection. From the windows, they watched Elysee shift into its night rhythm¡ªshops closing, lanterns swaying, the faint hum of a city alive. No longer overwhelmed by sickness, no longer paralyzed by fear. But rebuilding. Together.


    Back at the palace, Bruno stepped into the royal archives for the first time in weeks. He requested the city''s oldest records, maps dating back over a century. As the archivists unfurled the fragile parchments across the long wooden table, he studied the paths of old aqueducts, ancient bathhouses, even forgotten waste channels built by kings long gone.


    Amelie joined him as he marked them with charcoal lines. "Thinking of bringing some of these back?"


    "Some," Bruno said. "Others might guide us around the mistakes of the past."


    She placed a hand on his shoulder. "You won''t always be the one holding the shovel, you know."


    He chuckled. "No. But maybe I''ll be remembered as the king who picked it up when it mattered."


    That night, as stars blinked into view and quiet settled over the capital, Bruno sat alone by the open window of his study. From the distant hills, the faint sound of hammers and stonecutters could still be heard. Proof that even as he rested, the work continued.


    The foundation of a city wasn''t just underfoot¡ªit was in every hand lifted to build, to heal, to teach.


    And for Elysea, that foundation had never been stronger.

 Chapter 152 - 152: Unveiling of Construction Works

    The sun rose over Elysea, casting a golden glow upon the city as its inhabitants bustled with anticipation. Today marked the grand opening of the Elysea Public Hospital, a monumental achievement symbolizing the kingdom''s commitment to public health and resilience. The hospital stood as a beacon of hope, its white stone fa?ade gleaming in the morning light, adorned with intricate carvings depicting scenes of healing and unity.?


    King Bruno and Queen Amelie prepared for the day''s events with a sense of fulfillment. Their efforts to rebuild and strengthen Elysea had culminated in this moment. Bruno donned a ceremonial robe of deep blue, embroidered with silver threads representing the rivers that now flowed clean through the city. Amelie wore a gown of emerald green, symbolizing renewal and growth.?


    As they arrived at the hospital grounds, they were greeted by a crowd of citizens, officials, and foreign dignitaries. The atmosphere was festive, with banners fluttering and musicians playing melodies that resonated with hope and celebration. Children held bouquets of fresh flowers, their faces alight with excitement.?


    Dr. Alaric Voss, the visionary physician who had been instrumental in the hospital''s development, approached the royal couple with a respectful bow.?


    "Your Majesties," he began, his voice filled with emotion, "today, we witness the fruition of our collective dedication. The Elysea Public Hospital stands ready to serve all who seek care, regardless of station."


    Bruno placed a hand on Voss''s shoulder, his eyes reflecting gratitude. "This would not have been possible without your unwavering commitment, Doctor. Together, we have laid a foundation for a healthier future."?


    The ceremony commenced with a procession through the hospital''s main corridor. The interior was designed with both functionality and comfort in mind¡ªwide hallways allowed for easy movement, and large windows invited natural light to create a warm, healing environment. Rooms were equipped with sturdy beds and essential medical instruments, while walls were adorned with tapestries depicting the natural beauty of Elysea, offering patients a sense of tranquility.?


    In the central atrium, a podium had been set up for speeches. Bruno stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over the assembled crowd.?


    "People of Elysea," he began, his voice resonant and clear, "today, we stand united in our pursuit of a healthier, more compassionate society. The opening of this hospital is not merely the unveiling of a building, but the embodiment of our shared values and determination. Let this place be a sanctuary for all, where healing is not a privilege, but a right."


    Applause erupted, echoing through the atrium.?


    Amelie then took the podium, her presence exuding warmth and grace.?


    "As we open these doors," she said, "we open our hearts to those in need. May this hospital serve as a testament to what we can achieve when we come together with empathy and resolve." Sear?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Following the speeches, the royal couple participated in the symbolic planting of a medicinal herb garden within the hospital grounds. The garden would provide essential ingredients for treatments and serve as a serene space for patients and staff alike.?


    Throughout the day, guided tours showcased the hospital''s various departments: a maternity ward designed to ensure the safety and comfort of mothers and newborns, a surgical wing equipped with the latest advancements in medical tools, and a training center where aspiring physicians and nurses could learn and practice under the guidance of experienced mentors.?


    As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the city, Bruno and Amelie stood atop the hospital''s terrace, overlooking the bustling streets of Elysea. The city was alive with renewed vigor, its people embracing the promise of a brighter future.?


    Bruno turned to Amelie, his expression contemplative. "This hospital is a cornerstone, but our work continues. We must ensure that such institutions reach every corner of our kingdom."?


    Amelie nodded, her eyes reflecting determination. "And we shall. Together, we will build a legacy of care and compassion that will endure for generations."?


    The scent of lavender and rosemary wafted from the newly planted herb garden below as King Bruno and Queen Amelie descended from the hospital terrace. Though the formal ceremonies had concluded, their presence within the hospital continued to draw warm attention from staff and visitors alike.


    Inside the hallways, nurses moved with calm urgency, tending to patients who had already begun arriving for care. The first to be admitted was a pregnant woman from the northern provinces who had traveled to Elysee for better treatment. She now lay comfortably in a sunlit room of the maternity ward, her hand resting over her belly, a look of relief and hope in her eyes.


    Dr. Voss led the royal couple to the newly opened children''s ward. The room was decorated with soft murals of birds, trees, and gentle mountain landscapes. Wooden toys and books lined the shelves beside each bed. A young boy with a bandaged arm looked up as the king entered. He blinked, wide-eyed, unsure of what to say.


    Bruno crouched beside his bed and smiled. "How are you feeling, young man?"


    The boy gave a small nod. "Better. The doctor says I can go home in three days."


    Bruno''s smile widened. "Good. Rest well. And when you''re ready, make sure to show your friends how brave you were."


    Amelie leaned in to offer the boy a small hand-carved horse, made of smooth pine. "A little something to keep you company," she said gently.


    The child accepted it with both hands, holding it as if it were made of gold.


    Outside the ward, the king and queen continued down the corridor, passing volunteers who handed out blankets and hot meals to families waiting to see loved ones. One elderly man clasped Bruno''s hand as he passed.


    "My daughter works here now," the man said. "She trained at the College of Hygiene. We never thought a girl from our street could become a nurse."


    "She''s not the only one," Amelie replied with a smile. "But you should be proud."


    "I am," the man said, eyes moist. "Thank you for this place."


    Later that evening, as twilight settled over Elysee and lanterns glowed softly along the hospital''s exterior pathways, Bruno and Amelie found a moment to rest in the hospital''s enclosed garden. The air was cool, the stone benches still warm from the sun. Prince Louis had been brought to them by a palace attendant, already drowsy in his mother''s arms.


    "Do you think he''ll remember this day?" Bruno asked softly.


    Amelie looked down at their son. "Not clearly. But I believe he''ll grow up feeling its weight¡ªthe compassion, the sense of purpose. These walls, this city¡­ they''ll shape him."


    Bruno nodded. "I want him to know that his parents stood not in marble halls, but among the people. That we built with them, cried with them¡­ and healed with them."


    "Then let''s keep doing just that," Amelie said. "One step at a time."


    The following morning, news of the hospital''s opening had already begun to spread beyond the capital. Couriers departed Elysee before sunrise, carrying missives to every provincial capital. Inside each envelope was a royal decree¡ªwritten in Bruno''s own hand¡ªdeclaring the model of the Elysea Public Hospital as the standard for all future medical centers in the kingdom.


    Every province was to receive funding, staff, and architectural guidance to establish their own regional hospital, modeled not only on the physical structure, but on its guiding philosophy: care for all, regardless of birth or wealth.


    In the palace planning hall, advisors and messengers buzzed with renewed purpose. Dr. Voss met with logistics teams to coordinate supply lines for medical equipment and sanitation infrastructure. Queen Amelie convened with the heads of various charitable organizations, integrating their work more formally into the kingdom''s expanding healthcare network.


    Even the College of Hygiene saw a surge in applications. Former stonemasons, farmers'' sons, seamstresses, and orphans applied for the opportunity to study and serve in the new health system. Dormitories were expanded. Additional instructors were brought in. What had once been a modest pilot program had grown into one of the crown''s proudest institutions.


    Weeks later, the Elysea Public Hospital received its first major test. A mining accident in the northern hills sent a wave of injured workers south, and the hospital responded with efficiency and care. The surgical wing worked round the clock. Emergency protocols were tested¡ªand proven effective. When the last of the injured men was stabilized, the hospital''s reputation was no longer aspirational. It was earned.


    King Bruno made an unannounced visit to the ward housing the injured miners. He found one man, arm in a sling and chest bandaged, sitting by the window with a stunned look on his face.


    "Sire," the man said awkwardly, trying to rise. "Forgive me, I didn''t expect¡ª"


    Bruno waved him down and sat beside him.


    "You don''t need to stand," the king said. "You need to rest."


    The man blinked. "I just¡­ never thought I''d be in a place like this. When I was hurt, I figured I''d die in the wagon."


    "You didn''t," Bruno said. "You''re here. And you''re safe."


    The man turned to look at the clean linens, the orderly hallway beyond the door, the nurse chatting softly with a young boy across the room.


    "You did this?"


    "No," Bruno replied. "We all did."


    On the hospital''s first anniversary, a stone plaque was unveiled near the front entrance. Etched in gold were the words:


    "For the People of Elysea ¨C In Health, In Hope, In Unity."


    Below that, the names of every doctor, nurse, builder, and volunteer who helped construct the hospital were inscribed. Hundreds of names¡ªeach one a testament to a nation that had chosen healing over despair.


    As families gathered for the commemoration, Queen Amelie read aloud a message from a village elder too frail to attend:


    "Once we buried our sick with fear. Now, we care for our ill with dignity. Once we whispered about suffering in shadows. Now we speak openly of prevention and recovery. This is the kingdom you have given us¡ªa kingdom where we do not hide from hardship, but face it together. Thank you."


    That night, back at the palace, Bruno stood once again at the map in the planning hall. More green markers had appeared across the land, each one representing a town or district where health clinics had begun construction. The vision he and Amelie had worked so hard to shape was no longer an ideal. It was unfolding¡ªsteadily, firmly¡ªinto reality.


    Amelie joined him once more, as she always did.


    "The map is changing," she said.


    "Yes," Bruno answered, his voice soft. "And so are we."

 Chapter 153 - 153: The Future Builders of the Nation

    The sun shone brightly over Elysea, illuminating the grand architecture of the University of Elysee. The large stone columns and intricate carvings of the buildings reflected the city''s transformation from the dark days of the cholera epidemic to a hopeful future. Today, the university hosted a grand occasion¡ªthe graduation of the first class of engineering students, medical doctors, and law scholars, all of whom had completed their rigorous studies. It was an event that marked another milestone in Elysea''s journey toward greatness.


    King Bruno, standing on the steps of the university''s great hall, looked out over the bustling crowd. Students, professors, dignitaries, and family members had gathered in the university courtyard, all eager to celebrate the achievements of those who had worked so hard to complete their studies. The students had trained tirelessly, their knowledge now ready to be applied to rebuild their kingdom and safeguard its future.


    Bruno, dressed in a ceremonial robe of deep blue with silver embroidery, symbolizing the rivers that had once been polluted and now flowed clear and pure, was proud of these young men and women. He stood beside Queen Amelie, who wore a gown of soft ivory, her gentle smile a reflection of her inner pride. Prince Louis, now walking with assistance, clutched his mother''s hand, his small fingers tight around her fingers, but his curious eyes were focused on everything around him.


    The students had arrived in their formal attire, all wearing ceremonial caps and gowns. Some appeared nervous, others full of excitement, but each one carried the weight of the future of Elysea on their shoulders. Bruno knew that these students were not just graduates¡ªthey were the architects of the kingdom''s future. Doctors, engineers, and lawyers would be the people who would lead Elysea into its next chapter, ensuring that the mistakes of the past would not be repeated.


    After a moment of reflection, Bruno was escorted to the podium in the center of the hall, the crowd quieting in anticipation. He took a deep breath before addressing the gathered crowd, his eyes scanning the sea of faces before settling on the graduates.


    "People of Elysea," Bruno began, his voice steady and strong. "Today is not just a day of celebration. It is a day of hope, of possibility. A day that marks the beginning of a new chapter in the life of our kingdom. Today, these graduates will step forward as the leaders, healers, builders, and defenders of our future."


    There was a pause as the crowd clapped in appreciation. Bruno smiled, his eyes gleaming with pride.


    "These graduates stand before us today, not because of luck, but because of their dedication, their perseverance, and their unwavering belief in a better future. As we continue to rebuild our kingdom, I know that we will turn to them, to their wisdom, and to their compassion to guide us forward. The roads we have yet to travel will not be easy. There will be challenges, as there always are, but with the education these young people have received, we will face them with strength."


    Bruno glanced down at his notes for a moment before looking back up, his gaze warm and resolute.


    "Today, we celebrate more than just degrees. We celebrate the foundation of a brighter future. These graduates have earned the right to walk into the world as trusted professionals, ready to contribute their knowledge to better the lives of every citizen in Elysea. This is not just their success. It is the success of our entire kingdom."


    He nodded to the side of the podium, where Dr. Alaric Voss, one of the key figures behind the College of Hygiene, stood waiting. With a smile, Bruno gestured for Voss to join him.


    "Dr. Voss, would you please join me in welcoming the graduates of the medical school?" Bruno asked.


    Dr. Voss, his eyes shining with pride, stepped forward and addressed the graduates.


    "Today, I stand here as a teacher, but also as a man filled with hope. The medical professionals who stand before us have studied tirelessly, pushing themselves beyond the limits they once thought possible. They will be the ones who care for our sick, heal the wounded, and educate the next generation of healers. They will continue the work we began, and they will take it further."


    He turned to the graduates, his voice steady. "You are the guardians of Elysea''s health. Your role is not just to treat illness, but to prevent it, to understand the root causes, and to protect our people. Elysea needs you more than ever, and I am confident that you will rise to the challenge."


    Bruno nodded in agreement, his eyes scanning the graduates as they beamed with pride.


    "We entrust you with the future of our kingdom," he said. "Take this responsibility seriously. You are not just doctors. You are the backbone of our society."


    Next, the head of the engineering department, Professor Arthur Hale, stepped forward to speak about the graduates from the engineering program. A seasoned veteran in the field, Hale was known for his no-nonsense approach and his deep dedication to the advancement of Elysea''s infrastructure.


    "Engineering is the foundation upon which a kingdom stands," Professor Hale began. "Without engineers, there would be no bridges, no clean water, no safe roads. Engineers do not simply build¡ªthey create the very structure that supports a thriving society. The graduates of this program have spent years learning how to solve the most complex problems, how to innovate, and how to think critically. They will rebuild our roads, our railways, our cities."


    He paused, his voice gaining strength.


    "Elysea has suffered enough. The damage done by the recent epidemic was a wake-up call. We need our infrastructure to be stronger, more resilient, and more efficient. The work you do will shape our kingdom for generations to come. As engineers, you hold the power to change not only our physical world but our social structure as well."


    Professor Hale nodded respectfully toward the graduates, his gaze steady and commanding. "You have been entrusted with great responsibility. Use it wisely."


    Bruno stepped forward once more, his expression serious as he addressed the engineering graduates.


    "Your work will be the scaffolding upon which this kingdom is rebuilt. I look forward to seeing the bridges, the water systems, the innovations that you will bring to life. You are the builders of tomorrow, and I have every confidence that you will lead us into a future that is stronger, more secure, and more connected."


    As the applause died down, the last of the department heads stood to speak. This time, it was Professor Lydia Forsythe, the head of the law school, a sharp-minded and respected leader in Elysea''s legal system.


    "Law and justice are the pillars of any society," she began, her voice clear and strong. "The law ensures fairness. It ensures that we hold each other accountable and that we protect the rights of every citizen. Without the rule of law, a kingdom is no more than a chaotic collection of people."


    She swept her gaze over the young lawyers before her. S§×ar?h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Today, you stand at the threshold of a new era for Elysea. You will be the ones to fight for justice, to ensure that our courts are fair and that our laws serve the people. You will be the ones who protect the innocent and prosecute the guilty. You will be the ones who help shape the future of Elysea''s legal system."


    Professor Forsythe paused and let her words settle.


    "The law is not just about words written on paper. It is about the values we hold as a people. It is about justice, fairness, and compassion. You, the new graduates, will carry that torch forward."


    Bruno nodded in agreement as Forsythe finished speaking.


    "Your role is crucial to our future. You will uphold the laws that protect our citizens, ensure their rights, and safeguard the values that define us as a kingdom."


    He turned to the graduates once again, his voice filled with gratitude.


    "As a king, I am grateful for your commitment to justice. The law is the shield that protects us all, and your dedication will ensure that shield is strong and just. Elysea''s future depends on you."


    The speeches continued as Bruno, Amelie, and the graduates stood in unity, their collective purpose clear: to build and safeguard Elysea''s future.


    As the ceremony drew to a close, the graduates gathered in the courtyard, their families surrounding them with pride. King Bruno and Queen Amelie walked among them, offering congratulations and shaking hands with those who had worked so hard to achieve their dreams.


    "You have made us proud," Bruno said to one young engineer, his voice full of admiration. "The future is in your hands, and I have no doubt that you will build something truly remarkable."


    To the doctors, he offered similar praise. "You will heal our people, protect our health, and ensure that Elysea stands strong for generations to come."


    And to the lawyers, he said, "You are the guardians of justice, and your work will help ensure that our kingdom remains a fair and just society."


    The royal couple continued their rounds, offering words of encouragement to each graduate, ensuring they felt the weight of their importance in the rebuilding of Elysea. By the end of the day, Bruno and Amelie were exhausted but satisfied. They had seen the potential of the kingdom in these young men and women, and they knew that Elysea''s future was secure in their hands.


    As night fell over the kingdom, Bruno stood in the palace, looking out over the city that was beginning to flourish once more. The city that had once been stricken by disease, poverty, and despair now stood as a beacon of hope¡ªa kingdom being rebuilt from the ground up, one graduate at a time.


    The future was bright. The foundation had been laid.


    And with these young minds at the helm, Elysea would rise to its fullest potential.

 Chapter 154 - 154: Science Exposition

    The morning sun painted the capital of Elysea in golden light, casting warm reflections off the polished brass and copper domes of the Royal Exhibition Hall. The entire city felt a little brighter, a little more alive. Today wasn''t just any other day¡ªit was the first-ever Royal Science Exposition, and people from every corner of the kingdom had come to see it. Scholars, inventors, students, and curious townsfolk filled the plaza, buzzing with excitement. Everyone hoped to get a glimpse of the kingdom''s future¡ªor maybe even help build it.


    King Bruno arrived early, walking side by side with Queen Amelie. His clothes, though royal, were designed with subtle practicality¡ªsomething he insisted on. There was nothing stuffy about him. Despite being king, Bruno never gave off the air of someone unapproachable. Behind that crown was a man who had once lived in a far more advanced world, and today, that experience made him feel more like an engineer than a monarch.


    As they stepped inside the exhibition hall, a wave of sound and scent hit them. The air buzzed with the hiss of steam and clanking of gears. Inventors excitedly explained their projects to visitors, their voices layered over one another like a chorus. The scent of oil, warm metal, and freshly sawn wood filled the space. It was chaotic¡ªbut it was beautiful.


    The first invention to catch Bruno''s attention was a steam-powered loom. A young woman named Christair Fortiche stood by it, adjusting knobs and pulleys. She gave a small demonstration, and within minutes, the machine had created an intricately patterned cloth. Bruno watched closely, impressed by how it could cut production time in half.


    "This could reshape the textile industry," he said, more to himself than anyone else. Turning to Christair, he added, "Your work has real potential. Imagine the jobs this could create, the communities it could lift." Christair beamed, clearly trying to keep her excitement under control.


    Further down the hall, a group of students stood nervously beside a homemade refrigeration device. It used compressed air and a makeshift evaporation system. It wasn''t perfect¡ªit clanked, wheezed, and barely cooled¡ªbut Bruno saw beyond that. "With proper materials," he said, "this could help us store medicine. Even food for the provinces."


    At the heart of the hall stood a tall metal structure marked The Ether Communicator. Its creator, Professor Alvion, explained it could transmit coded messages using pulses of electricity. Bruno''s interest sharpened. "A telegraph," he whispered, recognizing the principle immediately. He leaned in, discussing the potential applications and offering advice. The professor''s jaw practically dropped.


    They moved on, finding a small corner of the hall where an older man named Garry displayed a steam-powered carriage. It was bulky and noisy, but the engineering was solid. Bruno examined the frame, tested the weight balance, and ran a hand over the riveted plating.


    "This¡­ could change everything," he said, already picturing roads connecting distant towns, allowing people and goods to move with speed and safety. "No more depending on weather or horses. It could bring us together in ways we haven''t seen before."


    Throughout the day, Bruno and Amelie toured every aisle, every corner. They saw a water filtration system built for rural communities, a basic prosthetic hand that offered hope for the injured, and even a prototype glider¡ªstill tethered to the ground but filled with ambition. Some projects were rough, some unfinished, but the passion was undeniable.


    Bruno couldn''t help but feel a deep connection to these inventors. They reminded him of what humanity had achieved back in his old world. That same drive to explore, to build, to improve¡ªthat spark lived here, too.


    As the sun dipped low, casting a soft orange over the exhibition, Bruno stepped up onto a makeshift platform. The crowd slowly quieted as he raised his hand. S~ea??h the NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Today, I witnessed something incredible," he said. "Not just clever machines or brilliant ideas, but the spirit of a kingdom that dares to dream. Let this be the beginning of a tradition¡ªwhere invention is celebrated, where knowledge is shared, and where innovation leads us forward. Elysea will not just survive¡ªwe will thrive."


    The applause was overwhelming. It wasn''t just polite. It was real. The people believed him.


    That evening, as the city quieted down, Bruno and Amelie took a walk through the palace gardens. The lamplight flickered gently around them. Amelie looked thoughtful.


    "Do you think these inventions will actually change things?" she asked softly.


    Bruno looked up at the stars. "They already have," he said. "And this is just the beginning. One idea leads to another. And soon¡­ we''ll be somewhere none of us ever imagined."


    Somewhere in Elysea, a new chapter was starting.


    The Next Morning


    Even as the sun rose, Elysea still buzzed from the day before. Coffee houses, taverns, and even barbershops were filled with people talking about the exposition. Everyone had a favorite. A few kids in the square had even built their own version of a flying machine out of sticks and string.


    At the palace, Bruno sat at the council table, reviewing a thick list of award recipients. Lord Montblanc, the royal chamberlain, stood beside him with a gold-trimmed ledger.


    "These are your final picks?" Montblanc asked, eyes glancing over the names. "No complaints from the academies?"


    Bruno chuckled. "A few nobles aren''t happy that a mechanic outshined titled engineers. But genius doesn''t ask for permission. It doesn''t care about status. It just works."


    Montblanc gave a rare smile. "Well said, Your Majesty."


    Bruno stood and made his way to the palace courtyard where the awards would be given. Green flags flew from every balcony. Banners that read "Progress is Our Promise" stretched across the stone walls. The crowd was already gathering¡ªyoung scholars, old tinkerers, nobles, and commoners alike. Everyone was curious to see who would be honored.


    When the palace bells rang ten, Bruno and Amelie stepped onto the dais. The courtyard hushed.


    "Yesterday," Bruno began, "we didn''t just witness invention. We witnessed courage. Effort. Passion. Today, we honor those who dared to build something new."


    He called up Christair Fortiche first. She stepped forward, dress still smudged with soot.


    "Christair," Bruno said, handing her a scroll tied with violet ribbon, "your invention could change our textile economy and provide work for thousands. You''re awarded a royal patent and 500 gold crowns to open your own weaving hall in the Southern Quarter."


    Her hands shook as she accepted the award. "I''ll make Elysea proud, Your Majesty," she said, tears in her eyes.


    Next came Professor Alvion, who received a royal commission to begin work on a national communications network. The older scholars in the crowd exchanged glances¡ªsome skeptical, others stunned.


    Then came Garry, the steam carriage creator. Bruno clapped him on the back.


    "You''ve earned a full workshop in the innovation district," he said. "And when you''re done, I expect a ride that doesn''t need four horses or a priest''s blessing."


    The biggest surprise came when two teenage boys were called to the stage. Dressed in worn clothes, they had created a basic wind-powered water pump that saved lives in their village during last year''s drought.


    "For your service," Bruno said, "you''ve earned full royal apprenticeships. From now on, you''ll study with our top engineers. You''ll have every tool and teacher you need."


    The crowd broke into cheers. The boys stood frozen, unsure of what to say.


    And finally, Bruno raised both hands again.


    "This exposition is not a one-time event," he said. "From this day forward, the Royal Science Exposition will be held every year¡ªopen to all, regardless of status or name. Let ideas be our currency. Let invention be the tie that binds our kingdom together."


