The France Guard-I'll Accept This Generous Gift!

"Not yet," Prosper said with a troubled expression. "You know, we haven't had much contact with the military before. Just yesterday, my colleague made contact with an officer from the French Guard..."

Fouche said coldly, "I'll give you five more days. If you still can't find anything of value, the position of Action Team can be replaced."

"Yes, sir! I will do my best." Prosper could only accept the order with a bitter face.

Seeing his expression, Fouche knew that this mission would be extremely difficult—the military has its own intelligence system, and even the Secret Police are hesitant to extend their reach into the military, let alone the Police Intelligence Division, which has only been established for a few months.

"Remember, every contact leaves a trace!" he encouraged his men. "As long as you pay attention to all the details, I believe you will definitely find what you're looking for."

In the office of the commander of the French Guard.

"You mean," Bessonval stared intently at his subordinate, struggling to suppress his anger, "That you were responsible for the shelling of the Farmhouse in the Southern Suburbs?"

The Major in front of him nodded smugly. "Yes, General. Rest assured, they did a clean job. That very night, I sent someone to tell the farmer that it was artillery fire from the Police Training Ground that hit them, and then I notified all the Newspaper Office in Paris..."

"Teodoro, you idiot!" Bessonval finally exploded, slamming his fist on the table and roaring, "Who gave you permission to act on your own?!"

Yesterday, he heard about the incident at the Southern Suburbs Farm and genuinely thought it was a training error at the Police Academy. Overjoyed, he even contacted several influential Nobility to put pressure on the Minister of the Interior.

I never imagined it was one of my own men who did it.

"There are only a few armies around Paris," Bessonval said through gritted teeth. "People will soon suspect us!"

Listen up! For the time being, you and your men are not allowed to leave the Military Camp, nor are you allowed to have contact with outsiders.

"Oh God, what foolish things have you done!"

"Yes, yes..." Teodoro shrank back in fear and retreated shakily.

Bessonval rubbed his swollen and aching hands, shaking his head in frustration.

Although Teodoro's actions were rash, it was already dark, and no one should have seen that it was the French Guard who did it. As long as he stayed in the Military Camp, nothing should go wrong.

He glanced at the newspaper beside him, which had a huge headline that read, "Suspected shell from Police Academy Training Ground hits Farmhouse, killing two people," and then gave a cold smile.

As long as the matter remains confidential, this might actually be an opportunity to thoroughly punish the Police Department.

At the entrance of the White Narcissus Brothel, two drunken middle-aged men, their arms around each other's shoulders, walked toward Carriage parked by the roadside.

"Valentine, my good friend," said the small-eyed man, wearing a French Guard shirt under a long black coat, patting the other man with a broad smile, "Let's go hunting sometime; the rabbits are so fat in winter..."

The tall man with a square face waved his hand. "What's the point of hunting? You can only use short hunting rifles."

His tongue seemed to be slurring. "Cannons! Only cannons are a man's true love! Tiru, do you know, if it weren't for this leg of mine, perhaps my rank wouldn't be lower than yours?"

Tiru nodded repeatedly. "Yes, your ancestors and fathers all distinguished themselves in battle. You have an excellent lineage; you will surely become an outstanding officer."

Valentine limped a few steps, looked back at the Brothel behind him, and sighed, "It's a pity that I'll have to waste my life in a place like this. I really envy you, being able to wear Military Uniform, command artillery, and crush all enemies on the battlefield!"

"And I, though from the Military Aristocratic Family, have never even touched a real cannon."

Tiru laughed, "Cannons? What's the point of that? They're cold and hard..."

"No, you don't know how lucky you are. In my opinion, Dapao is much cuter than all those girls from White Narcissus."

Tiru suddenly had a thought. He remembered that the wealthy Valentine Viscount Menard had hit it off with him at a tavern a few days ago. For the past week or so, the Viscount had been treating him to drinks and to Brothel almost every day, spending a considerable amount of money. Tiru felt a little guilty about it.

I never expected Viscount Menard to be so fond of cannons; perhaps this is a good opportunity to repay him a favor.

Tiru immediately boarded the Carriage with Menard, and, emboldened by the alcohol, lowered his voice and said, "You've treated me to so many games at White Narcissus, so I'll treat you to a game with the cannons instead."

Menard immediately exclaimed in surprise, "Really? Where are the cannons?"

"In the Military Camp, of course, hehe."

