As the continental hegemon, one had to think from a broader perspective. Simply supporting the Russo-French War was clearly not enough; Spain’s expedition to Morocco also required support. But how to offer that support was what gave Franz a headache. Direct intervention was out of the question. The rules of the political game were clear: everyone guarded their own wealth. The world of the great powers was brutally realistic. If Spain could not even handle a few native tribes, then it had no right to possess colonies at all. Material aid would be a total loss, like throwing meat buns to a dog, never to be seen again. Morocco had nothing to do with the Holy Roman Empire anyway, so there was no reason to get involved. In the end, the only feasible support was moral encouragement. Whether or not the Spanish government wanted it did not matter, the decision was happily settled that way. ... Snowflakes drifted down. The once-prosperous streets of Paris were now filled with sorrow and ruin. The white sidewalks reflected faint traces of light. A cold wind brushed by, followed by a sudden gust that cut to the bone, swirling up loose snowflakes like sharp blades tearing through the air… A carriage slowly pushed forward against the wind and snow, its wheels squeaking softly over the frozen ground. The pedestrians nearby paid no attention to the scene, each hurrying along their own way. Curfew was about to begin. Anyone still out on the streets risked falling into the hands of the Russian soldiers on patrol, and that would not end well. Suddenly, the carriage window opened. A middle-aged man leaned out, glanced around, and sighed deeply. “Poor, troubled Paris,” he murmured. Since the dawn of the 19th century, France had indeed shone brightly on the world stage. Yet every period of glory left behind nothing but devastation. And as the capital, Paris had always been the heart of tragedy. Whenever disaster struck, it was the first to suffer. A finely dressed woman sitting beside the man patted his shoulder gently and said, “Brea, don’t sigh anymore. Believe me, everything will rise again someday. The dogs raised by the Russians have sharp noses. If they catch even the slightest hint of trouble from us, it will become a serious problem. Paris is in their hands now, and it is unwise to provoke them. The blood debt left by the Russian… We will settle it with them one day.” Under another’s roof, one must bow their head. Under the blades of the Russian army, even the proud French nobility had no choice but to submit. Fortunately, it was still the 19th century. The age of nobility had not yet come to an end. Faced with aristocrats, even the lawless Russian soldiers had to restrain themselves a little. Of course, such courtesy only existed on the surface. What might happen behind closed doors was something no one could say for sure. For the sake of survival, even the proud French nobility had to bow their heads and swallow their pride before the Russians. It was not that no one had resisted. There had been those who tried, but the fate of such rebels was never pleasant. Officially, the Russian army did not execute nobles, yet there were countless ways to make a man die. Brea nodded slightly, “Don’t worry, Maria. I know what needs to be done next. Let the Russians have their moment of glory for a few more days.” Where there is oppression, there will always be resistance. The Russians’ harsh rule not only enraged the common people but also stirred resentment among the French aristocracy. Most of the resistance groups within France had been secretly organized by these nobles, and many of the rebel leaders themselves were of noble birth. Of course, most of them were fallen nobles, with little left besides their titles. In truth, they were not much different from ordinary people. The truly wealthy and powerful families endured in silence. Even when they plotted revenge, they did so in the shadows, maintaining an obedient facade in public. Brea was one of those who appeared obedient, but there was more fire in him than most. He had been quietly working toward the goal of driving the Russians out. The snow grew heavier as the carriage stopped at an estate on the outskirts of the city. Looking around, Brea could see no fewer than fifty carriages already parked there. It was clear that this was a gathering of nobles. To hold such an event right under the noses of the Russians showed just how bold the French aristocracy could be. However, once one noticed the coats of arms emblazoned on the carriages, it was no surprise at all. With so many nobles gathered in one place, there was no way to keep it a secret. Rather than meet in secrecy and risk exposure, it was safer to hold an open banquet instead. The European noble circles had always been tangled and intricate, a web of family ties and old alliances. After the European War ended, the Anti-French Coalition never truly punished these nobles. It was not because the governments lacked the will, but because they simply could not bring themselves to do it. On the battlefield, life and death were determined by fate so there was nothing to discuss. When the war was over, everyone returned to being part of the same extended family. Through uncles, cousins, or marriages, there was always some kind of connection to be found. Since they were all “family,” tradition dictated restraint. After all, those traditions existed to protect the interests of the noble class as a whole, and no one with a stake in that system had any reason