    The cheers that followed were louder than any before.


    After everything settled down, Bruno and Amelie sat under a large sycamore tree near the palace fountain. Prince Louis played nearby, crawling across the grass, holding a stick like it was a sword.


    "You looked proud today," Amelie said, handing Bruno a cold drink.


    "I was," he replied. "Not just for the inventors¡ªbut because we showed people that the throne sees them. That it believes in their future."


    "You''re changing more than policies," she said. "You''re changing hearts."


    Bruno didn''t answer right away. He was watching a group of kids using broken wood and string to build a toy version of Garry''s steam carriage. A small smile tugged at his lips.


    That night, back in his study, Bruno opened a blank page in his personal journal. No seals. No royal crests. Just clean parchment and a quiet room.


    He titled the page:


    Blueprints for Elysea''s Tomorrow


    And then he began to write¡ªnot as a king, but as an engineer from another world. A man who had seen what was possible.


    And in houses, barns, and attics across Elysea, more sparks were beginning to fly.


    A girl was sketching out a flying machine that might actually lift off the ground.


    A boy was hammering out gear pieces in secret, dreaming of machines that could walk.


    And slowly, steadily, a kingdom that had once been reeling¡­ began to imagine again.

 Chapter 155 - 155: Battleships

    The air inside the Admiralty War Hall smelled of salt and coal dust. Blueprints sprawled across the long oak table, weighed down by brass paperweights shaped like sea serpents and galleons. Lanterns flickered against the stone walls, casting shifting shadows over naval charts and elevation sketches of hulls that had yet to touch water.


    King Bruno stood at the head of the table, arms crossed, eyes sharp. The admirals and shipwrights surrounding him were among Elysea''s finest naval minds¡ªgrizzled veterans of past maritime conflicts and craftsmen who had shaped the very hulls that once ruled the Gulf of Theros.


    But those ships were relics now.


    Wooden decks, cloth sails, and iron cannonballs had defined the Elysean navy for generations. Glorious, yes. Elegant, perhaps. But vulnerable in a world beginning to change. Bruno knew it better than anyone¡ªhe had watched iron leviathans cut through seas in the world he once called home. Steam, not wind, had ruled those oceans. And if Elysea was to survive the coming century, it needed more than legacy. It needed reinvention.


    He tapped the table with a gloved finger, drawing all eyes to a new set of diagrams.


    "These are not galleons," he said plainly. "These are warships made of steel. Powered by coal and steam. Armored. Unrelenting. Capable of moving against wind or current. This is our future."


    Murmurs filled the chamber. One admiral cleared his throat. "Your Majesty¡­ we respect your vision, but this is far beyond our current capacity. The forges alone¡ª"


    Bruno held up a hand. "The forges are already being expanded. The Ironworks in Ardrin will double production within the year. I''ve authorized the construction of three new drydocks along the coastal strip near Port-Luthair. Timber will remain part of auxiliary construction, but the keels¡ªmake no mistake¡ªwill be iron."


    The naval minister, a man named Rovann, adjusted his spectacles. "And what of propulsion, Sire? We do not yet possess engines strong enough to drive a vessel of this size against the tide."


    "We will," Bruno replied. "The Royal College of Engineers has already begun adapting boiler systems similar to the freight engines we use in the Elysea Central Railway. Their efficiency has tripled since last year. The steam drive is no longer theory¡ªit is readiness waiting for command."


    One of the younger admirals leaned forward, a skeptical expression softening into curiosity. "And armaments, Your Majesty?"


    "Rotating turrets," Bruno said. "Elevated guns. No more broadside-only volleys. These ships will move and strike like fists, not floating fortresses. Armor will protect the powder bays. The bridge will be enclosed. I''ve seen ships with no sails still outrun squalls and hold course during cannonade. That''s the fleet I want for Elysea."


    He let the words settle.


    No grand declarations. No poetic flourishes.


    Only the unshakable certainty of a man who had lived the future and returned to make it real.


    The meeting adjourned with half the room still reeling from the gravity of it all. Bruno remained behind, pacing slowly along the long windows of the war hall, looking out to the sea.


    Amelie found him there, several minutes later, holding Prince Louis in her arms.


    "You made waves again," she teased, smiling softly. "The palace halls are already buzzing."


    Bruno didn''t take his eyes off the horizon. "They''ll understand, in time. We no longer live in an age where elegance and heroism alone can defend a coastline. War evolves. And Elysea must not fall behind."


    Amelie approached, letting Louis reach out toward the window. The toddler giggled as a gull swept past in the distance.


    "I don''t doubt your vision," she said. "But vision without hearts behind it¡­ ships without sailors, minds without belief¡­?"


    "They will believe," Bruno said. "Once they see what''s possible."


    And so, the Royal Navy''s transformation began.


    Construction sites boomed with the hammering of rivets and the roar of furnaces. The city of Port-Luthair became a second heart to Elysea¡ªan engine town of steel, soot, and determination. Apprentices from the royal university volunteered in droves. Miners in the southern highlands dug deeper, knowing that their coal now fueled more than warmth¡ªit fueled purpose.


    Bruno visited the docks weekly.


    Sometimes, alone and hooded.


    Other times, with Amelie and Louis in tow.


    He walked the scaffolding around the first ironclad''s hull, his boots echoing on steel plating. He sat in briefings where shipwrights explained hull curvature and stress tolerances. He listened. He asked questions. He corrected design flaws drawn from memory, comparing battleship configurations long since vanished from this world.


    By month five, the first prototype was named.


    ECS Lionheart.


    Its bow jutted like a blade.


    Its decks bristled with polished turrets. Its engines¡ªtwo tandem steam boilers¡ªhummed with power yet to be unleashed.


    On the day of its launch, the entire royal court gathered by the sea. The docks teemed with citizens holding flags and throwing flower petals from balconies and railings. Bruno wore the navy''s formal uniform¡ªblack with silver trim¡ªwhile Amelie stood beside him, wrapped in a sea-blue cloak that billowed in the wind.


    An officer stepped forward with a ceremonial bottle of wine.


    Bruno shook his head.


    He took the bottle himself and walked to the bow, raising it high.


    "To a new era," he said simply.


    And he shattered it.


    The crowd roared as the Lionheart slid into the waves.


    It did not bob like wood.


    It cut forward like prophecy.


    The day after the launch, Bruno convened a new military commission. Their orders were clear: train new crews, develop updated naval tactics, and begin drafting designs for two more ironclads¡ªthis time with faster propulsion and longer firing range. Merchant captains were recruited to transition their fleets toward steam support, and the first naval academy in Elysea''s history was founded within the year.


    Other kingdoms noticed.


    Envoys from coastal empires arrived, veiling questions beneath compliments. Bruno, as always, answered with smiles and silence.


    And in Elysea, young boys and girls no longer dreamed of riding waves on sailboats¡ªthey dreamed of standing atop armored decks, guiding steel beasts through the sea.


    Bruno''s vision had taken root.


    The kingdom had stepped into the modern age.


    Not just with fire.


    But with steam. And iron. And will.


    And the Lionheart was only the beginning.


    By winter''s end, construction on her sister ships had already begun. The Vanguard and Resolute rose from scaffolds like steel monuments¡ªeach iteration slightly leaner, faster, and more advanced than the last. Their hulls bore the weight of design improvements informed by Bruno''s relentless reviews and field simulations, run in secret among the engineering corps. Nothing escaped his scrutiny¡ªfuel intake, exhaust ventilation, armor belt angles, the firing arc of the turrets.


    Elysea''s first modern fleet wasn''t just being built; it was being forged in the fire of Bruno''s experience.


    Naval drills followed quickly. Crews from the royal navy were reassigned to intensive training camps along the southern coast. Sailors learned to navigate with coal instead of canvas, their arms now wielding levers and gauges instead of ropes and sails. Many veterans resisted the change, at first. But Bruno made sure they understood something clearly: tradition without adaptation would lead only to defeat.


    At sea, the Lionheart proved herself time and again. She outmaneuvered the fastest cutters in the Royal Fleet during her first training exercises and easily sustained forward thrust against open waves, even in foul weather. Her gunnery crews, drawn from artillery detachments, practiced on iron targets set adrift far off the coast¡ªlearning to adjust for roll, recoil, and range in conditions none of them had ever faced before.


    And inland, at the newly established Naval Academy in Port-Luthair, a new class of officer cadets studied everything from steam propulsion principles to tactical theory. Models of engines and turrets lined classroom walls. Maps covered in grid patterns replaced traditional sea charts. And somewhere in a quiet lab near the back of the facility, two cadets had begun experimenting with signal lamps¡ªhoping to send silent light across water faster than any voice could carry.


    Back in the capital, the cultural effect was even more surprising.


    Children began carving miniature ironclads instead of toy galleons. Blacksmiths refined new steel alloys in anticipation of the military''s demands. Painters and writers spoke of the new fleet with reverence¡ªdepicting the Lionheart not just as a war machine, but as a symbol of modern unity and might. Bruno saw it clearly: the spirit of invention and reform had spread beyond university halls and navy yards¡ªit had entered the hearts of the people.


    One morning, a group of young apprentices arrived at the palace gates with a proposal.


    They had spent the last season designing a hybrid vessel: part transport, part patrol ship, capable of river operations and port defense. Their plans were crude, their math even cruder¡ªbut their eyes burned with the same light Bruno had seen in the early inventors of the Royal Science Exposition.


    He summoned them to the planning hall and reviewed their sketches himself.


    "Ambitious," he said. "But promising. You''ll build your prototype with resources from the Port-Luthair foundry. Send progress reports to my desk directly."


    The boys were speechless. One stammered something about not being nobles.


    Bruno only smiled. "Steel doesn''t care about bloodlines. Only pressure and purpose."


    Later that week, while walking through the palace gardens with Amelie and Louis, Bruno paused near the reflecting pool. The boy, now old enough to walk on his own, waddled up beside the water and pointed at his own reflection.


    "You think he''ll remember any of this?" Amelie asked softly.


    "No," Bruno answered, kneeling beside his son. "But he''ll grow up in a kingdom that doesn''t fear the future. That means more than memory¡ªit means legacy."


    Amelie watched Louis lean forward and splash at the surface.


    "You''ve changed the navy," she said. "But more than that, you''ve changed Elysea."


    "No," Bruno replied, standing again. "We all have. Every hammer stroke, every blueprint, every student who dared to draw something new. I only opened the door."


    And as he looked out across the gardens, where the wind carried the faint smell of coal smoke from distant foundries, Bruno knew something else:


    The world beyond Elysea would one day come knocking. And when it did, they would find a kingdom no longer sailing on tradition, but steaming ahead¡ªunafraid, unbroken, and ready.


    S§×ar?h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

 Chapter 156 - 156: ICE Carriages

    In the quiet hours before dawn, King Bruno sat in his study, the flickering lamplight casting long shadows over the paper spread before him. Diagrams of pistons, crankshafts, and fuel injectors filled the pages¡ªblueprints of a vision that had taken root in his mind. The success of the steam-powered navy had proven Elysea''s capacity for industrial advancement. Now, Bruno envisioned a new frontier: the transformation of land transportation through the introduction of automobiles powered by internal combustion engines.


    Bruno''s inspiration stemmed from memories of his previous world, where gasoline and diesel engines had revolutionized mobility. He recalled the mechanics: in gasoline engines, a mixture of fuel and air is compressed and ignited by a spark plug, causing an explosion that drives the piston. Diesel engines, on the other hand, compress air to a high temperature before injecting fuel, which ignites due to the heat of compression. These principles, though complex, were achievable with Elysea''s growing industrial capabilities.


    Bruno convened a council of Elysea''s brightest minds¡ªengineers, blacksmiths, alchemists, and scholars. He shared his vision of a self-propelled carriage, detailing the mechanics of internal combustion engines. The council listened with a mix of skepticism and intrigue. Bruno addressed their concerns by referencing the kingdom''s advancements in metallurgy and steam technology, emphasizing that the leap to combustion engines was a natural progression.?


    The next challenge was sourcing suitable fuel. Bruno recalled that gasoline and diesel were refined from crude oil. He dispatched expeditions to explore Elysea''s territories for oil deposits. Within months, they discovered a site rich in crude oil. Refineries were established, and alchemists worked tirelessly to develop methods for distilling the oil into usable fuels. The process was arduous, but the promise of a new era of transportation fueled their determination.?


    Bruno''s inspiration stemmed from memories of his previous world, where gasoline and diesel engines had revolutionized mobility. He recalled the mechanics: in gasoline engines, a mixture of fuel and air is compressed and ignited by a spark plug, causing an explosion that drives the piston. Diesel engines, on the other hand, compress air to a high temperature before injecting fuel, which ignites due to the heat of compression. These principles, though complex, were achievable with Elysea''s growing industrial capabilities.


    With fuel production underway, Bruno turned his attention to vehicle design. He sketched models inspired by the early automobiles of his former world¡ªcompact, sturdy, and functional. Workshops buzzed with activity as craftsmen built chassis, forged engine components, and assembled the first prototypes. The inaugural model, dubbed the "Elysean Cruiser," featured a single-cylinder engine, wooden frame, and iron-rimmed wheels. Though rudimentary, it marked the beginning of a transportation revolution.?


    The first test runs of the Elysean Cruiser were met with anticipation and trepidation. Bruno himself took the helm, guiding the vehicle along a makeshift track. The engine sputtered to life, propelling the Cruiser forward amidst cheers from onlookers. Subsequent tests revealed areas for improvement¡ªengine cooling, fuel efficiency, and suspension systems. Engineers iterated on the design, incorporating feedback and refining the mechanics. Each prototype brought the kingdom closer to a reliable, mass-producible automobile.?


    Recognizing the need for infrastructure to support automobiles, Bruno initiated the construction of paved roads connecting major cities. He established the Royal Motor Works, a state-sponsored facility dedicated to vehicle production. Training programs were launched to educate mechanics and drivers, ensuring a skilled workforce to sustain the burgeoning industry. The economic impact was profound¡ªnew jobs emerged, trade routes expanded, and the kingdom''s internal connectivity improved dramatically.?


    The day finally came.


    A brisk morning breeze rustled through the banners strung across the central square of Elysee, where thousands of citizens had gathered for what was promised to be a historic unveiling. Merchants left their stalls untended. Apprentices slipped away from workshops. Children perched on balconies, their faces bright with anticipation. Even visiting envoys from neighboring kingdoms stood among the crowd, their expressions cautiously curious. Everyone wanted to witness what King Bruno had long hinted at¡ªa new marvel to change the way Elysea moved.


    A raised platform stood at the center of the square, surrounded by tightly woven ropes and flanked by royal guards. In front of it was a long stretch of freshly paved road¡ªthe first public motor lane in the kingdom, lined with lamp posts and carved stone curbs.


    Then, the trumpet sounded.


    King Bruno appeared, dressed not in his ceremonial finery but in a long leather coat, gloves, and goggles pushed up on his brow. He looked every bit the mechanic-king that the people had come to admire. Queen Amelie stood proudly beside him, and Prince Louis clung excitedly to her hand, hopping in place to see what was coming.


    "Citizens of Elysea," Bruno began, stepping forward and projecting his voice with the confidence of someone who knew history was listening. "For generations, our cities have been connected by foot, by horse, by cart. But today, we turn the wheels of time forward." S§×ar?h the ¦ÇovelFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    With a simple wave, the ropes were pulled aside.


    From beneath a velvet tarp, six gleaming vehicles were revealed¡ªsleek bodies of polished brass and oak-trimmed metal, their wheels rimmed with vulcanized rubber and headlights like silver eyes. Engines thumped beneath their hoods, releasing faint puffs of white smoke.


    The crowd gasped.


    "These are not carriages. They are not wagons," Bruno said. "These are Elysean Automobiles. Built here. Fueled here. For our roads, our people, and our future."


    He stepped into the nearest one, a four-seater painted in royal green and trimmed in gold. He turned a small crank lever on the side¡ªan interim method until self-starting engines were perfected¡ªand the engine roared to life. The sound was unlike anything the square had ever heard: rhythmic, mechanical, alive.


    Bruno pressed the pedal and the car jerked forward, gliding along the smooth road.


    The cheers were thunderous.


    The other drivers¡ªapprentices from the Royal Motor Works¡ªfollowed suit, guiding their Cruisers around the square in a slow, elegant circuit. Children chased behind the cars. Elderly citizens wiped their eyes in disbelief.


    Later that day, an announcement was made: the first production run of the Elysean Cruiser would begin immediately. Applications for purchase would open within the week¡ªnot only for nobles, but for merchants, doctors, messengers, and farmers who could prove need and responsibility.


    In the weeks that followed, the kingdom saw the birth of an entirely new industry.


    Gasoline stations¡ªinitially called "fuel depots"¡ªbegan appearing at key crossroads and town centers, each manned by trained attendants. New workshops opened in every major city, offering repair services and custom parts. The Royal Motor Works expanded into a sprawling compound with three assembly lines. Orders flooded in faster than they could be filled.


    Bruno ensured that access to vehicles wasn''t monopolized by the rich. He passed a royal edict: a quarter of all vehicles produced in the first three years would be subsidized for lower-income citizens contributing to essential sectors¡ªmedicine, agriculture, logistics, and education.


    Roads continued to stretch outward like veins from the capital, linking villages that had never seen cobblestone paths to the heart of the kingdom. Journey times shrank. Farmers could deliver goods to markets days earlier than before. Doctors arrived to rural emergencies in hours rather than days.


    And with the transformation came stories.


    A teacher in Valenport used her Cruiser to bring books to five remote hamlets.


    A blacksmith invented a new braking system and was invited to join the Royal Engineering Guild.


    A postman who once rode for days now finished his route by noon and taught literacy in the afternoons.


    Everywhere, the sound of progress was no longer the beat of horseshoes¡ªbut the steady hum of combustion.


    The foreign emissaries who had witnessed the launch sent letters back home filled with urgency. Some requested to purchase the vehicles. Others tried to decipher the engine blueprints from memory. But Bruno held firm: Elysea would lead this revolution. Collaboration was welcome¡ªbut only if it served peace and mutual prosperity.


    One month after the public release, Bruno returned to the central square for a quieter visit.


    He sat on a bench, watching three Cruisers pass by¡ªone driven by a young couple, another by a baker delivering pastries, the third by a soldier-in-training wearing his uniform with pride.


    Amelie sat beside him, Louis sleeping against her shoulder.


    "It''s only been a few weeks," she said softly.


    Bruno nodded. "And the world already moves faster."


    She looked at him sideways. "Will it be too fast, someday?"


    "Maybe," he admitted. "But the answer isn''t to stop it. It''s to guide it. Teach it. Build lanes, not walls."


    She smiled. "Then that''s what we''ll do."


    And so, with roads paved and engines humming, Elysea entered its next great chapter¡ªnot just a kingdom reborn from crisis, but a kingdom in motion. A place where the future didn''t arrive overnight, but rolled forward one revolution at a time, driven by the courage of a king who remembered what was possible.


    And never forgot who it was for.


    And from that day on, the sound of progress echoed not just in gears and engines¡ªbut in the hearts of every Elysean citizen.

 Chapter 157 - 157: Age of Flight

    ?In the weeks following the public unveiling of the Elysean Cruiser, the kingdom buzzed with the excitement of a new era. The roads, once dominated by horse-drawn carriages, now echoed with the rhythmic hum of combustion engines. Citizens marveled at the sight of automobiles gliding through the streets, a testament to King Bruno''s vision and the nation''s ingenuity.?


    The Royal Motor Works, having successfully launched the initial fleet of Cruisers, now faced the challenge of meeting the surging demand. Orders poured in from every corner of Elysea, from merchants seeking efficient transport for goods to doctors desiring quicker access to patients in remote areas. To address this, Bruno initiated an expansion of the manufacturing facilities, incorporating assembly lines inspired by his memories of industrial practices from his previous world.?


    Training programs were established to cultivate a skilled workforce capable of handling the complexities of automobile production. Mechanics, engineers, and drivers underwent rigorous instruction, ensuring the sustainability of this burgeoning industry. Educational institutions began offering courses in mechanical engineering, fostering a new generation of innovators.?


    Infrastructure developments paralleled these advancements. Fuel depots, colloquially known as "gasoline stations," emerged along major routes, providing the necessary support for long-distance travel. Road networks expanded, connecting previously isolated regions and facilitating commerce and communication.?


    The societal impact was profound. Travel times decreased significantly, enhancing trade and cultural exchange. Rural communities experienced increased access to goods and services, improving the overall quality of life. The automobile became a symbol of progress, embodying the kingdom''s commitment to innovation and unity.?


    King Bruno, observing these transformations, recognized the importance of responsible governance in guiding technological advancement. He established regulatory bodies to oversee vehicle safety standards and environmental considerations, ensuring that progress did not come at the expense of the kingdom''s well-being. Public forums were held to engage citizens in discussions about the implications of these changes, fostering a sense of collective ownership and accountability.


    The morning was quiet but electric in the lower wings of the Royal Engineering Compound, a sprawling brick-and-steel facility that now rivaled the Royal Motor Works in both size and ambition. Located just beyond the eastern gate of Elysee, it was flanked by stacks of lumber, crates of copper wiring, and iron fittings. Inside, the smell of oil and hot metal mingled with the earthy aroma of coal dust and parchment.


    King Bruno stepped through the broad iron doors, flanked by only two guards, but his presence drew every eye. He wore no crown¡ªonly a thick leather coat, black boots, and a pair of goggles perched atop his head like a mechanic ready for work. The engineers straightened instinctively. Some looked nervous. Others, excited. Bruno had come.


    "Please," he said with a small wave of his hand. "Continue."


    Murmurs resumed. Tools clinked. Scribes dipped their quills back into inkpots.


    From the far end of the room came Silvain Hartwell, head engineer of the Royal Aeromechanical Division. Tall, wiry, and perpetually smudged with soot, he wore a tool belt like it was part of his anatomy.


    "Your Majesty," he greeted with a deep bow. "We''ve been expecting you. This way."


    Bruno followed him through the cavernous compound, passing rows of experimental rigs and half-built prototypes. Some resembled oversized birds; others looked like gliders strapped with engine parts.


    They climbed a narrow staircase into a domed observatory chamber. Wide glass panels allowed sunlight to flood the room. From here, one could see the edge of the aerodrome¡ªa newly cleared stretch of clay and grass, flat as parchment and stretching half a kilometer.


    On the table at the center were blueprints. But these weren''t for carriages or ships. These were wings. Engines. Gears. Control surfaces.


    "This," Hartwell said with pride, "is Skylark."


    Bruno moved closer. The design was simple¡ªtoo simple, perhaps¡ªbut it had potential. The wingspan was wide, the frame light, the propulsion system compact.


    "She''s our best model yet," Hartwell explained. "A single-seater. Wooden spars. Fabric skin. The engine''s been retooled from a two-cylinder Cruiser unit. Rear-mounted propeller. We estimate she can stay aloft for a full minute."


    Bruno studied the plans in silence, then gestured for a piece of chalk. He knelt by the slateboard and began sketching.


    "Here," he said, adjusting the tail rudder''s angle. "You''ll need more elevator pitch control. Right now she''s stable, but won''t climb. And this..." He tapped the wing base. "These joints must be reinforced. Compression load will shear them on landing."


    Hartwell nodded, jotting notes furiously. "By the stars, of course¡ªyes. I hadn''t thought of torsion here."


    "You will," Bruno said with a smile.


    A younger woman¡ªAmalia Fen, one of the apprentices¡ªapproached. "We''ve also tested gliders from the cliff edge at Fort Denarii. Our longest flight was seventeen seconds. Straight. Stable. If we add even modest thrust, we might breach thirty."


    Bruno looked up. Her eyes were bright, eager. The kind he remembered from his past life¡ªwhen pioneers dared to reach for the sky with nothing but cloth, wood, and stubbornness.


    "I want you heading lift analysis," he said. "Effective immediately."


    Amalia froze, then nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty."


    Bruno stepped back from the board, turning to the rest of the room. "This project is no longer an experiment. As of this hour, the Royal Aeromechanical Division is elevated to full state sponsorship. You''ll have a new facility built on the northern cliffs of Port-Luthair. Hangars. Workshops. Wind tunnels. Whatever you need."


    "Wind... tunnels?" Hartwell repeated, awestruck.


    "For testing airframes," Bruno said. "We''ll build them."


    A ripple of disbelief passed through the room.


    "Funding?" one man asked, hesitantly. S~ea??h the N?velFire(.)net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Unlimited," Bruno replied. "Your only task... is to fly."


    Within the month, the Port-Luthair Aerodrome rose from the earth like a cathedral of progress. Massive hangars, test tracks, observation towers, and a reinforced runway built from compacted gravel and wooden slats¡ªall stood testament to the kingdom''s newfound obsession with the sky.


