Life of Being a Crown Prince in France

The tall Tax Officer swiftly opened his eyes, stimulated by the successive gunshots, and as he turned over to sit up, he saw his colleague clutching a pistol, followed by the sight of two attackers drenched in filthy blood appearing before him.

He immediately forgot the pain in his head and exclaimed in alarm, "Schommet, you—you killed them?!"

"Yes." Schommet, having killed for the first time, was also somewhat dazed, and he subconsciously took out the gunpowder to reload, "We have the right to shoot when we're attacked..."

The tall Tax Officer was still extremely anxious, "But they, they're just dead like this?"

Schommet suddenly stood up, forcefully tamping the gunpowder into the barrel of his gun, his expression fiercely agitated as he shouted loudly, "Have you forgotten what the Inspector said during his speech?"

The tall Tax Officer was taken aback, his eyes which had been wandering in confusion, instantaneously firmed up.

"We are selfless and fearless Tax Officers who should not be intimidated by any threats!" Schommet, lifting his pistol, repeated Robespierre's speech, "As long as we stand on the side of justice and the law, we must pick up guns and strike back against any lawbreaker, making them tremble at the mere mention of our names!"

"Yes, you're right!" The tall Tax Officer nodded and added, "We have to show them who's in charge..."

After meeting the Crown Prince that day, Robespierre immediately rushed to the major cities to deliver speeches to the members of the tax offices, issuing strict orders. The core message was just one—do not be afraid, and harshly punish those who dare to cause trouble!

The locals who came over to see what the commotion was about were all frightened by the sight of the menacing pair and the corpses on the ground, invariably bowing their heads and keeping their distance...

Orleans.

More than a dozen savage-looking men gathered outside the Tax Office building, some carrying buckets filled with feces and urine, continuously dousing the walls of the Tax Office, others throwing flaming balls at the windows—stones wrapped in oil-soaked cloths, which could easily start a fire inside after shattering the glass.

These people had been coming almost every day recently and were becoming increasingly brazen.

The rowdies did not hear the usual warnings such as "Your behavior is criminal" or "Please leave immediately," fully believing that the Tax Office people were too scared to act, which made them even more insolent as they yelled loudly:

"I've warned you enough times, bastards, since you still dare to stay here, let me show you what's what!"

"Adam Bournat, Pierre, Kerlouès... I know exactly where you live, XXXX. If you don't want to die, get the hell out of Orleans!"

"You pigs are still not resigning? Are you sick of living?"

Just then, ten black-uniformed Tax Officers ran out from the side door of the building, lined up and jogged to a halt thirty paces away from the thugs, who watched in stunned suspicion, and then simultaneously reached for their flintlock guns.

The thugs immediately responded with a weak attempt to intimidate, "What are you doing? We're just protesting..."

"Don't try to scare us!"

However, what answered them was the Tax Bureau Director Lemaire's command:

"Ready—"

"Aim—"

Several thugs' faces turned fearful, preparing to run, but more of them, assuming the other side was just bluffing, threw their burning balls at the Tax Officers.

"Fire—"

Following Lemaire's decisive command, ten Charleville guns spewed flames simultaneously, and instantly three thugs sprayed blood from their bodies, flipping to the ground.

The rest of the thugs finally realized what was happening, and they screamed in terror,

"They're going to kill us!"

"Run..."

Lemaire, with a grim expression, raised his Side Sword and pointed it forward, loudly declaring, "All these repeat offenders who have attacked the tax office must be arrested. Anyone who attempts to flee or resists will be shot on sight!"

"Yes, sir!"

The ranks of Tax Officers responded in unison, surging forward in a brief dash before drawing their pistols and shouting, "Everyone down on the ground! No running!"

Gunshots immediately followed, and two rioters were struck down. Two more were hit in the arm, and their cries of agony echoed through the alley.

The Tax Officers didn't hesitate to switch to another gun loaded with ammunition and fired again.

No one dared run anymore; they frantically lay on the ground, trembling at the sight of the fresh corpses beside them, their hearts sinking with fear...

Meanwhile,

In Bourges, the tax office, understaffed, had resorted to using explosives to deal with the rioters...

The assistant supervisor of Charleville's tax office, M. Manes, pursued the attackers into their den and killed three of their allies, arresting one...

The Picardie tax office had indeed requested Cannons from the military. However, before they even had the chance to use them, the rioters surrendered...

After Robespierre delivered his national speech, perpetrators who attacked tax offices everywhere were decisively beaten back, their previously arrogant airs swiftly deflated.

It wasn't so much that the Tax Officers were that impressive; after all, they had only undergone a few months of military training.

It was mainly due to Robespierre's excellent oratorical skills and the fact that his tax officials, many of whom were Jacobins, were immediately ignited with fervor for justice and law.

Combined with weaponry superior even to that of the regular infantry, they naturally swept through the rioters.

...

Paris.

Fankevich, the head of the Tax Farmers Association, listened to his butler's report, breaking out in a cold sweat.

In the recent ten days or so, 37 of his men sent to threaten government tax officials had been killed and over 70 arrested!

His family had originally been involved in smuggling, later shifting to usury and tax farming after making a fortune, which is why he had many desperate characters under him—this was his confidence in intimidating the Tax Officers.

But he had not expected that these men, not even fearing the anti-smuggling police, would be slaughtered like dogs by a group of Tax Officers.

He was unaware that it was people like Robespierre and the Jacobins who historically had wiped out tax farmers and smuggling magnates like him, completely.

Fankevich felt a wave of regret. These subordinates had been "elite" forces cultivated by his family over a long time, not only daring and audacious but also loyal and dependable.

To intimidate the Tax Officers, he had lost over a hundred men at once, a bloody deficit indeed; his family's smuggling business was on the verge of collapsing.

Moreover, as the butler had just said, not only had they failed to intimidate the tax office, but the mass arrests and killings of attackers had boosted the morale and prestige of the officers. It was almost as if he had helped the Ministry of Taxation to strengthen its cohesion.

The butler glanced at Fankevich's expression, cautiously saying, "Master, we need 620,000 francs for the compensation of our people, what do you think..."

Those who were either killed or had gone to prison needed him to pay for their troubles.

"Just handle it as usual," Fankevich said irritably, then asked, "By the way, are arrangements for Anro and Ruzade in place?"