to destroy it. Now, these people were merely violating curfew and attending an unauthorized gathering. For commoners, such actions were grave crimes, but for nobles, they were barely worth mentioning. If the Russians truly arrested them for illegal assembly, Europe would erupt in outrage by morning. Russia might not fear European criticism, but it still relied on the aid and supplies provided by other nations. Unless they could prove that these nobles were plotting rebellion, there was little the Russians could actually do. When Brea stepped into the grand hall, his frown deepened. It was called a banquet, but there was not a trace of festivity in the air. The guests who had arrived early gathered in small groups, quietly discussing the state of affairs. From time to time, sighs could be heard, as if despair over the current situation weighed heavily on everyone’s hearts. While Brea was still lost in thought, a middle-aged man not far away waved to him and said, “Brea, over here!” Brea quickly walked over and asked with feigned curiosity, “Retes, what were you talking about just now? It sounded lively.” Retes sighed helplessly and said, “What else could we be talking about besides the situation? The Russians have been getting worse lately. If this continues, they’ll completely ruin Paris. Word from the docks says that over the past week, the Russians have been loading captured prisoners onto ships and sending them away. No one knows where they’re taking them, but it’s certainly nothing good for France. We already lost a huge portion of our young men in the European War, and now the Russians are…” It was impossible not to worry. With the end of the war, everyone had come to realize the importance of population. Unfortunately, that realization had come too late. Population growth could not happen overnight, and the lack of young laborers was fatal. Before France could even catch its breath, the Russians began their next wave of destruction. From the data available, it was clear that in just the past six months, France’s population had fallen by at least two million. Some had died, some had been exiled, others had fled. The entire country had fallen into unprecedented chaos. Still, there were a few small “benefits.” Their rivals in the struggle for power had been devastated by the Russians as well. The capitalists, merchants, intellectuals, and middle class who had once been such a headache for them had mostly fled, unable to endure the oppression of the occupying army. Paris was now a city of decline. The few businesses still open were foreign-owned, while local merchants had long since been terrified into submission by Russian raids. If their estates had not been tied to the fate of France itself, the nobles might have fled too. Though the Russians refrained from touching them openly, what happened in secret was another matter. Lately, there has been no shortage of “accidental” noble deaths. The victims all shared one thing in common—they had publicly expressed anti-Russian sentiments. With evidence like that, it was impossible for anyone to believe the Russians were innocent. But suspicion was one thing. Without direct proof, even appealing to the international community was futile. Compared to the gloomy mood around him, Brea remained a little more optimistic. He tried to comfort the others, “The situation isn’t entirely hopeless. Amid the bad news, there’s at least some good news. The Spaniards have already withdrawn half their garrison. If the unrest in Morocco drags on, they’ll likely pull out even more troops. From the looks of it, the alliance isn’t planning to fill the gap left by Spain, which means the southern regions might get a bit of breathing room.” The anti-French coalition forces stationed in France were all being funded by the French themselves. Even though the French government had gone on strike, once the Russians took the lead in collecting taxes by force, the other occupying nations naturally followed suit. However, unlike the Russians’ crude methods, the others preferred more subtle means. They typically appointed locals as tax officials and rarely deployed troops unless there was violent resistance. Retes waved his hand dismissively and spoke, “Let’s call that a bit of good news, sure. But these matters are beyond us for now. Have you noticed? Among the guests at this banquet, there are a few unfamiliar faces.” The noble circle was small, and the sudden appearance of strangers could not help but draw attention. After Retes mentioned it, everyone glanced around the room, and their eyes eventually settled on a quiet corner. Yet, considering the purpose of this gathering, they all chose to tacitly pretend not to notice. Opposing the Russians required finesse. Working in the shadows was fine, but leaving any trace in the open was strictly forbidden. If these new guests were not nobles, then they could only be members of the resistance. And even if one of them were a brother in disguise, it was better to act as though they were strangers. There were all kinds of people among the nobility, including a few traitors who had sided with the Russians. That was nothing unusual. To avoid giving the Russians any excuse for retaliation, the nobles always discussed their plans verbally, never leaving written records. For members of the resistance to appear openly at such a gathering, there could only be one explanation—the patience of France’s bigwigs had finally reached its limit.
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