Life of Being a Crown Prince in France

The reigning King of Spain, Charles III, was indeed a capable monarch, but his physical condition had become extremely dire. Joseph could not recall the exact year of his death, but it must be drawing near.

After that, it would be Antonio beside him who would ascend to the throne as the King of Spain—Charles IV.

Owing to the Bourbon bloodline shared by Spain and France, along with numerous colonial and economical conflicts with England in the Americas, France and Spain could be deemed natural allies.

Especially since Spain still possessed remnants of its former empire's splendor, not only did it have vast colonies and substantial revenues from gold and silver in the Americas, but it also maintained a fleet of considerable strength—about a third of the British Navy's power.

For France to develop, it would eventually have to break free from the British maritime blockade, and allying with the Spanish fleet was the best strategy. In history, France did just that, and the combined Franco-Spanish fleet's combat power even managed to match that of the British for a time.

Sadly, they encountered the British genius Commander Nelson and, coupled with bad luck, were ultimately defeated by the British Army at the Battle of Trafalgar.

And in this life, Joseph absolutely could not let such a tragedy recur.

So, the first step would be to rid Spain of the scourge that was Godoy, to prevent Spain from taking detours and instead continue to strengthen its power, thereby providing France with more aid.

Joseph glanced back and said to Antonio:

"That guard of yours looks quite spirited."

The latter seemed a bit socially anxious and replied softly:

"Oh, no, Your Highness, he's Louisa's guard. His name is Godoy."

It was indeed that man. Joseph nodded and inquired, "Is he just a 'regular' guard?"

"He's pretty regular, I think."

After that, there was a brief silence.

Joseph shook his head inwardly, thinking that communicating with a socially anxious person was really challenging... He needed to find a way to get closer to him, otherwise it would be difficult to help him even if he wanted to.

After walking for a while, Joseph and company arrived at an open space between the Palace of Versailles and the Petit Trianon Palace.

This was the site of the swordsmanship competition.

This place was much larger than the venue for the singing and dancing competition. Even around the stage, temporary wooden stands had been constructed in three tiers, boasting seven to eight hundred seats.

By this time, the spectator stands were full, and a large crowd of commoners were watching from the outer ring. Fortunately, the stage was very high, and the action on it could be seen even over the top of the stands.

The two Crown Princes and a Princess naturally had the best seats.

The three sat down in a temporary partition on the west side of the third layer, and two robust young noblemen stepped onto the stage, each taking up a foil sheathed in wood at the tip. They politely clashed their blades together and, at the referee's signal, began their bout.

Both contestants were clearly well-trained, moving with agile footwork and handling their swords with ease, their techniques refined. For a time, the stage was a flurry of gleaming blades and leaping figures, making for an incredibly dazzling display.

Joseph watched with great interest, wanting to strike up a conversation with Antonio about sword fighting, but when he turned, he saw him staring wide-eyed at the four-person-high scoreboard, his eyes shining.

A noble on the field made a misstep and got hit by his opponent. Below that scoreboard, someone pulled with force, the flywheel turned, causing the large wooden pieces on the scoreboard to flip back, revealing the digit 1 underneath—1:0.

Antonio exclaimed with joy, "It's automatic, just as I thought!" Turning to Joseph, he said, "May I ask who designed this? It's ingenious, using a flywheel for energy storage to automatically change the score! Otherwise, that person would have to climb that tall wooden frame."

Joseph touched his nose and smiled, "It is His Majesty the King's masterpiece."

"He is truly remarkable." Antonio said, "I must pay a visit to His Majesty."

Joseph suddenly remembered that the Crown Prince had a fondness for machinery, which he shared with his own father.

Having found a point of connection, the rest was easy. Joseph began talking about various mechanical subjects, from machine tools to the Steam Engine, from carriage suspension systems to automatic traction vehicles—the earliest form of trains.

After nearly an hour of conversation, the Spanish Crown Prince's eyes were wide with admiration, hands and feet animated, bubbling with excitement, lamenting that he hadn't met Joseph sooner.

