I Became A Genius Of The French Royal Family [EN]: Chapter 164

The autumn rain, which had been drizzling, stopped, and the sky cleared up brilliantly.

It was as if symbolizing the path ahead for the Aristocratic Alliance, which had endured a period of hardship but was now fully prepared.

Marquis de Bellièvre took it as a good omen.

He had to engage in this kind of propaganda to maintain the morale of his hastily assembled troops.

“Yes… Having gathered this many, we can’t possibly lose if we fight properly.”

1789 was a year remembered as a nightmare for the key figures of the aristocratic faction, including Marquis de Bellièvre.

Still, dreams always end and return to reality.

It was a miracle in itself that he managed to escape successfully and gather troops, despite the failed surprise attack.

Marquis de Bellièvre was convinced that his luck had not run out and offered a prayer of gratitude to God.

Marquis de Lonnay and Duke of Chartres were absurdly captured, but he was different.

Now that things had come this far, it was an opportunity for him.

The Duke of Chartres’s value was solely in uniting the nobles, who were otherwise difficult to bring together.

Adding the image of a martyr unjustly oppressed only doubled the effect.

If he could oust the Duke of Orléans and secure Louis XVI’s safety, who would become the de facto ruler of France?

Marquis de Lonnay, who ruined the plan by being crushed in the initial battle?

Or the Duke of Chartres, who might now be imprisoned or secretly killed in some dungeon?

It was obvious that he, not those losers, would take power.

The last advice the Duke of Chartres had given him was long gone from his mind.

‘What? Escape to England right away if you want to live? How ridiculous.’

If he hadn’t been able to gather troops like he had now, he might have seriously followed Chartres’s advice.

But now, he had under his command the troops of numerous nobles who had chosen to revolt rather than have their heads chopped off on the guillotine.

No one would choose to give up everything here and flee to England.

Moreover, Marquis de Bellièvre was not simply relying on the number of troops and falling into complacency.

War is not something you can win just by gathering a lot of riffraff.

The presence of commanders who can lead the soldiers and devise strategies is paramount.

In that respect, he was clearly superior to the Duke of Orléans.

No matter how outstanding the Duke of Orléans might be, he couldn’t possibly lead his troops on the front lines himself.

Even during the American Revolutionary War, it was the field officers, not the Duke of Orléans, who commanded the soldiers.

And currently, Duke Victor-François de Broglie, who had risen to the rank of Marshal of France during the reign of the previous king, had joined the Aristocratic Alliance.

“Your Excellency, the troop deployment is complete according to the plan. Should we march straight to Paris now?”

“If they have any sense, they will come out to intercept us. We will use our numerical superiority to settle the matter then.”

“But if they know they are outnumbered, will they even try to fight us?”

“Paris is not a suitable fortress for a large-scale siege. Besides, they must have their own confidence. We will surely encounter the enemy soon.”

“Haha, I feel secure with you here, Your Excellency. There’s no way those youngsters who were just fighting barbarians in the New World can match your experience.”

In France, Marshal of France is not a military rank but a kind of honorary title awarded to outstanding generals.

Duke Victor-François de Broglie had led the French army during the Seven Years’ War and achieved some success.

Of course, he didn’t display tremendous skill, but the enemies he faced at that time were the allied forces of England, Hanover, Hesse, and Brunswick [German states].

The nobles believed that there was no way they could be defeated by mere youngsters who had only been swatting Indians.

François, who was in charge of the overall command, did not hide his confidence.

“I hear that those who command the armies of New France are just over thirty years old. Some are even just twenty years old.”

“Tsk, tsk, what a degenerate age. Even in our generation, who experienced the Flanders campaign and the Seven Years’ War, such rapid promotions were rare.”

“They must be under the illusion that they have become great figures after fighting uncivilized Indians in the New World.”

François was nearly 70 years old, but he was full of pride in having experienced real war.

New France?

The wars they experienced were fake.

It was unpleasant even to be compared to their generation, who had gone through real hell.

The children of Orléans?

