Life of Being a Crown Prince in France

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"We’re half a league away." At the very front of the group of "farmers," Blanche, wearing a worn felt hat, put away his spyglass and said to the tanned middle-aged man beside him, "This mission’s damn dangerous. God help us, let’s hope those guys won’t open fire on us directly."

"They shouldn’t. Rioters have been here before, and they barely used their guns." The middle-aged man spoke with a thick southern accent, "After this mission, you’ll likely be the second in command of the action team."

Hearing this, the look of complaint on Blanche’s face disappeared instantly. Indeed, the mission was risky, but the reward was ample—promotion by two ranks.

Moreover, according to what he had heard, the Police Affairs Department was soon to be upgraded to the "Intelligence Department." That would mean the second in command of the action team would be equivalent to Assistant Director of Police Services!

He flashed a smile and said politely to the middle-aged man, "You should be up for a promotion after this as well, right?"

But the latter just waved his hand in disappointment, "Aren’t you aware of the situation with the Royal Police? Promotion is only for those who can bribe their superiors..."

The two of them whispered to each other and soon could make out the long stone fence of the manor. n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

Blanche reminded his men of the original plan: agents without weapons in the front, those with guns in the back, before taking the lead toward the manor’s gates.

The soldiers of the Moncalm Legion guarding the manor quickly spotted the group of over three hundred "rioters" and shouted loudly to halt them, "Stop right there! This is Count Seyrelier’s territory, get lost immediately!"

The "farmers" on Blanche’s side started to clamor in southern accents, "We’re about to starve, give us some food!"

"Do us a favor, good sir..."

"Let us in, and we’ll just take some food..."

The soldiers at the gate looked at each other and raised their guns.

"Let’s charge!" Blanche shouted and pulled out a sling from his coat pocket, twirled it around several times, then flicked his wrist, and a stone flew towards the soldiers.

Other "rioters" followed suit, and soon the "whooshing" of slings spun through the air, and stones rained down on the soldiers like droplets.

Such slings could easily hurl stones seventy or eighty meters—a perfect weapon for riots, and the soldiers were forced back with cries of pain.

As the warning bells rang, it wasn’t long before a battalion of soldiers emerged, closing in on the "rioters" and shooting wildly to disperse them.

The rioters immediately shouted, "These soldiers are trying to kill us!"

"Damn it, they even want to deprive us of our right to eat!"

"So what about guns? We’ve got them too!"

"Let’s fight it out with them!"

The "rioters" in the back suddenly pulled out guns hidden behind them and fired through the gaps in the crowd at the soldiers outside the manor.

The soldiers clearly didn’t expect them to have real guns, and after a brief moment of shock, they retaliated with even fiercer gunfire.

As the firefight started on the west side of the manor, several figures stealthily climbed into the manor from the northwest corner, setting fires among the flax fields...

Inside the opulent castle-style building at the center of the manor, Marquis de Saint-Veran was carefully choosing his words, "Esteemed Duke, this misunderstanding caused by the rioters... has made His Majesty the King suspicious of his own army, and now only you can help me clarify the situation to His Majesty..."

The Clerk hastily noted it down and presented the paper to him, "Please review it, my lord Marquis."

Marquis de Saint-Veran glanced at it indifferently, signed his name at the end of the letter, and mused over how much money it would take to persuade the Duke to advocate on his behalf.

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200,000 livres? Forget it... better make it 300,000 to be safe.

In his efforts to end his current embarrassing predicament with dignity, he had already spent over 1.2 million livres at the Palace of Versailles currying favor. Not to mention the "funds" provided by the Duke of Orleans, he had also dug into his own coffers for an additional 200,000 plus.

Just as Marquis de Saint-Veran was sealing the envelope with his private seal, he suddenly heard the distant sound of gunfire.

As an officer, he was all too familiar with this—it was the gunfire from Charleville.

"What’s happening?" he frowned and looked at his attendant.

The latter hurried out to inquire about the situation and returned after a short while, reporting to the Marquis, "My lord, a mob is trying to break into the estate, and it seems they have guns. We’ve lost three men."

"Guns? Could it be that the Police Headquarters has been raided?" Marquis de Saint-Veran looked outside the window and said angrily, "These lawless scoundrels! Tell Major Brouin to disperse them immediately."

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"Yes, General."

The orderly officer was about to leave when Marquis de Saint-Veran suddenly thought of something.

The Royal Family had charged him with quelling the unrest, hadn’t they? These rioters showing up on his doorstep could be an opportunity to curry favor with the Royal Family.

Just then, an officer rushed in, knocking on the door urgently and said to Marquis de Saint-Veran, "General, the rioters have set fire to the flax fields of the estate!"

The latter hurried to another window and indeed saw billowing smoke swirling in the distance.

"Those bastards!" The Marquis de Saint-Veran’s teeth ground with a ’grit’.

Count Seyrelier was an influential noble, and with his great army stationed here, being unable to protect his estate was a sheer humiliation to himself!

The Marquis de Saint-Veran immediately roared, "Order Major Brouin to take the troops of two legions and round up all these rioters! Any who dare resist, shoot them on sight!"

"Yes, General."

Half an hour later, Major Brouin led over 3,000 soldiers, marching majestically towards the "rioters". On the left flank of the column, there was even a cavalry troop.

Blanche, upon hearing the sound of horse hooves, sensed something was wrong. He picked up his binoculars for a glance and was instantly drenched in cold sweat, shouting to his subordinates, "Run! Run fast! Throw down the guns."

According to the "script" given to him by his superiors, he was supposed to repeatedly provoke the Moncalm Legion and, after outraging them, they would send some soldiers to attack him.

Why was it that a few thousand troops came at them all at once?

Several hundred "rioters" ran for their lives towards the woodland to the east, with a massive army hot on their heels.

After a wild sprint, the "rioters" saw that they were only two to three hundred meters away from the planned woodland, but the cavalry of the Moncalm Legion had already caught up to them.

The slowest dozen or so were instantly chopped down by sabers, emitting a series of agonized cries.

Blanche, struggling to refrain from looking back, finally dove into the small woodland during a gap when the horsemen turned to regroup.

Major Brouin frowned towards the woodland and ordered three infantry platoons to go in and recapture them, while the rest of the troops surrounded the woodland from both sides.

His orders were quickly carried out.

However, just as the soldiers of those three platoons nonchalantly stepped into the woodland for just over ten seconds, a barrage of gunshot suddenly erupted from within, and clouds of gun smoke rose from the bare trees.