I Reincarnated as a Prince Who Revolutionized the Kingdom-Chapter 56: Reminiscing

July 23rd, 1693.

Voss and her ministers emerged in the countryside, believing they had escaped to freedom. But instead of open roads, they were met with a ring of Royalist cavalry, rifles leveled at them.

Bruno, seated atop his horse, approached.

Voss’s expression darkened. "You planned this."

Bruno’s eyes were cold. "I knew you’d run. People like you always do."

Lafayette fell to his knees, trembling. "Please, Your Highness—mercy—"

Bruno exhaled slowly. "Did you show mercy to the people of Elysee when you massacred them?"

Voss clenched her fists. "Kill me if you must. But the Republic’s ideals will never die."

Bruno turned to his men. "Take them alive."

July 24th, 1693.

The Royal Palace of Elysee loomed in the distance, its towering spires and marble halls untouched by the battle that had consumed the city. It had once been the heart of the kingdom, a symbol of the royal family’s strength and heritage. And now, after what could be considered an exile, Prince Bruno was finally returning.

He rode at the head of his army, his banner fluttering in the wind. The streets were lined with cheering citizens, waving the royal colors and chanting his name. The Republic had ruled with an iron fist, but its grip had finally broken. The people saw him not just as a victorious general but as the last true heir of Elysea.

Yet as he approached the palace gates, a strange feeling settled in his chest. This had once been his home, a place where he had spent his early childhood before being sent to Corse. Memories, long buried under years of war, came rushing back.

The palace gates creaked open, revealing the grand courtyard beyond. For a moment, Bruno could almost see himself as a child, running across the polished stone paths, his laughter echoing under the vast, arched halls. He remembered his father’s voice, deep and commanding, giving orders to the court. He remembered his mother, elegant and poised, reading in the gardens while he played nearby.

But those days were gone. The palace had stood empty for years, its corridors once filled with nobles and royal guards now silent. Bruno dismounted his horse and stepped forward, his boots echoing against the marble floor as he crossed the threshold of his old home.

Inside the Palace

Bruno walked through the grand entrance hall, running his gloved fingers along the gilded walls. The chandeliers still hung from the high ceilings, though dust and neglect had dimmed their former brilliance. The paintings of his ancestors lined the corridors, their regal expressions watching him as if they had been waiting for his return.

"So much has changed," he muttered to himself.

His officers followed behind him, but they did not speak. They knew this was a personal moment for him.

The throne room was just ahead, its large doors slightly ajar. Bruno hesitated for just a moment before pushing them open.

The golden throne of Elysea stood at the far end of the room, untouched by time. A symbol of authority, of legacy, of a kingdom that had nearly been lost. And yet, it felt foreign to him.

He stepped forward, his boots clicking against the polished floor, and stood before the throne. He did not sit. Not yet.

Not until the crown was placed upon his head.

Bruno turned away, exhaling slowly. He had won the war, but he was not yet king. That moment would come soon—when the nobles, the clergy, and the people declared him as such. For now, he was the ruler in all but name.

As he walked the halls of the palace, fragments of his childhood returned to him.

He remembered the library, where he had sat for hours, fascinated by books on war and history. He had once dreamt of commanding armies, but that dream was far too off for the original Bruno as he had grown very spoiled.

He passed by the royal gardens, where his mother used to walk, her hands brushing against the white roses. He could almost hear her voice, soft and gentle, telling him stories of Elysea’s great kings.

And then there was his father’s study, the place where decisions that shaped the kingdom had been made. The heavy oak door creaked as he pushed it open, revealing a room frozen in time.

A large map of Elysea still lay on the desk, its edges curled with age. The same desk where his father had once sat, his hands clasped as he planned military campaigns, economic reforms, and diplomatic strategies. Bruno had once watched from the corner of the room, too young to understand the burdens of kingship.

Now, that burden was his.

He turned to Berthold and Leclerc, who stood nearby. "This is where we will plan the kingdom’s future," he said firmly. "The war may be over, but our work is just beginning."

That evening, Bruno convened his first council meeting in the palace. His commanders, advisors, and trusted nobles gathered around the long table in the war room, discussing the next steps.

"The Republic’s leadership is finished," Berthold reported. "Voss and her ministers are in our custody. The remaining Republican generals have either surrendered or fled into hiding."

Leclerc nodded. "The countryside is firmly in our control. Most of the towns and cities have declared loyalty to you, Your Highness. The people want you crowned."

Bruno leaned forward, his hands clasped. "And what of the army? We must ensure stability before the coronation."

Vallier, still recovering from his wounds, spoke up. "The Royalist Army stands strong, but we must be cautious. There are still remnants of the Republic’s supporters—desperate men who might try to fight back."

Bruno considered this. "We will rebuild the kingdom, but not through fear. The people must see that we are different from the Republic. No mass executions, no purges. We will hold trials for the former government officials. Those guilty of crimes will face justice, but there will be no senseless bloodshed."

Berthold smirked. "A wise approach. A ruler must know when to be merciful and when to be ruthless."

Bruno’s gaze hardened. "And should they try to rise against us again, we will crush them without hesitation."

As the meeting concluded, Bruno returned to the royal chambers, his footsteps slowing as he entered. This had been his parents’ room once. He stepped inside, looking at the ornate canopy bed, the large windows that overlooked the city, the grand fireplace that had warmed the room on cold nights.

He walked to the balcony, placing his hands on the railing as he gazed at Elysee.

The city had changed. The streets that had once been filled with Republican banners now bore the colors of the royal family. The people below cheered his name, their voices carrying into the night.

It was hard to believe.

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The original prince had left this palace to be trained in governance but was merely a disguise for him to be sent off so as to not bring shame upon the royal family. Just now, he had led a rebellion that no one had thought possible.

Bruno took a deep breath. The war was over, but his true test was about to begin.

The task of ruling was far more difficult than winning battles.

But he was ready.