Chapter 69: Presidential Government - Guardians of the Revolution (1)
The day after Pierre de Lafayette left for the south with the envoys of King
Croxus.
Before dawn had even broken.
Raphael Ballian was sitting cross-legged in the command room of the northern
army.
On the table before him lay a map of all of Francia and a chess set.
“Well, then.”
Ballian slowly reached out, picking up a knight from the chessboard.
“Since we’ve taken the initiative, might as well start with a bit of
treachery to spice things up.”
* * *
Loud knocking resonated at the mansion of General Louis Dezy, the chief of
staff and acting commander of the southern army.
Disturbed from his sleep, Dezy peered out the window, cursing under his
breath as he barely made out the pre-dawn twilight.
“What madmen at this hour... Damn it all.”
Just as Dezy hurriedly donned his coat and was about to grab his sword,
panicked screams and footsteps of the servants came from outside.
After a nearly ceremonial knock, the door was flung open, and Dezy’s frown
deepened at the sight of the man who entered.
“General Morel.”
Jerome Morel, the northern army’s cavalry general, clad in a splendid
cavalry uniform, smiled slightly as he spoke.
“My apologies for the late hour, General Louis Dezy.”
“If you were sorry, you shouldn’t be doing this, should you?”
“Ah, well, given the circumstances, I hope you’ll understand. General Dezy?
There’s been an accusation of you embezzling supplies meant for the
confederate army. Not that I believe a man of your stature would do such a
thing, but I would appreciate your cooperation in the investigation.”
Dezy let out a hollow laugh upon seeing the order signed by Raphael Ballian
handed to him by Morel.
If Pierre had been there, it might have been a different story, but with the
chain of command as it is, any protest could only be made after the facts
were established.
Grinding his teeth in frustration, Dezy saw Morel and the armored cavalrymen
standing behind him, then threw his sword aside and raised his hands.
“I’ll comply with the investigation, but if it turns out to be nothing,
you’ll have to deal with the consequences.”
To the visibly displeased Dezy, Morel responded with a grin.
“A wise decision, General Dezy.”
* * *
“Commander, we have secured General Louis Dezy.”
Ballian smiled thinly, plucking an enemy knight from the chessboard and
laying it down.
By regulation, in the absence of both Duke Lafayette, the commander, and
Dezy, the acting commander of the southern army, command falls to Ballian,
the commander of the northern army.
No one could have anticipated that a rule created for emergency cooperation
between the northern and southern armies during wartime would be used in
such a manner.
While the southern army wouldn’t readily obey Ballian’s orders, the absence
of their leadership would temporarily neutralize them.
Even if the southern army vehemently protested later, finding a suitable
scapegoat to pin the blame on would likely defuse the situation.
This was the plan Ballian devised, not wishing to incite a civil war and
street fighting in the capital.
Regardless of Lafayette’s preparations away from the capital, everything
would be concluded in the gap created by Dezy’s arrest.
“Now, it’s time for our faithful bishop to make a move.”
Ballian chuckled, picking up a bishop from the chessboard, ready to shake up
the National Assembly and find a fall guy to take the blame if necessary.
* * *
At that moment, in the capital of Lumière, at the mansion owned by the
Aquitaine family.
Christine Aquitaine, having received news of Dezy’s arrest from her
informants, quickly changed and made her way to her office.
She pulled a bookshelf in her office, revealing a hidden room she stepped
into.
Her black dress blended into the darkness of the lightless room, and with
familiar ease, Christine moved towards a corner of the room and lit a
magical lamp.
The walls of the illuminated room were plastered with countless plans, and
another desk was stacked with blank orders signed by Pierre de Lafayette.
Christine quickly discarded one of the plans she had prepared.
The fact that Ballian started by arresting Louis Dezy instead of her
suggested he did not want a direct confrontation with the southern army.
Perhaps after overthrowing the National Assembly, he might plan to negotiate
and seek cooperation with Pierre.
A cold smile spread across Christine’s lips. Such a naive notion. Or rather,
an overconfident one.
Had she been in Ballian’s place, she would have planned to purge Pierre
first, ensuring perfection by eliminating herself as the initial step.
The ease with which such thoughts came to her might be the true anomaly,
Christine mused with a self-mocking laugh.
Pierre naively thought she was wary of the relationship between him and
Eris, as man and woman, but Christine could tell their relationship was not
of that nature.
It was a jealousy of a more primal and sticky sort, one that carried within
it an inferiority complex towards a being who seemed to be the embodiment of
pure goodwill and nobility, something she could never emulate.
Having acknowledged the affection she had tried to ignore, she could now
never let go of Pierre, for fear that he, who kept such pure light by his
side, would one day grow disillusioned with her.
But Pierre de Lafayette had chosen Christine Aquitaine. He had entrusted his
fate to her, laying everything in her hands.
Knowing full well how ruthless she could be, Pierre had given her carte
blanche to use any means necessary, without regard for method or morality.
Then, she must live up to those expectations.
Christine slowly reached out, picking up an identification document that lay
on the side.
A fake identity used by Harphas. The identity of Emanuel Sieyes, a Class B
mage.
Christine’s eyes darkened, and a cruel smile played on her lips.
It was frustratingly undeniable - she was no saintly figure of true
nobility, yet here she was, still fretting over justifications and escape
routes.
Having accepted her place in the darkness, she was not so magnanimous as to
tolerate such hypocrisy.
* * *
As dawn broke and morning arrived, the central square of Lumière was filled
with a considerable number of citizens.