They weren’t even born when he was fighting bloody battles with England.

Names like Napoleon and Berthier were sometimes heard, but frankly, he didn’t care.

“Three days, three days. We will give those kids who don’t even know what war is a proper education and then march straight to Paris.”

“I’m counting on you, Your Excellency.”

Kwarareureung!

At that moment, a thunder-like sound echoed from the distance, and people’s gazes naturally turned.

Judging by the faintness of the sound, it must have exploded quite far away.

François reflexively frowned at the familiar sound he had heard so often in the past.

“Artillery fire?”

Based on the reports from the scouts who had surveyed the area, he expected that if a battle were to take place, it would be in this vicinity.

Since they had numerical superiority, François had made a textbook deployment that was faithful to the basics.

The main force he led would advance towards Paris from the center, and the left and right wings would spread out and slowly narrow the encirclement.

Judging by the direction of the artillery fire, the enemy’s army must have engaged with their left wing.

“What shall we do? Should we send reinforcements to the left wing immediately?”

“No, the enemy is small anyway. There’s no need to slow down our advance…”

“Enemy!”

“Enemies in sight!”

Before François could even issue an order, screams full of tension were heard from the front.

The lyrics of the song carried by the wind were clearly the French royal anthem.

Were those impudent youngsters really launching a frontal assault without fear?

“All troops! Prepare for battle!”

“General! The enemies are setting up cannons up there!”

“Then return fire!”

“Their movements are too fast to keep up with!”

“What nonsense…”

François glanced over and saw that the enemy’s artillery, already in position, was preparing to fire.

He wondered how that was possible, and then he noticed that the shape of the cannons was slightly different from the ones they used.

“Have they modified the cannons to move quickly?”

Before he could finish thinking that the enemy’s level might be higher than he thought,

Kwakwang! Kwakwakwang! Tatatata!

The enemy’s offensive began much faster than expected.

“General! They are firing cannons!”

“Cavalry is charging from the flanks!”

“Aaaaaah! They’re coming!”

“Don’t panic! Form ranks and face them!”

Orders were futilely scattered amidst the screams pouring in from all directions.

The enemies did not try to overcome their numerical inferiority by advancing infantry in a textbook manner to engage in a power struggle, or by setting up ambushes.

They were clearly fighting head-on, but he had never experienced an opponent who pushed so quickly.

The speed at which the artillery occupied advantageous positions, the movements of the cavalry that relentlessly harassed their allies while supporting them, and the simultaneous offensive of the infantry.

“Return fire! Return fire!”

“Send a messenger to tell the right wing to join us!”

“The right wing has also been attacked by the enemy’s cavalry. And the enemy’s artillery is threatening, so the route is restricted.”

“Damn it. This can’t be happening…”

How could those guys who had been playing house with the Indians in the backwoods move like this?

François had never even imagined that artillery, cavalry, and infantry could move so organically.

Not France, not England, not Spain, not even Prussia had commanded soldiers like this during the Seven Years’ War.

“The flank has been breached!”

“It’s too late to reload! Fix bayonets! Fix baaaayoneeets!”

“Shit! Do something!”

It was almost an exaggeration to say that the central army of the aristocratic faction, which had been so confident just a moment ago, had become uncontrollable in what felt like an instant.

Joachim Murat’s cavalry, who had penetrated the enemy faster than anyone else, began to stir up François’s army as if they were taking a stroll.

Tang!

“Kwak!”

Peok! Peoeok!

“Die, you rebel bastards!”

He didn’t know who was leading the cavalry, but the timing of their hit-and-run tactics was so perfect that it made him want to curse.

This was beyond what the commander-in-chief could do.

It was an acrobatic feat that would be impossible unless the officer leading the cavalry had a sense that was on a different level.

François didn’t know, but the left wing was led by Jean Lannes and Davout, and those annihilating the right wing were Masséna, Berthier, and Bessières.

And in the center, under Napoleon’s command, Michel Ney and Joachim Murat were displaying their prowess as if showing off their talents.

