The Breath of Death

"Thank God!"

Fouche leaped out of the carriage, the last words the Crown Prince had spoken to him before he left Paris flashing through his mind. "Go for it, this may be the most glorious moment of your intelligence career."

"Yes, the most glorious moment!" He licked his lips, like a beast about to savor its prey.

He strode towards the wooden house and turned to ask the Police Intelligence Division nearby:

"Can we start tomorrow?"

"Yes, sir." The latter nodded immediately. "The speeches started two days ago. People are furious."

Fouche suddenly remembered Necker's burrow from before and frowned, saying:

Have you checked if there are any secret passages nearby?

"That's hard to confirm, sir. However, Count of Thiol rarely resides there, so he probably won't make many arrangements. Besides, we've also stationed people in the surrounding buildings."

The official paused, then looked at Fouche: "Sir, there's another thorny issue."

What is it?

"The Duke of Orléans has Guard of over a hundred men, and they are highly trained. If a conflict were to break out, even a thousand rioters would probably be no match for them."

Fouche frowned. "Where are our men?"

"The Police Intelligence Division has deployed over 60 people. You know, our people aren't good at direct combat. And the Secret Police are even less reliable."

When Fouche arrived in the Hall on the first floor, the busy Police Intelligence Division immediately stood at attention and saluted him.

Fouche casually adjusted his hat, walked straight to the map of Armor Urban District, stared at it intently for a long time, but still shook his head slightly.

"No, there must be a way..."

He paced anxiously back and forth in the room, his eyes catching a glimpse of the lighthouse in the distance.

He suddenly stopped in his tracks, a smile of excitement playing on his lips:

"Yes, this is Brittany! There are ships and Shipyard everywhere, General Association be something like that."

He immediately summoned the official in charge of the operation and whispered a few instructions to him.

The latter looked shocked and hesitated before saying:

"We should be able to get our hands on it, but... our people probably don't know how to use that thing."

"It's alright," Fouche smiled. "This is Brittany; finding a few experienced Sailor or veterans among the citizens shouldn't be difficult."

The following afternoon.

The familiar process continued: the speaker began to gather citizens in the city, and some people in the crowd explained the contents of the Pamphlets to everyone.

"Do you know what he said when that man told Count of Thiol that this could cause bread prices to skyrocket?" the young man giving the speech waved his hand. "He said, 'If they don't have money, they should eat straw!'"

"That Devil!" an angry roar erupted from the crowd. "He should be eating grass!"

"This guy is the murderer!"

Kill him!

The Brittany people are notoriously fierce and difficult to talk to. Two or three hundred years ago, piracy was a pillar industry here.

The "Iron Helmet Gang" gang members, who had been arranged in advance, rallied the crowd and headed towards Count of Thiol's Manor. He was Joseph's "Eight of Spears," number 30 in his "playing cards" [Note 1].

Then, unsurprisingly, the more than 1,300 citizens who came to settle scores with Count of Thiol were stopped outside the Manor. In front of them were two Horizontal Formation of guards, each with a brand-new Charleville 1776 Flintlock Gun pointed at them.

For a moment, no one dared to approach—the guards exuded an unusual aura that made one tense at a single glance—yet no one wanted to leave. The citizens simply surrounded the Manor gates from a distance, constantly cursing.

Just as the two sides were deadlocked, a group of women arrived driving two Carriage.

They lifted the straw on the Carriage, revealing a dark metal cylinder underneath, and exclaimed triumphantly:

"The 'Buckskin Boot ' was just about to have this installed, so we towed it from the dock!"

A cheer erupted from the crowd. More than a dozen burly men laboriously unloaded the Wood frame and metal cylinder from the vehicle, while others skillfully reassembled them.

A Six-Pound Cannon, commonly used on armed merchant ships, suddenly appeared before them.

Who would use this thing?

Before the Police Intelligence Division could finish speaking, several people pushed their way through:

"Leave it to me. I've known this old friend on the ship for twenty years."

"I can use it too; I served in the Artillery."

"And me..."

The men worked quickly and efficiently to load the gun. The middle-aged Sailor used a hammer to tap the wedge-shaped wooden pin on the gun mount to adjust the height, then pointed his thumb towards the Manor.

"Okay, that's fine."

The crowd immediately dispersed to both sides, and only then did the guards at the gate notice a very conspicuous black object about 150 paces away.

"It's a cannon!"

The Duke of Orléans ' Guard Captain cried out in alarm.

However, before the guards could react, the young Sailor in the distance pressed the ignition stick onto the fire door.

With a deafening "bang," sparks flew and Powder Smoke billowed.

A six-pound iron ball hurtled through the ranks of guards, instantly tearing three men to shreds with the force of the impact. Two others nearby were knocked unconscious by the flying limbs of the fallen guards.

The shells continued their relentless charge, striking the pillars of the Manor gate and instantly blasting a large portion of it away. The flying debris killed two guards and wounded another in the leg.

At a distance of 150 paces, this type of naval Cannon hardly needs aiming; its straight trajectory ensures an extremely high hit rate.

The remaining guards were terrified and hurriedly scattered in an attempt to avoid them.

Less than a minute later, another thunderous roar erupted.

This time, the shell did not hit the guard directly. Instead, it passed through the stone fence, bounced after landing, and continued flying forward before finally slamming heavily against the wall of the Villa.

Count of Thiol's Manor was not large, only about 300 meters from the gate to the Villa, so the shell still maintained considerable force, smashing a corner of the outer wall to pieces.

On the second floor of the Villa, the Duke of Orléans, the Count of Thiol, and another Nobility were discussing whether the conflict at the Versailles Palace regarding the "abolition of privileges" could be exploited for political gain.

Suddenly, the three heard a loud rumble in the distance and stood up in surprise.

As the Guard Captain rushed into the house and told them that a mob was bombarding the place with cannons, the Villa trembled violently again, followed by the excited shouts of the rioters.

As the third cannon shot was fired, the Duke of Orléans ' Guard finally could not hold out any longer and turned to run back into the Villa —even the most elite troops would hardly have the Courage face a cannon at such close range, not to mention that there were thousands of rioters around the cannon.

Enraged citizens immediately gave chase, tackling any slow-moving guards and beating them mercilessly.

The crowd only stopped when they reached the vicinity of the Villa, threatened by bullets fired from the windows.

"These guys wanted to starve us to death before, and now they want to beat us to death!" someone roared.

"Charge in! I want revenge for my child!"

"But they have guns..."

"Drag the cannons over here and let them taste our power!"

The Duke of Orléans watched in shock as the rioters surrounded the Villa, and shouted from the window:

"I am Louis Philip II, your Duke of Orléans..."

However, the roars of the rioting citizens easily drowned out his voice, and no one noticed what the man in the blue robe at the window was saying.

"Your Duke, danger!" The Guard Captain hurriedly dragged him back into the living room.

Before long, the cannon appeared less than two hundred paces from the Villa, and several citizens quickly stuffed Gunpowder and shells into the muzzle.

"Bang--"

The black iron ball, carrying an aura of death, flew straight towards the second floor of the Villa.

[Note 1] In France playing card culture, the suit "spades" is called "spear".

(End of this chapter)