    The first Skylark prototype was completed in six weeks.


    Its wings stretched twelve meters tip to tip. A single propeller, mounted behind the cockpit, hummed when the engine turned over. The fuselage was light pine, reinforced with iron fittings. The frame looked delicate¡ªbut every inch had been tested, re-checked, and corrected under Bruno''s scrutiny.


    The day of the first powered test flight, Bruno stood at the edge of the runway. Amelie was beside him, bundled in a long coat, with Louis on her hip.


    "Do you think it''ll work?" she asked softly.


    Bruno didn''t look away from the craft. "I know it will. Whether it stays up... that''s the question."


    Amalia Fen was the pilot. She stepped into the open cockpit with nothing but leather gloves and goggles. The mechanics secured her harness, then backed away. Hartwell gave a thumbs-up. The signal was clear.


    The propeller spun.


    The engine roared.


    And the Skylark rumbled forward.


    Bruno held his breath. It rolled, bounced¡ªand then, with a shudder¡ªit lifted.


    A few meters. Then five. Ten.


    The craft soared into the air with a rising hum, wings stable, tail rudder slicing through the wind.


    Gasps filled the air. Cheers followed.


    Bruno exhaled slowly, a proud smile on his lips.


    "She''s flying," Amelie whispered.


    "She''s flying," Bruno confirmed.


    After nearly forty seconds, the engine stuttered. As expected. The fuel line was primitive, the pump hand-crafted. But Amalia guided the craft into a gentle glide, descending in a wide arc before landing on the far end of the runway.


    There was no explosion. No crash.


    Just a touchdown.


    And history.


    That evening, Bruno stood before the engineers gathered in the hangar.


    "You''ve done something remarkable," he said. "We don''t yet have skyships. Not yet. But we have opened the sky."


    He gestured to the Skylark behind him. "This is only the beginning. We''ll go higher. Farther. Faster. We''ll deliver mail across provinces in hours. Carry medicine to isolated towns. And one day... one day, our soldiers will guard our skies, not just our shores."


    The engineers stood, exhausted but triumphant. Their faces were smeared with soot and oil, but their eyes gleamed with vision.


    Bruno raised a hand.


    "To the sky."


    "To the sky," they echoed.


    And outside the hangar, under the Elysean stars, the Skylark stood ready¡ªfor its next flight.


    And for everything that would come after.


    The following morning, Elysea woke not just to a sunrise¡ªbut to a shift in its very horizon.


    Newspapers across the capital featured bold sketches of the Skylark mid-flight, the headline simply reading: "Elysea Takes to the Sky." Children ran through the streets with wooden wings strapped to their arms. Coffeehouses echoed with talk of "aerial post" and "sky patrols." Merchants, scholars, even far-flung governors sent letters to the palace requesting demonstrations¡ªor partnerships.


    Bruno, however, remained focused. The next step was scale. A two-seater model. Then a four-seater with longer range. He summoned Silvain Hartwell and Amalia Fen back to the palace that evening and unrolled new blueprints across the war table¡ªlarger fuselages, dual-prop configurations, and an enclosed cockpit.


    "No more experiments," he told them. "We''re building the foundation of Elysea''s Air Corps."


    Amelia looked toward the night sky outside the window, stars winking like distant beacons.


    "And when people look up," she said softly, "they''ll no longer see the sky as unreachable. They''ll see it as ours."


    Bruno nodded once. "Let''s give them wings."


    And with those words, the age of flight in Elysea did not just begin.


    It soared.

 Chapter 158 - 158: Demonstration

    The parade grounds of Fort Lasserre were unlike any other place in Elysea. Spread across a vast plain south of the capital, it was the military''s central command and training compound¡ªhome to the kingdom''s elite regiments and artillery batteries. Normally, it echoed with the sound of marching boots, shouted orders, and the crack of rifle fire on the practice ranges.


    But today was different.


    Today, the air above the compound was alive with anticipation.


    Soldiers stood in neat formation, officers in their dress uniforms, rifles at rest. At the far end of the parade field, atop a wide wooden platform adorned with the Elysean crest, King Bruno stood with his hands behind his back, eyes narrowed against the rising morning sun. Beside him stood General Marc Delacroix, Supreme Commander of the Elysean Armed Forces¡ªa towering man with silver hair, broad shoulders, and the skeptical gaze of a career soldier.


    "I''ll be honest with you, Sire," Delacroix said, his voice low. "I''ve seen plenty of war machines. Rolling mortars. Rapid-fire guns. Even those signal towers you had installed last year. But I''ve never seen anything fly."


    Bruno gave him a small smile. "That''s why you''re here."


    Behind them, an entire battalion of engineers and mechanics swarmed the edge of the newly paved airstrip¡ªno longer gravel and wooden slats, but carefully laid stone bricks, flattened and reinforced with crushed clay and mortar. It gleamed in the sunlight, freshly cured, barely cooled.


    Three aircraft sat in plain view under canvas hangars, each significantly larger than the original Skylark. Their engines, covered with tarps, were being prepared by ground crews. The air smelled of oil, rope fiber, and tension.


    The first aircraft was a two-seater, christened the Falcon I. With dual propellers¡ªone at the front and one rear-mounted¡ªit had greater stability than the Skylark and a reinforced pine and aluminum frame. The second was even larger: the Falcon II, a four-seat prototype with a partially enclosed cockpit and retractable landing skids. It was the pride of the new division.


    But the third machine drew the most attention.


    Painted dark gray, its wings broader and frame sleeker than the others, it had no civilian markings. Only a gold insignia on its nose¡ªa hawk diving with talons outstretched.


    The military prototype.


    The Aegis I.


    "Three months ago," Bruno began, his voice rising across the field, "we proved to the kingdom that flight was no longer a dream. We soared beyond the limits of what was thought possible. Today¡­ we take the next step. Not in dreams, but in defense."


    A murmur spread through the ranks. Some soldiers shifted, others stared upward as if expecting something to descend from the clouds.


    "You''ve seen horses charge," Bruno continued. "You''ve seen ships patrol our coasts, and artillery guard our walls. But the next war¡ªshould it ever come¡ªwill not be fought solely on land or sea. It will be fought in the air."


    He stepped aside and motioned to a nearby officer. A horn blew once.


    The demonstration had begun.


    Engines whined to life. First the Falcon I, its twin propellers spinning into a blur. Ground crew gave clearance, and with a rumble, the plane began to roll forward. It took off in less than 80 meters, lifting smoothly into the air.


    Gasps rippled across the crowd as the aircraft climbed steadily, wings holding firm. The pilot, a former cavalry officer turned aviator named Captain Ronan Vale, banked into a wide arc over the field. He circled once, then twice, performing a low pass directly above the crowd. Soldiers ducked instinctively as the engine roared past.


    General Delacroix watched with arms crossed, his brow furrowed. "Impressive. Still not convinced it''s more than a show."


    Bruno didn''t reply. He simply gestured again.


    The Falcon II was next. Slower, heavier¡ªbut more stable. The crew aboard waved from the partially enclosed cockpit as they climbed into the sky. One of the engineers released a small crate from the rear hatch mid-flight. It deployed a parachute and landed gently near the reviewing stand.


    Bruno spoke without turning. "Mail. Medical supplies. Orders. Even small arms. All deliverable within minutes to any outpost."


    Delacroix grunted. "And if they''re shot down?"


    "Then we build them faster than they can be destroyed."


    A third horn echoed.


    The moment everyone was waiting for.


    The tarp was pulled from the Aegis I.


    Its engine rumbled deeper than the others¡ªa guttural snarl compared to the Falcon''s hum. Sleek, fast, and streamlined, it was designed not just for flight but for combat.


    "Is that¡­ armed?" Delacroix asked, finally unsettled.


    "Yes," Bruno said simply. "Observe."


    The Aegis I took off in a heartbeat, its wheels barely scraping the runway before it leapt skyward like a bird of prey. Unlike the other two aircraft, it climbed steeply before leveling off at altitude.


    Then, with surgical precision, it descended into a dive.


    There were no weapons yet¡ªno mounted guns or rockets. But what it had was accuracy.


    Three painted wooden targets had been set up in the field¡ªrepresenting cavalry, artillery, and a supply wagon.


    From above, the pilot released weighted mock payloads¡ªcanvas sacks filled with chalk and flour.


    The first struck the cavalry dummy dead center.


    The second shattered the cannon prop.


    The third sent the supply wagon''s canvas frame tumbling.


    Applause broke out spontaneously among the junior officers. Even some of the grizzled veterans murmured their approval.


    When the Aegis I looped around for its final pass, it pulled into a vertical climb before executing a shallow barrel roll. The maneuver was imperfect, rough¡ªbut it was real.


    It landed with a controlled skid, its propeller still whirring, and rolled to a stop not twenty paces from the reviewing stand. Sear?h the N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    The pilot climbed out. It was Amalia Fen.


    Helmet in hand, grease-streaked but smiling, she saluted.


    "Permission to report successful demonstration, Your Majesty."


    Bruno returned the salute, grinning. "Granted."


    General Delacroix walked down the steps toward the aircraft, staring at the frame like it had emerged from another world. He reached out, touched the wing, then turned back to Bruno.


    "We''ll need training regiments. New logistics. Defensive strategies. A doctrine for this kind of warfare."


    "You''ll have it," Bruno said. "I''m commissioning a new branch: the Royal Air Corps. Your staff will coordinate with Hartwell and my engineers. We''ll start with a dozen recruits. Expand to fifty by winter."


    The general looked back at the aircraft one more time.


    "And what of armaments?"


    Bruno''s smile faded slightly. "That comes next."


    That evening, inside the war room of Fort Lasserre, blueprints were spread across the table. Concepts for drop-pods. Air-to-ground signaling flags. Even lightweight belt-fed weapons for defensive fire.


    Bruno stood at the center, surrounded by generals, officers, and engineers. He did not speak like a monarch¡ªbut like a man planning the future of his nation.


    "We won''t build bombers yet," he said. "But scouts, couriers, and rapid-response units. Tactical overwatch from above. Let our enemies march in tight lines and columns. We''ll be the wind above them."


    One of the younger officers leaned forward. "What about naval integration? Aircraft on ships?"


    Bruno met his gaze with a twinkle of amusement. "One step at a time."


    Outside the war room, the soldiers of Fort Lasserre gathered near the airfield, watching the aircraft being wheeled into hangars. Some joked about flying. Others argued who among them would volunteer first. But one thing was clear¡ªthe kingdom had changed again.


    No longer content to rule the land or protect the sea¡­


    Elysea was now reaching for the skies.


    And the sky, at last, was within reach.


    That night, as the stars shimmered above the high towers of Fort Lasserre, the officers'' mess hall remained alight well past midnight. Maps had been cleared to make room for mugs of steaming coffee and open notebooks filled with hurried sketches and doctrine proposals. The talk wasn''t of infantry formations or cavalry maneuvers¡ªbut of flight paths, fuel weights, and air corridors.


    General Delacroix sat at a corner table with his top aides, poring over a preliminary chart drafted by one of Bruno''s engineers. "Altitude protocols, wind factor, payload limits," he muttered, tapping the parchment with his knuckle. "We''re not just adding wings to our army¡ªwe''re rewriting the entire book."


    Meanwhile, in the adjacent hangar, Amalia Fen sat on an overturned crate beside the Aegis I, wiping oil from her hands with a cloth. She looked up at the aircraft, then toward the open sky through the hangar''s large doors. The air still carried the scent of scorched fuel and dust¡ªa smell she was beginning to associate with history.


    King Bruno arrived quietly, stepping beside her without ceremony. "You did well today."


    Amalia stood, brushing off her trousers. "The aircraft did well. I just followed her lead."


    Bruno chuckled. "And I suppose she installed the pitch rudder herself, too?"


    She laughed lightly, then grew thoughtful. "When I was a girl, I used to dream of flying. But it never felt real. Not until now."


    He nodded, eyes drifting to the winged silhouette in the dark. "Now it is. And soon, others will follow you into the sky."


    A beat passed between them, quiet and steady.


    Then Bruno spoke again, softly but with resolve. "This is just the beginning, Amalia. The skies will not be a frontier¡­ but a battlefield. And Elysea will not be left behind."


    Above them, the wind rustled the canvas, whispering promises of all that was yet to come.

 Chapter 159 - 159: Wings of Fire

    The next morning, a veil of low fog clung to the hills around Port-Luthair. The air was damp and still, as if the land itself were holding its breath.


    Inside the fortified hangar complex, Bruno stood before a new group of engineers, tacticians, and weapon specialists. They gathered around a reinforced drafting table littered with blueprints and sketches¡ªsome freshly inked, others annotated with smudged graphite and fingerprints.


    A single question hovered over the table like smoke.


    "How do we arm the skies?"


    Bruno''s finger hovered over a new schematic¡ªa modified version of the Falcon II with a top-mounted frame and side brackets near the cockpit.


    "We begin with this," he said. "Lightweight, belt-fed. Something that doesn''t rip the wings off."


    Silvain Hartwell folded his arms, scanning the drawing. "A modified crankshaft under the forward propeller won''t give us enough clearance. We''d need synchronization, or the bullets will tear through the blades."


    "We can mount it above the nose instead," offered Amalia, leaning over the table. "Offset, angled slightly to the right. The pilot compensates by aim¡ªlike archers learning to shoot from horseback."


    One of the weaponsmiths¡ªKellan Vire, a gruff, one-eyed veteran from the Artillery Corps¡ªgrunted in approval. "I can strip weight from the repeater design we use on cavalry wagons. Replace the casing with aluminum alloy. Barrel''s short, but it''ll punch clean through timber and flesh."


    Bruno nodded. "Do it. Keep the firing rate modest¡ªwe need control, not a storm of bullets."


    Hartwell hesitated. "And bombs?"


    The room went silent.


    Bruno turned to a crate in the corner. With effort, he lifted its lid, revealing a cluster of cast-iron spheres, each no larger than a melon. Tail fins of folded copper jutted from their bases.


    "Impact shells," he said. "Each weighs no more than three kilos. The fuse is short¡ªthree seconds from release. Enough time to clear altitude after drop."


    Kellan stepped forward, examining one. "What''s the yield?"


    "Localized," Bruno said. "One can level a trench. Two can collapse a barn. No blast waves. No firestorms. I want precision¡ªnot terror."


    Amalia exhaled slowly. "We''re really doing this."


    "We must," Bruno said quietly. "Because one day, someone else will."


    He looked each of them in the eye.


    "And if they get there first, it won''t be flour sacks they drop."


    By the end of the week, the first armed prototype¡ªcodenamed Falcon Striker¡ªwas ready for its maiden test.


    The machine stood out from the others at the aerodrome: painted matte gray, its forward frame reinforced with a mounted repeater and a narrow steel ammunition tray sloping into the cockpit. Under each wing, small release brackets had been added¡ªcrude, mechanical claws meant to carry two impact shells per side.


    The demonstration took place at a secluded military testing ground northeast of Fort Lasserre. Only Bruno, General Delacroix, Hartwell, Kellan, and a handful of trusted officers were permitted to attend.


    Amalia once again took the controls. Her nerves were hidden behind her steady hands and practiced gaze.


    "This isn''t like the last time," Bruno warned as he helped her strap in. "If anything jams¡ªdon''t fight it. Pull out. Land safe."


    She smirked. "And miss the chance to be the first person in history to shoot from the sky?"


    Bruno sighed. "Just come back in one piece."


    Amalia saluted, tugged her goggles down, and gave the ground crew a thumbs-up.


    The Striker roared to life.


    It raced across the runway and lifted into the air with ease¡ªits heavier frame balanced by additional stabilizers built into the rear. The repeater jutted forward like a fang, its belt already loaded.


    At a signal flare from the field, three straw-filled dummies were wheeled into place on the far hill, spaced twenty meters apart.


    Bruno raised a pair of binoculars.


    The Striker circled high once¡­ then began its descent.


    The repeater rattled.


    Dust kicked up from the hillside. Two of the dummies collapsed under the barrage. The third staggered as splinters flew from its frame.


    The aircraft pulled up, banked left, and came around again.


    This time, the pilot aimed lower.


    Bruno saw the first bomb drop¡ªa glint of iron tumbling through the air.


    Then a muffled thump.


    A burst of smoke and soil erupted from the hillside.


    The second shell followed, striking a wooden wagon target. The explosion split it in half.


    When Amalia landed, silence hung over the test field like mist.


    Then Delacroix began to clap¡ªslow, steady.


    "Well, damn me," he muttered. "You built a flying gun."


    Bruno turned to Kellan. "Make twenty more."


    That night, the Royal Aeromechanical Division celebrated in quiet pride. Drinks were poured in the hangars. Engineers toasted with grease-stained mugs. Amalia¡ªflushed and bright-eyed¡ªwas carried on the shoulders of younger crewmen before being set down and fed half a roasted duck by a laughing cook.


    In the palace, Bruno met with his advisors in the map room.


    "We can''t keep this secret for long," warned Alistair, the Chamberlain. "Spies will hear. Rumors will spread."


    Bruno nodded. "Then let them. Let every kingdom from the Gulf to the Glens know Elysea commands the sky."


    "And if they build their own?"


    Bruno leaned forward, voice low.


    "Then we''ll outfly them. Outsmart them. Outbuild them."


    He stood, hands gripping the edge of the table.


    "From now on, we don''t just respond to threats. We get ahead of them. Our air corps is no longer an experiment. It is a shield. A spear. And tomorrow, it begins to drill."


    Within a month, the Striker model had four replicas. By winter, there were ten. They trained not just for precision strikes, but for escort missions, reconnaissance, and defensive patrols. Ammunition designs evolved with each iteration¡ªsome built for piercing armor, others to scatter metal shards on impact. The bombs became sleeker, deadlier, and shockingly accurate.


    Amalia led the first combat exercise with live ammunition against a mock enemy convoy constructed near the coastal cliffs. The results were devastating¡ªexactly what Bruno had hoped to demonstrate.


    In the capital, wariness turned into awe. Soldiers volunteered for aerial training, blacksmiths took pride in crafting weapon housings, and children no longer played with toy boats or wooden rifles¡ªbut folded paper birds with string-pulled triggers.


    The kingdom had changed again.


    And now, should any enemy march on Elysea with dreams of conquest or blockade¡­


    They would find themselves beneath the shadow of wings and fire.


    Elysea did not seek war.


    But it would be ready for one.


    And its answer would come not with the gallop of hooves¡ª


    But with the roar of engines, and the strike of thunder from the sky.


    In the months that followed, the rhythm of Elysea''s military drills changed.


    The beat of marching boots was now accompanied by the roar of engines above. Where once the kingdom''s power had been measured in ships and cannons, now it was counted in propellers, payloads, and flight hours.


    At Port-Luthair, the Aeromechanical Division''s hangars operated day and night. The Falcon Striker squadrons drilled relentlessly, rehearsing strike runs, evasive maneuvers, and escort formations. Engineers fitted reinforced brackets to newer models, refining designs to balance weight and durability. A centralized command center was established on the aerodrome''s northern ridge, allowing coordinated operations between air, land, and sea divisions.


    King Bruno spent more time there than in the palace.


    He personally reviewed flight logs. Walked the hangar floors. Ate with the engineers and trainees. His knowledge of aerodynamics and machine logic¡ªunparalleled in this world¡ªgave him a revered presence. To the pilots, he wasn''t just a king. He was one of them.


    And still, he pressed for more.


    "Next," he told Hartwell one stormy morning, "we need reconnaissance variants. Long-range. Unarmed. Lightweight. I want scouts in the clouds, watching our borders before an enemy even draws breath."


    Hartwell scratched behind his ear. "With a camera?"


    Bruno grinned. "Eventually. For now¡ªtelescopes and hand sketching. But one day, we''ll capture the sky in a box."


    Meanwhile, a new line of research began quietly under the Royal Armory''s supervision: synchronized firing mechanisms. The dream was to fire directly through the propeller''s arc without clipping the blades. The work was dangerous, the math precise¡ªbut Bruno believed in it. If they succeeded, it would revolutionize airborne combat.


    In the field, the Striker''s reputation grew.


    Reports came in from outposts along the northern border: patrols spotted hostile scouts near the mountains. By the time a land message reached Fort Bernham, the Striker patrol had already made two passes, scaring them off with warning shots. No blood spilled. No soldiers lost.


    It was power without provocation.


    Speed without sacrifice. S~ea??h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    And it was only the beginning.


    Back in Elysee, during a modest celebration for the Royal Air Corps'' official charter, Bruno gave a quiet toast beneath the vaulted ceiling of the war college''s hall.


    "To every blade we''ve sharpened," he said, "we''ve added wings. Let those who threaten peace know¡ªthey no longer face a nation on foot. They face a kingdom that watches from the clouds."


    He raised his glass.


    "To the sky," the room echoed.


    And far beyond the city walls, under a canopy of stars and the low hum of patrolling aircraft, the people of Elysea looked up¡ª


    And saw not just machines.


    But the future.


    And it was flying.

 Chapter 160 - 160: Focusing on the Air Force

    The morning sun cast a golden hue over the fog-laden hills surrounding Port-Luthair. Inside the fortified hangar complex, a sense of anticipation hung in the air as King Bruno convened with his team of engineers, tacticians, and weapon specialists. Blueprints and sketches cluttered the drafting table, each depicting iterations of the Falcon II modified with top-mounted frames and side brackets near the cockpit.?


    "How do we arm the skies?" Bruno''s voice broke the silence, his finger hovering over a schematic.


    Silvain Hartwell, arms folded, scrutinized the drawing. "A modified crankshaft under the forward propeller won''t give us enough clearance. We''d need synchronization, or the bullets will tear through the blades."


    Amalia leaned over the table, her eyes alight with ideas. "We can mount it above the nose instead, offset, angled slightly to the right. The pilot compensates by aim¡ªlike archers learning to shoot from horseback."


    Kellan Vire, the gruff, one-eyed veteran from the Artillery Corps, grunted in approval. "I can strip weight from the repeater design we use on cavalry wagons. Replace the casing with aluminum alloy. Barrel''s short, but it''ll punch clean through timber and flesh."


    Bruno nodded. "Do it. Keep the firing rate modest¡ªwe need control, not a storm of bullets."


    Hartwell hesitated. "And bombs?"


    The room fell silent.


    Bruno walked to a crate in the corner, lifting its lid to reveal cast-iron spheres, each no larger than a melon, with tail fins of folded copper. "Impact shells," he said. "Each weighs no more than three kilos. The fuse is short¡ªthree seconds from release. Enough time to clear altitude after drop."


    Kellan examined one. "What''s the yield?"


    "Localized," Bruno replied. "One can level a trench. Two can collapse a barn. No blast waves. No firestorms. I want precision¡ªnot terror."


    Amalia exhaled slowly. "We''re really doing this."


    "We must," Bruno said quietly. "Because one day, someone else will."


    He looked each of them in the eye. "And if they get there first, it won''t be flour sacks they drop."


    By the end of the week, the first armed prototype¡ªcodenamed Falcon Striker¡ªwas ready for its maiden test.


    The machine stood out from the others at the aerodrome: painted matte gray, its forward frame reinforced with a mounted repeater and a narrow steel ammunition tray sloping into the cockpit. Under each wing, small release brackets had been added¡ªcrude, mechanical claws meant to carry two impact shells per side.


    The demonstration took place at a secluded military testing ground northeast of Fort Lasserre. Only Bruno, General Delacroix, Hartwell, Kellan, and a handful of trusted officers were permitted to attend.


    Amalia once again took the controls, her nerves hidden behind steady hands and a practiced gaze.


    "This isn''t like the last time," Bruno warned as he helped her strap in. "If anything jams¡ªdon''t fight it. Pull out. Land safe."


    She smirked. "And miss the chance to be the first person in history to shoot from the sky?"


    Bruno sighed. "Just come back in one piece."


    Amalia saluted, tugged her goggles down, and gave the ground crew a thumbs-up.


    The Striker roared to life.


    It raced across the runway and lifted into the air with ease¡ªits heavier frame balanced by additional stabilizers built into the rear. The repeater jutted forward like a fang, its belt already loaded.


    At a signal flare from the field, three straw-filled dummies were wheeled into place on the far hill, spaced twenty meters apart.


    Bruno raised a pair of binoculars.


    The Striker circled high once¡­ then began its descent.


    The repeater rattled.


    Dust kicked up from the hillside. Two of the dummies collapsed under the barrage. The third staggered as splinters flew from its frame.


    The aircraft pulled up, banked left, and came around again.


    This time, the pilot aimed lower.


    Bruno saw the first bomb drop¡ªa glint of iron tumbling through the air.


    Then a muffled thump.


    A burst of smoke and soil erupted from the hillside.


    The second shell followed, striking a wooden wagon target. The explosion split it in half.


    When Amalia landed, silence hung over the test field like mist.