"But I'm not a soldier, how can I get into the Military Camp?"

Tiru patted his chest. "Don't worry, I'll take you. You can handle the cannon however you like, and I might even let you fire a few shots if you get the chance."

"Oh God! I don't know how to thank you enough, dear Tiru!"

"We're friends, why are you saying this?"

As dusk fell, Menard changed into a French Guard Military Uniform and limped behind Tiru into the French Guard's Military Camp.

The sentry at the camp gate caught a glimpse of Tiru's rank but asked no further questions.

Outside the French Guard's cannon storeroom, Tiru whispered a few words to the officer on guard, then gestured for Menard to go in.

"Oh God! They really are cannons!" Menard looked at the cannons with great interest and touched them one by one, as if he had seen his beloved girl.

Seeing his infatuated expression, Tiru couldn't help but shake her head with a smile. Then she sat down alone in a corner, took out a bottle of wine, and started drinking.

Seeing that no one was watching, Menard's drunkenness vanished instantly, and he deftly took out a wooden ball slightly larger than his fist from his pocket—a meticulous replica made by Craftsman of the cannonball that had hit the Farmhouse, with every detail from size to the dents on it identical.

Menard placed the wooden ball on the muzzle of one of the six Four-Pound Cannon to compare the size of the cannonballs to those of three cannons; the muzzle and the size of the cannonball were roughly the same.

He then pulled a long strip of paper from his pocket, on which were drawn two parallel lines, some vertical marks, and irregular circles.

He took the slip of paper and compared it to the wheels of the three cannons. He quickly eliminated one of them by the width of the wheels—the slip of paper contained wheel tracks taken from the shelling site north of the Police Academy Training Ground. The two parallel lines represented the wheel width, and the vertical stripe above was the joint where the wheels were riveted. The irregular circles were wear or dents on the wheels.

Menard carefully compared the remaining two cannons, then a smile suddenly appeared on his lips. He muttered to himself, "Indeed, every contact leaves a trace. And this trace is the one you left!"

The cannon in front of him, from the width of the wheel to the riveting position, and even the small chip on the wheel, perfectly matched the wheel marks at the scene!

Menard quickly took out a pen and copied down the number on the breech of the cannon.

Joseph flipped through the newspapers in front of him, nodding slightly as he did so.

The front page of the Paris Business Daily read, "The Axel family feels deeply warmed by the care from the Police Department," followed by a print of Besançon holding Axel's youngest son and feeding him.

Axel was the farmer whose house was hit by the shell that day. He had taken his two children to the fields to work on spring planting, which is how he escaped the disaster.

The French Messenger newspaper followed up on the Axel family's current life with the headline "Little Benoit smiles for the first time as his house is fully restored by the Police Department." The accompanying picture was a print of the Axel family's house.

The Voice of the City conducted a more in-depth investigation, with the front-page headline "The killer may be someone else, experts say the Four-Pound Cannon has limited range." The article analyzed the extremely low probability of a cannon firing from Police Academy Training Ground and hitting Farmhouse 1,800 paces away, and showed the cannon firing location discovered by Diboa.

With the weapon of public opinion at his disposal, Joseph's Crisis Management was a great success—the current public opinion in Paris has shifted to "the Police Department's touching concern for farmers" or "Police Department officials are approachable and friendly to ordinary people."

Even those who insist that the Police Academy Training Ground accidentally shot down the Farmhouse mostly hold the view that "the Police Department dares to take responsibility and is willing to make amends for its mistakes."

The newspapers have reported that the Axel family received 4,000 Livre in aid. This is an enormous sum for a farming family. Some of the surrounding farmers even complained with envy and jealousy, wondering why their houses weren't hit by artillery fire.

Axel has repeatedly told reporters that he believed the rumors and that his home was definitely not hit by shelling from the Police Academy. Moreover, even if it was an accidental shelling from the Police Academy Training Ground, his family has already forgiven the Police Academy, and the Paris Police are like angels.

As for those who protested Police Academy Training Ground, they had all dispersed a week ago.

Following the incident of the "Police Commissioner personally visiting farmers affected by the shelling," even more young people are enrolling in the Police Academy than before.

Joseph was reading an article about the matter in the News and Pictures " when Eman knocked on the door and said, "Your Highness, Mr. Fouche has arrived."

"Oh? Please let him in."