They had gathered because the revered Bishop Arno Richelieu had announced he
would emerge from his retirement to deliver a sermon for the citizens, who
had been enduring the tumultuous political climate.
However, Bishop Richelieu, seated behind the pulpit preparing for his
sermon, trembled with anxiety and unease.
There was no turning back now. He could no longer stand idly by as the
country continued to stray from God’s will and descend into corruption.
“Lord Father, look upon me...”
Even as he recited his prayers, the memory of the black witch’s intensely
cold and calculating eyes, almost inhuman, sent shivers down his spine.
In his distress, Bishop Richelieu thought of his long-lost advisor and
friend.
‘If only Sieyes were here, how comforting it would be.’
When pondering the path forward for the suffering populace of Francia under
the old regime, how invaluable would the generous advice and warm
encouragement from him have been.
Had Sieyes been present during the revolution, perhaps he too, instead of
retreating in shock at the blood and madness, could have helped steer their
course.
While Richelieu harbored deep regrets, a priest who had served him for many
years approached.
“Bishop!”
“What is it?”
“A letter and a gift have arrived from Sieyes!”
“What?”
Richelieu hastily took the letter from the priest, tears welling in his eyes
at the sight of the familiar seal of Sieyes.
“This friend of mine, what has he been doing all this time to only now...”
With trembling hands, Richelieu broke the seal and read the letter.
It contained an apology for the inevitable lack of communication due to a
top-secret summoning order from the mage tower he belonged to, and news that
his mission was finally over, so he would soon leave the Mage Kingdom to
visit him in person.
It was unmistakably Sieyes’ handwriting, so familiar to him.
Seeing it, Richelieu, overwhelmed more by longing than resentment, wept.
Under normal circumstances, Richelieu might have pondered the content
carefully and felt some doubt.
But overwhelmed with joy at receiving the long-awaited news at his most
pressured and fearful moment,
He couldn’t have imagined that it was a fake letter sent by the black witch,
using the kindness she feigned and information extracted from Harphas, along
with his belongings.
The years of friendship built during his time of torment were from the
beginning no different in essence from a lie.
After putting down the letter, Richelieu unwrapped the gift said to be from
Sieyes and saw a very familiar potion.
A potion said to be developed by the mage tower that taught Sieyes, which
boosts vitality and concentration.
Richelieu, who had always wanted to drink it more frequently during the days
he spent with Sieyes but was told it was too expensive and given only
occasionally, now smiled brightly at the sight of it after so long.
He never knew it was the work of Eternal Rest, a poison that never
dissipates but accumulates in the victim’s body.
Having drunk it over several occasions throughout the years, it seemed to
help rather than harm.
At his most challenging moment, Richelieu opened the potion sent by a dear
friend and took a drink, believing it to be the most fitting gift.
Soon feeling invigorated and confident, Richelieu slowly bowed his head in a
prayer of thanks.
“Lord Father, thank you for hearing my prayer. I praise your mercy for
bringing such joy to your humble servant.”
With fear and hesitation gone, replaced by a sense of duty to rightly guide
these lost lambs,
Richelieu stood up briskly and made his way to the pulpit.
“It’s Bishop Richelieu!”
“Bishop, please lead us!”
See, the National Assembly has failed to show the right path, thus these
lambs yearn so for a shepherd.
It’s not too late.
Let’s set things right.
Even the revolution that should never have happened.
The liberty, equality, and philanthropy that were too hastily promised to
them.
The democracy that was too much for the unprepared.
Everything can be put back in its proper place.
“Fellow brothers and sisters of Lumière, I, Arno Richelieu, a humble servant
of God, greet you.”
An explosive cheer erupted, but as soon as Richelieu raised his hand, it
silenced.
“I stand here as God’s humble servant to denounce the National Assembly for
passing corrupt policies against God’s will and for rigging the elections
against the will of the people!”
A hush fell over the crowd with Richelieu’s proclamation.
And then, in the next moment.
“I knew something was off!”
“How could aligning with barbarians against God’s will ever represent the
people’s will!”
The citizens of the square were quickly engulfed in rage and passion, their
outcry bursting forth.
“Guide us, Bishop! What should we do?”
Seeing the flock seeking his guidance filled Richelieu’s heart with
gratitude towards God and Sieyes.
It’s not too late.
A radiant smile appeared on Richelieu’s face.
* * *
“What should we do? He looks so content, as if he’s sound asleep...”
“He has been pushing himself too hard. But the people are waiting for the
bishop’s sermon, we must wake him...”
The priest, who had long served Richelieu, carefully approached and shook
Richelieu, who was sitting in the chair with a bright smile on his sleeping
face.
“Bishop, I am sorry, but the people are waiting. You must wake up now.”
But Richelieu remained smiling, never waking up.
“Bishop?”
The priest’s voice and the shaking of his shoulders no longer reached him.
The fact that Richelieu’s most trusted friend, whom he had relied on, was
actually using him as a tool to incite the revolution and had been feeding
him deadly poison to dispose of him at any time.
His belief that by enlightening the people, he could guide the corrupt and
degenerate ruling class and clergy onto the right path, was actually a
distorted ideology implanted to sow chaos from the beginning.
The truth that the bishop, who always prayed to God, was actually a puppet
of a false friendship whispered by the demon.
Unaware of any of this.
The bishop, who firmly believed he was leading the people on the right path,
sank into a blissful illusion along with his misguided cause.
Never to open his eyes again.
Forever.
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