I Don’t Need a Guillotine for My Revolution

Chapter 69: Directory Government - Guardians of the Revolution (1)

The day after Pierre de Lafayette departed for the south with King Kroxx's emissaries.

It was dawn, before the sun had even risen.

Raphael Valliant sat in the Northern Army's Command Center, legs crossed.

On the table before him lay a map of all of Francia and a chess set.

"Well, then."

Valliant slowly reached out and picked up the knight on the chessboard.

"Since I have the first move, it's only fitting to start a little... treacherously."

*

Loud knocking echoed through the mansion of General Louis Desaix, the chief of staff and acting commander of the Southern Army.

Having had a restless night, Desaix looked out the window and confirmed it was pre-dawn, just before the sky began to lighten. He cursed."What madmen are at this hour... Ah, damn it."

With an inkling of what was to come, Desaix quickly threw on his coat and was reaching for his sword when he heard the terrified screams and footsteps of his servants outside.

After a perfunctory knock, the door was flung open, and Desaix frowned at the man who entered.

"General Morelle."

Jerome Morelle, the dashing cavalry general of the Northern Army, smiled and spoke.

"My apologies for the late hour, General Louis Desaix."

"If you're sorry, shouldn't you not be doing this?"

"Whew~ Given the gravity of the situation, I ask for your understanding. General Louis Desaix? A report has been filed accusing you of embezzling supplies meant for the Southern Army. I don't believe someone like you would do such a thing, but I'd appreciate your cooperation in the investigation."

Desaix scoffed at the order that Morelle handed him, signed by Raphael Valliant.

If Pierre had been there to protect him, things might have been different, but when rank was used to suppress him, even if he protested, the truth would only be revealed later.

Desaix ground his teeth, but seeing Morelle and the cuirassier troopers standing behind him, he threw down his sword and raised his hands.

"I'll submit to the investigation for now, but if I'm innocent, you'll have to face the consequences."

To Desaix's disgruntled face, Morelle replied with a grin.

"A wise decision, General Desaix."

*

"Commander, General Louis Desaix has been secured."

Valliant smiled and pulled the enemy knight off the chessboard, laying it down.

By regulation, when both Commander Marquis Lafayette and Desaix, the Southern Army's acting commander, were absent, command of the Southern Army would fall to Valliant, the Northern Army's commander.

No one would have thought that the regulation created for the Northern and Southern Armies to cooperate in times of war would be used in this way.

That alone wouldn't ensure the Southern Army obediently followed Valliant's orders, but with its head absent, the Southern Army would be temporarily neutralized.

The Southern Army would vehemently protest later, but this was manageable enough to cover up by finding a suitable scapegoat.

Valliant, not wanting to spark a civil war and engage in street battles in the capital, had devised this plan.

Whatever Lafayette, who had left the capital, had prepared would be nullified by the command vacuum created by Desaix's arrest.

"Well, then, next is our faithful bishop's turn."

Valliant chuckled and picked up the bishop on the chessboard.

A card to shake the National Assembly and justify his actions, and if necessary, to be discarded to take the blame in his stead.

*

At that moment, in Lumiere, the Aquitaine family's mansion in the capital.

Having received a report of Desaix's arrest from a planted subordinate, Christine Aquitaine quickly changed and went to her office.

Christine pulled on the bookshelf in her office and entered a hidden room.

The hem of her black dress disappeared into the dark room, devoid of light. Even in the darkness, Christine moved with practiced familiarity to one side and turned on a magic lamp.

The illuminated room's walls were covered with countless plans, and on another desk lay blank orders signed in Pierre de Lafayette's name.

Christine first cleared away some of the prepared plans on one side.

Starting by arresting Louis Desaix instead of herself meant that Valliant didn't want a direct confrontation with the Southern Army.

Perhaps he intended to negotiate with Pierre and demand cooperation after overthrowing the National Assembly.

A cold smile appeared on Christine's lips. A naive idea. No, rather, it was arrogant confidence.

If Christine were in his position, she would have planned to purge Pierre entirely, and for the sake of perfection, she would have eliminated her first.

Christine thought, mocking herself, that perhaps she was strange for conceiving such ideas as naturally as breathing.

Pierre, endearingly, thought she was wary of his and Eris's relationship as a couple, but Christine could see their relationship was different.

It was a more fundamental and visceral jealousy, containing a sense of inferiority towards a human who was a crystallization of pure goodwill and nobility that she could never emulate.

She, who had acknowledged the affection she had tried to ignore, could never let go of Pierre now, fearing that he, who kept such pure light by his side, might one day become disillusioned with her.

However, it was Christine Aquitaine whom Pierre de Lafayette had chosen. He had entrusted his fate to her, giving her everything.

Pierre knew full well how ruthless she could be, and he had allowed her to run wild without regard for means or methods.

Then, she must live up to his expectations.

Christine slowly reached out and picked up an identification card placed aside.

The false identification Halphas had used. Emanuel Sierres', B-rank mage identification card.

Christine's eyes darkened, and a cruel smile played on her lips.

Though infuriating to admit, even a truly noble person like that saintess was, at this point, still prim and proper, concerned with justification and escape routes.

As someone who had already acknowledged herself as belonging to the darkness, she was not generous enough to tolerate such hypocrisy.

*

As dawn broke over Lumiere's central square, a considerable number of citizens had gathered.

