I Reincarnated as a Prince Who Revolutionized the Kingdom

June 21st, 1693.

Vallier's cavalry moved swiftly through the dense forests near the main Republican supply route. Hidden among the trees, his riders waited patiently as scouts kept watch for the approaching convoy.

"They'll be here soon," a scout whispered. "Four wagons, guarded by about fifty soldiers."

Vallier nodded, signaling for his men to prepare. The plan was simple—strike quickly, capture the supplies, and retreat before the Republicans could organize a counterattack.

Moments later, the convoy appeared on the dirt road. The soldiers guarding it were alert but unaware of the danger lurking in the shadows. Vallier raised his hand, then brought it down in a sharp motion.

"Attack!"

The cavalry charged out of the forest, their horses thundering across the road. Royalist riflemen fired from concealed positions, taking out several Republican guards in the first volley. The remaining soldiers scrambled to defend the wagons, but they were overwhelmed by the speed and precision of the ambush.

Within minutes, the convoy was captured. Vallier's men secured the supplies and rounded up the surviving guards.

"Send a message to His Highness," Vallier ordered. "Tell him the first phase is complete. The Republicans won't be getting these supplies anytime soon."

June 22nd, 1693.

General Marceau read the latest reports with a grim expression. Another supply convoy had been intercepted, and communication lines to Fort Serrant were sporadic at best. His army was being systematically isolated.

"He's cutting us off," Marceau muttered. "This isn't a simple rebellion anymore. Bruno is conducting a full-scale campaign."

One of his officers stepped forward. "General, if we don't secure the supply routes, our position at Fort Serrant will become untenable."

"I know," Marceau replied. "But that's exactly what Bruno wants. He's trying to force us into a desperate counterattack."

He turned to his staff. "We won't give him the satisfaction. Begin consolidating our forces near the southern trade route. We'll lure his cavalry into a trap and regain control of our logistics. From there, we'll launch a counteroffensive."

As his officers saluted and dispersed, Marceau's mind raced with possibilities. He had faced many formidable opponents in his career, but Bruno was proving to be one of the most unpredictable. This war was far from over, and both generals knew that the next few battles would determine the fate of Elysea.

June 25th, 1693.

General Marceau's plan was in motion. His soldiers, disguised as a vulnerable supply convoy, advanced along a narrow road near the southern trade route. Hidden in the surrounding hills were elite Republican infantry and cavalry units, each positioned to strike when the royalist ambushers revealed themselves.

At midday, Marceau and his officers watched the unfolding scene from a distant vantage point. A scout rushed toward them, saluting sharply.

"Sir, Vallier's cavalry has been spotted! They're moving into position for an ambush."

"Let them believe they have the advantage. Once they commit to the attack, signal the counterstrike."

Vallier led his cavalry along the tree line, watching the slow-moving convoy with suspicion. The wagons were lightly guarded, just as his scouts had reported. It seemed almost too easy. He hesitated for a moment, but the opportunity was too tempting to ignore.

"Positions!" Vallier barked. His men fanned out, rifles at the ready. "Wait for my signal!"

The convoy continued its slow march, unaware of the royalists lying in wait. Vallier raised his arm, preparing to launch the attack. As soon as his hand dropped, royalist cavalry and infantry surged forward from the trees.

"Fire!" Vallier shouted.

The royalist riflemen opened fire, cutting down several Republican guards in the first volley. The convoy seemed to falter, the guards scrambling in confusion. Vallier grinned, confident they had caught the enemy off guard.

But then, everything changed.

A trumpet blast echoed from the hills, followed by the thunder of hoofbeats. From both sides of the road, hidden Republican soldiers emerged in force. Musket and rifle fire erupted from the ridges, pinning Vallier's men in a deadly crossfire.

"Ambush! Fall back!" Vallier roared, his eyes wide with shock.

Republican cavalry charged down the slopes, cutting off the royalist retreat. The battlefield descended into chaos as Vallier's forces scrambled to regroup. Royalist riders clashed with the advancing enemy, sabers flashing in desperate defense.

"Hold the line!" Vallier urged, parrying a saber strike from an advancing Republican cavalryman.

Despite his efforts, the royalists were overwhelmed by the sheer number of attackers. Vallier knew they were outmaneuvered and outgunned. If they didn't withdraw soon, the entire detachment would be lost.

"Break through the left flank!" he shouted. "We need to get out of here!"

His men fought fiercely, but the losses mounted quickly. After a grueling half-hour of intense combat, Vallier finally managed to lead the survivors through a gap in the Republican line. Bloodied and exhausted, the remnants of the royalist cavalry retreated into the forest, leaving behind wounded soldiers and equipment.

Republican soldiers scoured the battlefield, retrieving weapons from fallen royalists. One officer approached General Marceau, who had arrived at the scene after the fighting subsided.

"General, we've captured several of their weapons," the officer reported, holding up a bolt-action rifle. "These are unlike anything we've seen before."

Marceau dismounted his horse and examined the rifle closely. The craftsmanship was superior to anything produced by the Republic's armories. The bolt mechanism allowed for rapid reloading, and the rifled barrel gave it extraordinary range and accuracy.

"This explains a lot," Marceau muttered. He turned to his officers. "Gather every piece of equipment you can find. I want these rifles studied immediately. Our engineers need to understand how they work."

"Yes, General," the officer replied, saluting.

Nearby, captured royalist soldiers were being questioned. Marceau approached one of the prisoners, a young infantryman with a defiant glare.

"Tell me about these weapons," Marceau demanded. "Where are they manufactured?"

The soldier spat on the ground. "I won't tell you anything."

Marceau sighed, motioning for his men to take the prisoner away. He didn't expect easy answers, but the captured equipment was enough to start unraveling the mystery.