Chapter 13

King William IV, a master of covert operations, engineered a secret meeting between Jules Darnell and Marie Philip, Belgium's preeminent dark chess prodigy. His knowledge, though extensive, was not absolute; however, he possessed intimate details about both individuals. The Privy Council session concluded abruptly, leaving him lost in thought as he retired to his lavish sitting room. His eyes fell upon a row of imposing steel vaults. He chose one, unlocking a meticulously assembled file. Inside, a comprehensive catalog documented his strategic chess moves over the years, including past Dutch operatives like Tolbett. The list extended to global players – Washburn from the United States and Jules Darnell from Belgium – all carefully cultivated pawns since his reincarnation seven years prior. The sheer audacity of his scheme was breathtaking. Who had dared to label his former self ambitious, a man of considerable influence, *before* his rebirth? Examining Dane and Philip's dossiers, a sardonic smile touched his lips. Dane, he mused, represented a daring experiment. He had painstakingly replicated President Bill Kerton's leadership training program, using Dane as a guinea pig. He'd even subtly manipulated his former lover, Bill Charlie, to steer Dane's path, following a pre-determined script. And, miraculously, it had succeeded beyond expectations. The experiment had yielded spectacular results. Dane, remarkably, had begun to forge his own path. Much like the president in his past life, he had chosen the notorious Bobbi Baker, a prominent figure in Wharton society. Similarly, Jules Darnell had selected Mali. This Philip, however, intrigued him deeply. He wondered what heights this young man might reach: Belgian parliamentarian? Prime Minister? The thought ignited a brilliant, incisive spark within him.

He scrutinized the two men's profiles, a meticulous examination revealing stark contrasts. Darnell's early life, a humble narrative spanning his first twenty-three years as an unremarkable university student in West Flanders, belied his eventual triumph. His ascent, fueled by sheer grit and determination, wasn't a matter of privilege; it was a testament to his own tenacious spirit. This self-made journey led him to Bill Charlie, a pivotal encounter during a university sketching excursion. Charlie's patronage launched Darnell into a meticulously crafted program of development, a rigorous training regime that, upon his return, transformed him into a prominent figure in West Flanders. His reputation quickly eclipsed provincial boundaries, his influence radiating across the Flemish region – West and East Flanders, Flanders Brabant, Antwerp, and Limburg – where he ultimately established himself. This expansion occurred within the complex political geography of Belgium: a nation divided into three distinct regions, with Brussels, a bilingual capital, serving as a linguistic crossroads. Flanders, the Dutch-speaking northern region, constituted a robust 52% of the Belgian population, dwarfing the French-speaking Walloon region (excluding the minuscule 3% German-speaking East Prussian enclave). Darnell's infamous reputation, whispered throughout the land, generally deterred close association. Yet, one individual dared to defy this caution. Faced with a critical decision, Darnell, after considerable deliberation, unexpectedly solicited assistance from Marie Philip, his mentor's assistant, a request that profoundly stunned Bill Charlie. The weight of that moment, the astonishment etched on his mentor's face, remains a searing memory for Darnell. Even William IV himself witnessed this pivotal exchange between Bill Charlie, now the formidable head of the Dutch Royal Intelligence Bureau, and his protégé, a silent observer to a turning point in Darnell's meteoric rise.

"Darnell, you're playing with fire. This viper slithers with a legacy of ruin. Its venom will stain your reputation, irrevocably. Are you *certain* you want this festering wound festering at your side? This… *assistant*?" A cold sweat prickled Darnell's skin, but his jaw tightened. "It *has* to be him." The words tasted like ash in his mouth. "Very well. May the gods have mercy on your soul." The mentor's voice, usually calm, was laced with a chilling premonition. "My choice is made, teacher," Darnell replied, his voice a low growl. He felt the weight of the decision, a leaden pressure in his chest, mirroring the grim determination in his eyes. The sight of Marie Philip emerging from the prison gates, a gaunt figure in the harsh sunlight, sent a shiver down his spine. Charlie's efficiency reeked of something sinister; the lax Belgian security felt like a gaping maw, threatening to swallow him whole. The Netherlands? A knot of dread tightened in his gut. He'd have to watch, *constantly*, preventing this rot from metastasizing. Philip's subservience, the unsettling gleam in his eyes as he executed Danetang's orders – a nauseating sweetness – filled Darnell with a hollow triumph. A ghost of a smile, cruel and thin, played on his lips. William IV's sardonic chuckle echoed in Darnell's mind. He'd seen Philip, yes, a relic of a decaying empire, a carcass picked clean by ambition. But Darnell saw more – raw, hungry power, a beast desperate to feed. The whispers followed Darnell like shadows. *Decadent. Dangerous. A liability.* He'd heard them all. But he, a mere provincial councilman in Little Limburg, craved the power that eluded him. He *needed* Philip. Philip, dredged from the mire of prison, a man whose reputation was a festering wound, a testament to ruthlessness and greed. But he was also a master manipulator, a political alchemist who could transmute mud into gold. He'd seen it happen in Belgium; a nobody, elevated to the heights of power, thanks to Philip's cunning. Darnell had found his key, the key to unlocking the gilded cage of the political elite. His mentor's warnings, the sneers of his colleagues – they were the petty squabbles of the insignificant. He'd risked everything for this one chance, a gamble with fate itself. He knew the risks. He tasted the power. And he wouldn't let go. Philip, his ruthless, brilliant, terrifying instrument, was his ticket to the throne.

