Chapter 45: Revolution Era - Simulation
In the sitting room of the Aquitaine estate, Louis Aquitaine was sitting on
the sofa, supposedly engrossed in reading a book on magic.
To be more precise, he was merely flipping through the pages of the book he
held, without much intent to delve into its contents.
“This situation is far from favorable. It might be a reaction against the
suppression we’ve faced from the radicals, but it’s excessive.”
The voice of his sister, Christine Aquitaine, was heard from the center of the
room.
“Yet, my lord, to propose the free distribution of land and to grant equal
voting rights regardless of wealth is unthinkable. Even the moderates, who are
primarily wealthy, and we, of noble birth, cannot support such preposterous
proposals from the radicals.”
Baron Caron, his sister's loyal aide, answered.
“Indeed, if such proposals were to pass, it would not bode well for us.
However, there were items on the agenda worth conceding to.”
Louis, unable to concentrate and with a soft sigh, turned his head to observe
the ongoing conversation between his sister and Baron Caron.
“The radicals still hold the majority in the parliament. Although the
moderates and we have temporarily secured a majority by joining forces, if we
start vetoing all their proposals, it will only lead to dissatisfaction among
the radicals and their supporters among the populace.”
“Ahem, in that case....”
“Both the moderates and we need to adjust our stances. A minimum level of
cooperation to appease the radicals is necessary for us to gain easier control
over the parliament.”
“Understood, my lord. I will make contact with them.”
“Thank you. You may leave now.”
Before leaving the room, Baron Caron cast a fleeting glance at Louis, who
quickly returned his focus to his book.
Once Baron Caron had left and Louis redirected his attention back to the
center of the study, he saw his half-sister, Christine Aquitaine, with her
eyes dark and absorbed, swiftly reading through and signing a mountain of
documents piled upon her desk.
Unfazed by the paperwork in front of her, as if she were a machine rather than
a person, his sister processed documents with a speed he could never hope to
match, seemingly unaware of his gaze or perhaps choosing to ignore it.
Louis, now 11, was precocious. He had to be.
The winter he was 8, his happy childhood vanished overnight, and his mother
was executed before his eyes on his sister’s orders.
Since then, everyone in Aquitaine treaded around him with sensitivity, aware
of his circumstances.
The vassals of Aquitaine treated him like a stain.
Seeing him, they were reminded of his mother who had killed the previous count
and even attempted to kill his daughter. Rationally, Louis understood their
behavior.
Yet, the burning gazes filled with a desire to rid themselves of him
immediately were both tormenting and exhausting.
After moving to the capital with his sister, encounters with them lessened,
but the servants here were just as attentive to him.
Some looked at him with pity for losing his mother in a fratricidal conflict,
offering unwanted kindness, while others kept their distance as if he were a
traitor.
Being alone in places devoid of people was a relief, but Louis, who had grown
up with affectionate attention, found the loneliness hard to bear.
Thus, he often spent his time in his sister’s office.
She didn’t bother him with unnecessary concern or react sensitively to every
word he said.
Ironically, his sister, the very person who had killed his mother, was the
only one who saw him not as the son of Yvonne but as Louis.
Louis gave up trying to read unreadable books and just watched his sister.
At 21, his sister was quite beautiful to his young eyes, but that was it.
She would wear minimal adornments befitting a lady, but always in black
dresses resembling mourning clothes, dedicating almost all her time to work
except when asleep.
Louis sighed softly, watching his sister’s deep, murky, and lifeless eyes
constantly moving, as if submerged in the abyss.
Christine, before that day, was not like this.
Even though she worked a lot back then, she still made time to read to him
leisurely or enjoy hobbies, living a life befitting a human.
She used to have lively eyes and a ready smile, not these cold, murky ones.
When his mother was killed, Louis barely understood anything, but as time
passed, the vassals forced upon him the unwanted details, and now he
understood.
Their intention must have been to ensure he harbored no ill will. After all,
his mother had committed an unforgivable act, a deed worthy of death.
Louis understood this logically.
Yet, Yvonne was the mother who loved Louis, and he couldn’t completely erase
his resentment towards his sister. Such feelings can’t be resolved with logic
alone.
...However.
If only his sister had lived more like a human. Even if she had shown
righteous anger and disgust towards him, perhaps then Louis might have dreamed
of hating her, of seeking revenge.
But with her lifeless eyes, living without knowing why, how could he?
Displeased with her state, Louis stood up and called out to his sister.
“Sister.”
A flicker of life stirred in her otherwise cold, submerged eyes as Christine
lifted her face to meet his gaze.
With a soft smile, she responded.
“What is it, Louis?”
Louis hesitated for a moment.
Even if they were of different mothers, this boy shared the same blood as his
sister and was quite intelligent.
He quickly grasped his situation and had the judgment not to blindly hate
Christine simply because she had killed his mother.
But what his sister wanted from him, Louis couldn’t fathom at all.
The vassals’ reluctance to harm him, despite their hatred, was probably due to
his sister’s orders.
Why?
Since that day, he had always wanted to ask but never did. The question
swirled in his mouth, unasked.
Titles and businesses are generally expected to be passed down to men.
Despite being a decade younger and with Christine having proven her capability
by taking control of the merchant guild, Louis was considered a potential
successor in the shadows.
With Yvonne and her close associates executed and the count dead, Christine
succeeded the title, yet Louis’s mere existence posed a threat to her.
Why did you spare his life?
Why does she still treat him as her brother?
“...I want to learn magic.”
What eventually came out was something else entirely. Christine glanced at the
magic book in his hand and nodded.
“Would you like to study abroad in Holland?”
“...Yes.”