    Then Delacroix began to clap¡ªslow, steady.


    "Well, damn me," he muttered. "You built a flying gun."


    Bruno turned to Kellan. "Make twenty more."


    That night, the Royal Aeromechanical Division celebrated in quiet pride. Drinks were poured in the hangars. Engineers toasted with grease-stained mugs. Amalia¡ªflushed and bright-eyed¡ªwas carried on the shoulders of younger crewmen before being set down and fed half a roasted duck by a laughing cook.


    In the palace, Bruno met with his advisors in the map room.


    "We can''t keep this secret for long," warned Alistair, the Chamberlain. "Spies will hear. Rumors will spread."


    Bruno nodded. "Then let them. Let every kingdom from the Gulf to the Glens know Elysea commands the sky."


    "And if they build their own?"


    Bruno leaned forward, voice low.


    "Then we''ll outfly them. Outsmart them. Outbuild them."


    He stood, hands gripping the edge of the table.


    "From now on, we don''t just respond to threats. We get ahead of them. Our air corps is no longer an experiment. It is a shield. A spear. And tomorrow, it begins to drill."


    Within a month, the Striker model had four replicas. By winter, there were ten. They trained not just for precision strikes, but for escort missions, reconnaissance, and defensive patrols. Ammunition designs evolved with each iteration¡ªsome built for piercing armor, others to scatter metal shards on impact. The bombs became sleeker, deadlier, and shockingly accurate.


    Amalia led the first combat exercise with live ammunition against a mock enemy convoy constructed near the coastal cliffs. The results were devastating¡ªexactly what Bruno had hoped to demonstrate.


    In the capital, wariness turned into awe. Soldiers volunteered for aerial training, blacksmiths took pride in crafting weapon housings, and children no longer played with toy boats or wooden rifles¡ªbut folded paper birds with string-pulled triggers.


    The kingdom had changed again.


    And now, should any enemy march on Elysea with dreams of conquest or blockade¡­


    They would find themselves beneath the shadow of wings and fire.


    Elysea did not seek war.


    But it would be ready for one.


    And its answer would come not with the gallop of hooves¡ª


    But with the roar of engines, and the strike of thunder from the sky.


    In the months that followed, the rhythm of Elysea''s military drills changed.


    The beat of marching boots was now accompanied by the roar of engines above. Where once the kingdom''s power had been measured in ships and cannons, now it was counted in propellers, payloads, and flight hours.


    At Port-Luthair, the Aeromechanical Division''s hangars operated day and night. The Falcon Striker squadrons drilled relentlessly, rehearsing strike runs, evasive maneuvers, and formation flying under simulated enemy fire. From dawn until dusk¡ªand often beyond¡ªengines growled, chalk smoke billowed from mock targets, and the sky above the cliffs echoed with the thunder of propellers. Sear?h the Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Inside the command tower, Bruno stood before a massive wall map, newly inked with air routes, engagement zones, and observation grids. Red pins marked known border threats. Blue flags represented Falcon patrol rotations. He traced a route northward with his finger¡ªtoward the icy mountain passes where scouts had reported strange signal fires days before.


    "Double coverage here," he told Lieutenant Norra, the logistics coordinator. "And ready a long-range Striker variant for aerial survey. I want eyes in the clouds before we march men into valleys."


    "Yes, Your Majesty," Norra replied, already scribbling down the orders.


    Meanwhile, inside Hangar Three, Hartwell and Kellan worked on the prototype of the synchronized firing mechanism. The apparatus¡ªcodenamed "Echo Gear"¡ªused a rotating camshaft linked to the engine''s crankshaft, timing each bullet''s release between propeller blades. The device had already sheared through two test props in the early trials, but Hartwell was confident.


    "Once we crack the rhythm," he muttered, tightening a bolt, "the rest is just clockwork."


    Bruno joined them that afternoon, sleeves rolled up, grease already staining his gloves from another inspection. He listened as Hartwell explained the latest modification, then inspected the test mount himself. "The key isn''t just synchronization," Bruno said, "it''s reliability under stress. Mid-flight vibrations, temperature changes, sudden throttle shifts¡ªit all has to hold."


    "We''ll get there," Kellan grunted. "Or die trying."


    That evening, Amalia returned from a high-altitude patrol. Her face was wind-chapped, her lips cracked, but her smile was wide.


    "Three hours at peak range," she reported, climbing down from her cockpit. "No loss of control. The long-tail stabilizer held."


    Bruno clapped her on the shoulder. "Good. You''ll fly the first Echo Gear test next week."


    Her expression sobered. "If it fails, I lose a propeller mid-air."


    "If it succeeds," Bruno replied, "you''ll be the most dangerous thing in the sky."


    At the edge of the aerodrome, young recruits watched from a distance. Some sat on crates, others leaned against fence rails, whispering about the machines, the heroes, the future.


    One of them¡ªa boy barely old enough to shave¡ªpointed to a chalk sketch pinned to a notice board: a drawing of the Echo Gear mounted on the nose of a Striker.


    "Someday," he said, "I''ll fly one of those."


    Bruno passed by behind them and smiled faintly to himself. The boy didn''t know he was there.


    He didn''t have to.


    The sky no longer belonged to myths.


    It belonged to Elysea.

 Chapter 161 - 161: Aircraft Carrier?

    The skies over Port-Luthair were unusually clear.


    Not a wisp of cloud. Not a single hawk in flight. Just pure, unbroken blue¡ªa perfect backdrop for what was to come.


    Inside Hangar Three, the mood was anything but still.


    Engineers moved with purpose, tightening bolts, checking pressure gauges, adjusting fuel lines. The hum of tools and shouted instructions echoed beneath the steel rafters. At the heart of it all, the latest Falcon Striker stood on its landing gear, bristling with new modifications. Its nose gleamed with a reinforced housing¡ªthe result of weeks of trial and error, frustration and breakthrough.


    Echo Gear.


    The synchronized firing system. A machine of exquisite precision, designed to time each bullet with the rotation of the propeller, ensuring none would clip the blades on their way forward. Dozens of prototypes had failed. Propellers shattered. Bullets ricocheted back into the hull. Hartwell once spent an entire night cleaning mangled brass from the cockpit.


    But today, it was ready.


    King Bruno arrived just after sunrise, sleeves rolled up, goggles resting on his brow. Amalia Fen stood by the Striker, helmet in hand, her face calm but pale. No one blamed her. She was about to test the most dangerous contraption the Aeromechanical Division had ever built.


    "Fuel mix?" Bruno asked.


    "Refined," Hartwell replied. "High-octane. Stable burn. Minimal knock."


    "Repeater load?"


    "Belted and locked. Twenty rounds. Aluminum casing. Subsonic charge."


    Bruno turned to Amalia, his voice quieter now. "You know what to do if the system skips timing?"


    "Kill throttle. Cut ignition. Nose up. Bail if needed."


    "Good."


    He rested a hand on the fuselage. The aluminum was cool beneath his palm. Smooth. Elegant. Deadly.


    "All right," Bruno called out. "Clear the hangar. Flight team, take your posts."


    Amalia climbed into the cockpit, strapped in, and ran her pre-flight checks. The engine sputtered once, twice, then roared to life with a growl that vibrated through the floor. Ground crew scrambled back. The hangar doors creaked open. Wind rushed in.


    Bruno stepped onto the observation deck with Hartwell and Kellan Vire beside him. General Delacroix had insisted on watching from the command tower¡ªhe''d seen enough near-deaths for one lifetime.


    The Striker rolled onto the runway. The new nose assembly glinted like a knight''s visor.


    Bruno''s grip on the railing tightened.


    Then she took off.


    Smooth. Confident. The propeller a blur against the morning light. She climbed quickly, banking eastward before leveling out at a safe altitude.


    A red flag rose at the far end of the field¡ªtarget dummies set in a shallow trench, painted with enemy colors. This was no ceremonial test. This was a live-fire evaluation. S~ea??h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Here we go," Hartwell murmured.


    Amalia circled once¡­ then dove.


    The repeater let out its first burst.


    Bup-bup-bup¡ª


    The sound was different. Cleaner. Crisper. Not the rattling chaos of an unmodulated gun but a measured, surgical rhythm.


    Bruno''s eyes were locked on the propeller.


    It kept spinning.


    Round after round, the bullets cleared the blade arc with mathematical precision.


    On the ground, two of the dummies were shredded by the impact. Dust rose, caught by the wind.


    A cheer erupted from the hangar floor.


    "She did it!" someone shouted.


    "She did it!"


    Amalia pulled up, circled once, and buzzed the runway, letting loose the final rounds on a second line of targets. Her aim was good¡ªtwo direct hits. The third missed by inches, but it didn''t matter.


    Echo Gear had worked.


    She landed to a frenzy of applause. Mechanics pounded their fists on tool crates. Pilots clapped and whistled. Kellan whooped loud enough to startle a flock of birds.


    Amalia dismounted slowly, peeled off her gloves, and looked up at Bruno.


    He was already striding toward her.


    "That was the cleanest burst I''ve ever seen," he said. "You didn''t even graze the prop."


    "Scared me to death," she replied, wiping sweat from her brow. "But it worked."


    Hartwell arrived moments later, carrying the data sheets from the tracking team.


    "Confirmed¡ªninety-eight percent hit accuracy. No blade strikes. Chamber temperature held under threshold."


    Bruno looked around at the gathered personnel. Every face bore the same stunned expression: awe. This was more than a successful test. It was a turning point.


    "Tomorrow," he said, voice rising, "this rig gets mounted on five more units. Start rotating trainees into live drills. We double night flight hours and begin drafting integrated air-armor doctrine. I want operational guidelines on my desk by the end of the week."


    No one protested.


    Because everyone knew¡ªthe age of synchronized fire had arrived.


    That night, Bruno called an emergency meeting in the war college''s High Council chamber. The ceiling stretched high above them, banners hanging from beams, each representing a regiment of Elysea''s past. A single new banner had been added recently¡ªdeep blue, embroidered with silver wings and a crown.


    The Royal Air Corps.


    On the wall, a new map had been pinned beside the old campaign charts. This one showed air lanes, wind corridors, elevation currents, and target markers in the mountain ranges to the north.


    Delacroix sat with his arms crossed, sipping strong coffee. Admiral Serane, head of the naval command, leaned forward, eyes narrowed at the document before her.


    "You''re proposing cross-theater coverage?" she asked. "Airborne logistics from the capital to Fort Marin?"


    "With the new synchronizer, we can secure airspace in contested zones," Bruno said. "We control the skies, we dictate the battle."


    "What about range?"


    "Two hundred kilometers with a two-seat scout build. Four hundred with fuel tanks underwing. And that''s before the auxiliary booster system is ready."


    Serane gave a low whistle. "That''s¡­ ambitious."


    "It''s inevitable," Bruno replied. "And we''ll need you."


    The admiral looked up.


    "I want to retrofit two of our dreadnoughts with launch rails. Light aircraft only¡ªrecon and rapid strike. We test waterborne deployment by midsummer."


    Delacroix barked a laugh. "Floating airfields now, Sire?"


    "Would you rather wait until the Arcanians build theirs?"


    The laughter stopped.


    Serane closed her folder. "Very well. I''ll begin drawing plans."


    Bruno looked around the room. "This is not a dream. It''s doctrine. From this point forward, every campaign plan includes an aerial component. Every engagement assumes a third axis."


    He pointed to the sky.


    "We are the first. But we will not be the only."


    The room nodded.


    And the future shifted again.


    ¡ª(Continued in next message due to 1800-word request) ?


    ?


    Certainly! Here''s the continuation of the chapter from the war council discussion:


    The days that followed saw movement unlike anything Elysea had experienced before.


    The Royal Air Corps¡ªonce a fledgling experiment¡ªnow found itself at the center of every strategic document. Air lanes were etched across the maps in red ink, training schedules doubled, and fuel reserves were tripled. New recruits¡ªsome barely seventeen¡ªpoured into the Port-Luthair Academy, eager to trade saddle for stick, hooves for propellers.


    Bruno visited the training hangar often. Not as a figurehead, but as an instructor, a mentor.


    One gray morning, he stood beside a half-assembled Falcon Scout while two new cadets¡ªTomas Elric and Jorah Arendt¡ªadjusted the tension on the flight pedals. Both boys looked up as he approached, their spines snapping straight.


    "No need to salute," Bruno said, smiling. "You''re pilots now. You''ll be strapped into metal coffins soon enough. Save your arms."


    They laughed nervously.


    He knelt beside their mount. "These pedals are too tight. Loosen them or you''ll cramp during descent. In a dive, seconds matter."


    Jorah blinked. "You''ve flown in a dive, Your Majesty?"


    Bruno gave him a look. "I''ve flown when the sky looked like it was coming apart at the seams. Believe me. Comfort matters."


    Later that day, during lunch in the open-air mess, Bruno joined the trainees and engineers under the wing of a Striker prototype. The conversation turned to the nature of flight¡ªwhat it meant to defy gravity, to slip the bonds of earth. Someone asked Bruno what it was like the first time he truly felt airborne.


    He took a moment before answering.


    "It''s like standing on a knife''s edge," he said. "But the blade is moving¡ªforward, fast. And the only thing keeping you alive is your belief that it will hold."


    The silence that followed wasn''t from reverence¡ªbut understanding.


    They would remember that.


    That evening, Bruno, Amalia, and Hartwell gathered at the edge of the airstrip, where construction had begun on the second runway. Lights had been strung up between poles, flickering faintly against the encroaching night. The hum of distant engines echoed beyond the trees.


    "Do you ever wonder," Amalia said, "if we''ve gone too far?"


    Bruno glanced at her. "You mean if we''re building a future filled with too many moving parts?"


    "No," she said, softly. "I mean if we''re building a future that forgets the stillness."


    Hartwell chuckled. "Stillness doesn''t win wars, Fen."


    "No," Bruno said, "but peace does."


    The three of them stood in silence for a long while. Watching as two Striker units circled overhead¡ªpracticing formation turns against a field of stars.


    Above them, the world no longer felt unreachable.


    It felt engineered.


    Earned.


    And Elysea, forged in fire, now reached skyward not with desperate hope¡ªbut with the certainty of flight.

 Chapter 162 - 162: More Iterations

    Rain pattered against the slanted tin roof of Hangar Three. Outside, wind gusted over the ridgelines of Port-Luthair, carrying the sharp scent of brine and engine oil. Inside, beneath humming lamps and the scent of burning solder, the future of aerial combat lay in pieces across a dozen workbenches.


    The Echo Gear project had entered its final phase.


    Hartwell stood over the disassembled engine of a Falcon Striker, sleeves rolled, face pale from a third sleepless night. His voice was hoarse as he addressed the small gathering of engineers and observers around him.


    "We''ve corrected the lag. Reduced misfire error to less than one degree of rotation. The crankshaft and trigger cam now cycle at perfect half-timing. The Echo Gear is ready."


    Bruno, standing nearby in his long coat, offered a nod but remained silent. He''d learned that breakthroughs didn''t come from speeches¡ªthey came from silent confidence and open minds. Amalia stood next to him, helmet tucked under one arm, her brows drawn tight. She would be the one to test it.


    "It still scares the hell out of me," she muttered.


    Bruno glanced at her. "Good. That means you respect it."


    She cracked a smile, then stepped toward the Striker, which had been specially fitted for this test. The nose-mounted repeater had been replaced with the Echo Gear''s prototype: a twin-barrel configuration mounted between the propeller arc. If it worked, bullets would fly cleanly through the spinning blades. If it failed¡­


    Kellan Vire, the grizzled weaponsmith, patted the nose cone with a grim nod. "We reinforced the blades. If the sync is off, it won''t shear the engine. But it will ruin the prop. And maybe her day."


    Bruno raised a hand to the crew. "Let''s fly."


    They pushed the Striker into position at the far end of the runway. Wind whipped across the concrete as fog peeled back from the cliffs, giving way to a sharp, clear morning sky. Target banners had been erected halfway down the field¡ªpadded sacks suspended on poles, wide enough to show hits.


    Amalia strapped in. sea??h th§× N?velFire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Bruno leaned in one last time. "Remember, short bursts. Let the cam do the work. Trust the timing."


    She gave a firm nod. "If I crash, you''re designing the next plane to make coffee."


    Bruno smirked and stepped back.


    The engine roared.


    The propeller spun.


    The crowd¡ªofficers, engineers, recruits, even a few pressmen¡ªwatched from behind safety barriers as the Striker hurtled forward and took off, climbing in a steep arc before leveling into a low, deliberate approach run.


    Bruno gripped the rail, binoculars raised.


    "Come on," he muttered.


    At the halfway mark, Amalia dipped the nose.


    Then¡ªflash.


    Muzzle bursts flickered in rhythmic, precise intervals. Not a single misfire. Not a single glancing blow to the propeller.


    The banners trembled under the hail of lead.


    Cheers erupted behind Bruno.


    "She hit every one!" someone yelled.


    "She didn''t just hit," Hartwell said, stunned. "She grouped them."


    As Amalia banked left and made her way back, the crowd parted for Bruno and the engineering crew to meet her as the wheels touched down. The propeller was intact. The gun unjammed. The Echo Gear had worked.


    Amalia climbed down and tugged her goggles off with shaking hands.


    "Well?" Bruno asked.


    She grinned. "It sings."


    That afternoon, the prototype was brought back into the hangar for inspection. Dozens of sketches and schematics were revised on the spot. Hartwell dictated measurements to the scribes while Bruno paced between tables, pointing out adjustments for mass production.


    By evening, the palace messengers were already riding for Elysee with sealed scrolls.


    The Echo Gear would be standard on all new Striker units.


    And the rest of the world didn''t even know it existed.


    Two Weeks Later ¨C The Capital of Elysee


    In the heart of the Royal Military College, General Marc Delacroix stood behind a lecture podium, his hand resting beside a model of the Striker aircraft. Across the hall, junior officers and academy tacticians sat in stunned silence as he described what had occurred at Port-Luthair.


    "Repeat this back to me," he said, voice like steel. "What is the new battlefield?"


    "The sky," the officers said in unison.


    Delacroix pointed to a chalk map where red arcs curved across coastlines, valleys, and strongholds.


    "Our enemies still think of war as something that begins with drums and ends with cavalry. But from now on¡ªwar begins with silence. And then, it screams overhead."


    He tapped the propeller model once.


    "They won''t hear it coming until it''s too late."


    Bruno stood atop the northern overlook with Hartwell and Amalia. Below them, the newest wing of the hangar complex had been completed: Assembly Bay Echo.


    Rows of Striker airframes lined the interior like skeletal birds waiting for wings. Technicians mounted synchronized gears into gun housings. Pilots drilled on dry land with firing routines, learning the cadence of burst patterns and nose corrections.


    Bruno exhaled as he scanned the horizon. "We''ve changed the way battles will begin."


    "And ended them," Hartwell added.


    But Bruno shook his head. "No. Ending war takes more than machines. It takes vision."


    Amalia crossed her arms. "So what''s next, then?"


    He looked down at his hands¡ªgreased, callused, tired.


    "We show the world we have power¡­ and the wisdom not to use it carelessly."


    Then he turned back to the bay.


    "But if they test us¡­"


    He smiled faintly.


    "They''ll get their answer in the wind."


    Late That Night ¨C In the Palace Workshop


    Alone in his study, Bruno sat hunched over a clean piece of parchment.


    He drew a new shape¡ªslender, swept-winged, with a twin-engine mount and an enclosed cockpit.


    It was nothing Elysea had built yet.


    But it was coming.


    He titled the design: Hawkfire.


    Then, in the corner, he added a date.


    And a single phrase:


    "The next leap is speed."


    He dipped his pen again.


    And began to write.


    The next morning, the ink on Bruno''s design had barely dried when messengers arrived from Port-Luthair bearing early telemetry reports from the synchronized-firing exercises. The results were conclusive¡ªno jams, no misfires, no damage to the blades even under varied wind conditions. The Echo Gear, it seemed, was no longer a prototype. It was doctrine.


    Bruno paced across the floor of the palace''s northern wing, design parchment still clutched in one hand. He couldn''t stop thinking about the Hawkfire.


    The design wasn''t born of necessity¡ªit was born of possibility. The Falcon Striker was a fine aircraft, reliable and stable, but it was a rifle in a world where Bruno envisioned a sniper. The Hawkfire would be sleek, fast, and sharp-edged. It would rely on speed over armor, altitude over numbers. It would be the first of its kind.


    He called for Hartwell and Amalia before midday.


    When they arrived, still wind-chapped from dawn drills, Bruno unrolled the parchment across the war table.


    "I want this built," he said simply.


    Hartwell raised a brow. "No fixed landing skids?"


    "Retractable," Bruno confirmed. "Tucked into the fuselage to reduce drag."


    Amalia squinted at the side profile. "This nose¡­ it''s narrower. And this cockpit¡ªis that sealed?"


    "It will be pressurized," Bruno nodded. "Eventually. But for now, just enclosed. Less wind resistance. The pilot won''t be exposed to the elements. I want her to break speeds no one''s even imagined yet."


    Hartwell gave a low whistle. "You''re not building an aircraft, sire. You''re building a dart."


    Bruno tapped the corner of the schematic where the twin-engine configuration was sketched. "We''ll use a dual rotary system. Smaller engines. Higher RPM. Mounted underwing to lower the center of gravity."


    "Two engines?" Amalia said, tilting her head. "More power means more fuel. She won''t be light."


    "She won''t have to be," Bruno said. "She''ll be fast enough that she won''t need to dodge."


    Hartwell gave a cautious grunt. "We''ll need new alloys. The wood won''t hold at those speeds."


    "I know," Bruno replied. "That''s why I''ve already commissioned the metallurgists in Ardrin to begin refining a titanium-copper blend. Lightweight. Resilient. Flexible."


    Silence fell over the table for a moment.


    Then Amalia leaned forward, smiling slightly. "So¡­ when do we start?"


    Construction on the Hawkfire began within the week.


    The prototype was not built at Port-Luthair''s primary hangars, but in a newly sealed testing facility beneath the eastern cliffs. Bruno called it "Foundry One"¡ªa name chosen as much for secrecy as for symbolism. No one entered without clearance. Even fewer left with knowledge of what they had seen.


    Each part of the Hawkfire was bespoke. The engines were hand-machined. The fuselage was cold-forged in segments. The canopy¡ªa one-piece dome of glassy quartz¡ªwas cooled and polished over eight days before it was declared flight-worthy.


    It took nearly two months before the airframe stood complete. And when it did, even the veteran engineers of the Aeromechanical Division paused to stare.


    The Hawkfire looked like it didn''t belong on the ground.


    It had a predator''s posture¡ªleaning forward slightly, like a hawk perched on the edge of a cliff, moments from diving.


    Amalia walked around the aircraft in slow circles. Her reflection moved along its silvery surface like water. She didn''t speak. Didn''t need to.


    Bruno stepped up beside her.


    "She''s yours," he said quietly.


    "You sure?" she asked, eyes fixed on the cockpit.


    "Who else can tame her?"


    A soft laugh. "What if I can''t?"


    "Then she waits."


    But she didn''t wait.


    Three days later, after a series of stationary engine tests and structural integrity checks, the Hawkfire rolled out onto the test strip at dawn.


    It gleamed beneath the morning light, its nose pointed not at the runway, but the horizon.


    Bruno stood at the tower with Hartwell, binoculars clutched in white-knuckled hands.


    "Telemetry on?" Bruno asked.


    Hartwell nodded. "Recording airspeed, elevation, throttle output. We''ll get full diagnostics."


    The runway team gave the signal.


    Amalia throttled up.


    The engines screamed.


    And the Hawkfire surged forward.


    It didn''t climb immediately¡ªit knifed across the strip, flattening the grass beside the stones. Then, as if remembering gravity didn''t apply, it tilted skyward and soared.


    Straight up.


    Hartwell shouted something¡ªBruno didn''t hear it. His eyes were on the sky.


    The Hawkfire punched through a low cloudbank and vanished.


    Then, seconds later, it reappeared¡ªrolling into a wide spiral, then dipping low again for a pass so fast that the tower''s flagpole rattled.


    Speed gauges flickered.


    Telemetry units smoked.


    The observers below ducked as the Hawkfire thundered overhead.


    And then it was gone¡ªjust a streak across the sky.


    Bruno watched her vanish into the distance, heart thudding.


    When she landed an hour later, the wheels barely screeched.


    Amalia popped the canopy with shaking fingers.


    "How fast?" she croaked.


    Bruno held up the bent clipboard where Hartwell had scribbled a number.


    "Three hundred forty kilometers per hour," he said. "And she didn''t even redline."


    Amalia slumped back in her seat, laughing breathlessly.


    "Your Majesty," she murmured. "We''ve built a storm."


    Bruno placed a hand on the aircraft''s nose cone, still warm from flight.


    "No," he said.


    "We''ve built the future."

