Eliminating a Traitor
The French windows on the west side of the second floor of the Villa, along with their frames, were gone. Half of the wall directly behind the Window Tax had collapsed, revealing jagged red bricks. The corridor on the other side of the wall was filled with brick dust and bloodstains. There was a hole in the roof; it was unclear how the shell had managed to get there.
The citizens outside erupted in a tsunami of cheers. The makeshift gunner felt as if he had personally punched Count of Thiol, and a surge of vengeful pleasure coursed through him.
As the gunners were preparing to reload, they suddenly noticed that the guards who had been peering out of the windows, aiming their guns, were starting to panic, and most of them retreated back into the Villa.
"Look, those guys are scared!" someone immediately shouted, pointing at the Villa.
"They knew what crimes they had committed, and they started to feel guilty."
"Charge in! Avenge our loved ones!"
Shouting, the crowd surged toward the Villa from all directions. Although sporadic gunshots came from the doors and windows, they did nothing to stop the surging tide of people.
Fouche was observing the situation from a short distance away, frowned upon seeing this; the resistance inside the Villa had stopped too suddenly.
He immediately realized something and turned to the official beside him, shouting, "They might try to escape! Go... no, I'll go myself! You keep a close watch on the nearby buildings!"
"Yes, sir!"
Dressed as an ordinary merchant, Fouche, along with five of his men, rushed into the Villa with the rioting crowd.
The entire Villa was in complete chaos, with everyone frantically searching for valuables and destroying everything in sight.
With hysterical shouts, laughter, and faint cries as the main melody, and the sounds of breaking Wood and Porcelain as chords, hundreds of people are playing a symphony of madness and destruction here.
Soon, someone set fire to the kitchen on the first floor of the south side of the Villa, and the thick smoke, carried by a gentle breeze, quickly spread throughout the house.
Fouche looked around and quickly walked to the stairs.
Everywhere, frenzied rioters and guards were wrestling, and people were tumbling down the stairs every now and then. Fouche nimbly dodged them and ran all the way to the second floor.
Before them lay an even more chaotic battlefield, thick smoke rising into the air, but people paid no heed, coughing as they rushed toward the guards. Gunshots could be heard from time to time, but the guards who fired were quickly overwhelmed by the crowd.
As Fouche walked along the corridor to the Villa's courtyard, he saw seven or eight guards gathered outside a room, nervously pointing their guns at the surroundings.
Several bodies of rioters lay nearby, and a large section of the west wall had collapsed, with piles of broken bricks next to it.
He immediately realized that this was the room that had just been hit by cannon fire.
The fact that so many guards are gathered here means there must be some important person inside!
As he pondered how to sneak in, thick smoke slowly drifted over. An officer from the Guard ran from the other side of the corridor and shouted to the armed guards, "The fire has spread to the drinking room next door! You, you, and you, come with me to put it out!"
"Hold on a little longer, Orol will soon bring reinforcements from the Count of Caste family!"
The officer left with several guards. The guards at the door waved to disperse the thick smoke, but they were soon choked by the smoke and their eyes were filled with tears.
Fouche immediately took a deep breath, signaled to his men behind him, and then, while the guards were struggling with the smoke, he crouched down and crawled into the hole in the wall.
There wasn't much smoke in the room. An officer turned around immediately upon hearing the noise. Fouche, with a sinister grin, drew his Pistol and pulled the trigger, sending the officer flying backward.
Immediately, Fouche noticed a person lying on their side in the armchair in the middle of the room.
The man was deathly pale, his wig askew. Startled by the gunshot, he struggled to look up in their direction.
That dust-covered face belonged to the Duke of Orléans.
Fouche holstered his Pistol and took a few steps forward. Only then did he notice that the man in the chair had lost his left arm from the elbow down, the severed end tightly bound with bandages. A shard of Glass, more than an inch wide, was embedded in his right back, and although Glass was also wrapped in thick bandages, blood was still dripping from the end of the Glass.
"You..."
The Duke of Orléans opened his mouth, his face contorted in pain, followed by a fit of coughing, his mouth covered in blood and foam. Clearly, he had suffered a severe lung injury.
The sounds of fighting between guards and special agents from the Police Intelligence Division could be heard outside the door, but they quickly subsided.
Fouche approached the Duke of Orléans, staring at him as if admiring a painting he greatly admired, and said in a calm tone, "Duke Grace, good morning. I regret to inform you that, due to your serious crimes of treason and conspiracy to overthrow the Royal House, His Highness the Crown Prince has entrusted me to pronounce you dead."
When the Duke of Orléans heard the words "Crown Prince," his eyes widened, veins bulged on his forehead, and he struggled to say something, but a spasm of pain shot through him. A waterfall of cold sweat washed away the powder on his face, leaving vertical streaks.
"Yes, His Highness knows everything you've done in secret." Fouche nodded, as if he had guessed what he was going to say. "And then, he took care of your... well, how should I put it, your little tricks?"
"Oh, by the way, Your Highness has something else you need me to give you."
Fouche took out a small silver box from his person, opened it, took out the contents, and unfolded it.
It was a crown made of folded paper. The Duke of Orléans stared intently at the paper ring in Fouche, dyed gold and decorated with Gem, his eyes bloodshot. He wanted to roar, to tear the paper ring apart, but found himself like a frozen worm, completely unable to move.
Fouche placed the exquisitely crafted "crown" on the Duke of Orléans ' head, then drew his dagger and said with a slight smile, "His Highness says he fully understands your desire to ascend the throne. However, you are only fit to wear this."
As he spoke, he raised his dagger, only to find the latter's body suddenly slump into the chair.
Fouche frowned, stepped forward and felt for the Duke of Orléans ' carotid artery, then sighed in annoyance and sheathed his dagger.
Before long, more than a dozen agents from the Police Intelligence Division left Count of Thiol's Villa from different directions. Each of them was carrying some plates, candlesticks and the like, just like ordinary rioters.
Then the agents who were on guard around the perimeter also withdrew one after another, like a few inconspicuous drops of water among the thousands of rioters.
Versailles Palace.
Mirabeau gestured to Queen Mary with her hand on her chest. "Your Majesty, you see, those who opposed this bill have clearly been persuaded. This is a reform that the people have long awaited; the Nobility, with their noble character, have relinquished some minor rights in exchange for immense hope for countless peasants."
As he spoke, he glanced out the window at the Nobility who were petitioning.
There, the Emerging Nobles all supported the "abolition of Nobility privileges," while the Old Nobles had already fallen silent.
The core figures among the Old Nobles had long lost interest in political affairs—nine of them had been killed by rioters in their hometowns. The rest had their estates utterly destroyed; not only were their Manor smashed or burned, but most importantly, all their valuables, deeds, bonds, and even their Nobility blood certificates were lost.
In this era, without wealth commensurate with their status, Nobility would not have a prominent position, and their political influence would dissipate.
(End of this chapter)