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The Crown Prince of France - Chapter 128
🕑 Added 2025-04-08 19:08:01 +0000 UTCChapter 128: My Life is Like Walking on Thin Ice
More than forty minutes later, the leading painter looked at the newly renovated farmhouse and nodded in satisfaction, signaling to his subordinates to leave.
The soldiers guarding the house didn’t notice that there was an extra paint bucket in his hand, and that his long-handled brush had disappeared.
Inside the paint bucket were naturally the military uniforms of Odelik's two "little brothers," along with the work clothes of the three men, while the "long-handled brush" was left in the attic.
As the painters were leaving the area, a French Guard officer stopped them, checked their credentials, and counted the number of people.
There were 8 when they arrived, and there were still 8 when they left—no issues at all.
The officer nodded and signaled for his subordinates to let them pass. No matter how meticulously he checked, it would be impossible to verify the painters’ situation with the soldiers guarding each farmhouse.
The next morning, the sun shone obliquely on the wide road outside Paris, and the temperature was warm enough to feel like it wasn’t even winter.
Several meticulously crafted white carriages, surrounded by more than ten cavalrymen, slowly approached from the south.
In the middle carriage, Princess Louisa Maria of Sicily nervously gazed out the window.
They hadn't even reached Paris yet, but she was already deeply shocked—"King's Avenue" was unusually wide, with one exquisite and beautiful house after another on either side, as if all the residents around Paris were nobles.
However, what made her the most nervous was still the upcoming meeting with the one called "The Blessed Son"—the French Dauphin.
It was said that he was just fourteen this year, a year younger than her, yet he had already finished his courses at the University of Paris, successfully led police reforms in Paris, and was even serving as an assistant to the Minister of Finance of France.
It was beyond genius! She was also studying university-level mathematics and knew how difficult those subjects were, not to mention how complicated state affairs were. How on earth did he manage to do all that?!
Moreover, it was said that the Dauphin had inherited his mother’s looks and was incredibly handsome, with slightly curly golden hair, starry blue eyes, and a face with proportions as perfect as a Greek statue. Any girl from the Palace of Versailles would be excited for months just by speaking to him for a moment.
When Princess Maria thought about how such an outstanding Dauphin might become her fiancé, her heart started racing uncontrollably.
Just as she was lost in her thoughts, the carriage suddenly slowed to a stop. Timothy, the Sicilian Ambassador to France sitting opposite her, quickly whispered, "Your Highness, I believe the Dauphin has come to greet you."
Princess Maria hurriedly cleared her mind, looked down to check her attire, and then straightened her back, offering a polite and graceful smile.
Timothy got out first and opened the carriage door.
Maria descended the wooden steps from the carriage, walking gracefully past a group of attendants, all of whom bowed respectfully. As she looked up, she suddenly saw a handsome young man, dressed in a dark blue thick velvet coat, white trousers, and a triangular hat, smiling at her.
His face, with its elegant curves and captivating eyes, made her mind go blank for half a second. She could swear that those who had described the Dauphin’s appearance to her had failed to even capture one-tenth of his handsomeness.
Feeling a bit dazed, Maria stepped forward, too nervous to meet the Dauphin’s gaze. She hastily lifted her skirt and kneeled to perform a curtsy, her voice trembling slightly as she said, "I’m very pleased to meet you, Your Highness. It is such an honor for me that you’ve come all the way here to greet me."
Joseph quickly smiled and placed his hand over his chest in a gesture of greeting. "It is my duty, beautiful Princess. Welcome to Paris."
Following the traditional etiquette, he embraced her briefly, his face brushing hers. Hmm, her waist was very slender, her skin delicate and smooth, and her chest...
Cough! Joseph quickly interrupted his own thoughts. She was still only a fifteen-year-old girl—what was he thinking?
After the greeting, he took two steps back and gestured toward the princess's carriage. "Your Highness, I will lead the way for you. The King and Queen are hosting a banquet at the Palace of Versailles and are waiting for you."
After a few more polite words, Joseph turned and returned to his own carriage, signaling the convoy to head back to Versailles.
Maria felt a bit disappointed when she saw that he hadn’t invited her to ride in the same carriage. Then, she suddenly remembered her competitor—Grand Duchess Clementine of Tuscany.
The sound of drums and horns filled the air—this was the signal for the convoy to depart. She reluctantly boarded her own carriage, her heart heavy with melancholy: Could it be that the Dauphin prefers Clementine? I wonder if I can outcompete her...