 Chapter 163 - 163: Celebrating the Progress

    Port-Luthair.


    The sun dipped low over Port-Luthair, casting golden streaks across the hangars and runways. The salty air had begun to cool, and the shriek of gulls gave way to laughter, music, and the gentle clink of glasses. For once, Hangar Three wasn''t ringing with the sound of hammers and tools. Tonight, it rang with something rarer: celebration.


    A long trestle table had been dragged out onto the tarmac, surrounded by mismatched chairs and crates pulled from every corner of the base. Lanterns swayed gently in the wind, their warm glow flickering against the silvery fuselage of the Hawkfire parked just beyond. Her engines had cooled, her glass canopy left open to the night air like a satisfied yawn after a long run.


    Bruno stood at one end of the table, coat unbuttoned, sleeves rolled. A half-filled goblet of plum wine rested in his hand, untouched. He looked across the gathering¡ªengineers, airmen, smiths, scribes, tacticians, and cooks. All of them smiling. All of them talking over one another. All of them alive with the knowledge that they had done something no other nation had dared dream.


    Hartwell raised a mug across the table, shouting over the din, "To gears that didn''t grind, and a bird that didn''t bite!"


    Laughter rippled.


    "To Hawkfire!" another voice yelled¡ªa mechanic with oil-stained sleeves and a ribbon of black powder across her cheek.


    "To the sky!" someone added.


    Bruno let the chorus lift on its own. He wasn''t much for speeches at dinners. That was what the war room was for. Out here, it was better to let everyone talk, drink, and forget for a moment the burden of being first.


    Amalia walked over, boots crunching lightly over the gravel as she approached with two filled mugs. She handed one to Bruno, her eyes tired but bright.


    "You''ve barely touched that," she said.


    Bruno smiled faintly. "Too busy watching."


    She followed his gaze¡ªout past the lanterns, the crowd, and to the Hawkfire beyond.


    "Hard to believe she flew like that," Amalia murmured.


    "Not for me."


    "Oh, come on. Not even a little surprise?"


    Bruno took the mug from her and sipped. "Maybe just the part where you didn''t pass out from the G-force."


    She laughed, leaning her shoulder lightly against his. "My ribs still feel like they''re stuck to my spine. But gods, Bruno¡­ I''ve never felt anything like it. We weren''t flying. We were falling forward into the future."


    He turned to look at her. The firelight made the lines beneath her eyes more visible, but so was the pride.


    "And how''s the future treating you now?"


    "Drinks better," she said, lifting her mug.


    They toasted quietly, a clink between old friends. No fanfare.


    Across the table, Hartwell stood on an overturned barrel, waving one arm for attention. "All right, all right, shut your yaps! I got something to say before I fall off this damned thing."


    A hush fell¡ªpartly out of respect, partly because Hartwell had a way of speaking that made people think he might throw something if ignored.


    He cleared his throat. "When we started this project, I thought the whole lot of you had gone mad. Syncing guns to fire through propeller arcs? Flying at speeds that would turn most birds into soup? It sounded like suicide with extra steps." S§×ar?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    A few chuckles bubbled out, but everyone listened.


    "But then you made it real. You stayed up for days, you ran drills till your bones ached, and you made something that works¡ªnot just on paper, not just once, but for the kind of skies we''ve never flown before."


    He raised his mug high.


    "To the ones who built the impossible¡ªand flew it."


    The cheer that followed rolled out over the cliffs like thunder.


    Bruno stepped aside to let Amalia take the seat beside him. A tray of food was passed down¡ªgrilled fish, buttered rolls, roasted carrots and mushrooms. Nothing fancy, but tonight, it tasted better than any palace fare.


    At the far end of the table, a young assistant engineer named Rena tugged on Hartwell''s coat.


    "Sir, is it true the Hawkfire topped 340?"


    Hartwell grunted. "341.2 on the last pass. That''s if you count what the scorched telemetry box said before it went up in smoke."


    Rena whistled. "Could we push it further?"


    Amalia chimed in. "With clean air, maybe. But not until I stop feeling like I''ve swallowed a blacksmith''s anvil."


    The table chuckled.


    Bruno leaned forward. "We''re not chasing numbers for the sake of it. The goal isn''t just speed. It''s mastery. Precision. A fighter that hits and vanishes before the enemy knows what happened."


    Hartwell wiped his mouth with a sleeve. "That''s philosophy, not engineering."


    Bruno shrugged. "Both have their place."


    Another round of drinks made its way down the table. Someone had set up a violin, and a fiddler began to play. A few others clapped along. Lanterns danced in the wind.


    The sky above was dark now, scattered with stars. Clear. Watching.


    Amalia eventually rose and disappeared for a few minutes, returning with a small wooden box. She sat it on the table before Bruno and nudged it forward.


    He looked at her, puzzled.


    "Go on," she said.


    Inside, nestled in cloth, was a silver pin. Shaped like a bird with swept wings and a ring of fire around it.


    Bruno lifted it slowly. "This is¡­"


    "A thank you," Amalia said. "From the team. Not just for the vision, or the design, but for being with us in the grease, the grind, and the sleepless nights."


    Hartwell added, "You might wear a crown, but in that hangar, you were just another set of hands. That matters."


    For once, Bruno was quiet. Then he stood, nodding to all of them.


    "Thank you. I''ll wear it. Not for me¡ªbut for what we did together."


    He pinned it to his chest.


    Rena raised her glass again. "To Foundry One!"


    "To Hawkfire!"


    "To the future!"


    And the voices joined once more.


    The night stretched on with song, with quiet toasts, and with stories. Some made up, others too real. And when the last mug was emptied and the stars faded into the pale blue of morning, only one figure remained near the Hawkfire.


    Bruno stood alone beneath her wing, hand pressed to the cool metal. The camp had fallen asleep, but his mind hadn''t.


    He turned his gaze upward, toward the horizon.


    The world would change.


    And Elysea would not wait for permission.


    Bruno lingered beneath the Hawkfire, letting the silence settle. Behind him, the fire pits had burned low to coals. Only a few scattered embers danced in the dark, flickering like fading memories. The sea wind had quieted too, no longer roaring but whispering¡ªsoft and cool.


    A voice stirred him from his thoughts.


    "Couldn''t sleep either?"


    It was Amalia again, now wrapped in her flight jacket, a thick scarf pulled around her neck. Her hair was tied back loosely, strands catching the light of the lantern behind her.


    Bruno didn''t turn around, but his tone held a tired smile. "Didn''t try."


    She walked up beside him and rested her hand on the wing. "Feels like we pulled something out of the stars and brought it to earth."


    Bruno exhaled slowly. "And now that we''ve touched it, we have to decide what to do with it."


    Amalia tilted her head. "Meaning?"


    "This," he said, gesturing to the Hawkfire, "this is power. Not like swords or muskets or cavalry. This is the kind of power that changes how kingdoms think. How they act. What they fear."


    "And what they covet," she added softly.


    Bruno finally looked at her. "They''ll want it, Amalia. They''ll send spies. Saboteurs. They''ll try to build their own or steal ours. And if they can''t¡­ they''ll try to stop us from using it."


    "I know," she said. "But we''ll be ready. Won''t we?"


    He nodded, though the movement was slow and heavy. "That''s the part that keeps me awake."


    They stood in silence for a while, two shadows against a marvel of metal and invention.


    Then Amalia nudged him with her elbow. "You know, for all your brooding, you''re still the one who dreamed it up. So if the weight feels heavy, that''s just gravity trying to catch up."


    Bruno gave a quiet laugh, then looked back up at the stars.


    A few moments passed before he spoke again.


    "I saw something else in the telemetry," he murmured. "Right before the final climb."


    "What was it?"


    "A spike in engine thrust. Unexplained. It wasn''t just velocity, it was acceleration¡ªlike the Hawkfire responded before your hand even hit the throttle."


    Amalia raised a brow. "You think she''s alive?"


    He chuckled. "No. But I think we''ve built something that''s starting to exceed the rules we thought existed."


    She looked toward the wing, thoughtful. "Then maybe the next design isn''t about pushing the edge."


    Bruno turned to her. "What, then?"


    "Crossing it."


    They shared a glance. And in that moment, neither one of them was royalty or a soldier. They were just two people staring into the unknown, knowing they had just taken the first step through a door that no one else even saw.


    The next morning arrived quiet and golden. The base awoke with slow rustlings¡ªhangar doors creaking open, boots shuffling on stone, the hiss of kettles and coffee being boiled. But the mood was different now.


    Lighter.


    Something had shifted.


    Messengers had already begun organizing crates of documents and schematics to be sealed and sent to the capital. Special stamps were affixed with the crest of the Royal Aeromechanical Division¡ªbrand new, drafted overnight by Hartwell and Rena in a drunken creative frenzy. It depicted a hawk with wings outstretched, flanked by a stylized gear and lightning bolt.


    Hartwell stood bleary-eyed beside a cart, mumbling instructions to the couriers.


    "Don''t stack them sideways. That''s version five of the intake schematic. The intake, not the outtake, gods help you."


    Nearby, Rena was arguing with another junior mechanic about the new hangar layout. She had a roll of fresh paper tucked under her arm and ink stains on her fingers.


    Amalia joined them briefly, her voice clipped but cheerful. She gave pointers, offered a few jokes, then disappeared to check the weather instruments.


    Bruno, meanwhile, made his way up to the tower.


    He took one last look at the Hawkfire¡ªher silver frame catching the morning sun, the quartz canopy glinting like a gemstone.


    Then he stepped into the tower office, where two military scribes and a courier waited.


    He set down a single sealed letter.


    "To the Royal College of Elysee," he said. "Mark it: classified. Eyes only for the Prime Engineering Council."


    The courier saluted. "Yes, Your Majesty."


    "And have it delivered to the Minister of the Treasury as well," Bruno added. "They''re going to need to start budgeting for a runway expansion."


    He turned to leave, but then paused in the doorway.


    "Oh," he said over his shoulder. "And ask them to prepare a briefing for the foreign ministry. We''re about to start receiving a lot of questions."


    The door clicked shut behind him.


    Out on the runway, the wind had picked up again.


    And somewhere, far across the sea, in kingdoms where the sky was still considered empty and unclaimed¡ªsomeone would look up soon.


    And realize it no longer was.

 Chapter 164 - 164: Espionage

    The capital of Orosk, was cold even in spring. Snow lined the rooftops in thin crusts, and the rivers still carried fragments of ice drifting like slow knives. Inside the dim halls of the Ministry of External Affairs, the temperature was warmer¡ªbut only barely.


    Lord Pavel Orlov, Director of the Oroskan Intelligence Bureau, lit a cigarette with shaking fingers and leaned over a table covered in sketches, notes, and a single grainy photograph.


    It was a photo of the Hawkfire.


    Taken from over a mile away, the image was blurred at the edges, but unmistakable. The swept wings, the twin-engine mount, the impossible silhouette of a machine meant for the heavens. And yet¡ªit had flown. The agent who captured the photo hadn''t returned.


    Across from Orlov, a woman in a fur-lined coat sat with her legs crossed, eyes scanning the image with slow calculation.


    "So it''s true," she murmured in a clipped accent. "Elysea has broken the air."


    "They didn''t just break it," Orlov growled. "They''ve claimed it."


    The woman¡ªEliska Weiss, chief spymaster of the Kingdom of Germania¡ªtilted her head. "And we allowed them to."


    "You didn''t allow anything," Orlov spat. "You let your diplomats giggle and gossip while Elysea built a war machine. My man died getting this photo. Don''t lecture me about vigilance."


    She smirked. "Oh Pavel. You and I both know the real war hasn''t started yet. But it will. And we won''t be the ones starting it."


    Orlov flicked ash into a tray. "Then we move now. I want a team in Elysee before the month''s end. No diplomats. No fools in uniform. Trained eyes. Trained hands. We don''t steal the plane¡ªwe steal how it thinks."


    Weiss nodded. "I''ll provide the linguists and handlers. You supply the muscle. And in return, Germania gets a full copy of the Hawkfire''s schematics."


    Orlov narrowed his eyes. "You''ll get what we find. But if your people botch this¡ª"


    "They won''t."


    Across the table, the two clasped hands, sealing an unspoken alliance forged not by loyalty¡ªbut by necessity.


    In Elysee, the mood had changed.


    Though the public knew nothing of the Hawkfire, the inner circles buzzed with hushed voices. The Royal Aeromechanical Division tripled their guards. Foundry One was now under direct military jurisdiction, with only numbered passes and biometric markers granting entry.


    But secrecy bred curiosity.


    And curiosity, when left unchecked, invited the wrong kind of visitors.


    The two agents arrived under different names, through different ports.


    The first¡ªan Oroskan man in his thirties¡ªentered through the southern merchant coast, disguised as a mapmaker''s apprentice from Astare. He spoke Elysean with a faint provincial accent and carried forged documents listing his assignment to a new infrastructure survey.


    He called himself "Darin."


    The second¡ªGermanian¡ªwas a woman in her late twenties with auburn hair and freckled skin. She entered through the capital by rail, posing as a traveling translator hired by a minor publishing house. Her credentials were impeccable.


    Her name, at least to Elyseans, was "Marta Kess."


    They did not meet. Not directly. But their handlers had given them the same objective: infiltrate Port-Luthair.


    Bruno sat in his office overlooking the courtyard of the Royal College. Piles of scrolls and stamped reports cluttered his desk, most of them concerned with supply chains and refinery output. Not one of them mentioned espionage.


    But his instincts were louder than paper.


    He stood and walked to the far cabinet, unlocking a drawer that hadn''t been opened in months. From within, he retrieved a single folder¡ªblack and sealed with his personal wax emblem. It bore a simple label:


    "Athenaeum: Counterintelligence Initiative"


    Bruno placed the folder on his desk and opened it.


    It was time.


    In Port-Luthair, Marta had already secured a room at a modest inn overlooking the sea. From her window, she could just barely see the tips of the hangars on clear days. She made her way through the port daily, carrying a notebook and muttering in different languages¡ªGermanic, Astaran, even coded Elysean gibberish¡ªjust enough to pass as eccentric but forgettable.


    She took note of guard routines, flight schedules, and which soldiers took their lunch in silence versus which ones spoke after too much ale.


    She never asked questions.


    She only listened.


    And one evening, she followed a lieutenant drunk on plum wine down a back alley. He talked too much. She took just enough from him¡ªnames, codes, a rough sketch of the airfield perimeter¡ªbefore letting him stumble back toward the tavern, none the wiser.


    Darin had found employment with a civil survey unit. It took less than a week for him to gain access to topographic records of the coastline surrounding Port-Luthair. He spent most of his days drawing elevation lines and recording wind patterns, but what truly mattered were the pages he kept hidden.


    Runway angles.


    Fuel depot locations.


    Hangar layouts.


    Twice, he slipped away under the guise of cartographic "revision scouting," only to return with rough sketches of secondary tunnels and lesser-used access roads.


    Each night, he encoded his notes in a cipher keyed to ancient sea charts and mailed them back to Velmir hidden within architectural scrolls.


    Neither Marta nor Darin knew of each other''s presence. And yet, both slowly chiseled at the edges of Elysea''s greatest secret.


    Rena, the young assistant engineer, had begun to notice things.


    Tools moved without being signed for.


    Supply manifests adjusted themselves after delivery.


    And once, she spotted a stranger in the market asking questions about "military fuel grades"¡ªquestions no commoner had reason to ask.


    She told Hartwell. Hartwell told Amalia. And by the end of the week, Bruno was at Port-Luthair in person.


    He didn''t arrive with fanfare. He wore no crown. Just a travel cloak, dusty boots, and sharp eyes.


    He met with Amalia and Hartwell in a sealed office within Hangar Two.


    "We''ve sprung a leak," he said.


    Amalia crossed her arms. "You suspect spies?"


    "I don''t suspect," Bruno said. "I know."


    Hartwell rubbed his temples. "We''ve locked down everything. Hell, we even count spoons in the mess hall."


    "Good," Bruno replied. "Then it''ll be easier to find the ones who don''t belong."


    He produced the Athenaeum file and laid it open on the table. Inside were profiles, techniques, and counter-espionage protocols.


    Bruno pointed to a section marked "Passive Detection."


    "Start listening to what isn''t being said. Who never asks questions they should? Who''s always in the right place, but never has dirt under their nails?"


    Amalia''s expression sharpened. "You''re activating the network?"


    Bruno nodded once. "We built it for this. It''s time to use it."


    The next week saw small changes.


    The taverns had new bartenders.


    The postal clerks looked a little more attentive.


    And a wandering violinist in the port market seemed to linger longer near groups of off-duty soldiers.


    But none of them were what they seemed.


    The Athenaeum Network had been born years ago, back when Bruno first ascended the throne. He had known then that war wouldn''t always come with banners and cannon fire. It would come in whispers. In keys. In shadows. And so he built a shadow to match it.


    The net was cast wide.


    And it began to tighten.


    One night, Marta returned to her room to find the window latch disturbed.


    Nothing missing. Nothing obviously touched.


    But the air felt¡­ different.


    She froze.


    On the inside of her travel case, someone had scratched a single word into the leather.


    "Watched."


    She burned all her notes that night and prepared to leave.


    But she never made it to the rail station.


    Darin was caught near a restricted access gate, claiming to be collecting wind speed data.


    The guards didn''t question him. They simply smiled and escorted him back to the barracks.


    The next morning, his belongings were gone. No one remembered him checking in.


    Not officially.


    Bruno stood in the debriefing chamber deep beneath the capital.


    Amalia stood beside him, arms folded. Hartwell was still at Port-Luthair.


    Two captured operatives. Dozens of intercepted messages. Several new cipher keys now under Elysean control.


    "I doubt they sent their best," Leclerc muttered. "This was a probe."


    Bruno nodded. "And they got pricked."


    He turned to the intelligence officers present.


    "Send word to Orosk and Germania," he said. "Nothing formal. Just¡­ a whisper."


    "A whisper of what, Your Majesty?" one asked.


    Bruno looked toward the firelight dancing across the wall.


    "Let them know that the sky is no longer empty."


    "And neither is our patience."


    As the agents were quietly disappeared into holding cells buried beneath Elysee''s deepest vaults, the message was already traveling¡ªcarried not by courier, but by rumor. Whispers in trade halls. Glances exchanged between foreign envoys. A coded phrase etched into a merchant manifest bound for Velmir.


    "The hawk watches now." S~ea??h the ¦Çov§×lFire .net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    In the icy halls of Orosk and the granite towers of Germania, generals and ministers would wake to silence in their telegrams¡ªand a chill deeper than winter.


    Elysea had seen their reach.


    And answered.


    Far above, a lone Hawkfire soared over the cliffs, her engine humming softly.


    Waiting.


    Watching.


    Daring.

 Chapter 165 - 165: Winds of Retaliation

    Snow swirled outside the windows of the High War Council chamber, a slow, silent storm of powdered ice drifting down from the gray heavens above. The temperature in the room, however, was anything but cold.


    "What do you mean they vanished?" General Yakov bellowed, pounding a leather-bound fist onto the oak table. "We had two trained operatives! You said they would blend in!"


    "They did blend in," Lord Pavel Orlov snapped. "And that''s precisely why no one saw them again. They were swallowed whole."


    The council fell into uneasy silence.


    Seated at the head of the table, Tsar Mikhail III steepled his fingers beneath his chin. His expression remained unreadable. "So," he said softly, "Elysea has a shadow network."


    "They''ve always had whispers," Orlov muttered. "But this? This was something else. We underestimated Bruno."


    The Tsar leaned forward. "No. We underestimated his memory. I remember when he first took the throne¡ªpeople said he was more inventor than king. That he would surround himself with books and tinkerers and leave politics to the dogs. Now those same people are eating snow with broken teeth because they dared to test him."


    "We need to respond," General Yakov growled. "Spies taken? Schematics lost? And now they mock us with riddles in manifest ledgers? The hawk watches now¡ªwhat does that even mean?"


    "It means," said the Tsar, standing slowly, "that the sky is his. And if we don''t act, the ground will follow."


    He turned to Orlov.


    "Mobilize our maritime scouts. I want Elysea''s shipping lanes monitored. No confrontations¡ªyet. Just eyes. Quiet ones."


    He turned next to Yakov.


    "And prepare a war game scenario. One that assumes total aerial inferiority."


    Yakov blinked. "Total, sire?"


    "Total," the Tsar confirmed. "Let us imagine, for once, that the storm comes from above."


    Elysee ¨C Palace Strategy Wing


    Bruno stood by the tall glass windows of the strategy room, watching as sunlight poured through the mist beyond. The mountain peaks were still capped in white, but green had begun to return to the fields below. Spring had reached Elysea. S§×ar?h the n?velFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    "Any word from our merchants in Velmir?" he asked without turning.


    "Yes, Your Majesty," replied Leclerc, handing him a rolled scroll. "Rumors of heightened naval observation in the Black Coast region. They haven''t moved on us directly, but their intent is clear."


    Bruno unrolled the parchment, eyes scanning the merchant cipher. Hidden among orders of salt, textiles, and smoked meat was a message in Athenaeum code:


    "More eyes than ships. No threats, but their sails shadow the horizon."


    He handed the scroll back.


    "Send word to Admiral Cendre. Increase aerial patrols over the straits. I want a Hawkfire in the air every dawn. Unarmed. Just watching."


    Amalia, seated nearby with a map of Port-Luthair spread across her lap, looked up.


    "Unarmed? That''s not like you."


    Bruno smiled faintly. "Let them think we''re still deciding whether to sharpen the blade. It keeps them honest."


    Amalia studied him for a moment. "You''re not just playing defense, are you?"


    He didn''t answer directly.


    Instead, he walked to the far wall of the chamber and placed a hand on the map of Europa¡ªthe known world¡ªetched into the wood with brass inlays. His finger traced from Elysea to Orosk¡­ then to the western continent. Germania.


    "They won''t risk a full war," he murmured. "Not yet. But the silence in their embassies speaks louder than a thousand drums."


    Leclerc nodded. "So¡­ what do we do next?"


    Bruno''s eyes gleamed. "We test our second hawk."


    Foundry One ¨C Eastern Cliffs


    The cavernous hangar was busier than ever. Technicians swarmed the floor like ants, wheeling crates, hoisting cables, tightening bolts. Steam hissed from pressure lines. Sparks rained from scaffolds.


    At the center of it all stood the Hawkfire Mark II.


    Longer than the first prototype. Sleeker. A narrower wing profile. Twin rotary engines now housed in nacelles beneath the wings, each fitted with advanced cooling jackets. And beneath the fuselage, mounted flush and hidden behind sliding doors: a rotary cannon.


    Amalia walked around the new aircraft slowly, boots echoing on the metal flooring.


    "Looks meaner," Hartwell muttered beside her. "And she is."


    Amalia stopped at the nose cone. "Has she flown?"


    Hartwell snorted. "She breathes fire, Amalia. Flew a test arc last week. Didn''t tell Bruno yet. Wanted to be sure we wouldn''t lose a mountain."


    Amalia''s brow arched. "You withheld that from the king?"


    Hartwell shrugged. "He''s a king. Let him be surprised once in a while."


    Amalia shook her head, amused, and stepped forward, placing her hand gently on the side of the Mark II''s canopy.


    "You want me to fly her again?"


    "I want you to command her," Hartwell said. "The skies aren''t empty anymore. We can''t treat this like a one-pilot revolution. We need squadrons. Doctrine. And someone to train them."


    Amalia looked at him. "You''re forming the Air Corps."


    Hartwell nodded. "With you at its head."


    A long silence stretched between them.


    Then Amalia smiled. "Guess it''s time I learned how to salute properly."


    Germania ¨C The Iron Tower


    Eliska Weiss stood before the map room in the heart of Germania''s intelligence citadel. Behind her, projection lamps cast flickering glows across dozens of markers¡ªknown bases, aerial sightings, trade routes.


    A red line traced the known flight path of the Hawkfire prototype.


    Another¡ªdashed and uncertain¡ªmarked what their analysts now believed to be the location of Foundry One.


    "I underestimated him," Weiss admitted aloud. "Bruno moved faster than we anticipated. The Hawkfire isn''t just an aircraft. It''s a doctrine."


    Chancellor Friedrich von Rosenthal turned from the map, hands clasped behind his back.


    "What''s our response?"


    "We''re already behind," Weiss said. "So we don''t match him. We counter him. Not with planes¡ªyet¡ªbut with theater. Strategy. Disinformation."


    Von Rosenthal raised a brow. "You intend to manipulate the battlefield?"


    "No," Weiss said. "I intend to blur it. Elysea wants to parade their dominance in the open sky? Then let''s make them look over their shoulder first."


    She turned and handed him a sealed file.


    "Operation Mirrorlight. We fake a project. One bigger than Hawkfire. Let the hawk chase shadows while we lay mines in their roots."


