The First Step to Saving Austria

Chapter 25: The First Step to Saving Austria

The weather in Vienna in January 1848 was exceptionally cold, and the ice and snow had yet to melt.

As the biting wind whipped against his face, Franz shivered. The noble officers behind him were in an even worse state, many of them already trembling from the cold.

Had Franz not been out on the training grounds himself, they would have long since retreated indoors to warm up.

There was no help for it; the honor of the nobility did not allow them to back down at a time like this.

Lieutenant General Albrecht, who was in charge of the training, wore a satisfied smile. He had not expected Franz to use such a method to force this bunch of "gentleman soldiers" to participate in drills.

In the freezing, snow-covered wilderness, there was nothing better for tempering a person's will. Franz knew that the peaceful days of Austria were coming to an end. Once the March Revolution of Vienna erupted, where would be the safest place?

Without a doubt, it was the military camp!

Whether it was to suppress a rebellion or to make a run for it, staying with the army was far safer than remaining in the palace.

The group of noble officers behind him was Franz's foundation. Although they looked unreliable no matter how one viewed them, he had to at least give it a try, didn't he?

When you discover your teammates are incompetent, do not panic or fear; in reality, your enemies are even worse!

This was the source of Franz's confidence. No matter how rotten the City Defense Force was, it was still an army, wasn't it?

The enemies he had to face were not some world power; they didn't even qualify as an army. If the enemy could manage to have a gun for every man, he would consider himself defeated!

"Attention!"

"Everyone, run a lap around the training field! Anyone who fails to complete the task gets no breakfast this morning!"

Albrecht issued the order coldly. Against the backdrop of the biting wind, many on the field felt a tremor in their hearts.

This training ground was not small; a single lap was over ten miles. For these pampered nobles, it was truly an arduous demand.

Before they could refuse, Franz had already taken the lead in running. With no other choice, they had to grit their teeth and follow.

Who told them to boast so loudly? Long before the training began, Franz had hosted a banquet for these officers.

After a few cups of wine, each of them had forgotten what kind of material they were made of. Without a second thought, they had agreed to the demands Franz put forward.

Now, it was too late. They were training alongside the Crown Prince; whoever chickened out would be a coward. For the sake of noble honor, they had to persevere.

Otherwise, they should prepare to become the laughingstock of the noble circles! It was fine to be untrustworthy, but one had to consider who the target was.

Many were waiting for Franz to reach his limit so they could seize the opportunity to demand a reduction in training intensity. That way, they could save the Crown Prince's face while avoiding further suffering themselves.

Clearly, the final result disappointed everyone. Franz's body had been trained since childhood, and he was still able to complete these ten-plus miles.

Breakfast began. Franz and the noble officers who had finished the run ate bread and drank milk, quietly watching the main force still moving at a turtle's pace.

Seeing someone collapse to the ground and be carried away for treatment, the others did not forget to point and jeer, as if these people were a disgrace to the nobility, making the rest afraid to follow suit easily.

Everyone cared about their reputation; in full view of the public, no one wanted to admit they were a failure.

Besides, Franz hadn't just picked anyone. Most of those participating in this training were teenagers in their late teens or early twenties; the old "grease-balls" were naturally not among them.

In Franz's view, these "chuunibyou" teenagers could still be salvaged. With some cultivation, they might just become the backbone of the Austrian Empire.

As for the old timers, forget it. No matter how one cultivated them, they could not change their nature as parasites of the empire; the more capable they were, the greater the harm they would cause.

Watching the last officer finish the run, Franz did not mock them; instead, he applauded.

"Your Highness, they performed so poorly, why are you applauding?" an officer nearby asked, playing along.

Franz lied through his teeth: "No, their performance was not poor. Although the process was a bit tortuous, they still persisted and completed the task. That is what a qualified soldier does—though, of course, their individual physical fitness still needs strengthening!"

Hearing this, the expressions of the group shifted from overcast to clear. That was right; they had completed the task and had not shamed themselves.

One by one, they comforted themselves: they were soldiers, and completing orders was the primary requirement. What did a tortuous process matter?

Franz was not stupid; how could he intentionally dampen everyone's morale? Do not look down on these nobles; in reality, their foundation was not bad at all.

Having received military education since childhood and being influenced by their surroundings, their professional quality was stronger than the vast majority of people. It was only because no one had supervised them later that they had slowly turned into playboys.

To save the Austrian Empire, one must first save the next generation of Austrian nobles. Only when this group stood tall could the empire truly become strong.

In fact, Franz had long wanted to enter the military, but unfortunately, he was too young—not even eighteen yet. If the January Revolution hadn't broken out, he would have had no reason to convince his family.

Looking at this group of easily hoodwinked teenagers, he knew the road to discipline was long and arduous.

There was no time left now; he would just have to make do. Surely, a short-term intensive drill would be enough to deal with a mob, right?

With the Labor Protection Act as a foundation, the vast masses of the suffering public shouldn't fight the government to the death, right?

Historically, the March Revolution of Vienna had been dismantled through political means. It was only after the May Revolution broke out later that the government lost control of the situation and had to perform a "strategic retreat."

"Assemble!"

Albrecht's stern voice rang out. The officers, who had been resting, dragged their exhausted bodies and slowly lined up in order.

Seeing the livid, iron-blue face of Albrecht, Franz knew the general felt his subordinates had shamed him.

The formation was neat, but as for their spirit, Franz was reminded of his university military training—everyone looked like a frost-bitten eggplant.

Suddenly, the corner of Albrecht's mouth curled into a smile. Franz knew someone was about to have a bad time.

He saw Albrecht take his command baton and walk down from above. A scream rang out from behind.

Franz habitually turned his head to look, only to see a fat man lying on the ground in a very comical fashion. If one looked closely, they would see a footprint on his backside.

"What are you looking at!"

Albrecht's icy voice rang out, and the crowd hurriedly averted their gazes. Everyone was much more spirited this time; having seen one chicken slaughtered, no one wanted to be the second.

Even so, screams still erupted from time to time. Albrecht brandished his baton, and whenever he saw someone failing to meet the standard, he would strike them to help correct their mistakes.

There was no helping it; these noble officers were pampered soldiers. Aside from Albrecht, whose status as commander was high enough, the other instructors lacked the guts to lay a hand on them.

This was a rare opportunity; once this moment passed, it would not be easy to even find these men in the barracks.