Philippe, in William IV's estimation, was exceptionally well-suited for the mission. His extensive knowledge of Brussels and Belgian politics, honed by his time advising the former Prime Minister, provided unparalleled insight into international affairs. His experience was truly inspiring, a guiding light for advancement. William IV closed the file, his eyes briefly squeezed shut. When he opened them, a decisive glint shone within. He'd found his man. Philippe was the ideal candidate for infiltration into Belgium; his influence there would afford opportunities unavailable through the Netherlands. A flicker of doubt crossed his mind, however. "Dark Chess No. 2 might disagree," he mused. "It's best to let them compete first." William IV smiled wryly, thinking of Dark Chess No. 2, a protégé personally trained by Tolbett. The thought of Tolbett's favored candidate losing to William's choice, Bill Charlie's candidate, filled him with gleeful anticipation.

.....

February 1, 1862.France, Paris, Versailles Palace.Versailles, the opulent seat of French imperial power, stands majestically southwest of Paris. Its origins trace back to the 16th century, yet centuries of expansion have sculpted its current magnificence, encompassing a sprawling garden, the palace itself, and a radiating avenue. The palace's symmetrical design, oriented east-west, reveals an interior of breathtaking extravagance. Walls are adorned with lavish tapestries, masterful oil paintings, and exquisite sculptures; halls boast bronze and marble masterpieces crafted by renowned artisans. This artistic sanctuary, exceeding 110,000 square meters, commands awe and respect. Within its expansive structure, the second floor houses the opulent chambers of Napoleon III: his private study, sleeping quarters, state reception rooms, and attendant apartments. Below, on the ground floor, lie the vast repositories of furniture and weaponry. What once comprised merely 26 rooms over a century ago now boasts a staggering 2,300. In a richly appointed reception room on the second floor, Napoleon III currently engages in a tense discussion with his Prime Minister, Emile Olivier. "Prime Minister," Napoleon III inquires, his voice laced with a barely concealed impatience, "what is your assessment of Prussia's current posture?" Olivier's response, however, focuses not on Prussia, but on the Emperor's alarming complacency toward the British Empire, outlining the potentially catastrophic repercussions. This pointed criticism provokes Napoleon III's ire. He bristles under Olivier's relentless questioning, his composure steadily unraveling. Reduced to silence, he seeks refuge in deflecting his frustration onto his generals, hoping to find a shared sense of disquietude, a desperate attempt to alleviate his own crumbling self-assurance.

The initial meeting between Napoleon III and Olivier this morning aimed to mend their fractured relationship. Olivier, still leveraging his extensive network to subtly sway his detractors, sought to solidify his governmental power. He adopted a conciliatory demeanor, but the discussion soon veered toward a stark contrast in their domestic visions. Despite their shared goal of a prosperous France—a nation immune to foreign aggression—their approaches to foreign policy clashed irreconcilably. Olivier's staunchly expansionist Ocean faction championed aggressive colonial acquisitions as the engine of French growth, particularly targeting the Indian Ocean. This viewpoint directly contradicted Napoleon III's strategic focus on the Americas, a pursuit bolstered by British support, especially amidst the turmoil of the American Civil War. Their joint maneuvering in the US, leveraging the conflict, further exacerbated their discord. Napoleon III's audacious plan to install a French prince as Emperor of Mexico, a blatant move toward dominating the US's southern border, proved the ultimate breaking point. This provocative action ignited a furious response from the United States, provoking strongly worded communications from President Lincoln and Secretary Seward, directly to Olivier. This American backlash fueled Olivier's simmering resentment toward Napoleon III, erupting in a heated exchange of justifications and recriminations. The underlying tension, a fundamental disagreement over the very nature of French power projection, overshadowed any attempt at reconciliation. In the end, Napoleon III was give in because Olivier reminded him. Your Majesty, I believe Britain cunningly manipulates the United States, exploiting its power to undermine the French Empire. Their insidious strategy diverts our focus, shielding their predatory ambitions in the Indian Ocean. We must vigilantly protect our vital interests in the Indian subcontinent's rich resources. The American Civil War, initially tilting in the Confederacy's favor due to British backing, has dramatically shifted. Frankly, the industrialized North, boasting a formidable GDP of $1.8 billion and £360 million, presents a far more advantageous alliance for France. We require its robust markets and advanced technologies to fuel our national resurgence, a far more prudent path than the draining pursuit of resources in Mexico. Napoleon III remained silent, a flicker of unease in his eyes, the unspoken tension hanging heavy in the air. However, Napoleon III, a ruler averse to prolonged subjugation, pressed further, inquiring: "Prime Minister Olivia, what is your assessment of Prussia and its disposition towards the French Empire?"