21Blossom

France, Versailles—I arrived under the name of the Crown Prince.

There was just one small problem: the king was still Louis XVI… and in two years, he'd be “snapped” right off the throne.

With a crumbling kingdom, empty coffers, and a court full of fools, relying on dear old dad and his ministers wasn’t an option. If France was going to change, I had to be the one to do it.

First, I made some quick, easy gold—enough to plug the bleeding hole in the economy that had plagued the nation for centuries.

Then came the nobles. Arrogant, treacherous, always scheming. They needed a sharp reminder of who held the real power now.

And the Church? They’d hoarded vast lands without lifting a finger. I took it all—every acre, every relic—and turned it into fuel for reform.

Industry, technology, agriculture, commerce… they surged forward, hand in hand. Under my rule, France wouldn’t just recover—it would ascend.

That year, while the British were busy defending their tiny island from the fires at their borders, I simply took it.

That year, as Europe braced itself against revolution and ruin, my sword pointed not at survival—but at domination.

Napoleon dreamed of conquering the continent. I will go further. I will finish what history left undone.

France under an enlightened Prince

Joseph fixed the Navy Minister with a steady gaze, his tone grave and unwavering. "Marquis, I assure you—swiftly within one year, slowly within two or three—construction on this 'fantastical' warship shall begin."

Castries looked as though he had been struck by lightning. "You… you truly mean this? A warship of iron, swifter than twenty knots? Forgive me, Your Highness, but such a thing strains belief…"

Joseph calmly took a sip of tea and repeated, "I speak with full confidence. I ask only that you do not squander the treasury on obsolete vessels. Within a handful of years, all current warships will be rendered outdated scrap."

The minister remained stunned, caught between incredulity and wonder. Joseph pressed on. "You will not have long to wait. I shall soon make a journey to the port at Brest. There, the matter shall be laid bare for you to see with your own eyes."

He had good reason to be so assured. The steam engine, though presently crude, had already been invented. French artisans were clever, their tools and trades refined—what they lacked was only direction. And that, Joseph could provide.

He did not need to wait for Watt's slow refinements. He had seen with his own eyes what true mechanical power could achieve, drawn from a future none here could fathom.

Castries felt as though the world itself had tilted. His reason tried to object, but the thought of such a warship—swift, armored, and bristling with guns—made his blood quicken.

Joseph then stood and gestured gently. "You may begin preparations. Coordinate with the Shipbuilding Bureau. Select craftsmen. Stockpile raw materials. The development of this vessel will be intricate, and we must not lose time."

The minister blinked, then slowly nodded. "I shall depart at once. I… I don't know whether to feel dread or elation, Your Highness. That vessel—it could change the fate of nations."

Joseph walked him toward the door, but paused with a thought. "Ah, before you go—begin assembling a team to forge a particular sort of cannon. It is rather short in barrel, but wide of bore. Fires a shot of at least sixty pounds."

"Not quite," Joseph said with a wry smile. "Think of it as an extended mortar. The barrel need not be long, nor the charge great. What matters is impact. It will be a lightweight piece—easier to mount than our heaviest guns."

The minister furrowed his brow. "But surely the range will be pitiful? What use is such a cannon in naval warfare?"

Joseph looked back at him, eyes glinting. "That, Marquis, you shall understand when I arrive at Brest."

He was referring, of course, to the Carronade—a weapon the British would one day unleash with terrifying effect at Trafalgar, using it to savage French and Spanish ships in brutal close-quarter broadsides. Though lacking in range, its devastating power in tight engagements made it the king of deck-clearing carnage.

The French, blinded by their obsession with long-range theory, had failed to understand the true nature of naval combat in the age of sail—most battles were decided within musket range. There was no room for theory when muzzle met hull.

It was time to reverse the tide of history.

Let France, not Britain, be the first to wield this dreadful innovation.

Having thoroughly discussed the matter, Joseph ensured the minister was content and escorted him to the courtyard. Just as he turned to return, his attendant Eman approached in haste, bowing deeply.

"Your Highness, the Marquis de Saint-Priest requests an audience."

Joseph raised his brows. He had expected the Minister of War might require a written proposal in time, but clearly the matter of the Netherlands had so gripped his thoughts that he had rushed to hear more in person.

Joseph gave a nod and murmured, "Let us receive him. War waits for no man."

Chapter XXIV: Of Boilers and Broadside—A New Art of War