    Elysee ¨C Royal Airfield, Two Weeks Later


    A crowd had gathered under the morning sun.


    Not nobles. Not diplomats.


    Farmers. Merchants. Dockhands. Schoolchildren.


    They stood behind newly built fences, watching as a full squadron of Hawkfires lined the runway¡ªsix aircraft, gleaming with polished metal and burnished paint. Their pilots, uniformed in sleek blue jackets, stood at attention as Bruno walked the line.


    Each bore the new insignia of the Royal Elysean Air Corps: a silver hawk ringed with a gear and flame.


    Bruno approached Amalia, who now wore the badge of Commander-General of the Air.


    "You ready?" he asked.


    She gave a short nod. "We trained them hard. They''re still green, but they believe in the sky now."


    Bruno gestured toward the crowd. "So does the kingdom."


    A trumpet sounded.


    Engines roared.


    And six Hawkfires took to the air¡ªone by one¡ªrising in clean arcs before forming a perfect V over the field.


    The crowd erupted.


    For most of them, it was the first time they had ever seen something fly.


    And in that moment, something unspoken passed through the people.


    Pride.


    Not just in the machine, but in the nation that built it.


    That night, Bruno sat alone on a balcony in the palace, wine in hand, watching the lights of Elysee twinkle like stars below.


    Leclerc joined him in silence, setting a dossier on the table.


    "What is it?" Bruno asked.


    "Intercepted memo from Germania," Leclerc replied. "Encrypted, but our Athenaeum cell cracked it."


    Bruno opened the file.


    Inside, a single sentence stood out:


    "Let the hawk fly. We will blind it with mirrors."


    Bruno stared at it for a long moment.


    Then, quietly, he smiled.


    "They want to play illusions?" he said.


    He took another sip of wine.


    "Then let''s remind them who invented the telescope."


    Bruno leaned back, letting the weight of the words sink in. Below, the palace garden rustled in the breeze, lanterns swaying softly between hedges and marble statues. The peace was temporary¡ªhe knew it¡ªbut moments like this, where power hummed not in iron or fire but in foresight, reminded him why he had taken the crown.


    "I want our own mirrors," he said at last.


    Leclerc glanced up. "Sire?"


    "If they plan to bait us with ghosts and shadows, then we''ll bait them with a reflection of our own," Bruno said. "Draft a team. Not engineers¡ªillusionists. Scholars. Artists. Tricksters. People who know how to make something look like more than it is."


    He tapped the edge of the dossier. "If Germania wishes to blur the battlefield, we''ll give them a maze."


    Leclerc smiled faintly. "Athenaeum already has names in mind."


    "Good," Bruno said. "Then let''s begin construction on Phantom Station. Out in the northeastern cliffs. Make it loud. Make it burn fuel. Make it seem real."


    "And what will it do?"


    Bruno raised his glass to the stars. "Nothing. That''s the brilliance of it. Nothing at all. But they''ll spend months trying to figure it out."


    He drank slowly, savoring the wine.


    "We fly faster. They chase ghosts. And while they''re squinting at shadows¡­"


    He turned to Leclerc, eyes sharp.


    "¡­we build the storm they won''t see coming."


    And in the stillness of the night, beneath the quiet hum of a world preparing for war, the hawk watched.


    And waited.

 Chapter 166 - 166: Shadows and Smoke

    Three Weeks Later, Elysea


    The cliffs of Dravonne had always been desolate¡ªwind-beaten, isolated, and forgotten by most maps save for a faint dotted line that marked them "unfit for settlement." That had been true for generations.


    Until now.


    The region buzzed with unnatural life. S§×arch* The Novel?ire(.)ne*t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Convoys rolled through newly graded roads under heavy guard, ferrying crates stenciled with "ALCHEMY DIVISION" in bold paint. Scribes, actors, metallurgists, and former stage technicians now walked alongside soldiers and engineers. Dozens of smoke stacks were being erected where no real foundries would ever exist. Fuel tanks were constructed with no internal piping, just empty shells meant to echo with false resonance when tapped.


    The facility''s false name was stenciled in two-foot letters on the southern slope of the main tower: PHANTOM STATION.


    And it was beautiful in its deception.


    From the air, it looked like a cutting-edge military site. From the sea, its signals mimicked coded logistics traffic. And from any spyglass across the border, it looked like something the world should fear.


    That was the point.


    Inside the command cabin, Bruno stood beside Leclerc and Rena¡ªnow officially assigned to the Athenaeum under Project Aegis. On the wall before them hung a map of the Phantom layout, marked with colored pins, patrol paths, and "accidental" visual leak routes.


    "How''s the noise projection?" Bruno asked.


    "Running flawlessly," Rena said, gesturing to a control panel. "We''ve got boiler hiss, engine rumble, even fake air traffic reports queued for transmission. Half the place is theater tech buried under steel."


    Bruno folded his arms. "And what do our ''friends'' think?"


    Leclerc handed him a new report stamped with an owl-and-eye seal¡ªthe emblem of Athenaeum''s eastern intelligence cell.


    "They''ve taken the bait," he said. "Orosk satellites have repositioned. Germanian operatives were spotted in Caldre''s border taverns trying to bribe cartographers. Even their radio bands have new encrypted chatter."


    Bruno didn''t smile. Not quite. But his eyes said everything.


    "Then it''s time for the next phase."


    Berlinhof, Germania ¡ª Intelligence Annex


    Eliska Weiss sipped her tea with steady fingers, but the twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed the irritation bubbling beneath.


    "Three weeks," she said quietly, voice like snow on glass. "Three weeks and we still don''t have confirmation on what Phantom Station actually produces."


    The young analyst before her¡ªa thin, nervous man named Fischer¡ªadjusted his spectacles and cleared his throat.


    "Ma''am, our latest scout reached the northern observation ridge. Based on the emission signals and activity spikes, we believe the station is a weapons testing platform. Possibly thermobaric or alchemical¡ª"


    "I don''t want belief," Eliska cut in sharply. "I want certainty."


    She turned to the map and tapped her finger against the northeast quadrant of Elysea. The circle around Phantom Station pulsed red beneath her nail.


    "They''ve built a lie so convincing it makes us doubt reality. That''s not engineering. That''s artistry."


    Behind her, the Chancellor entered without announcement.


    "Still chasing ghosts?" he asked.


    Eliska didn''t turn. "They''ve given us a stage, Friedrich. And every time we blink, they change the curtains."


    Chancellor Rosenthal walked to her side and stared at the map.


    "Then maybe it''s time we stop chasing and start pulling strings."


    He handed her a folder.


    Operation Sirensong


    Status: Authorized


    Eliska''s eyes flicked across the contents.


    Sabotage. Media fabrication. A whisper campaign to paint Elysea''s success as a dangerous escalation¡ªan empire out of control, ready to destabilize all of Europa. Accusations that Hawkfire was powered by unstable arc-reactors, that the Phantom Station was a prison camp for forced inventors.


    And perhaps¡­ the start of a rebellion.


    She shut the file.


    "Then let''s give them a little fire to dance through."


    Port-Luthair ¡ª Elysea


    Captain Varin didn''t look like much.


    With a greying beard, oil-stained uniform, and a limp earned from a factory collapse years ago, he seemed more at home behind an engine than a gun. And that''s exactly why he was chosen.


    He had no reason to be noticed.


    Which made him perfect.


    "Sir," Rena said, approaching with a sealed packet. "Intercepted communiqu¨¦. Just came in through the Athenaeum relay. It''s in the Sirensong pattern."


    Bruno, standing beside the window of the forward command hut, took the packet without speaking.


    He read it once. Then again.


    "They''re turning the world against us," he said at last.


    Leclerc glanced up from his desk. "Fabricated stories?"


    "Fabricated witnesses," Bruno replied, dropping the page. "They''ve planted actors in neutral nations¡ªscreaming about forced labor camps, rogue weapons, children stolen for experimentation."


    Amalia stepped inside just then, helmet under her arm, face still windburnt from a flight patrol.


    "I assume you''re planning to answer this?"


    Bruno looked at her, calm and cold.


    "We don''t answer lies with words."


    A public square. Late afternoon.


    A man¡ªforeign, thin, dirt on his sleeves and desperation in his eyes¡ªstood before a crowd with tears streaming down his cheeks.


    "They took my brother," he cried. "The Elyseans¡ªthey told us we would help build machines. But we never saw sunlight again. He died underground. Chained to steam engines and silence."


    People gasped. Some cried.


    And a camera¡ªcarefully hidden in a second-story window¡ªrecorded every word.


    The feed would be broadcast in telegram in six countries by nightfall.


    But the man wasn''t crying anymore.


    Later, in a hotel room paid in Germanian coin, he counted the bills in silence.


    And behind the curtain, a girl named Iris¡ªAthenaeum operative¡ªphotographed him through a lens barely thicker than a quill nib.


    Elysee ¨C War Ministry Hall


    The report landed on Bruno''s desk with a solid thunk.


    "World sentiment''s shifting," Leclerc said. "Five editorials. Two merchant alliances now reconsidering trade deals. We''re being painted as a threat."


    Bruno said nothing for a moment.


    Then he pulled open a drawer and removed a dark velvet case.


    Inside: a single medal. His own design. It bore the sigil of the hawk¡ªbut beneath it, a mask.


    "I was hoping not to use this," he muttered.


    Amalia raised a brow. "What is it?"


    "Authorization to activate The Ghostlight Division," Bruno said.


    Leclerc sat up straighter. "I thought that was only theoretical."


    "It was," Bruno replied. "Now it''s essential."


    The Ghostlight Division


    A classified subdivision of Athenaeum, specializing in psychological disruption, false flag operations, and rapid-turn narrative warfare.


    Number of personnel: 31.


    Number of confirmed existence: 0.


    Somewhere on the Northern Coast of Germania ¡ª Midnight


    A government warehouse exploded in a ball of green flame.


    No casualties¡ªbut the shockwave cracked every window within two blocks. Graffiti appeared overnight on a dozen official buildings: "From the Shadows You Lie. From the Sky We See."


    Anonymous manifestos flooded underground print circles.


    A former Oroskan officer defected¡ªclaiming on record that Germania and Orosk had conspired to provoke war through disinformation.


    He vanished a day later. But the seed was planted.


    And behind it all, names no one knew. Faces no one recognized. A story told in fire, ink, and silence.


    The Ghostlight had begun to burn.


    Royal Palace ¨C Elysee, One Month Later


    Bruno stood once more at the balcony, overlooking the capital below. It was night again. Stars overhead. The city quiet.


    But this time, he wasn''t alone.


    Beside him stood Queen Amelie.


    She held their infant son, Louis, in her arms. The child''s head rested against her shoulder, peaceful.


    "You never told me you''d go this far," she said softly.


    Bruno looked at her. "Would you have told me to stop?"


    "No," Amelie said. "But I would have wanted to stand beside you sooner."


    He took her free hand and kissed her knuckles gently.


    "Now you are."


    She looked out at the stars.


    "And what comes next?"


    Bruno exhaled slowly.


    "We wait. We build. We guide the narrative before it becomes truth."


    He looked down at his son.


    "And when the storm finally comes¡­ we make sure our skies are ours."


    Far to the East ¡ª Unknown Coastline


    An Oroskan scout ship docked silently in the dead of night.


    Waiting on the pier was a man with no official rank. He handed a sealed letter to the ship''s captain.


    The wax bore the mark of the Tsar.


    The message was simple.


    "If we cannot match the hawk¡­ then let us build the serpent."


    The ship vanished into the dark harbor mist, its lanterns extinguished before it passed the headland. No horns. No flags. Only the cold slap of water against its hull.


    Onboard, deep in the hold, the captain unsealed the letter beneath a lantern''s flicker. The parchment inside was coded, but the final line was unmistakable¡ªunderlined in crimson ink:


    "Project Veles: Commence."


    In the frozen laboratories beneath Velmir, machines that had long been dormant began to stir. Engineers were summoned from exile. Files marked "prohibited" were pulled from vaults. The doctrine was different now. It would not aim for elegance. It would not chase speed.


    It would strike.


    Steel-bellied. Fire-breathing. Less a plane and more a winged warhead.


    The hawk had mastered the skies with precision and poetry.


    The serpent would answer with chaos and fear.


    Back in Elysea, as Bruno watched the night deepen from the palace balcony, he felt a breeze shift colder than before.


    Not from the mountains.


    From something unseen, far away.


    He turned to Amelie, the weight of foresight in his voice.


    "They''re building something."


    She nodded, lips pressed thin.


    "And so must we."

 Chapter 167 - 167: A Shape in the Dark

    Velmir ¡ª Oroskan Black Development Facility, Two Weeks After "Project Veles" Activation


    The old tunnels had once been meant for mining. Cold veins of iron and copper carved out decades ago by laborers long forgotten. Now, under the bone-white flicker of arc-lanterns, the halls pulsed with a different energy¡ªone built of secrecy, obsession, and revenge.


    Dozens of engineers, their coats branded with the mark of the Tsar''s secret industrial corps, filed in and out of reinforced doors. Blueprints rustled. Sparks flew from cutting tables. Vats of coolant hissed against glowing metal. The ceiling above them groaned with the weight of ice and war.


    At the heart of it all stood Design Cell 17, where Project Veles had officially taken root.


    The serpent was no codename for intimidation¡ªit was prophecy.


    Where Hawkfire embodied grace, Veles was brute intent.


    A twin-fuselage monster with a wide delta-wing span, its rear engines fired downward on ignition to blast it nearly vertical off the ground. Unlike Hawkfire, which danced around its prey, Veles would fly fast, straight, and high¡ªand then dive with killing precision.


    Its payload bay, still under design, was oversized for a reason: Veles wasn''t a dogfighter. It was a platform for chaos.


    "Paint it black," one general had said. "Let it come from the sky like judgment."


    No insignia. No diplomacy. Only dread.


    Elysee ¡ª Palace Workshop, Midnight


    Bruno was still awake.


    The hearth had died down hours ago, casting the workshop in an amber gloom, but his pen moved with steady, methodical strokes across fresh parchment.


    Amalia stood by the door, arms crossed. She didn''t speak at first. Just watched the man she had married draw the shape of a bird sharper than anything they had built before.


    "It''s not a hawk anymore, is it?" she finally asked.


    Bruno didn''t look up. "No. It''s something else now."


    He turned the page slightly, revealing a sleek frame with forward-swept wings and rear-mounted dual turbines. A glass dome stretched over a pressure-sealed cockpit. On its underside, Bruno had sketched a pod-like housing.


    Amalia leaned in. "That looks like a¡­ drone bay?"


    "A modular deployment capsule," Bruno confirmed. "Autonomous or remote-linked. Once released, it can deploy smaller units¡ªdecoys, or drones, or even supply drops. If the enemy wants to overwhelm us with fear, we respond with versatility."


    She studied the curves of the new design. "What are you calling it?"


    Bruno hesitated.


    Then, softly: "Ravenspear."


    Port-Luthair ¡ª Air Corps Testing Range, Two Days Later


    The testing site had expanded. New hangars were being constructed. More barracks. A rotating schedule of pilot cadets moved through simulation chambers and flight drills. And now, at the northern edge of the base, a secluded airstrip had been paved for one purpose only: to birth a new weapon.


    Hartwell stood beside the scaffold where the first Ravenspear prototype lay in early assembly. Steel skeleton only. The rest would follow.


    Beside him, Rena adjusted her goggles and gestured toward the undercarriage.


    "I''ve never seen this configuration before," she said. "Is it stable?"


    "It''s not meant to be stable," Hartwell muttered. "It''s meant to adapt."


    Bruno arrived moments later, his boots crunching gravel.


    "Status?"


    "Fuselage''s ahead of schedule," Rena replied. "But the new control system you wanted¡­ that''s going to take custom calibration. We''re moving beyond conventional mechanics, Sire."


    "Then move with it," Bruno said. "If the skies are going to change, we lead the current."


    He approached the nose cone and ran a hand along its unfinished frame.


    "This isn''t just a countermeasure," he said. "It''s a message."


    "To who?" Hartwell asked.


    Bruno turned. "To the future."


    Berlinhof ¡ª Intelligence Briefing Chamber


    Eliska Weiss reviewed the intercepted construction orders from Port-Luthair with a slow, measured frown.


    She wasn''t surprised Bruno had responded.


    She was surprised it happened this fast.


    "We''re watching a new evolution," she said, voice low. "We start a whisper campaign, and he answers with engineering doctrine."


    Chancellor Rosenthal paced behind her, hands clasped behind his back.


    "What''s its designation?"


    "We don''t know," Weiss admitted. "But the frame is larger than Hawkfire. Its engines are different. Cooling vents along the sides suggest it''s built for high-altitude pressure stabilization."


    Rosenthal stopped. "A stratospheric platform?"


    Weiss nodded. "Possibly."


    She closed the folder and stared at the window beyond.


    "Bruno isn''t racing us. He''s building above us."


    "Then escalate," Rosenthal said. "Let Orosk handle the claws. We''ll poison the nest."


    Athenaeum HQ ¡ª The Archive Room


    The room was quiet.


    Far below the palace, in a place known only to twelve people in the entire kingdom, Bruno sat with Leclerc and a woman named Clair Marchand, Director of Psychological Counter-Operations.


    She wore all black. No uniform. Just the eyes of someone who had seen the edges of war before it became official.


    "They''ve begun seeding uprisings in coastal colonies," Clair said. "Pamphlets. Forged proclamations. Even intercepted letters ''from Elysean defectors.'' It''s classic fifth-column work."


    Bruno listened in silence.


    "We can''t suppress it all," Leclerc said. "Even truth gets drowned when the lies come faster."


    "I know," Bruno said.


    He opened a leather folder and revealed a stack of pre-written editorials, sealed with Athenaeum insignias.


    "Then we don''t suppress," he said. "We flood. Pre-emptively. We publish open letters, firsthand journals, manufacturing logs. Real. Honest. Boring, even. Let their hysteria crash against our sea of facts."


    Clair nodded once.


    "And the more honest we appear," she said, "the more their lies become unbelievable."


    Bruno leaned back in his chair.


    "Let their serpent rise. We''ll bury it under daylight."


    Velmir ¡ª Deep Hangar 7 S§×ar?h the N??elFir§×.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    It was monstrous.


    The first Veles airframe had been assembled under freezing lights, painted matte black and given no markings. Its engines were fitted with flame-masking exhaust diffusers, designed to hide its presence even at full throttle.


    It didn''t need to maneuver.


    It just needed to get above a city.


    And fall.


    "Load capacity?" the Tsar asked, standing beside Orlov in the reinforced viewing gallery.


    "Nearly three times the Hawkfire," Orlov replied. "We''ve made sacrifices to speed, but none to destruction."


    The Tsar stared through the glass as the Veles prototype was rolled out.


    "Let them soar like falcons," he said softly. "We will strike like lightning."


    Elysee ¡ª Private Quarters, Late Night


    Bruno sat in the nursery, watching Louis sleep.


    He didn''t think of war here.


    He thought of silence. Of peace. Of the impossible stillness before something inevitable.


    Amelie entered quietly and took the seat beside him.


    "He sleeps better than I expected," she said.


    "He doesn''t know what waits beyond the walls," Bruno replied.


    "Then it''s our job to make sure he never has to."


    He nodded.


    Then, softly: "They''re building monsters, Amelie."


    "And you''re building a shield," she answered. "One made of more than armor and numbers. You''re building vision."


    Bruno glanced down at the baby again.


    "Then I hope it''s enough."


    Port-Luthair ¡ª Five Days Later


    At sunrise, the Ravenspear took flight.


    The prototype''s engines screamed in a higher pitch than any Hawkfire. Its wings shimmered with a strange alloy blend. As it climbed into the blue above, the shadow it cast wasn''t wide¡ªbut long. Piercing.


    Bruno watched from the control tower, hands clasped behind his back.


    "She''s different," Hartwell muttered beside him.


    "She has to be," Bruno said.


    "Speed?"


    "Unconfirmed. But she''s already climbed higher than any Hawkfire in its first run."


    Rena''s voice crackled in from the radio. "Altitude ceiling exceeded. All systems nominal. Flight holding stable at thirty-eight thousand feet."


    Bruno smiled slightly.


    "Good," he said. "Let''s keep going."


    Velmir ¡ª Secret Strategy Room


    News of the Ravenspear''s flight reached the Tsar through a courier line bypassing standard military channels.


    He read the report twice.


    Then stood, slowly.


    "Begin contingency drills," he said.


    Orlov blinked. "Sire?"


    "If the hawk has seen the serpent," the Tsar said grimly, "then the serpent must strike before the sky closes."


    Port-Luthair ¡ª Control Tower, Same Morning


    The comms room erupted with soft applause as the Ravenspear broke its vertical climb and began banking eastward in a slow, calculated arc. The aircraft, graceful despite its aggressive form, rode the stratospheric winds like it belonged there.


    Bruno didn''t move. He continued to watch the dot on the tracking panel¡ªsmall, steady, unwavering.


    "She''s holding," Rena said, glancing at the diagnostic feeds. "No flutter. No instability. Flight controls are reading like she''s on rails."


    Hartwell, usually gruff, let out a breath. "We''ve never built anything like this."


    Bruno finally turned to them. "Then don''t treat it like anything we''ve built before."


    He stepped back from the console, arms behind his back.


    "Begin scheduling a full systems test¡ªmaneuver trials, modular deployment, long-distance telemetry. I want her flown not as a prototype, but as the first of a doctrine."


    "And what doctrine is that, Sire?" Rena asked, half-serious.


    Bruno didn''t answer at first.


    Then, with a quiet conviction: "One that doesn''t wait for the enemy to strike first."


    Berlinhof ¡ª Germania''s Naval Listening Station, Later That Day


    The technician stared at the report coming through the long-range acoustic triangulators. Whispers of a new craft. Strange frequencies. Too high. Too smooth.


    He turned to his superior, pale.


    "Sir¡­ it''s not Hawkfire. And it''s not a decoy."


    The officer leaned in, reading the stream of telemetry.


    A quiet shiver passed between them.


    "They''ve built something new," he murmured. "And it flies above our doubt."


    Outside, rain began to fall over Berlinhof.


    And somewhere over the sea, the Ravenspear flew on¡ªunseen, unheard, and unchallenged.


    For now.

 Chapter 168 - 168

    The rain hadn''t stopped.


    Outside the listening station, puddles gathered along the cobbled walkways, boots splashing as messengers came and went beneath soaked oilskin cloaks. Inside, the air was tense, the kind of quiet that follows a question nobody wants to answer.


    Eliska Weiss entered the war room without ceremony. Her gloves were still damp, and the brim of her hat dripped onto the polished floor. She approached the main map table, where analysts clustered around a printout of long-range air acoustic logs.


    "The craft was airborne for six hours," one of them reported. "Consistent propulsion readings. High-altitude resonance. Directional change confirmed. This wasn''t a drift test¡ªit was a patrol."


    Weiss raised an eyebrow. "Patrol?"


    The analyst hesitated. "It circled once. Then banked east. No known landing signature. Either it returned to base¡­ or it''s still flying."


    Weiss removed her gloves one finger at a time.


    "And its origin?"


    "Elysea. Confirmed by sonic triangulation out of the Caldre Strait. We believe it launched from Port-Luthair."


    At that, Chancellor Rosenthal stepped forward from the shadows of the doorway.


    "We warned them. We let Orosk escalate first. And now Elysea flies like the wind holds its breath for them."


    He looked at Weiss.


    "Options?"


    Weiss didn''t blink. "We deny the air. Not with fighters¡ªwe lack the range. But with doubt. We remind the world that Elysea has always walked too close to arrogance."


    Rosenthal narrowed his eyes. "Through diplomacy?"


    "No," Weiss replied. "Through fear."


    Elysee ¡ª Foreign Ministry Hall


    Minister Moreau frowned at the morning''s cable reports. The dispatches from neutral nations were shifting. Carefully worded. No formal accusations¡ªbut the tone was changing.


    "Three port inspection delays. One revoked customs agreement. And now Aurenne is ''reassessing'' its export terms."


    Bruno stood at the end of the long walnut table, expression unreadable.


    "They''re testing our restraint."


    "Or our temper," Moreau muttered.


    Amalia, seated beside the map of southern Europe, looked over the latest political cartoon from a Pan-Am broadsheet. It depicted Elysea as a mechanical bird, gears spinning behind its wings, talons dripping black oil over smaller, nameless nations.


    "They''ve begun the smear campaign," she said. "They''re painting us as imperial."


    Bruno gave a small nod.


    "They fear what we might become more than what we are."


    Moreau adjusted his spectacles. "What shall I tell the press?"


    "Nothing," Bruno replied. "Let them talk. And while they do¡­"


    He looked toward the window, where the Royal Air Corps'' new barracks were rising beyond the city wall.


    "¡­we build what they won''t see coming."


    Port-Luthair ¡ª Ravenspear Hangar, One Week Later


    The second prototype was complete.


