"Romans?" Rahman froze for a moment, then immediately understood. He nodded vigorously, excitement surging through him. "Yes! You are absolutely right! This place will forever belong to us Romans!"
At present, in this little patch of North Africa, the definition of "Romans" all came from the book Analysis of the Origins of Tunis—namely, a collective term encompassing the French, Berbers, and Arabs living in North Africa.
As a merchant who frequently did business with Tunis, Rahman had naturally read the book long ago.
No wonder he was so excited. From what Lord Zhemile meant, the Berbers of Algiers could also be accepted as "Roman descendants." And now that the French Army controlled Mitija, if they became "one of their own," the Berber Faction, long oppressed by the Guard Corps and the navy, would finally have its day of rising again!
Zhemile seemed to see through his thoughts. He reached out and patted his shoulder. "I too once lived in an era enslaved by the Ottoman Guard Corps. It was the great Crown Prince who helped us drive away those demons.
"Now, you too can use the same method to reclaim the freedom and rights that should have been yours!"
Rahman's breathing quickened. "You mean... drive out the Guard Corps?"
"Not just the Guard Corps, but those naval men as well. For over a hundred years, they have treated you as slaves. Now it is time for them to pay the price!" Zhemile used a new term he had learned from the instructors in Paris. "This is the Roman Revolution!"
Rahman said nervously, "But... this will cause enormous chaos. A great many people may even die..."
Zhemile continued performing according to the Crown Prince's "script." "You must have noticed that Governor Ust does not enjoy being troubled by tedious government affairs.