Clearly, pinning one's hopes on other people's conscience and initiative was a very foolish thing to do.
Jacob Biyuen imposed martial law, while Frederick VII continued to feign illness and stay out of sight.
Those so-called elites had either been scared out of their wits or gone into the streets to throw their lives away. Franz felt that even funding the local gangs would not have produced such a mess.
Denmark, Copenhagen.
Jacob Biyuen was undoubtedly very pleased with his masterpiece. By having his supporters serve as temporary police to enforce martial law, he had directly sealed the mouths of those opponents.
The people, too, kept silent as cicadas in winter. Instead, another major branch of the local faction, led by Lamont, raised the banner of opposition against him.
But this group had no weapons, and Jacob Biyuen sent his temporary police to make them shut up.
Before him, Lamont's fat body knelt on the ground, gasping harshly. His already sparse hair had nearly been torn out, and he had lost several teeth as well.
"Why can't you understand? We Danes are clearly God's chosen! Why should we play house with those stupid, barbaric Germans?
"You clearly know how noble we are. Why are you just going to watch our land fall?
"Our young people be corrupted by money?"
Jacob Biyuen let out a sigh as he looked at Lamont, who was struggling to breathe like a dead pig.
"You've gone mad! Go die, then! Don't drag everyone else down to be buried with you!"
Lamont roared, but he had likely injured his ribs earlier and suddenly broke into coughing again.
"No, no, no! Lamont, you're the one who can't see through this. Do you think His Majesty knows nothing of what I have done?
"If His Majesty the King