Life of Being a Crown Prince in France

"There's nothing yet," said Prosper with a troubled expression, "As you know, we haven't really been in contact with the military before. Just yesterday, my people managed to establish a connection with an officer of the French Guards..."

Fouche spoke coldly, "I'll give you five more days. If you can't find anything of value, the position of the action team leader can be replaced."

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

Seeing his expression, Fouche knew the difficulty of this mission was extreme—the army had its own intelligence system, even the secret police hardly dared to stretch their tentacles into military affairs, let alone the Police Affairs Department that had been established for only a few months.

"Remember, where there's contact, there must be a trace!" he encouraged his subordinate, "As long as you pay attention to all the details, I believe, you will find what you're looking for."

...

In the office of the Commander of the French Guards.

"Are you saying," Besanval stared directly at his subordinate, trying to suppress his anger, "that the shelling of the farm in the southern suburbs was your doing?"

The Major in front of him nodded with a smug expression, "Yes, General. Rest assured, they did a clean job. That very night, I sent someone to tell that farming household that it was the police training range that hit them and then notified all the newspapers in Paris..."

"Theodore, you idiot!" Besanval finally exploded, slamming the table and yelling, "Who told you to take the initiative?!"

Yesterday he had heard about the incident at the suburban farm and had thought it was a training mishap at the police school; in the joy of it, he had even contacted several influential nobles to pressurize the Minister of the Interior.

It turned out to be bloody done by his own subordinates.

"There are only so many troops around Paris," Besanval ground his teeth, "Others will soon suspect us!"

"Listen! During this period, you and your people are not to leave the barracks, nor are you allowed to have any contact with outsiders."

"Oh, Lord, what stupid things have you done!"

"Yes, yes..." Theodore shrank back, trembling, and retreated.

Besanval rubbed his swollen and aching palm, shaking his head irritably.

Although Theodore's approach was crude, it had already been dark, and surely no one saw that it was the French Guards who did it. As long as he stayed in the barracks, there should be no issues.

He glanced at the newspaper beside him; the large headline read, "Suspected police training field's cannonball hits farmhouse, resulting in two deaths," yet a cold smile appeared on his face.

As long as the matter wasn't leaked, maybe they could indeed take this opportunity to thoroughly deal with the Police Headquarters.

...

At the entrance of the White Narcissus Technical Institute, two middle-aged men who were drunk as lords clung to each other's shoulders, heading toward a carriage by the road.

"Valentin, my good friend," the small-eyed man with a French Guards' standard shirt underneath and a black overcoat on top beamed with a smile, slapping the other man, "Let's go hunting some time; winter rabbits are so fat..."

The tall man with a square face, however, waved his hand away, "What's the fun in hunting? You can only use those tiny shotguns."

His tongue seemed a bit thick, "Cannons! Only cannons are a man's true love! Tiru, do you know, if it wasn't for my leg, perhaps my rank would not be lower than yours?"

Tiru nodded repeatedly, "Yes, your ancestors, your father, they all made their mark in battle. You have an excellent heritage, you would definitely make a great officer."

Valentin took a few limping steps out, looked back at the technical institute with a sigh, "Too bad, I'm doomed to waste my life in places like this. I envy you, able to wear a uniform, command cannons, crushing all the enemies on the battlefield!"

"And here I am, from a military family, yet I've never even touched a real cannon."

Tiru laughed, "Cannons? What's so interesting about them? They're cold and hard..."

"No, you don't understand your good fortune. To me, cannons are more adorable than the girls of White Narcissus."

It suddenly occurred to Tiru that this wealthy Valentin Menard, Vicomte, had taken a liking to him a few days ago at the bar. Over the past week, he had been invited to drink and visit brothels every day, spending a lot of money. Tiru felt a little guilty about it.

He hadn't realized that the Vicomte was so fond of cannons; perhaps this was his chance to repay him a favor.

Tiru immediately pulled Menard onto the carriage, lowering his voice with the aid of alcohol, "You've taken me to White Narcissus so many times, so let me treat you to some fun with cannons."

Menard responded with delight, "Really? Where are there cannons?"

"Of course, in the barracks, hehe."

"But I'm not a soldier, how could I enter the barracks?"

Tiru patted his chest, "Don't worry, I'll take you. The cannons will be at your disposal, and if there's a chance, I might even let you fire a few shots."

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

"We're friends, why say such things?"

At twilight, Menard dressed in a French Guards' uniform, limping behind Tiru, entered the French Guards' barracks.

The sentries at the gate glimpsed Tiru's rank and asked no further questions.

Outside the storage room where the French Guards kept their cannons, Tiru whispered a few words to the guard on duty and then signalled for Menard to go in.

"Oh, Lord! Real cannons!" As Menard saw the cannons, he immediately became enthusiastic, stroking each cannon as if they were beloved girls.