    Ravenspear II stood sleek and shimmering in the early morning sun, its polished skin reflecting the copper-red glow of the rising sky. Where the first had been stripped and skeletal, the second was elegant¡ªready for display.


    Hartwell ran a hand across the fuselage. "The exhaust curve''s been reshaped. Better lift at lower speeds. Might even land without breaking her back this time."


    Rena stood beside him with a clipboard. "And the payload capsule?"


    "In and sealed," Hartwell said. "But she''s flying clean today. No drops."


    Amalia approached, helmet under one arm.


    "Fuel mix?"


    "Triple-filtered blend. Should hold through full maneuver trials."


    She gave a nod, then looked at Bruno, who had just arrived.


    "Third flight?"


    "Second doctrine run," he replied. "This time, you''re flying the border."


    Amalia raised an eyebrow. "Orosk?"


    "Caldre sector. No violation. Just the edge. Let them feel us pass."


    A beat.


    "And if they respond?"


    Bruno''s eyes didn''t waver.


    "Then we''ll know how ready they are."


    Velmir ¡ª Project Veles Command Bunker


    Tsar Mikhail stood before a chalkboard map cluttered with air current studies and projected strike paths.


    "Bruno sends his second bird," he said. "He does not strike. But he dares."


    Orlov nodded. "And he will continue to dare. That''s how he wins. Not with force¡ªbut with visibility. With confidence."


    A technician entered the room, saluting.


    "Field test completed. Payload dummy dropped at altitude. Fifty-mile drift radius. Zero deviation."


    Mikhail looked at the man. "And our target?"


    "Selected. Merchant supply chain, west route. Civilian-flagged."


    Mikhail''s expression darkened.


    "Send Veles. Don''t let it hit. Let them scramble. Let them fear what didn''t happen."


    Orlov blinked. "Sire?"


    "Fear is better than fire," the Tsar said. "Until we are ready."


    Caldre Strait ¡ª Two Days Later


    Amalia flew low.


    Ravenspear''s shadow stretched across the pale sea below, broken only by waves and the faint silhouettes of fishing vessels scattered between the reefs.


    "Control, this is Spear-2. Approaching border arc."


    Rena''s voice came back through the crackling radio: "Copy that. Maintain heading. Visual range only. No descents."


    "Understood."


    She banked once, letting the craft''s silver wings catch the sunlight.


    Then she saw it.


    Far to the east¡ªjust a glimmer¡ªan unfamiliar black shape gliding along the clouds.


    It wasn''t close.


    It didn''t need to be.


    She didn''t pursue.


    She just reported.


    "Control, visual contact. Unknown aircraft, bearing one-six-zero. Too distant for detail. But it''s not Hawkfire."


    Silence.


    Then Bruno''s voice.


    "Confirm path?"


    "Straight. Level. Watching."


    Bruno''s tone dropped.


    "Let it go."


    Elysee ¡ª Royal Courtroom, Emergency Session


    The King did not wear his crown.


    He stood in uniform before members of the Royal Assembly, unflinching as questions were hurled like stones.


    "Is it true our aircraft violated Oroskan airspace?"


    "No," Bruno said.


    "Then why are they claiming it?"


    "Because we flew too close for their comfort."


    Murmurs rippled through the chamber.


    Bruno stepped forward.


    "They test us with ghost strikes and propaganda. We test them with presence. We have not fired. We have not crossed. But we will not be grounded by whispers."


    The murmurs faded into silence.


    "If it is war they want, let them declare it. Until then, we hold the skies."


    Berlinhof ¡ª Eliska Weiss''s Study


    The folder on her desk was thick with photographs.


    She flipped through them: Ravenspear over Caldre. Hawkfire in formation. Dockyard expansions. Rail logistics feeding northern airfields.


    "They are preparing for endurance," she said aloud.


    Fischer, the analyst, leaned in. "What should we do?"


    Weiss tapped the desk. "Leak their altitude data to neutral powers. Make it sound like they''re mapping territory for annexation."


    "And if that fails?"


    She smiled coldly.


    "Then we offer those powers protection from the hawk. Protection that costs allegiance."


    Velmir ¡ª Design Cell 17


    Orlov entered with a cane in one hand and a file in the other.


    The engineers had just finished installing a new pressure relay into the Veles''s midsection.


    "We''re fitting recon lenses," one of them said. "To prove we can see before we strike."


    Orlov nodded absently, his attention fixed on the file.


    It was a photograph.


    Black and white.


    Ravenspear, climbing above the clouds.


    Larger than expected.


    Sharper.


    He slipped the image back into the folder.


    "Make ours uglier," he said. "But deadlier."


    Elysee ¡ª Ravenspear Command Briefing


    Bruno laid out the new map.


    It showed not borders, but patterns¡ªair pressure lines, known winds, visibility gaps.


    "From here," he said, pointing to a narrow strip of sea between neutral waters, "we begin surveillance. No armaments. No provocations. Just presence."


    Hartwell squinted. "That''s not strategy."


    "No," Bruno replied. "That''s the bait."


    He looked at Amalia.


    "And Ravenspear Three?"


    "Ready by week''s end."


    He turned to the group.


    "Then we fly it. But not alone." sea??h th§× N??eFire.¦Çet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    He tapped three new markings on the map.


    "Three aircraft. Three altitudes. Different wings. One formation."


    He looked up.


    "The world watches the bird."


    A pause.


    "Let them forget the flock."


    Far West ¡ª Aurenne Port Authority, Three Nights Later


    A merchant captain lit a cigarette on the dockside and looked up just in time to see three shadows pass overhead¡ªfaint, sharp, and fast.


    Too fast for gulls.


    Too quiet for blimps.


    Too distant to name.


    He exhaled slowly, the ember tip glowing in the dark.


    And somewhere in the sky, high above shipping lanes and politics, the future soared on wings shaped not just for war¡ªbut for warning.


    The sea was calm. Pale blue bled into gold as the first light touched the waves.


    Ravenspear Three, sleek and quiet, hovered just beneath cloud cover at mid-altitude. To its left, the original prototype flew lower. Above them, barely visible, a modified Hawkfire glided wide arcs through the stratosphere.


    Three birds.


    Three layers.


    One intention.


    From her cockpit, Amalia watched the sunrise break through the mist. Below, she saw nothing but fishing skiffs and whitecaps¡ªbut she knew others were watching. Somewhere across the horizon, binoculars were trained. Timetables were paused. Fingers hovered over typewriter keys.


    "Formation holding," came Rena''s voice from the upper flier.


    "Lower altitude reporting clean," said Hartwell from the lead.


    Amalia flicked her radio on. "Maintain spread. No descents. This is a mirror¡ªnot a blade."


    Silence.


    Then Bruno''s voice, calm and sure: "Well said."


    Velmir ¡ª Intelligence Operations Deck


    Orlov looked over the intercepted airpath diagrams and frowned.


    "They''re flying patterns."


    Weiss stepped into the room, brushing off her coat. "Not patrols. Not drills. Messages."


    "And what are they saying?" he asked quietly.


    Weiss stared at the parchment. Then up toward the ceiling as if she could hear the engines herself.


    "They''re saying, ''We are here. And we know you are too.''"


    She turned, leaving him with one final thought.


    "Soon, someone will flinch."


    Elysee ¡ª Palace Gardens, That Evening


    Bruno stood among the budding trees, Louis asleep in a sling across his chest.


    Amelie stepped beside him, watching the sky turn from dusk to indigo.


    "Did they see us today?" she asked.


    "Yes," Bruno answered. "And more importantly, they remember we never vanished."


    He looked skyward.


    "Tomorrow, we fly again."

 Chapter 169 - 169: The Day the Air Held its Breath

    Caldre Strait ¡ª Dawn Patrol


    The sea stretched endless and gray beneath the wings of the Ravenspear flight. Mist curled from the surface in lazy spirals, hiding reefs and rocks, but above it, the air was clear, sharp enough to cut.


    Amalia tightened her gloved hand on the control stick as she led the formation. Above her, Rena''s modified Hawkfire maintained a wide circling arc, its engine purring faintly. Below and slightly behind, Hartwell flew the first Ravenspear prototype, still bearing the rough patchwork from its test days.


    Three altitudes. Three vessels. One message.


    "Formation steady," crackled Rena''s voice through the primitive radio link, distorted slightly by static. "Eastern horizon showing traffic. Civilian masts only."


    Amalia squinted. Far in the distance, tall shapes bobbed at the edge of vision¡ªmerchant ships, likely bound for neutral ports. She adjusted her bearing slightly, keeping the formation loose, confident.


    They weren''t here to confront. They were here to remind.


    "Hold pattern," Amalia said calmly. "And watch the sky."


    Port-Luthair ¡ª Air Corps Command Tent


    Bruno stood hunched over the field radio, one hand resting on the receiver, the other tracing faint lines across a fresh reconnaissance map.


    Beside him, Leclerc sipped bitter coffee from a tin mug.


    "No reaction yet," the communications officer said. "No intercepts. No scrambles."


    Bruno nodded absently. "They''re waiting for a mistake."


    "And if we don''t give them one?" Leclerc asked.


    "Then they''ll make one," Bruno said softly.


    Outside, the base buzzed with activity¡ªrunners carrying new orders, mechanics shouting over engine whines, squad leaders checking sidearms even though this was an air war now. Yet, in the heart of it all, a strange quiet lingered, as if the whole world was holding its breath.


    Velmir ¡ª Veles Hangar


    Beneath the heavy stone of the Oroskan mountains, the Veles loomed in its cradle. Black, brutish, ugly by any standard of flightcraft¡ªbut ready.


    Orlov stood with arms crossed, watching as crews tightened the last bolts into its reinforced airframe. Thick cables snaked across the hangar floor, feeding crude electrical power into its systems for final checks.


    A junior officer approached, saluting stiffly. "Sire, Veles is ready for operational deployment."


    The Tsar entered moments later, his breath misting in the cold underground air.


    "No bombs," Mikhail said.


    The officer blinked. "Sire?"


    "No strikes. No wreckage. Not yet." The Tsar stepped closer to the viewing glass. "Send Veles high. Let them see it. Let them wonder what it carries."


    Orlov nodded grimly. It was the same dance Bruno had begun¡ªbut with heavier steps.


    "They want to rule the skies," Mikhail murmured. "Let us teach them that the sky can turn."


    Berlinhof ¡ª Intelligence Briefing Hall


    Eliska Weiss tapped her gloved fingers against the polished oak table as the latest aerial reports were laid before her.


    "Merchant lanes quiet. No escalation," one analyst said.


    "No visible armament changes at Port-Luthair," added another.


    She listened, disinterested.


    Then Fischer, the young analyst, spoke hesitantly. "But, ma''am... Elysea''s endurance flights are getting longer. Measured fuel loads suggest new logistical systems¡ªlikely auxiliary tankers hidden at sea."


    Weiss''s eyes sharpened.


    "Meaning?"


    "They can stay aloft. Days, maybe."


    Silence rippled through the room.


    Weiss smiled thinly.


    "Then we starve them from below."


    She reached for a dispatch slip marked for neutral nations¡ªwhisper campaigns, trade route tensions, supply chain disruptions.


    "If the hawk won''t fall," she said, "then we make sure it cannot feed."


    Caldre Strait ¡ª Midday


    Amalia''s flight continued, steady as the tide. The hours stretched long, broken only by the occasional crackle of radio reports or the quiet hum of the engines.


    She was beginning to think the day would pass quietly when a flicker caught her eye¡ªhigh and eastward, above even Rena''s arc.


    "New contact," she said sharply. "Altitude unknown. Visual silhouette... large. Black."


    There was a pause as the others adjusted to her callout.


    "Control, this is Spear-2," she said into the mic. "Possible Veles contact. Observing only."


    From the ground, Bruno''s voice came through, crisp despite the distance: "Maintain altitude. Record all movement. Do not engage."


    Amalia exhaled slowly and tightened her grip on the controls.


    The shape in the sky was monstrous. Broad-winged, brutish, and flying unnervingly straight.


    Veles.


    She knew it without needing confirmation.


    But it didn''t turn. Didn''t dive. It flew like a knife slicing through silk¡ªsteady, inevitable.


    Rena''s voice, pitched slightly higher, came through: "Telemetry matching. That''s no merchant patrol."


    Hartwell: "Big bastard, isn''t it?"


    Amalia allowed herself a tight smile. "Bigger they are..."


    She left the thought unfinished.


    Above, Veles passed, a dark scar against the pale sky.


    Velmir ¡ª Veles Control Room


    Orlov watched the navigation instruments carefully.


    "No deviation," a technician confirmed. "Flight path as planned. High visibility."


    Orlov glanced at the Tsar, who stood motionless behind the thick glass partition.


    "They see us," he said.


    Mikhail nodded.


    "Then the lesson begins."


    Elysee ¡ª War Ministry Hall


    Reports flooded in by nightfall.


    "Veles spotted over neutral waters."


    "Merchant fleets rerouting to southern passages."


    "Rumors of a new Oroskan superweapon circulating among Pan-Am newspapers."


    Bruno read the reports in silence.


    Leclerc placed a fresh dispatch onto his desk. "Public fear is rising."


    Amalia, seated across from him, looked tired but resolute. "They''re not hiding anymore."


    "No," Bruno said quietly. "They''re daring us."


    He rose from his chair and walked to the window.


    Outside, Elysee glittered beneath the stars, unaware of the invisible daggers trading glances above them.


    "It''s a game of mirrors," Bruno said. "They show the blade. We show the shield."


    "And the people?" Amalia asked.


    He looked back at her, his expression steel.


    "We show them the sky is still ours."


    Port-Luthair ¡ª Ravenspear Hangar, Two Days Later


    The third Ravenspear, now refined and sleeker than ever, sat ready on the tarmac. New fuel cells. Reinforced canopy. A second-generation modular pod system fitted to its underbelly.


    Amalia inspected the checklist while Hartwell adjusted the wing flaps.


    "You know they''ll scramble next time," Hartwell said.


    "I hope they do," Amalia replied.


    At the edge of the field, Bruno arrived in a staff car. He stepped out slowly, arms crossed behind his back.


    "Today, we don''t fly near them," he said. "Today, we fly above them."


    The plan was simple: a high-altitude overpass of neutral shipping routes, maintaining visible, documented presence without crossing any national lines.


    The execution would be anything but simple.


    Rena joined them, tightening her gloves. "And if they launch intercepts?"


    "Maintain course," Bruno said. "No weapons. No evasions unless threatened."


    "And if threatened?" Hartwell asked grimly.


    Bruno met their eyes.


    "Then show them we came prepared."


    Ravenspear III taxied into position.


    The engines rumbled to life.


    The future roared toward the sky once more.


    Ravenspear III roared down the runway, gathering speed until it lifted cleanly into the cool morning air. The ground fell away in a smooth rush. Behind her, two more silhouettes followed¡ªRena''s Hawkfire and Hartwell''s older Ravenspear, forming the same three-layered flight pattern as before.


    Inside the cockpit, Amalia''s breathing slowed, steadying into rhythm with the thrum of the engines. The air outside grew thinner as she climbed, chasing the cold blue line of the upper sky.


    "Altitude twenty-three thousand," she reported over the crackling link. "Holding course due east. Visibility good. No contacts."


    "Copy," came Bruno''s voice from the control tower. Calm, measured. "Maintain climb. Shift formation to extended triangle. Show presence without compression."


    Amalia nudged the controls, widening her distance from the others. Together, the three aircraft formed a spread visible from the ground¡ªan unmistakable sign to any watching that Elysea ruled this corner of the sky. Sear?h the n??el Fire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Minutes passed. Then an hour.


    Below them, the merchant lanes stretched calm and undisturbed. A pair of fishing vessels floated like toys on the endless silver sheet of sea. No warships. No threats.


    Yet.


    Rena''s voice crackled in, distorted but urgent: "Contact. Northwest bearing. High altitude. Single silhouette."


    Amalia''s eyes narrowed, scanning the faint shimmer beyond the clouds.


    And there it was.


    The Veles.


    Again.


    Dark as obsidian, massive even at a distance, cruising slow and deliberate across the strait¡ªdaring them.


    "This is Spear-2," Amalia said into the radio. "Visual confirmation. Veles class. Altitude matching ours."


    For a moment, neither side moved.


    The two predators circled each other from miles apart¡ªtoo distant to clash, too close to ignore.


    At Port-Luthair, Bruno stood over the signal maps, hands clasped tightly behind his back.


    "Hold course," he ordered. "We are the sky. They are the storm that passes."


    The three Elysean aircraft continued their patrol, steady and proud, even as the Veles kept pace at a mirror distance.


    Long minutes stretched.


    Then, slowly, the Veles began to climb¡ªhigher, retreating into the veil of upper clouds until it vanished from sight.


    No engagement. No words. Just a silent, heavy warning carried on the thin air.


    Amalia exhaled, feeling the tension in her shoulders ease only slightly.


    "Contact retreating," she confirmed.


    Bruno''s voice came through, softer now: "Return home."


    Elysee ¡ª Palace Balcony, That Evening


    The sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the capital. Bruno stood alone on the palace balcony, a half-finished report forgotten at his side.


    The bells from the old city chimed the hour.


    Behind him, footsteps approached¡ªAmalia, still in her flight jacket, her hair damp from a quick wash, her eyes weary but clear.


    "They blinked first," she said simply.


    Bruno gave a slight nod. "Today."


    She stepped closer, their shoulders brushing.


    "And tomorrow?" she asked.


    He looked to the horizon, where the last streaks of gold faded into violet.


    "Tomorrow," Bruno said quietly, "we build higher."


    Below them, Elysee''s lanterns flickered to life one by one, like stars rising to meet the night.


    Above, in the deepening sky, the hawks still flew.


    And the world¡ªwatching, waiting, fearing¡ªcould only wonder what would come next.

 Chapter 170 - 170: When the Cloud Breaks

    Three Days Later


    The weather had changed. S~ea??h the N?vel(F)ire.n§×t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Thick storm clouds rolled across the strait, blanketing the sky in a dense, smothering gray. Winds snapped at the flags on merchant ships and stirred the whitecaps into frothing waves. Somewhere above, hidden from naked eyes, the future of two nations circled.


    Amalia tightened her grip on the Ravenspear''s control stick as the aircraft bucked slightly in the turbulence. Her instruments flickered under the pressure of the storm, but her hands were steady.


    "This is Spear-2," she said over the radio. "Crosswind at upper layers stronger than projected. Compensating. Holding patrol arc."


    "Copy that," Rena''s voice replied from higher altitude. "No visual on any Veles movement yet. Listening."


    Hartwell, flying lower to skim just above the mist, chimed in. "Sea''s a mess. Visibility patchy. Hope they can''t see us either."


    Amalia adjusted her course slightly. Their orders remained the same: presence without provocation. Patrol the neutral trade lanes, remind the world that Elysea still held the sky.


    But today, she felt it¡ªsomething restless in the wind. A crackling tension that hadn''t been there before.


    Port-Luthair ¡ª Air Corps Command Tent


    Bruno leaned over the plotting table, tracing the updated weather charts with a critical eye. Rena''s reports streamed in via radio, detailing air currents and storm developments.


    "They won''t launch in this," Leclerc muttered from beside him, flipping through decoded enemy broadcasts. "The Veles isn''t built for rough weather."


    "They might not need to," Bruno said quietly.


    Leclerc frowned. "Sire?"


    Bruno tapped the map at a narrow corridor between two merchant lanes. A natural funnel created by the storm''s high winds¡ªa choke point.


    "If we don''t see them today," he said, "they''ll see us."


    He looked up.


    "And they''ll be waiting."


    Velmir ¡ª Veles Control Deck


    The Tsar watched the storm unfold from a reinforced observation post carved into the mountain itself.


    Orlov stood stiffly at his side, reading the incoming weather bulletins.


    "The Elyseans still patrol, despite the conditions," Orlov reported. "Their formation is thinning slightly to compensate for the winds."


    "Good," Mikhail said.


    Below them, the monstrous black frame of the Veles sat readied for another ascent. Fuel lines detached, armament bays sealed.


    But this time, no harmless patrol.


    This time, it carried weight.


    Heavy.


    Deadly.


    A final technician approached, saluting sharply. "Sire, Veles is fueled and armed as per last directive."


    Mikhail nodded once.


    "Today," he said, "the hawk bleeds."


    Caldre Strait ¡ª High Altitude


    Amalia caught the glint through the clouds first.


    A flash of black against the roiling gray. Fast. Heavy.


    "New contact, bearing two-seven-zero!" she barked into the mic. "High-speed approach. Single unit. Confirmed Veles class."


    Rena''s voice sharpened immediately. "Altitude differential closing. Speed¡ªunusual. Higher than before."


    Hartwell''s voice came low and grim. "They''re coming in hard."


    Amalia gritted her teeth.


    "Control, this is Spear-2. Veles is inbound. Repeat, Veles is inbound."


    From Port-Luthair, Bruno''s voice came firm and immediate: "Evasive maneuver Delta. No direct engagement. Record, avoid, survive."


    Amalia banked hard, pulling the Ravenspear into a rising turn, bleeding speed to let the Veles overshoot if it tried to intercept.


    Through the thick mist, she saw it now¡ªcloser than ever before.


    The Veles screamed past, engines howling, a thunderous black leviathan slicing the storm apart.


    But it didn''t pursue.


    It dropped something.


    Amalia caught the glimpse of metal tumbling through the clouds¡ªa heavy object ejected from Veles''s belly.


    She inhaled sharply.


    "They''re seeding the strait," she realized. "Cargo drops."


    Hartwell''s voice crackled in. "Whatever it is, it''s not for show."


    Rena sounded tight with urgency: "Visual on secondary drops! Multiple! Small packages!"


    Amalia cursed under her breath.


    "Control, Veles has dropped unknown ordinance along the shipping lanes! No direct impact yet!"


    Bruno''s reply was immediate.


    "New orders: Shadow the drop zones. Maintain distance. No retrieval attempts. Priority is survival."


    Amalia nodded to herself and pushed the Ravenspear forward.


    The storm had broken.


    Now the real battle began.


    Port-Luthair ¡ª Operations Room


    The room buzzed as the scribes recorded every incoming transmission, while runners sprinted between tents delivering updates to artillery commanders and coastal watch stations.


    Bruno remained at the center, unmoving.


    "They''re not bombing cities," Leclerc said, staring at the latest sketches from aerial observation. "They''re contaminating the lanes. Making the sea itself dangerous."


    "Psychological warfare," Bruno muttered. "No explosions. No evidence. Just fear."


    Amalia''s voice cut through the static: "Unmarked crates. Metallic. No explosions observed. No pursuit from Veles. They''re retreating."


    Bruno seized the radio.


    "Spear-2, this is Control. Confirm¡ªVeles has withdrawn?"


    A pause.


    Then Amalia''s voice, steady: "Confirmed. Enemy craft ascending eastward. No further drops detected."


    Bruno let out a slow breath.


    "Good. Keep tracking the packages from the air. Mark them for retrieval or destruction. Do not approach."


    "Yes, sir."


    Leclerc leaned over. "So? What do we tell the Assembly?"


    Bruno turned from the window, his eyes harder than steel.


    "We tell them the truth."


    He picked up a clean sheet of parchment and began writing in heavy, deliberate strokes.


    "Enemy forces conducted non-lethal aerial contamination of neutral merchant lanes. No Elysean casualties. Air superiority maintained. No engagement initiated. Surveillance ongoing."


    He finished the report, sealed it, and handed it off to a waiting courier.


    "Send it," he said. "And tell the people one thing¡ª"


    Leclerc raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"


    Bruno''s voice dropped into a low growl.


    "¡ªthe hawk still flies."


    Velmir ¡ª Strategy Hall


    Mikhail poured himself a glass of cold brandy, watching the storm break at the horizon through the frost-rimmed windows.


    Orlov entered quietly.


    "No retaliation. No downed aircraft. No public panic. The Elyseans remain operational."


    Mikhail sipped, unbothered.


    "They are clever," he admitted.


    Orlov frowned. "We missed the chance."


    The Tsar shook his head.


    "No. We showed them something. We made them react. That''s the first step toward making them bleed."


    He set the glass down with a soft click.


    "And now," Mikhail said, "we let the wind carry the rumors."


    "Let every merchant captain wonder if the sky above him hides the serpent''s bite."


    Elysee ¡ª Palace Balcony, Nightfall


    The stars emerged, brilliant and cold.


    Bruno stood once again overlooking his city, Amalia at his side.


    Louis slept quietly, oblivious to the world''s new edge.


    "They''ll escalate again," Amalia said.


    Bruno nodded. "And so will we."


    She smiled faintly, tired but proud.


    "What now?"


    Bruno looked upward, his voice a promise carried on the night wind.


    "Now," he said, "we teach them the hawk doesn''t fear the storm."


