I Reincarnated as a Prince Who Revolutionized the Kingdom

February 10, 1696.

General Armand Roux adjusted his coat as he peered through his spyglass. The landscape stretched before him—rolling hills, thick jungles, and a scattering of villages that were nothing more than dots in the vast, uncharted territory. The humid air clung to his skin, far different from the cold winds of Elysea.

He lowered the spyglass and turned to Captain Étienne Giraud, his second-in-command.

"Any word from the scouts?" Roux asked.

Giraud shook his head. "Nothing unusual, General. They reported a few scattered settlements ahead. No sign of hostility."

Roux exhaled. His forces had been steadily moving deeper into the interior for weeks, establishing trading posts and securing alliances with tribes willing to cooperate with Elysea. Most had been receptive—either out of interest in trade or a desire for protection against rival clans.

But not all tribes were welcoming.

"Keep the men sharp," Roux said. "We don't know what's beyond those hills."

Giraud nodded and rode off to relay the orders.

The column of soldiers, nearly 1,000 men strong, continued forward, their wagons carrying supplies, machine guns, and crates of ammunition. Most of the soldiers carried bolt-action rifles, but there were also artillery pieces in the rear of the formation. Elysea's military had never ventured this far inland before, and while they had expected resistance, the days had passed quietly.

Too quietly.

The sun had just begun to set when the first arrow whistled through the air.

It struck one of the leading cavalrymen in the throat, and he tumbled from his horse, gurgling on his own blood. Before anyone could react, another soldier collapsed, an arrow lodged in his chest.

"AMBUSH!" someone shouted.

Then the jungle erupted.

Hundreds—no, thousands—of warriors poured out from the dense foliage, their bodies painted in war paint, their weapons crude but deadly. Some were on horseback, their animals thundering down the slope, while others ran on foot, bows drawn and spears raised.

"Form battle lines!" Roux bellowed, drawing his saber.

The Elysean soldiers scrambled into position. The front lines knelt, raising their bolt-action rifles, while the second line stood behind them. Gunners rushed to set up the machine guns, while officers shouted orders to hold steady.

"FIRE!" Roux roared.

A volley of rifle fire cracked through the air, mowing down the first wave of charging cavalry. Horses collapsed, throwing their riders, while warriors were torn apart by the storm of bullets. The Gatling guns opened up next, their rotating barrels spitting out rounds at a terrifying rate.

The attack faltered for a moment. The bodies of fallen warriors and horses littered the ground.

But they kept coming.

Arrows rained down upon the Elysean lines, striking soldiers in the arms, legs, and necks. Shields and crude armor protected some of the attackers, allowing them to close the distance before being cut down.

A soldier next to Roux cried out, an arrow piercing his eye before he fell backward. Another screamed as a spear impaled his thigh, pinning him to the ground.

"Hold your fire! Reload!" Giraud shouted.

The soldiers chambered new rounds as the next wave of warriors surged forward. Some had managed to get close enough to hurl spears at the Elysean line. A lieutenant took a spear to the chest, stumbling backward with a choked gasp.

"Keep firing!" Roux ordered.

The machine guns rattled again, cutting through the advancing ranks. But no matter how many they killed, more warriors replaced them. It was unlike any battle Roux had faced. These men fought with sheer ferocity, unafraid of death, determined to overrun them.

"Artillery!" Roux shouted.

A team of gunners swung a field cannon into position and loaded a shell. A second later, it roared, sending an explosive round into the densest part of the enemy charge. The ground erupted in a fiery explosion, sending bodies flying.

Yet they still kept coming.

Within minutes, the warriors reached the front lines. The Elysean soldiers fought desperately, swinging their bayonets, using their rifles as clubs when they ran out of bullets. The air was thick with the smell of gunpowder, blood, and sweat.

A massive warrior lunged at Roux with a curved blade, his face contorted in rage. Roux barely dodged the strike, countering with a slash from his saber. The blade cut deep into the man's side, but he didn't go down immediately. Instead, he grabbed Roux's wrist, trying to wrench the sword from his grasp.

Roux snarled, drew his revolver with his free hand, and fired point-blank into the warrior's chest. The man stumbled back, finally collapsing.

To his right, Giraud was locked in a brutal struggle, parrying blows with his saber before driving it into an enemy's stomach. Nearby, an Elysean officer had been knocked to the ground, warriors surrounding him. Before they could deliver the final blow, another soldier fired his rifle into the group, scattering them.

"General!" Giraud shouted. "We need to break their momentum!"

Roux surveyed the battlefield. The Elysean formation was holding, but barely. The sheer number of attackers was overwhelming, and they were losing men faster than expected. If they didn't do something soon, they would be overrun.

"Push them back!" Roux shouted. "Grenades! Use grenades!"

The soldiers pulled pin after pin, tossing grenades into the densest parts of the enemy ranks. Explosions rocked the battlefield, sending limbs and debris flying. The shock of the blasts forced the warriors to stagger back, giving the Elyseans a brief opening.

"Charge!" Roux bellowed.

With bayonets fixed, the Elysean soldiers surged forward, using their superior weaponry to force the attackers into retreat. Warriors were cut down at close range, unable to match the discipline and firepower of the European troops.

Slowly, the tide began to turn.

An hour later, the battlefield was littered with bodies. The jungle was painted red with blood, the air still thick with the stench of gunpowder and death.

Roux stood in the center of the carnage, his uniform stained with dirt and blood. His men were battered, exhausted, but victorious.

They had lost at least 200 men, with many more wounded. But the enemy had suffered far worse.

Giraud limped over, pressing a cloth against a cut on his arm. "We still don't know who they were," he said, gesturing to the fallen warriors.

Roux looked down at one of the bodies. The warrior's face was painted, his clothing adorned with tribal symbols Roux didn't recognize.

"They fought like devils," Roux muttered.

Giraud nodded. "And they had no fear."

Roux exhaled. "Whoever they are, they wanted us dead. We need to find out why."

He turned to his men. "Search the bodies. Look for anything that might tell us who they are."