With the most outstanding figures in the history of the French army all mobilized, the numerical inferiority was meaningless.

Besides, they only lacked infantry, and they had enough cavalry and artillery to utilize their talents.

From the beginning, it was not a situation that François could do anything about.

Of course, he was completely unaware of this situation and simply felt possessed by a ghost.

His high pride was refusing to accept this nightmare unfolding before his eyes.

Nevertheless, his instincts, honed by years of experience on the battlefield, did not lie.

“…What are these guys?”

The glorious baton symbolizing the Marshal of France drooped.

They couldn’t win.

He didn’t know what had happened while he had briefly stepped away from the military, but the new French army had become something fundamentally different from before.

Only then could he understand the meaning of those young men commanding the New French army.

It wasn’t because the existing commanders were lacking.

It was because those young people were so much more capable that they were able to take command of an army.

“Heo…”

He glanced to the side and saw that Marquis de Bellièvre, who had been flattering him with every word, had disappeared.

Had he run away faster than anyone else again?

“Have you ever seen such a stupid bastard… He should have told me that there were such monsters.”

To be honest, he felt a bit wronged.

At the same time, he wanted to lash out at the Duke of Orléans for hiding his cards so well.

He would probably be waiting for news of victory in Paris, laughing at them for foolishly starting a rebellion.

Still, he had something to say.

Why did he confidently start a rebellion?

Because he didn’t know!

If he had known they had an army of this caliber, would he have even dared to start a rebellion?

Now he could understand.

The reason why they had perfectly blocked the surprise attack on Paris, allowed Marquis de Bellièvre to escape, and waited for them to revolt.

It was because they were confident that they could easily crush them no matter how much they struggled.

“All troops, retreat…”

Without even having to say the word retreat, the soldiers had already thrown away their weapons and started running away in a frenzy.

The enemy army did not seem to want to kill the soldiers, and were only capturing officers who appeared to be nobles as prisoners.

Then, the soldiers, having roughly read the atmosphere, threw their weapons far away and expressed their intention to surrender.

“Hoo…”

The Marshal of France.

Duke Victor-François de Broglie did not avoid the enemy cavalry approaching him and stepped forward.

“If we had these young men, we wouldn’t have suffered such humiliation in the Seven Years’ War…”

Could he be any more unlucky?

Even until the moment his arms were handcuffed, François could not shake off the feeling of injustice.

※※※

“Hmm, so the French nobles are launching a general uprising… Even for Christian [Duke of Orléans], this won’t be easy. But why did he create this situation? Is he that confident?”

Pitt, having heard the report that Marquis de Bellièvre had raised an army and was heading to Paris, carefully assessed the current situation.

“Shall we wait and see how things unfold? If we play our cards right, we might be able to deepen the chaos in France without being noticed.”

Fortunately, the King and Parliament had accepted Pitt’s proposal to seize India while France was busy sorting out its internal affairs.

If he could secretly support Marquis de Bellièvre and make the French civil war even more of a mess, he couldn’t ask for more.

However, the movements of Christian and the nobles were so fast that it was difficult to gauge the timing to intervene.

The fact that things had progressed this quickly meant that Christian must have planned for the situation to unfold this way.

“Anyway, we need to convene Parliament as soon as the holidays are over.”

He wanted to summon the members of Parliament right away, but calling them during the holidays would only earn him a barrage of complaints.

And the French nobles seemed to have risen on a fairly large scale, so he expected them to hold out to some extent.

Surely nothing would happen in just three days.

However, exactly three days later, as soon as Parliament convened, Pitt tore at his hair and sighed at the devastating news that had arrived.

“Breaking news! The French rebellion has been suppressed. The royal army led by Bonaparte Napoleon has annihilated the rebels!”

“…”

The members of Parliament, who had been racking their brains over how to deal with the rebellion in France, could only blink in stunned silence.

“Those stupid bastards couldn’t even last three days and were wiped out!”

That day. This rebellion, which was absurdly concluded with a word shouted in anger by someone, would later be called the ‘Three-Day Rebellion’ in England.