...
About a mile away from where Joseph had greeted Princess Maria, in a farmhouse, Odelik vaguely heard the sound of a trumpet. He immediately began to massage his sore and numb arms and legs—he and his two "little brothers" had been holed up here all night.
After a while, Odelik, dressed as a farmer, carefully crawled out of the cupboard, peered down from the attic, and immediately saw the soldier guarding the place leaning against the door frame, dozing off.
He quickly grabbed the short stick that had already been prepared under the bed and silently descended the attic, landing a precise strike on the soldier’s head. The soldier immediately collapsed unconscious.
Odelik then drew a short knife and tossed it to his bald companion, making a cutting gesture at the soldier lying on the floor.
Without hesitation, the bald man stabbed the soldier to death and dragged the body into the house—killing was as easy for him as drinking a glass of wine.
Odelik returned to the attic, dug out the long-handled brush from under the bed, peeled off the cloth wrapped around the handle, revealing a gun barrel inside. Then, he removed the bulging brush head, which was actually a wooden gunstock.
In no time, an English-made Brown Bess 1742 flintlock rifle appeared in his hands.
He then retrieved gunpowder and lead balls from the other end of the brush handle, quickly loaded the gun, and handed it to his red-haired "subordinate," instructing, "When the carriage carrying the gold comes, shoot at them."
"Huh?" The red-haired man looked down the road in the distance, puzzled. "Boss, it's too far; we probably can’t hit them..."
"Idiot! We’re just giving the signal. The shot is to let our people know it’s time to act."
Odelik then crouched down and pulled out a short French musket with a sawed-off stock—this was the one the painters had brought in the bucket—and loaded it with ammunition, handing it to his bald subordinate. "You shoot as well."
"We’ve got it, Boss!" The two bandits, thrilled by the prospect of earning seven or eight thousand livres just for firing a couple of shots, were delighted to be part of the Lecway gang.
Then, Odelik picked up the soldier's Charleville flintlock from the floor, searched the body for gunpowder and balls, and checked the gun chamber. After confirming the ammunition was already loaded, he poured out the powder and reloaded it.
From the window of the farmhouse attic, Odelik saw a white carriage approaching. He recognized the driver—he was one of the Dauphin’s men, someone he often saw.
Odelik immediately ordered his two subordinates to move closer to the window, then took a few steps back and shouted, "Fire!"
Two bandits, still lost in their imaginations of the Lacroix gang taking full control of the situation, immediately and without hesitation opened fire on the distant carriage.
The quiet outskirts of Paris were suddenly pierced by two loud explosions, startling the birds in the nearby woods, which flew up into the air in a flurry.
Nearby, the French Guard, from officers to soldiers, were caught off guard, as though they had been slapped across the face. They immediately became panicked, frantically looking around to locate the source of the gunshots.
Bessonval's face turned ashen, his forehead veins bulging. He spun around and shouted hoarsely to the messenger, "Sound the alarm, quickly! Tell the Crown Prince's convoy to turn around!"
"What are you all doing standing there? Protect the Crown Prince and Her Highness the Princess! Hurry!"
"Balthazar, Croay, take your men and search!" As he spoke, he drew his pistol and began scanning the surroundings, "Who has such audacity?!"
The officers of the French Guard had already begun to direct their soldiers to fire wildly toward the direction of the gunshots, attempting to suppress the fire of the would-be assailants.
In the cottage, the bald man, hearing the gunshots in quick succession, assumed that his own men had started firing and hurriedly turned to ask eagerly, "Boss, do you think this is enough?"
However, the latter only smiled faintly, pulling him into the center of the attic. Standing by the window, he fired a shot from his Charleville flintlock musket.
The unguarded bald man suddenly had a bloody hole appear in his chest. His body was thrown backward with the immense force of the bullet, and he died instantly, without even a moment to struggle.
The boss had deliberately reduced the amount of powder, so the body wasn't shattered by the gunshot, making it hard to tell that it was a close-range shot.
The red-haired man by the window was momentarily stunned by the sight, but the boss wasted no time. He struck him hard in the stomach with the musket stock, and as the man bent forward, he followed up with a vicious blow to the back of his head.
Ignoring the gunfire outside, the boss calmly reloaded his Charleville and then dragged the unconscious red-haired man to the pillar in the attic. He took a few steps back, aimed at the man's throat, and fired again.
