I Reincarnated as a Prince Who Revolutionized the Kingdom-Chapter 55: Battle of Elysee

July 20th, 1693 – The March on Elysee

The Royalist Army advanced across the countryside, their banners rippling in the wind as they moved ever closer to the capital. The road to Elysee was lined with towns and villages that had long suffered under the Republic’s rule, and now, with hope rekindled, the people welcomed their liberators. Farmers and merchants alike stood along the dirt roads, waving, cheering, and offering what little supplies they could spare. Many young men, driven by the desire to see the kingdom restored, took up arms and joined Prince Bruno’s ranks.

But as the grand city of Elysee appeared in the distance, standing tall and defiant with its stone walls and towering buildings, a grim realization settled over Bruno and his officers. The Republic would not surrender easily.

Standing at the front of his army, Bruno surveyed the skyline through his spyglass. Smoke from the recent riots still lingered in the air, dark clouds of anger and desperation that refused to fade. His grip on the reins tightened. "They’re preparing for the final stand," he murmured.

General Berthold rode beside him, eyes fixed on the city ahead. "Urban warfare will be unlike any battle we’ve fought before," he warned. "The defenders know every street, every alley. We’ll be fighting for every inch of the city."

Bruno lowered his spyglass. "That’s why we won’t play by their rules," he said. "If we march through the gates expecting a fair fight, we’ll be slaughtered. We’ll use our strengths—our firepower, our coordination, and our strategy. They still think they can match us in battle. We’ll prove them wrong."

July 21st, 1693.

At dawn, the Royalist artillery roared to life. Cannons lined the ridges outside the city, positioned carefully by Durand’s engineers to maximize their effectiveness. Their long-range shells hammered the city walls, shaking the very foundation of Elysee. Entire sections of stone crumbled under the relentless assault, dust and debris choking the air. The great iron gates, which had once stood as the Republic’s symbol of defiance, were soon reduced to a gaping hole.

Inside the city, the Republican defenders scrambled. Officers shouted orders, trying to restore some semblance of organization as soldiers rushed to reinforce barricades and man sniper positions inside buildings. Musket fire cracked through the air, but the Royalists remained beyond range, their superior artillery ensuring the defenders could do nothing but wait for the inevitable ground assault.

From atop a ridge, Bruno observed the damage through his spyglass. He turned to General Berthold. "Signal the infantry. It’s time."

The Royalist Army surged forward, marching through the shattered gates with unwavering discipline. Their muskets were raised, bayonets fixed, moving in coordinated formations. They had trained for this moment, and now, as the streets of Elysee became their battlefield, every movement was precise, every shot calculated.

But the Republican Army was far from defeated. Though outgunned, they knew the city well, and they used its dense, twisting streets to their advantage. From rooftops and balconies, Republican snipers picked off advancing soldiers, their shots echoing between the stone buildings. Ambushes were sprung in alleyways, where hidden defenders attacked with knives, pistols, and even makeshift explosives.

A Royalist column advancing down a narrow street was suddenly met with an explosion as a barrel bomb, hidden beneath a wagon, erupted in flames. Soldiers were thrown from their feet, screaming as the blast ripped through their ranks. Smoke and dust filled the passage, and from the shadows, Republican troops emerged, firing into the dazed Royalists before vanishing into nearby buildings.

From the rooftops, flaming oil was dumped onto unsuspecting Royalist formations, the burning liquid sending men into agonized screams as they tore at their uniforms in vain. Every street was a deathtrap, every corner a place where death lurked unseen.

Bruno, watching the battle unfold, knew he had to change tactics. He turned to Durand. "Move the artillery into the city," he ordered.

Durand hesitated. "Artillery in urban combat? It’s risky, Your Highness."

Bruno’s gaze was steely. "We don’t have a choice."

Soon, Royalist field artillery was dragged into the streets, rolling over the rubble as engineers set up firing positions. The next assault began not with musket fire, but with cannon blasts that ripped through entire buildings, leveling Republican sniper nests and fortified barricades alike. Grenadiers moved ahead of the infantry, tossing explosives into enemy strongholds before storming in to finish off the survivors.

Slowly, the Republican resistance began to crumble.

July 22nd, 1693.

After two days of brutal urban combat, the Royalist Army had pushed the remaining Republican forces into the Grand Plaza, the heart of Elysee. Here, the last bastion of Republican rule remained—the Bureau of State Security and the Revolutionary Palace, where the remnants of the government had barricaded themselves.

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General Hector Bellerose, the last remaining commander of the Republican Army, stood on the steps of the Bureau, surrounded by his final defenders. Smoke, blood, and fire filled the plaza, but still, they refused to surrender.

Bruno, leading his men into the square, looked upon the tattered remnants of the once-mighty Republican Army. He dismounted his horse and stepped forward.

Bellerose watched him approach, sword in hand, his uniform torn and bloodied. "You think this ends today, Prince?"

Bruno met his gaze. "It does."

With a final, desperate cry, the Republicans made their last stand. They fought like men with nothing left to lose, charging forward with bayonets and pistols, trying to break the Royalist line in one last, futile attack.

But the battle was already over.

Royalist rifles fired in coordinated volleys, cutting down the last defenders. Within minutes, the Grand Plaza belonged to Prince Bruno.

Minister Emilia Voss, Jean-Paul Lafayette, and the remaining Revolutionary Council had already fled long before the final clash. They had escaped through a hidden tunnel beneath the Bureau of State Security, desperate to flee before Bruno’s forces captured them.

But Bruno had anticipated their escape.

He had ordered his cavalry to block every known exit out of the city. He knew where the tunnel led, and he was waiting for them.