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The Crown Prince of France - Chapter 9
🕑 Added 2025-02-14 01:47:06 +0000 UTCChapter 9: Results
In the blink of an eye, it had been ten days since Joseph took over the police force.
The open space in front of the Saint-Antoine District police station was filled with dust as over two hundred new recruits, dressed in crisp blue uniforms and wearing blue-and-white wide-brimmed hats, trained vigorously, sweat dripping as they wielded their peculiar-looking weapons.
These uniforms were something Joseph had procured from the military stationed on the outskirts of Paris, spending several thousand livres. At this time, police forces throughout France, and even Europe, dressed casually, with no concept of uniforms. The Saint-Antoine District police were decades ahead of their peers in this regard.
As for the officers' weapons, Joseph deliberately avoided firearms, which were nearly useless without six months of rigorous training. Holding one was no different from holding a fire poker.
He didn’t even provide the officers with many swords. Instead, he had carpenters craft over two hundred two-meter-long Y-shaped wooden forks. Additionally, there was one shield for every two officers. These might appear simple, but they were highly practical. In future eras, airport and station security forces would use similar equipment, which, when paired with specific formations, was highly effective for riot control.
These recruits, drawn from the lowest strata of Parisian society, cherished their new identities as police officers. Despite training ten hours a day, not a single complaint was heard.
Joseph looked over the training ground with satisfaction. According to the plan, starting this afternoon, this brand-new police force would officially take over the security of the Saint-Antoine District.
Of course, criminal investigations would still rely on the 60 veteran officers from the original police force. As for those who had paid for their positions, Joseph mostly relegated them to the logistics team, responsible for cleaning and carrying duties, with wages naturally at the lowest tier.
Currently, the Saint-Antoine District police force consisted of 50 detectives, 236 patrol officers, and 125 logistical staff—a formidable lineup for all of Paris.
These 280-plus core officers were all energetic and high-spirited, starkly different from the lazy and thuggish police of other districts.
More importantly, they were genuinely capable of maintaining public order, unlike the old police, whose primary occupation had been extortion.
In terms of responsibility, they were worth eight of their predecessors.
It could be said that this was the first truly modern police force in every sense of the word!
...
Under the blazing sun, after lunch, nearly three hundred officers marched out of the police station in formation, shouting resounding slogans, officially assuming responsibility for the Saint-Antoine District’s security.
They had been patrolling the district before, so they were familiar with trouble spots. Now, with their official status and advanced management methods, their ability to curb crime had doubled.
Citizens, having heard the news, mostly glanced curiously at the officers’ impressive uniforms but didn’t harbor high expectations. After all, what could one expect from French police?
...
On the eastern side of the Saint-Antoine District, in Orée Street...
A crude alley echoed with vulgar curses and shouts.
Four or five burly men in black waistcoats and felt hats had cornered a middle-aged man against a wall, brandishing wooden sticks and iron axes menacingly. “You dare owe money to the Viper Gang? Tired of living, are you?”
The middle-aged man cowered in fear. “Gentlemen, I’ll pay next week! For the sake of God...”
“You’ve already missed your protection payments three times this year,” a red-haired man sneered, signaling to his subordinates. “According to the rules, you need a little reminder.”
“No! Please, no!”
Before the man could finish pleading, one of the thugs swung a stick, smashing it down on his arm. A sickening crack echoed as bones shattered, followed by an inhuman scream.
The red-haired man ground his foot on the writhing victim. “Remember—next week. Miss it again, and it’ll be your other hand.”
As he spoke, four figures in blue uniforms with wide-brimmed hats suddenly appeared at the alley’s entrance, their eyes falling on the injured man writhing on the ground.
The red-haired man recognized two of them and casually remarked, “Baptiste and Quillian? Heard you’ve become police. Hmm, those uniforms suit you.”
These two had once been members of the local patrol, somewhat acquainted with the Viper Gang.
The red-haired man waved his knife lazily. “I’m collecting a debt here. Get lost.”
Quillian suddenly pulled out a whistle and blew it sharply. Pointing at the gang, he shouted, “Assaulting someone in broad daylight! You’re under arrest!”
Quillian, formerly a leather tanner, had joined the patrol voluntarily to protect his family. He used to patrol the area from 6 PM to 11 PM, steering clear of gangs like the Viper Gang whenever possible.
Now, however, he was a bona fide police officer earning a high salary of 35 livres per month. His wife and two children could eat white bread every day, with meat occasionally—a life he had only dreamed of before.
All he wanted now was to do his utmost to maintain law and order in the district, safeguard his family’s newfound happiness, and repay the Crown Prince. Moreover, catching criminals boosted his performance score, which translated into higher bonuses!
He and the other three officers shouted in unison, “In the name of the Crown Prince! Charge!”
The red-haired man sneered, gesturing to his followers. “Teach these fools a lesson!”
Confident that the police were all cowards who would flee at the sight of blood, he charged forward.
But this time, he was wrong.
Three officers stepped forward in unison, wielding their two-meter-long Y-shaped wooden forks. Their movements were precise, pinning two of the charging gang members at the waist.
The forks, with heads over a foot wide, were nearly foolproof. They were, in fact, the riot control waist forks of future security forces.
Another officer, armed with a spear, stabbed at the foot of a gang member on the left.
With a howl of pain, the man fell clutching his foot. Another gang member swung his short sword wildly but couldn’t get past the wooden fork blocking his path.
The red-haired man, enraged, led the charge himself. Despite outnumbering the police, his group couldn’t break through the officers’ formation. Instead, two more of his men were stabbed in the legs by spears.
Feeling utterly frustrated, the red-haired man found his years of blood-honed combat skills useless against this strange police formation. Eventually, he decided to retreat. Nearly getting stabbed himself, he barked, “Fall back!”
However, at a security post half a street away, officers had already heard the whistle and dispatched four reinforcements.
When these reinforcements arrived at the alley, they intercepted the fleeing Viper Gang members. The lead officer shouted, “In the name of the Crown Prince!” as three riot control waist forks instantly barred their escape.
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