Holland.
Located to the north of Francia and northwest of the Germanian Empire, it was
a kingdom of magic where the greatest human mages gathered.
Upon hearing his interest in magic, Christine immediately invited a mage from
Holland to assess Louis’s aptitude and bought him a basic magic book as a
gift.
“Good. They said you have an aptitude, so I’ll look into it.”
Most magicians in Francia were commoners with some magical prowess, hardly
comparable to the mages of Holland, known for their superior skills.
Naturally, most nobles interested in magic would study in Holland.
Still, he hadn’t expected a straightforward answer to send the son of a
traitor and a half-brother off to study abroad so willingly.
Many thoughts swirled in his mind, but all he could express was a simple
gratitude.
“Thank you, Sister.”
Christine smiled gently at him.
Just like she used to before that day.
Louis absentmindedly fiddled with the brooch he wore on his chest.
“Is it still uncomfortable?”
“No, it’s not that...”
“There’s always a ‘what if,’ so keep it with you.”
“Yes....”
The brooch Louis wore was an artifact imbued with a protection spell, ordered
by his sister while inviting a mage from the Kingdom of Magic.
Fiddling with his brooch, Louis lightly tested the magic it emanated. He
wasn’t sure, but he doubted it was something one would buy for someone they
considered expendable.
Louis’s eyes scanned his sister’s black dress, reminiscent of mourning attire.
She, on her part, wore no jewelry at all.
When his sister first handed him the broach, he thought the accompanying black
rose brooch was for her, but it wasn’t.
“...It’s getting late, so I’ll be going now.”
He hadn’t expected it at all, but he had been granted permission to study
abroad. At least, by going abroad, he could escape this suffocating life of
constantly watching out for others’ judgments.
“Alright, sleep well, Louis.”
As Louis was about to leave his sister’s office, he glanced back briefly.
But what about his sister?
The slight spark in her eyes during their conversation had returned to its
usual submerged darkness as she busied herself with paperwork.
Louis remembered the man his sister had given the black rose broach to.
The Duke of Lafayette, Pierre de Lafayette.
It was an uncomfortable thought for Louis, but apart from him, his sister
seemed almost alive when she was with that man.
'If you must live like this, at least show me you can be happy with him,
Sister.'
'So that I can freely feel jealous and sad.'
With these words he couldn’t dare speak aloud, Louis left his sister’s office.
***
In the capital of the Francia Republic, Lumière.
In a secret club led by Representative Saint-Just of the Republican radicals,
several members of the radical faction and their followers gathered.
“It’s truly lamentable that these damned capitalists and nobles are dominating
the parliament.”
As Christine feared, despite holding the majority of seats in the National
Assembly, the radicals were filled with discontent for not being able to pass
most of their agenda.
“If it weren’t for the collusion between the filthy moderates and the nobility
faction, this republic could have moved in a far more positive and reformative
direction!”
“One of our biggest problems is that all of our key supporters, the peasants,
have enlisted in the revolutionary army. With the awakened ones at the front,
who would have thought we’d see the day when people in Lumière, the heart of
the revolution, would praise the nobility just for making bread cheaper!”
Saint-Just surveyed the assembly of vehemently protesting members before
speaking up.
“It seems we need to take action.”
“Action, you say...?”
“The bond between those blue-blooded nobles and the moderate members isn’t
inherently strong. If we can just sever their focal point, their frail
alliance will crumble like a sandcastle.”
Saint-Just calmly looked around at the members before continuing.
“These filthy schemers are tarnishing the cause of the revolution. If we’re
not careful, Francia could regress to the old order before the revolution, all
because of them.”
A sense of alarm spread across the faces of the members. That was, after all,
their worst-case scenario.
“Unfortunately, with no suitable systemic response to them at the moment, we
must resort to more drastic actions to assert our will.”
“...Are you suggesting we resort to terrorism?”
Murmurs of apprehension filled the room, and Saint-Just responded.
“If necessary, we must consider all options available to us, including
assassination.”
“But, the Duke of Lafayette, their linchpin, is a formidable knight. Is it
even feasible for us to assassinate him...?”
“While the Duke may be their nominal leader, his political influence is
limited due to his duties as a military commander. However, isn’t there
someone even more dangerous freely operating in the capital?”
After a moment of silence, a member spoke up gravely.
“Are you suggesting we target the Countess of Aquitaine, that black witch?”
The black Seductress, Lafayette’s concubine, the witch of Aquitaine.
Those who recalled the woman who effectively manipulated the National Assembly
and was despised by the radicals, addressed by various derogatory nicknames
filled with hatred and contempt, hardened their expressions.
“Indeed. Unlike the other nobles, this woman utilizes the capitalists’ methods
while also mastering the art of blinding the foolish masses. She’s far more
dangerous than the Duke of Lafayette.”
“Certainly, without her, the linchpin between the capitalists and the nobility
might just dissolve.”
“The thought of those traitors swayed by that evil witch’s cunning tongue and
filthy money...”
As Saint-Just was about to smile in agreement, a member spoke up gravely.
“However, Representative Zidor will not agree.”
Saint-Just’s face stiffened momentarily as he remembered the man he once
greatly admired as the leader of the radicals, but he quickly began to
articulate his rationale in convincing terms.
“You’re right. He would not agree. I too admire his lofty ideals and
integrity. But look at the situation we’re in.
Unfortunately, justice and law alone cannot solve everything.”
With a dangerous glint in his eye, Saint-Just made eye contact with each
member present, asserting with fanatical conviction.
“If we truly serve the cause of the revolution, someone must be willing to get
their hands dirty in his stead. True patriots of the republic, like us.”
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