I Reincarnated as a Prince Who Revolutionized the Kingdom

January 11th, 1693 – Port of Loretto, Corse.

Admiral Lucien Vaubert stood on the smoldering ruins of the main dockyard, surrounded by his officers and a contingent of heavily armed marines. The port was under complete Elysean control. Flames still licked at the remains of warehouses, and charred bodies floated near the wreckage of merchant ships. Soldiers patrolled the harbor, extinguishing fires where possible and executing any remaining resistance fighters. The once-bustling port was now a scene of devastation.

Two Corse Elysean soldiers, Private Gaspard and Corporal Jean, were dragged before the Admiral. Their faces were bruised and swollen, blood trickling from fresh wounds. Their arms were bound tightly behind their backs with coarse ropes. The marines forced them to their knees on the cobblestone pier, their heads bowed from exhaustion and pain.

Vaubert stepped forward, his polished boots crunching on broken glass and splintered wood. He eyed the two prisoners with cold indifference before speaking in a measured tone.

"Raise their heads. I want them to look me in the eye."

The guards complied, roughly jerking the prisoners upright. Gaspard winced as the movement aggravated a deep gash across his temple. Jean coughed, spitting blood onto the stone at his feet, but his gaze was defiant as it met the Admiral's.

"Why?" Jean rasped, his voice raw. "Why are you doing this? We are Elysean soldiers—loyal to the crown! This is our homeland! Prince Bruno de Elysea himself governs this island in the name of Elysea. You are attacking your own people! This... this is treason!"

The Admiral said nothing at first. His cold blue eyes bore into Jean's, unflinching. After a long silence, Vaubert finally spoke.

"The crown you speak of no longer exists."

Jean and Gaspard froze, confusion and disbelief crossing their battered faces.

"What... what are you saying?" Gaspard stammered. "What do you mean? The crown no longer exists? What happened to the capital? To the King?"

Vaubert exhaled slowly, taking a step closer to the prisoners.

"Elysea is no longer ruled by monarchs. The Revolution has swept across the empire. The monarchy was overthrown over a year ago. The King and his family have been executed. In their place, a new government has risen—the Republic of Elysea. I serve that Republic, not your so-called Prince."

Jean's eyes widened in shock. He shook his head in disbelief. "Impossible... no. You're lying. The King, the royal family—they would never fall! We would have heard of this! The capital can't—"

"It already has," Vaubert interrupted coldly. "While your Prince was here playing at governance, the true battle for Elysea was fought and won. The old order is dead."

Gaspard snarled through gritted teeth. "This is treason! You betray your ancestors, your blood, your honor! You serve murderers and usurpers! We serve only the crown!"

Vaubert raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by the outburst. He gave a subtle nod to Captain Renoux, who stepped forward with his musket.

"I'll ask you only once," Vaubert said, his tone devoid of emotion. "Where has your Prince retreated to? You've seen what our fleet can do. Surrendering him to us will save countless lives. If you value your people, you will tell me."

Jean spat onto the ground near Vaubert's feet. "We serve only the crown. You'll get nothing from us."

Gaspard nodded in solidarity. "We'll die before betraying His Highness."

Vaubert sighed softly, as if disappointed by their answer. He took a step back and folded his hands behind his back.

"As you wish."

Without another word, Captain Renoux raised his musket, aiming at Jean's head. The corporal met his gaze with defiant pride, refusing to flinch.

"Vive le Roi," Jean whispered.

The musket roared, the shot echoing across the desolate port. Jean's body crumpled to the ground, his blood pooling beneath him.

Gaspard tensed, his breathing ragged, but his resolve did not waver. Renoux calmly reloaded the musket as the Admiral watched impassively.

"May you burn in hell for this," Gaspard growled. "The Republic will never hold Corse. Prince Bruno will return, and you'll pay for this betrayal."

Renoux raised the musket again and pulled the trigger. Another deafening crack echoed through the harbor. Gaspard fell beside his comrade, his lifeless eyes staring at the sky.

The Admiral turned to his officers. "Dispose of the bodies. Ensure the soldiers see what happens to those who defy the Republic."

Renoux saluted. "Yes, Admiral."

As the marines dragged the corpses away, Vaubert returned to the edge of the pier, gazing out at the horizon. His thoughts drifted to Prince Bruno.

He was given a mission from the National Government. Kill Prince Bruno de Elysea so that the resurrection of the monarchy would never be possible.

The only way for the Republic to live is for every symbol of the old monarchy to be erased. Vaubert knew this mission was more than a military conquest—it was an execution order for the last remaining heir with any claim to the Elysean throne.

He turned to Captain Renoux.

"Prepare scouting detachments. I want patrols moving inland within the hour. Our priority is to track and corner Prince Bruno. He cannot escape."

Renoux saluted sharply. "Understood, Admiral. What should be done with any resistance groups or settlements we encounter?"

"Destroy them if they refuse to cooperate. Burn any village that harbors royalist sympathizers. Send a message to the people of Corse: the age of kings is over. The Republic will not tolerate rebellion."

Renoux nodded and strode off to relay the orders. The marines began forming squads, preparing to move through the surrounding countryside. Vaubert observed the organized efficiency with cold satisfaction. The port was already being fortified to serve as a base of operations, supply chains established to fuel the inland campaign.

Prince Bruno and his entourage rode hard along the coastal road leading away from the burning city. Smoke from Loretto stretched high into the sky, a grim marker of the naval bombardment that had shattered their defenses. Soldiers from the elite battalion flanked the prince, their rifles at the ready, scanning the terrain for ambushes.

General Berthold rode alongside Bruno, his jaw clenched in frustration. "They overwhelmed us too quickly. We didn't even have a chance to engage them properly, Your Highness."

"We were never meant to win that battle, General," Bruno replied. "Loretto was always vulnerable to a naval assault. Now that we know what we're facing, we'll prepare differently. This fight isn't over."

Antoine rode up from the rear of the formation, his face pale. "Your Highness, what do we do if the Elysean fleet pursues us? They might push deeper inland."

Bruno's eyes hardened. "Let them. They will not find us unprepared again. We'll regroup at Mont Verdain and fortify our position there. From that high ground, their fleet's cannons won't be able to reach us. If they want this island, they'll have to march through every inch of it—and they'll pay dearly for every step."

General Berthold nodded. "We can buy time. Our industrial sites are spread across the countryside, and with the elite battalion leading our forces, we can create a defensive network."

"I know—and they won't even know what will happen. Anyways…why are they attacking us in the first place?" Bruno asked.

"Something must have happened in the mainland. We have had no news about it for almost three years. Things might have changed," Antoine replied.

"Well I guess we will have to interrogate one of their soldiers," Bruno said.