I Reincarnated as a Prince Who Revolutionized the Kingdom

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—forts, 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—they were rulers.

The streets of Carthage were lined with banners bearing the Elysean eagle, and the people—Elysean settlers, merchants, and even the native populace—gathered 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—a 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—though 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—stripped 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—roasted meats, exotic fruits, and fine Elysean wine.

The city's most influential figures were present—military 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—but 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 Étienne 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—but 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—conquering, subjugating, and expanding the empire's reach—but 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—pockets 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 Étienne 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."