    Far above, somewhere unseen, three shadows crossed the stars in silent, sovereign arcs¡ªdefiant.


    And the game of skies, begun in caution, sharpened into something far fiercer.


    Into something inevitable.


    The next morning came sharp and bright, the storm spent. But the tension hadn''t passed.


    Across the neutral ports and merchant halls, rumors had taken root. Captains spoke in hushed voices about the black-winged terror that seeded the skies. Dockmasters delayed shipments, demanding higher fees for the risk. Traders sent urgent telegrams to home offices.


    The game had changed.


    And everyone knew it.


    Port-Luthair ¡ª Air Corps Briefing Room


    Bruno stood before his officers, the map of the strait unrolled behind him.


    "The Veles strike was deliberate," he said. "Not to destroy¡ªbut to corrupt. They want fear to rot our trade, to make our allies turn inward, to make Elysea seem like a collapsing giant."


    He let the weight of the words settle across the room.


    "We cannot allow it."


    Amalia, seated near the front, caught his eye briefly. A silent exchange of understanding passed between them.


    Bruno continued.


    "Effective immediately, Ravenspear flights will be increased. We will fly in pairs, in shifts, covering the merchant lanes openly."


    Murmurs stirred among the officers.


    Rena raised her hand. "Won''t that spread us thin?"


    Bruno smiled faintly.


    "Yes. But it will spread our shadow even wider."


    He turned back to the map, his voice sharpening.


    "We are not merely defending the sky anymore. We are defending trust. Confidence. Trade. Hope."


    A beat.


    "And we will not break."


    Velmir ¡ª Intelligence Bureau


    Orlov watched a new stack of reports arrive.


    "Merchant activity reduced by fifteen percent," one aide said.


    "Rumors of Elysean overreach spreading in neutral capitals," said another.


    He nodded grimly.


    The Tsar entered, his coat heavy with frost.


    "Results?"


    "Slower than expected, Sire. The hawk still flies."


    Mikhail frowned, dark eyes narrowing.


    "Then we sharpen the fangs."


    He tossed a fresh order onto the table.


    It bore a single, chilling title:


    Operation Pale Sky.


    Berlinhof ¡ª Germanian Foreign Office


    Eliska Weiss read the coded telegram twice before setting it down.


    "Operation Pale Sky"¡ªan Oroskan initiative¡ªmeant one thing.


    A false flag.


    A "neutral" merchant vessel, attacked. Survivors screaming of Elysean aggression. Witnesses bribed or broken.


    And the world would tilt.


    If it worked.


    Weiss leaned back in her chair.


    It was a gamble.


    And for the first time in weeks, a sliver of doubt crept into her thoughts.


    Bruno wasn''t a fool.


    And hawks were not easily baited.


    Still¡ªwar was rarely about the truth.


    It was about who believed the lie first.


    Elysee ¡ª Palace Nursery


    Later that night, Bruno returned to the quiet of his home.


    Louis slept peacefully, curled against Amalie''s shoulder as she sang an old Elysean lullaby under her breath.


    Bruno watched them, something knotting tightly in his chest.


    The sky was growing darker.


    The war of whispers was turning into a war of teeth and claws.


    But here¡ªhere was the reason he had to win.


    Not just for Elysea.


    Not for power.


    But for mornings like this.


    For futures not yet broken.


    He kissed his wife''s forehead gently and whispered:


    "We will not fall."


    Far Over the Caldre Strait


    Three Ravenspears sliced through the night sky, lights off, flying as shadows over the quiet, waiting sea.


    Below, the world fretted.


    Above, the hawk circled.


    And somewhere beyond the farthest stormclouds, unseen yet inevitable, the storm to end all storms began to gather.

 Chapter 171 - 171: The Pale Sky Gambit

    The sun barely touched the sea, still smothered by long, heavy clouds that painted the horizon in layers of ash and bruised purple.


    Three Ravenspears cut through the early mist, spread across wide arcs like sentinels. Engines low-throttled for endurance. Radio silence by order. Only the rhythm of the propellers and the faint creak of metal against cold air filled the cockpits.


    Amalia led the highest arc, her breath fogging slightly inside the insulated canopy. Below her, Rena and Hartwell patrolled in their staggered formations.


    There were no enemy contacts.


    Not yet.


    Only the wide, sleeping world¡ªand the knowledge that somewhere, someone was trying to wake it into fury.


    "Maintain course," Amalia murmured to herself. "No provocations."


    In the distance, far below, she spotted a convoy: six merchant ships crawling toward the Aurenne harbors, their smoke stacks thin and white against the water.


    Ordinary.


    Innocent.


    For now.


    Port-Luthair ¡ª Air Corps Forward Command


    Bruno scanned the new dispatches without looking up.


    "Any unusual signals?" he asked.


    "Negative, Sire," the radio operator replied. "Merchant frequencies normal. No military pings."


    Leclerc approached, carrying a leather-bound message pouch.


    "Telegram from Foreign Ministry. New briefings indicate an unusual cargo manifest aboard the Seraphine Dawn."


    Bruno''s eyes sharpened.


    "The lead merchant vessel?"


    Leclerc nodded grimly. "Registered neutral. Elysean grain and textiles. But intelligence suspects Germania has agents aboard."


    Bruno tapped the table with two fingers, thinking fast.


    "False cargo," he said. "Or bait."


    He turned to the air liaison officer.


    "Alert all patrols. No deviations. No low passes. Observe, record, but do not engage¡ªunless fired upon."


    The officer saluted sharply.


    "And prepare Ravenspear Four," Bruno added.


    "Four?" Leclerc raised an eyebrow.


    Bruno nodded.


    "If they''re setting a trap for the world to see... it''s time we fly above the stage."


    Aboard the Seraphine Dawn ¡ª Mid-Morning


    Captain Emil Voss was not a political man. He liked simple things: fair winds, clear charts, and predictable cargo.


    This voyage, however, stank of politics.


    The crates below deck were heavier than listed. No one had been allowed near them except two "inspectors" who claimed to be neutral observers.


    Now, as he squinted upward through his spyglass, he spotted them¡ªthree aircraft overhead, their silver wings flashing like fish scales against the dim sun.


    "Elyseans," his first mate muttered beside him.


    "Aye," Voss said. "Flying clean, though. No dive. No challenge."


    The first mate grunted. "Yet."


    Voss lowered his glass, unease knotting in his gut.


    It wasn''t the Elyseans he feared.


    It was what might happen next.


    Berlinhof ¡ª Germanian Intelligence Bureau


    Eliska Weiss watched the final signal lamp blink green.


    The operation was in motion.


    "Pale Sky is active," Fischer reported from his desk.


    Weiss nodded slowly.


    "Confirmation?"


    "Trigger agent aboard the Seraphine Dawn prepared to initiate false distress. Simulated attack damage pre-staged in hold. Eyewitnesses primed."


    "And the neutral observers?"


    Fischer hesitated.


    "They believe they''re recording a diplomatic escort. They don''t know it''s staged."


    Weiss folded her gloved hands.


    "The lie must be perfect," she said coldly. "The world must see Elysea as the aggressor."


    A pause.


    "And if it fails?"


    Weiss allowed a thin, razor-sharp smile.


    "Then we create another."


    Caldre Strait ¡ª Noon


    The trap was sprung.


    A sharp crack split the air, rolling across the strait like thunder.


    Amalia jerked upright in her seat, eyes scanning wildly.


    "Explosion!" Rena''s voice snapped across the comms. "Source unknown¡ªlooks like¡ª"


    Hartwell cut in, grim and low: "Smoke from the Seraphine Dawn."


    Amalia swung her aircraft wide, keeping altitude, peering downward.


    Dark smoke billowed from the merchant''s midsection¡ªtoo controlled to be accidental, too perfectly placed. Men scrambled on deck, waving flags wildly.


    A distress signal.


    From her side window, she caught movement¡ªa small, fast boat cutting away from the ship, crewed by men not in merchant uniforms.


    Agents.


    She realized it instantly.


    "Control, this is Spear-2. Confirmed explosion aboard merchant. Possible false flag operation. No Elysean aircraft engaged. I repeat, no Elysean engagement."


    Bruno''s voice came back, calm but tight.


    "Hold position. Record everything."


    Amalia swung her camera pod into place, triggering the mechanical shutter rhythmically.


    Click-click-click.


    Proof.


    Above her, Rena mirrored the maneuver, circling high.


    Below, Hartwell kept near the mist, ensuring no sudden boats or hidden attackers tried to escalate the chaos.


    Port-Luthair ¡ª Command Tent


    Bruno moved like clockwork.


    "Seal the air records. Dispatch a courier immediately to Aurenne''s embassy."


    Leclerc scribbled rapidly beside him.


    "Video? Photos?"


    "Everything," Bruno said. "Before the lies travel faster than the truth."


    He looked at the courier.


    "You ride direct. No stops. If anyone tries to stop you... you do not stop."


    The young man paled but nodded sharply.


    "Go," Bruno said.


    The courier sprinted from the tent, mounting his motorbike even before the orders were finished.


    Bruno turned back to the map. S§×ar?h the nov§×lF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    The enemy had made their move.


    Now it was Elysea''s turn.


    Velmir ¡ª Veles Control Deck


    Orlov frowned at the delayed reports.


    "The Seraphine Dawn has triggered the incident," an aide said. "But no Elysean engagement recorded. No return fire."


    The Tsar said nothing for a long moment.


    Finally, he exhaled slowly.


    "They are smarter than we hoped," he said.


    "Orders, Sire?" Orlov asked.


    The Tsar''s voice was cold as the mountains outside.


    "We wait. The lie is planted. Whether it blooms... depends on the fools who listen."


    Berlinhof ¡ª Evening Newsrooms


    It started small.


    A whispered rumor among dockworkers.


    A hasty telegram to Pan-Am papers.


    "ELYSEAN PLANES CIRCLING MERCHANTS BEFORE ATTACK."


    Photos followed¡ªblurry, indistinct, but damning when paired with fear.


    Within hours, newsboys were shouting on city corners:


    "ELYSEA FIRES FIRST! NEUTRAL SHIP TARGETED!"


    The truth barely stumbled onto the scene, late and slow.


    But the seed was planted.


    And war¡ªlike weeds¡ªthrived on rotten ground.


    Elysee ¡ª Royal Palace, Midnight


    The council was in uproar.


    Ministers shouted. Advisers pleaded.


    "Delay flights! Ground patrols!"


    "Open investigations!"


    "Public letters! Diplomatic apologies!"


    Bruno sat silently, hands folded on the polished wood of the council table.


    When the shouting finally ebbed, he rose.


    "We did not attack," he said simply.


    "But public opinion¡ª"


    "Will turn as surely as storms turn the sea," Bruno cut in. "And like any storm, it must be weathered, not outrun."


    He looked around the chamber, his voice low but unyielding.


    "Elysea will not apologize for winds we did not summon."


    A long silence followed.


    Finally, Queen Amelie, seated at the far end of the hall, spoke clearly:


    "Then we will fly higher than their lies."


    Bruno smiled faintly.


    Exactly.


    The Skies Above ¡ª Dawn


    And so the Ravenspear flights continued.


    Higher.


    Wider.


    Undefeated.


    Even as the world below argued, schemed, and feared, above the clouds Elysea''s wings remained.


    Three silhouettes at sunrise¡ªsilver-edged, sharp, unbroken.


    A warning.


    A promise.


    A future carved not with fear, but with defiance.


    And far behind them, hidden among darker clouds, a single Veles waited.


    Silent.


    Watching.


    The duel of sky and will was far from over.


    But as the Ravenspears climbed ever upward, the message could not be clearer:


    The hawk did not fear the serpent.


    The hawk flew still.


    The Ravenspears banked wide over the strait, maintaining their silent ballet.


    Amalia''s breathing was steady, the cold biting even through the insulation. She scanned the horizon, reading the subtle movements of the clouds as carefully as a general reads a battlefield.


    Below, the convoy ships pressed onward, undeterred by the rumors now sweeping across newsrooms and embassies alike. Some captains raised flags¡ªwhite, blue, striped¡ªpleas for neutrality painted in fabric.


    Amalia acknowledged them with a slow, deliberate roll, signaling no threat.


    That, too, was a message.


    "We are not the aggressors."


    Her radio buzzed faintly to life.


    "Spears, control," came Bruno''s voice, tight but calm. "New orders. Widen surveillance arcs. Begin phased descent patterns. Visual records to be retrieved at station Echo-5."


    "Acknowledged," Amalia replied.


    One by one, her formation peeled wider, expanding like ripples from a dropped stone. From the ground or sea, they would look like a net cast across the sky¡ªan unmistakable show of endurance, not dominance.


    Elysea did not fly to crush.


    They flew to endure.


    Port-Luthair ¡ª Watch Tower


    Bruno watched through binoculars as the distant dots shifted formation.


    Leclerc approached, a new dispatch in hand.


    "Initial neutral reports coming in," he said. "Split reactions. Some fear escalation. Others quietly admire the discipline shown."


    Bruno lowered the binoculars, setting them on the ledge.


    "It''s not just about who fires first," he said quietly. "It''s about who holds the sky longest without flinching."


    He turned to Leclerc, his voice low.


    "And we will not flinch."


    Velmir ¡ª Hidden War Council


    Tsar Mikhail listened to the latest intelligence with growing irritation.


    "The Elyseans continue patrols unabated," Orlov summarized. "Minimal deviation. High civilian support reported within their territory."


    "They refuse the bait," one general grumbled.


    Mikhail set his glass down hard.


    "Then we lay more traps," he said. "Heavier. Louder."


    He tapped the war map spread before them.


    "New operations. New provocations. If the hawk will not descend to strike, we shall build ladders of fire beneath its wings."


    Orlov hesitated.


    "And if they adapt again?"


    Mikhail''s eyes gleamed.


    "Then we force them to bleed adapting."


    Elysee ¡ª Royal Balcony, Sunset


    Bruno stood alone now.


    The city of Elysee sprawled below him, lanterns twinkling like fallen stars. Far beyond, past the mists of evening, he could almost sense the hidden movements of fleets and factions.


    The world was no longer quiet.


    It was listening.


    The burden of leadership pressed heavier now¡ªbut he did not falter.


    Behind him, Amalia stepped forward, Louis bundled in her arms, already drowsing.


    "They fear us because they cannot see where we will fly next," she said.


    Bruno smiled faintly without looking away.


    "And we must ensure they never do."


    The air was cold.


    The sky was vast.


    And high above, beyond reach but never out of sight, the Ravenspears drew their silver lines across the heavens.


    A signature.


    A promise.


    The hawk flew still.


    And it would not fall.

 Chapter 172 - 172: The First Crack

    Caldre Strait ¡ª Early Morning Mist


    The air was thicker today.


    The usual pale mist that clung to the strait had deepened into a rolling fog, swallowing the horizon in shifting curtains of gray. Ravenspear Flight Four held their course, engines purring steadily as they carved unseen paths above the waves.


    Amalia adjusted her oxygen mask slightly, glancing at her altimeter. Holding at twelve thousand feet. Enough to stay above the worst turbulence¡ªbut low enough to keep the merchant convoys within distant view.


    "Formation holding," Rena''s voice crackled over the headset. "No visual on any new Veles sightings."


    "Understood," Amalia replied. She glanced left through the curved glass of her canopy.


    Somewhere out there, the serpent watched.


    And it was waiting.


    They all were.


    Port-Luthair ¡ª Air Corps Strategic Tent


    Bruno stood over the latest aerial photos, freshly developed and still curling at the edges from the chemical baths.


    Merchant convoys, warships flying neutral flags, bloated cargo vessels¡ªeach frozen in black and white.


    He tapped a photo with his gloved finger.


    "The Seraphine Dawn," he muttered.


    Still afloat. Still sailing after the staged ''attack'' that had sparked so much political wildfire. But its shadow loomed larger than any battleship.


    "They''ll try another," Leclerc said from across the table. "Different bait. Different staging."


    Bruno nodded.


    "The question is where," he said. "And when."


    He turned to the communications officer.


    "Double our aerial reconnaissance along the southern trade routes. I want every cargo manifest cross-referenced before ships clear neutral harbors."


    The officer saluted and hurried out.


    Leclerc leaned in.


    "And if they escalate beyond tricks?"


    Bruno met his gaze, unblinking.


    "Then we show them why hawks rule the skies."


    Velmir ¡ª Strategy Bunker


    Tsar Mikhail circled the war map like a stalking wolf.


    "Our false flag stirred the waters," Orlov said cautiously. "But Elysea stands firm. Public opinion splits by nation. Some believe them. Some don''t."


    Mikhail tapped the map near the Aurenne straits.


    "And Germania?"


    Orlov hesitated.


    "They urge caution¡ªpublicly. But privately... they are moving ships."


    Mikhail smiled darkly.


    "Good."


    He straightened and addressed the assembled generals.


    "Prepare Operation Harrowmark."


    A ripple passed through the room. Harrowmark had been theorized only in the most secret councils¡ªan intentional, limited naval engagement. One they could disavow if needed.


    A spark.


    Mikhail''s voice was cold.


    "We light the match. Let others fan the flames."


    Caldre Strait ¡ª Two Days Later


    The trap was set again.


    Amalia, in Ravenspear Four, skimmed just above the clouds, her squadron fanned out around her like the spokes of a slow-moving wheel.


    Below, a convoy crept along the strait¡ªa mixture of Elysean and neutral ships.


    Nothing unusual on the surface.


    Until she spotted it.


    A small cutter, low in the water, flying neutral colors¡ªbut turning aggressively across the convoy''s path.


    "Contact, bearing three-zero-five," Amalia snapped over the radio. "Small craft. Maneuvering erratically." S§×arch* The Nov§×l?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.


    Rena''s voice: "Visual confirmed."


    Hartwell: "Could be civilian panic."


    Or something worse.


    Amalia banked slightly to keep the cutter in view. Through her glass, she caught sight of figures scrambling across the deck¡ªmen hauling something to the gunwale.


    Not fishing nets.


    Weapons.


    She tightened her grip on the stick.


    "Control, this is Spear-4. Possible hostile action in progress."


    Bruno''s voice came back at once, calm and sharp.


    "Observe only. No engagement unless attacked."


    Amalia circled, heart hammering.


    Down below, the cutter fired.


    A single flash.


    Smoke and flame blossomed briefly from the cutter''s deck¡ªa cannon shot, crude but clear¡ªaimed not at Elyseans, but at the merchant convoy.


    A staged assault.


    Trying to make it look like an attack between convoys.


    An excuse.


    A spark.


    "Gunfire confirmed!" Hartwell barked.


    "Maintain altitude!" Amalia ordered. "Record everything!"


    Her camera pod whirred into action.


    They would have proof.


    Proof they hadn''t fired first.


    Proof the stage was rigged.


    But would the world care?


    Port-Luthair ¡ª Command Tent


    The reports came thick and fast.


    "Small-scale skirmish between merchant crews¡ªno Elysean involvement."


    "Neutral ships scattering."


    "Pan-Am reporters aboard nearby vessels¡ªlikely planned."


    Bruno issued orders in rapid succession.


    "Send peace signals to all merchant frequencies. Broadcast our non-engagement records. Deploy rescue cutters to assist any neutral ships."


    He slammed a fist against the table.


    "They want chaos," he said. "We answer with order."


    Leclerc leaned over.


    "And the Veles?"


    Bruno''s eyes narrowed.


    "Still out there," he said. "Still waiting for blood."


    Velmir ¡ª Veles Control Center


    Tsar Mikhail received the reports with a sardonic tilt of his head.


    "Merchant conflict escalating. Elysean presence verified."


    "But no shots fired by them," Orlov added dryly.


    The Tsar said nothing for a moment.


    Then he smiled¡ªthin, cruel.


    "The facts do not matter. Only the fear."


    He turned to the communications staff.


    "Spread the word: Elysea brings violence wherever its shadow falls."


    "And Veles?" Orlov asked.


    The Tsar''s eyes gleamed.


    "Tell it to circle wider. Let them wonder where the hammer will fall."


    Caldre Strait ¡ª Nightfall


    The sea boiled with uncertainty.


    Ships steamed faster now, ignoring official orders. Patrol boats from neutral nations zipped back and forth, flashing signals in desperate attempts to establish control.


    Above it all, Ravenspear Flight Four held their lonely vigil.


    Amalia watched the chaos below, jaw tight.


    "They think we caused this," Rena said over the radio, sadness creeping into her voice.


    "No," Amalia replied. "They think we could have stopped it. And that''s enough."


    She adjusted her trim slightly, keeping her arc.


    "Stay steady," she ordered. "The hawk doesn''t dive for bait."


    Elysee ¡ª Royal War Council


    The storm of politics was fiercer than the one in the strait.


    Ministers shouted again.


    Foreign emissaries filed protests.


    Newspapers screamed headlines in every city.


    And yet, amid it all, Bruno remained still.


    "They cannot accuse us," he said.


    "But they can fear us," Amalie added from beside him.


    Bruno nodded slowly.


    "And fear," he said, "is a blade that cuts both ways."


    He stood.


    And the room fell silent.


    "Our answer is not retreat," he said. "It is vigilance."


    He turned toward the tall windows where the early stars were beginning to pierce the darkness.


    "And readiness."


    The Skies ¡ª Midnight


    Far above the slumbering earth, in the thin, frozen air where only steel and will could survive, three Ravenspears flew still.


    Their lights were faint.


    Their engines steady.


    Their wings unbroken.


    The storm of lies roared below them¡ªbut the sky was theirs.


    For now.


    But as Amalia gazed ahead into the endless dark, she knew the game had changed.


    The first crack had been struck.


    The hawk still flew.


    But now¡ªit would have to fight to soar.


    And the serpent?


    It had only begun to coil.


    Far Over the Strait ¡ª Pre-Dawn Hours


    The mist thickened again, blurring the world into a swirling cauldron of half-shapes and half-lights.


    Above it, the Ravenspears flew on ¡ª tireless, watchful.


    Amalia shifted slightly in her seat. Her back ached from hours in the cramped cockpit, but she refused to let it dull her edge. Discipline. Focus. That''s what the enemy sought to erode, more than their steel.


    Below her, faint flashes winked through the fog: signal lamps, naval flares, panicked Morse codes bouncing uselessly between ships that no longer trusted each other.


    She caught Rena''s voice through the low crackle of the comms.


    "Spears, this is Raven-Lead. Weather closing in tighter. Recommend phased return to Echo-5."


    Hartwell seconded it a moment later.


    Amalia hesitated, scanning the dim void ahead.


    Still no sign of the Veles.


    Still no sign of the next strike.


    Yet the air felt heavier somehow, like a breath held too long.


    She keyed her mic.


    "Raven-Lead, this is Spear-2. Copy recommendation. Setting staggered RTB sequence. Hartwell first, Rena second. I''ll stay until last pass."


    "Understood," came Rena''s reply, tight but professional.


    One by one, the formation peeled off into the mist, engines throttling for home.


    Amalia circled one last time over the stormy sea, the stars fading in the growing light.


    She didn''t know what lay beneath the fog now.


    Only that the next clash would not be of cameras and accusations.


    It would be steel. And fire.


    She turned the Ravenspear toward home.


    Port-Luthair ¡ª Pre-Dawn Landing Strips


    The ground crews worked quickly despite the cold, guiding the battered aircraft into their covered bays. Mechanics in heavy coats swarmed the fuselages even before the engines finished winding down.


    Amalia climbed stiffly from the cockpit and was immediately met by Hartwell.


    "Anything?" he asked.


    She shook her head.


    "No move. Not tonight."


    "But soon," he said grimly.


    They walked side-by-side toward the debriefing tent, their boots crunching frost from the still-sleeping earth.


    Inside, Bruno was already waiting.


    He stood behind a simple map table, his uniform slightly rumpled from long hours awake, his hands behind his back.


    He didn''t waste time with greetings.


    "What did you see?"


    Amalia gave her report swiftly, cleanly.


    Bruno listened without interruption.


    Only when she finished did he speak.


    "They''re finished testing our patience," he said.


    He tapped the map with two fingers.


    "The next move will be open."


    Amalia exchanged a glance with Hartwell.


    "You think they''ll attack openly?" she asked.


    Bruno nodded once.


    "They''ve tried smoke and mirrors. Now they''ll try fire."


    He looked up at them, his gaze steel.


    "And when they do... we don''t flinch. We answer."


    Velmir ¡ª Veles Hangar


    In the icy gloom of the hidden hangars, final preparations were underway.


    Technicians armed the Veles with live payloads ¡ª heavy, ugly, untraceable.


    There would be no warning next time.


    No smoke for show.


    No staged provocations.


    Only ruin.


    Tsar Mikhail stood high on the observation platform, watching the serpent he had built.


    Soon, it would fly.


    And it would not fly for show.


    "Make ready," he said, his voice echoing across the chamber.


    "The sky is theirs tonight."