After doing all this, the boss looked around the room to ensure nothing was left out of place. He quickly picked up the remnants of a long-handled brush that had been prepared earlier, stuffed the Charleville back into the dead French Guard's hands, and then dashed out the back door of the cottage.
A few dozen steps away, in a small grove, he hurriedly donned the previous uniform of the Crown Prince's guard. After burying the brush remnants, he crouched behind a tree, anxiously waiting.
At the sound of the first gunshot, Kessold tightened his grip on his horse’s reins and shouted, "Don’t panic! Everyone, gather around the Crown Prince and the Princess's carriage! Be on guard for any ambush!"
The French Guard, already flustered and disoriented, immediately followed his command. Over a hundred soldiers surrounded the carriage of Joseph and the Princess of the Two Sicilies.
When the third gunshot from the direction of the cottage rang out, Kessold exchanged a glance with one of his officers and shouted, "Clermont, over there! Take your men and capture the assassin!"
"Yes!" Viscount Clermont tugged on the reins and waved, "Third team, follow me!"
Immediately, more than twenty of the Crown Prince's personal guards rushed toward the distant cottage, under the awed and admiring gaze of the French Guard officers and soldiers.
As for Bessonval, it wasn't until the fourth gunshot rang out from the distance that he finally pinpointed the exact location of the assailants. He immediately aimed his pistol at the cottage and shouted, "Over there! Adrien, take your men and head over!"
"Yes!"
Clermont, leading his team, seemed to have missed the right direction. They first ran toward a small grove near the cottage, circled around a bit, and then, as if realizing their mistake, turned back to head toward the cottage again.
As they passed the edge of the forest, the boss rushed over, took the flintlock from his teammate, slung it over his shoulder, and blended seamlessly into the team.
In fact, by this point, the countryside was thick with the smell of gunpowder from the repeated gunshots. Even if he had run back to Joseph’s side, it was unlikely the French Guard would have noticed him.
Clermont deliberately slowed his team down, waiting for the French Guard to surround the cottage first. Then, pretending to be in a rush, he followed them.
The officer Adrien was hesitating whether to charge straight into the cottage or first suppress the attackers with gunfire. He was startled when he heard Clermont yell, "Coward! Do you want to wait until they shoot at the Crown Prince?"
Adrien jolted, drawing his saber and waving toward the cottage, "Charge! Capture the assassin!"
The French Guard surged forward, quickly encountering the soldiers guarding the cottage, who lay dead on the ground. Some nervously fired several rounds toward the attic before cautiously ascending the stairs.
Meanwhile, inside the carriage, Joseph immediately locked the door upon hearing the gunshots. This was completely reasonable—when an attack occurred, the first priority was to prevent an assassin from getting into the carriage.
He and Eymond swiftly removed the wax seals from the carriage door, walls, and wooden table, packing the wax into their pockets.
Eymond retrieved a paper bag from beneath the seat, scattering the wood shards inside the carriage. He then forced a flattened lead bullet into a crack on the opposite wall of the carriage.
At this point, the carriage clearly showed two bullet holes: one in the door, one in the wooden table. On the opposite wall, a lead bullet was embedded, and there were wood splinters scattered throughout.
It was clear that a bullet had hit the carriage earlier.
Joseph then reached out to Eymond and gave him an approving look, "Go ahead."
Eymond drew a short sword from his leg, saying in a low voice, "Your Highness, my apologies."
With that, he slashed with the sword, and a bloodstain appeared on the upper arm of Joseph's right side. Joseph immediately felt a sharp, intense pain.
Eymond sheathed the sword, picked up a sharp wood shard from the carriage floor, and then pulled out a piece of sheep's stomach filled with chicken blood from his pocket, gently pricking it.
The chicken blood immediately stained the wood shard, making it appear as though it had been the shard that had struck Joseph’s arm when it was shattered.
Eymond then splashed some of the blood around the carriage, carefully stowed the stomach, and shouted urgently to the outside, "Oh my God! The Crown Prince has been shot!"
"Doctor! Quick, get the doctor!"
The agonized cry carried for over a hundred meters, and anyone who heard it froze in place, struck as if by lightning. Especially Bessonval, who felt as if his head were about to explode, nearly falling off his horse.
In the carriage following behind, Princess Maria turned pale upon hearing that the Crown Prince had been shot. Tears immediately flooded her eyes.
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