Indeed, the Crown Prince of France was the kindred spirit he had been seeking all his life!

Once the two had warmed up to each other, Joseph ventured to ask:

"Antonio, don't you think there's something off about that Godoy?"

"He has a problem? Oh, it seems like there's something odd with his left eye." The Spanish Crown Prince was no longer as socially anxious, waving his hand and saying, "Why bring him up? Let's continue talking about that crankshaft motion you mentioned just now. How does that work?"

Joseph couldn't help but chuckle and shake his head; it seemed this old fellow truly hadn't noticed the color atop his own head.

He had to find a way to remind him, or once Godoy began to assert his power, it would not be so easy to overthrow him.

Joseph squinted slightly, it seemed he needed to first create some opportunities for the adulterous couple.

As he was pondering, the two contestants on the platform had finished their match and left. The court official in charge signaled the servants to clean up the "battlefield," and then announced loudly:

"Next, the warriors numbered 631 and 112 will compete. Welcome them to the stage!"

For fairness, all matches were decided by random draw. And before the drawing, no one knew whom the numbers represented.

Two figures were about to ascend the winding stairs when an official ran over and whispered something to the referee, who immediately stood up and announced:

"Number 631, you cannot participate in the match! Please leave this place."

"That's not fair!" Soleil's voice of dissatisfaction came from beside the platform, her hand raised with the registration voucher, as she said with wide eyes, "I've registered, I can compete!"

"But you are a lady," the referee, seeing the audience start to laugh, became even stricter, "This is against the rules!"

"I believe that whoever has the superior swordsmanship should stand on the platform," Soleil waved the Swift Sword in her hand, looking at her opponent, "Wouldn't you agree?"

She then looked towards the audience and shouted, "They shouldn't drive away a champion!"

The young nobleman was somewhat embarrassed, forced to divert his face to the side, silent.

The referee was a prestigious Duke, and by now he had grown quite angry, turning toward a servant and saying, "Take her away!"

"Yes, milord!"

Seeing this, Joseph frowned, remembering he had managed to acquire the British's automatic loom, thanks in part to the merit of this chuunibyou young lady beside the platform.

So he stood up and signaled to the referee, "Duke de Saint-Simon, perhaps we can overlook her gender.

"A sharp blade does not care if the one holding it is male or female, as long as the person can make it strike true, they are a fine swordsman."

"Thank you, Your Royal Highness!" Soleil, adopting a man's posture, touched her chest with the hilt of her sword and raised her hat to give Joseph a salute.

"But..."

Joseph continued, "Let her compete. I have seen her skills, she is very agile."

Duke de Saint-Simon, not wanting to snub the Crown Prince's face, hesitated for a moment and finally sat back down in his chair, pretending to have seen nothing.

Soleil leapt onto the platform in a few strides, bowing to Joseph, "Thank you again. However, you did make the right decision, Your Highness; you've preserved the champion of the competition."

She whispered softly, "You can bet on me to win, I assure you, you'll get a prize."

Joseph, seeing her confident gaze, immediately thought of an old anime—"Rose of Versailles." Could this chuunibyou beauty really boast swordsmanship that rivaled Oscar's, the best in France?

He signaled to the court official taking bets nearby. When the latter approached respectfully, he gestured a five with his hand.

Soleil, seeing this, turned and stepped onto the platform with satisfaction.

At this point, the official handling the bets hesitated, "Your Highness, do you wish to bet 500 livres on Miss Soleil to win?"

"What are you thinking?" Joseph immediately shook his head, "It's 5 livres."

"I am terribly sorry, Your Highness, the minimum is 10 livres."

"Oh," Joseph scratched his cheek, "then let it be 10 livres."

Soleil, climbing the curving staircase to the platform, looked towards where Joseph was sitting and muttered to herself:

"Your Highness, betting just 500 livres is a bit meager. But rest assured, I will secure that prize of 1000 livres for you."

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