Fouche entered the office, first bowing with his hand on his chest, and then immediately said, "Your Highness, it is now basically confirmed that it was the French Guard who did it."

As he spoke, he placed a report in front of Joseph and continued, "This is the cannon detail compared by the Police Intelligence Division. The seven gunners in charge of this cannon have also been investigated. Six of them left the French Guard's barracks on the afternoon of the incident and returned at the same time that evening. Moreover, it can be confirmed that none of them went to Paris during that time."

The Police Intelligence Division had already deployed a large number of informants in Paris, so he was absolutely certain he could make this conclusion.

Although the France army is now relatively lax in its old-style management, with each soldier having nearly eight hours of free time each day, the fact that so many people left the Military Camp at the same time without going to Paris suggests something is definitely wrong.

Joseph looked at the report and asked, "Is there any very concrete evidence?"

Fouche his head. "Your Highness, we are currently using deductive methods to determine the murderer, but it is not enough to convict them."

Seeing the Crown Prince frown, Fouche immediately stepped forward, his expression cold, but his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Your Highness, do you think we should arrest those people? I have many ways to make them confess."

Joseph glanced at him. "Where are those people now?"

"In the French Guard's Camp."

"No. If we manage to kidnap soldiers from the Military Camp and fail, the consequences could be extremely serious."

Joseph glanced at the report in his hand again, recalling the incident a while ago when Bessonval tried to enter the Police Academy Training Ground for inspection but was forced back by officers at gunpoint. He couldn't help but sneer: It seems this is what they're after.

It's unbelievable that Bessonval would so casually disregard human life just to spite the Police Academy. If Axel hadn't been lucky enough not to be home at the time, the entire family of six might have been murdered.

If Bessonval knew what Joseph was thinking, he would definitely cry foul. He was a smart man; he originally intended to use the power of the Military Noble Group to deal with the Paris Police Department, but he hadn't anticipated having a brute like Teodoro under his command.

Joseph slammed the report on the table, took a deep breath, and said, "Fine, you want to play dirty tricks on me? Well then, I won't hold back!"

I used to avoid touching the military because my political foundation was unstable and I didn't want to arouse the suspicion of the Military Noble Group. But now that you've provoked me, I'll slap you in the face, and the military Nobility certainly won't be able to say anything.

In that case, I'll accept this generous gift from the French Guard!

Joseph lowered his head and pondered for a moment, then suddenly remembered that Bessonval had used the excuse of an important person visiting that required a search of the training ground.

The important person who is coming to Paris soon should be the Princess of the Two Sicilies.

He looked at Fouche and asked, "Do you know who is responsible for escorting King when they travel to Paris?"

"Your Highness, normally the local garrisons provide escort along the way. Once near Paris, the French Guard takes over. Upon entering Paris, both the French Guard and the Imperial Guards provide escort until reaching Versailles Palace."

Joseph nodded slightly; this was indeed a good opportunity. He then quickly sketched out a plan in his mind.

"Count Eman, please prepare the Carriage; I need to go to the Versailles Palace."

"Yes, Your Highness."

Soon, the Crown Prince's motorcade drove out of the Industrial Planning Bureau.

Inside the Carriage, Joseph was explaining the next steps to Fouche when they heard a newsboy by the roadside shout, "Read the paper! 2 Sue a copy. The ' Blood Knife ' gang has been active around Paris, and seven or eight people have already been killed!"

Joseph hurriedly ordered the car to stop and was about to send someone to buy a newspaper when Fouche preemptively reported, "Your Highness, that's a gang of highway robbers who don't even dare to enter Paris, only committing crimes in the countryside. They've only attracted attention because they've killed a lot of people."

"A gang of highway robbers?" Joseph couldn't help but smile. "Adding this gang would make it even more perfect!"

Once the motorcade stopped at the Versailles Palace, Joseph immediately rushed to the Petit Trianon.

Queen Mary hadn't seen her son for over two weeks, and immediately hugged him tightly, saying happily, "My dear Joseph, I thought you'd forgotten me."

Joseph chatted with her for a few minutes, then suddenly said, "Mother, I want to personally go to the outskirts of Paris to welcome Princess Mary Amalia."

Many thanks to the following generous donors for their generous donations to this book: Tianwu, Honey Mountain, Jiangkuoyundi-Duanyanjiaoxifeng, Paladin1996, Xinrupiaoye, and Oils! The author is deeply grateful! Thank you!

(End of this chapter)