Bishop Arnaud Richelieu, who had been in seclusion, announced yesterday he would finally emerge to give a sermon to citizens experiencing the turbulent political situation.

However, Bishop Richelieu, sitting in a chair behind the podium, preparing his sermon, was trembling with anxiety and nervousness.

Now that he had come this far, there was no turning back. He could no longer stand by and watch this country turn its back on God's will and fall into depravity.

"Father, Lord, look down upon me..."

As he thought this and recited the prayer, the cold, inhuman eyes of the black witch flashed in his memory, sending shivers down his spine.

What Richelieu recalled in his frustration was his long-lost advisor and friend.

'If only Sierres were here at a time like this.'

If only Sierres, who had offered generous advice and warm encouragement during Richelieu's pondering of the path for the suffering people of Francia under the old regime, were here.

Had Sierres been there when the revolution broke out, perhaps he, instead of being shocked by its blood and madness and going into seclusion, could have corrected their path.

As Richelieu was feeling a deep sense of regret, a Priest who had served him for many years approached.

"Your Excellency!"

"What is it?"

"A letter and a gift have arrived from Lord Sierres!"

"What?"

Richelieu hurriedly took the letter from the Priest.

Seeing the familiar seal of Sierres, his eyes filled with tears.

"This, this fellow. What has he been doing all this time?"

With trembling hands, Richelieu broke the seal and read the letter.

The letter was an apology for his inability to contact him due to a top-secret summons from his Magic Tower, and a message that he would soon leave the Magic Kingdom to visit him in person as his mission was finally over.

It was the all-too-familiar, unmistakable handwriting of Sierres.

Upon seeing this, Richelieu felt more longing than resentment towards him and wept.

Richelieu might normally have pondered the contents carefully and felt doubts.

But he was overjoyed at the long-awaited news, arriving just when he was most burdened by pressure and fear.

Richelieu could not even imagine that it was a false letter sent by the black witch, who used information and belongings extracted from Halphas with feigned kindness.

Nor that the friendship he had built over years was false from the beginning, and thus inherently flawed.

Putting down the letter, Richelieu opened the gift that Sierres had sent and saw a very familiar potion.

A potion developed by the Magic Tower where Sierres was taught, boosting vitality and enhancing concentration.

It was so effective that when with Sierres, he had asked for more, wanting to drink it often, but Sierres gave it to him only occasionally, citing its expense. Richelieu smiled brightly at the sight of it after so long.

Richelieu never knew that it was also the effect of Eternal Rest, a poison that never decomposes and accumulates in the victim's body.

He had drunk it several times over the years, and it had actually helped him, rather than harmed him.

At the most difficult moment, his friend had sent him the most appropriate gift; Richelieu immediately opened and drank the potion.

His head cleared and his confidence soared; Richelieu slowly closed his eyes and offered a prayer of thanks.

"Father, Lord, thank you for hearing my prayer. I praise your mercy for giving your humble servant the greatest joy."

Fear and hesitation disappeared, replaced by a sense of mission to lead these lost lambs to the right path.

Richelieu stood up abruptly and stepped onto the podium.

"It's Bishop Richelieu!"

"Bishop! Lead us!"

Behold, the lambs were so desperate for a shepherd because the National Assembly's corruption had failed to show them the right way.

It was not too late.

Let us correct it.

The revolution that should not have happened.

The freedom, equality, and fraternity that were too early for these people.

The democracy that was too much for those who were not ready.

Everything could be returned to its proper place.

"Brothers and sisters of Lumiere, I, Arnaud Richelieu, a humble servant of God, greet you."

A roar of applause erupted, but stopped immediately as Richelieu raised his hand.

"This humble servant of God denounces the National Assembly for holding a fraudulent election against the people's will to pass an unrighteous policy against God's will!"

At Richelieu's cry, silence fell.

And then, the very next moment.

"I knew something was strange!"

"How can it be the will of the people to turn their backs on God's will and join hands with the barbarians!"

The citizens throughout the square were instantly filled with anger and fervor, and an outcry erupted.

"Bishop, lead us fools! What should we do!"

As he saw the lambs asking for his guidance, Richelieu's heart overflowed with gratitude for God and Sierres.

It was not too late.

A bright smile appeared on Richelieu's lips.

*

"Wh-What should we do? He looks so content, fast asleep..."

"He's been working himself to the bone lately. Still, the people await the Bishop's sermon. We must wake him..."

The Priest, who had served Richelieu faithfully for years, approached with care. Richelieu, a blissful smile upon his sleeping face, sat motionless in his chair. The Priest gave him a gentle shake.

"Your Excellency, I apologize for disturbing you, but the congregation is waiting. You need to wake up."

But Richelieu did not wake, his smile fixed.

"Your Excellency?"

Neither the Priest's voice nor the touch of his hand could reach him any longer.

And Richelieu would remain forever ignorant of the fact that the friend he held in highest esteem was exploiting him to ignite a revolution, administering a lethal poison to dispose of him.

He would never know that his noble aim—to guide the corrupt elite and clergy towards virtue—was a twisted notion, deliberately planted to breed chaos.

He would never grasp the truth: that, despite his devout prayers, he was nothing more than a pawn in the devil's game of false friendship.

Without a flicker of awareness,

the Bishop, unwavering in his belief that he was guiding his flock towards righteousness, was trapped in a happy illusion, his grand purpose in ruins.

Never to open his eyes again.

Forever.