I Reincarnated as a Prince Who Revolutionized the Kingdom-Chapter 58: The Execution of Revolutionary Council

July 27th, 1693.

The dawn was slow to break over Elysee, as though the heavens themselves hesitated to witness the reckoning that was about to unfold. A gray sky hung over the city, the air thick with the lingering scent of gunpowder and ash from the recent battle. Streets that had once been empty and silent under Republican rule were now filled with a sea of people, gathering in the central square before the scaffold.

At the heart of it stood the guillotine—an instrument of death that had once been used by the Revolutionary Council to purge their enemies. Now, it would claim the heads of the very men and women who had wielded it so mercilessly.

From his vantage point on a raised platform, Prince Bruno observed the scene before him. The people of Elysee, who had lived under the Republic’s rule for more than a decade, had once gathered in this very square to cheer for the execution of nobles and monarchists. Today, they had come for justice—or vengeance.

The prisoners, bound and shackled, knelt before the guillotine. They were no longer the powerful leaders who had once ruled Elysea with an iron fist. They were broken, stripped of their influence, awaiting judgment.

Captain Vallier stood beside Bruno, his expression hard. General Berthold and Antoine Leclerc flanked his other side, their presence a silent reminder that this was not merely an act of revenge, but a necessary step toward solidifying Bruno’s rule.

The herald stepped forward, unfurling a scroll as he addressed the crowd.

"Citizens of Elysee, today marks the end of tyranny! The Revolutionary Council, who once ruled through fear and oppression, have been found guilty of crimes against the kingdom. For the massacres of our people, for the betrayal of our nation, and for the murder of the royal family, they now face the justice they denied to so many!"

A deafening roar of approval surged through the crowd, fists raised, voices echoing through the city.

Bruno took a slow breath, then gave a curt nod to the executioner.

The first prisoner was brought forward.

Jean-Paul Lafayette, the former Minister of Trade and Finance, had once been among the wealthiest men in Elysea. He had helped fund the Republic’s rise, filling its coffers by bleeding the people dry. Taxes, trade monopolies, forced contributions—he had built an empire of gold atop the suffering of others.

Now, he was barely recognizable. His fine clothing was torn, his once-groomed beard unkempt, his hands shaking violently as he was dragged up the scaffold.

"Please—" he stammered as the executioner forced him to his knees. "Please, Your Highness, have mercy!"

Bruno looked down at him, his expression unreadable. "Did you show mercy to the families who starved under your rule? Did you show mercy to the merchants whose businesses you destroyed?"

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Lafayette whimpered. "I—I was only following orders—"

Bruno gave a sharp nod. "Then follow this one. Accept your fate."

The crowd jeered as Lafayette was forced beneath the blade. The executioner yanked the lever, and with a sickening thud, the guillotine did its work.

Silence followed for a brief moment—then the people erupted in cheers.

Bruno did not react. His gaze was already on the next prisoner.

Hector Bellerose had been the Republic’s enforcer, the man who had led armies against his own people in the name of order. He had commanded the forces that slaughtered royalist uprisings. He had given the order to fire on innocent civilians.

Unlike Lafayette, he did not beg.

As he walked up the scaffold, his back straight, his eyes calm, he glanced at Bruno. "I fought for what I believed in," he said simply. "And I die for it."

Bruno met his gaze. "You killed my family."

Bellerose nodded once. "Yes."

Bruno inhaled slowly. "Then you die for it."

Bellerose knelt, placing his hands on the wooden block, accepting his fate. The executioner pulled the lever.

The blade fell.

The Butcher of Elysee was no more.

The crowd roared again, their voices shaking the city’s foundations. The people had feared Bellerose for years—now, they saw his blood stain the very ground he had once ruled.

Bruno barely registered their cheers. His focus was on the last prisoner.

Emilia Voss had been the true power behind the Republic. She had been its mind, its voice, its executioner. The head of the Bureau of State Security, she had overseen the purges, the arrests, the torture chambers where enemies of the state disappeared.

And yet, as she was brought to the scaffold, her face betrayed no fear.

Even in chains, even in rags, she stood with the posture of a woman who believed she was still in control.

"You think this is victory?" she said as she was forced onto her knees. "You think by killing me, you will erase the Republic?"

Bruno stepped forward, his voice calm. "The Republic is already dead, Emilia. And soon, you will be too."

She smirked. "Then you are a fool. Ideas cannot be killed."

Bruno exhaled. "Perhaps not. But murderers can."

He gave the signal.

The guillotine fell one final time.

And with that, the Republic’s last shadow was gone.

The crowd stood in stunned silence for a moment, as if processing what had just happened. And then, as the realization sank in, the square erupted in a deafening roar.

The Republic had fallen. Its leaders had paid for their crimes. And Elysea was free.

Bruno turned to Berthold. "Burn their bodies. Let the wind scatter their ashes."

Berthold nodded. "And what of the Republic’s remaining supporters? There are still many who backed them."

Bruno looked over the crowd, at the people who had once been ruled through fear.

"We do not rule through terror," he said. "There will be no more purges. Those who choose to live in peace under my rule will not be harmed."

"And those who don’t?" Vallier asked.

Bruno’s expression darkened. "If they try to rise again, we will crush them without hesitation."

The message was clear.

Bruno turned away from the blood-stained scaffold, his mind already shifting to what came next. The Republic was gone, but now he faced a greater challenge.

Rebuilding a kingdom.

As he made his way back toward the palace, he could hear the people chanting.

"Long live the King! Long live King Bruno!"

For the first time since this war began, he allowed himself a small, weary smile.

He was not king yet.

But soon, he would be.