Life of Being a Crown Prince in France

Shalner shifted the Charleville musket strapped to his back and hoisted several bags onto his shoulder—he didn't want to burden his mount with any weight at all, preferring to give it a rest.

"Jacques!" a familiar noble youth ran past him, shouting over his shoulder, "Victor wants us to assemble immediately, just over there. Hurry up!"

Shalner reached out to pull the man back, "What's happened?"

"Heard that the People of Algiers attacked the border." The other man shook off his grip, "Victor said the army is all down by the Oued Medjerda, and currently, only the Tunisians are defending to the northwest of Bizerte. This is our chance!"

Shalner hurriedly adjusted his uniform and ran toward the distant assembly point.

At the front of the disorganized line of nobles, a square-faced young noble stood atop a carriage, waving his sword and delivering a speech loudly, "General Sherelle's main force likely won't make it to intercept the raiding People of Algiers, this is an excellent opportunity for us!"

He beckoned energetically, "My dearest classmates, the time has come to show your superior military training. As long as we can get to Tamire by nightfall tomorrow, we'll achieve great merit and win unparalleled glory!"

Shalner immediately joined in the shouting. This Victor was the "big shot" of their school's law faculty, and it was he who had called on everyone to come to Tunisia for battle. Not only their own University of Rennes, but along the way, hundreds of young nobles had joined his ranks. Although Victor held only the rank of lieutenant, a title purchased by his father on the eve of the military reforms, he had nevertheless become the leader of these men.

"Ha, a bunch of braggarts that's all they are," laughed a group of young men, dressed in tattered uniforms or even just shirts, as they passed by them with footsteps taunting.

"They can't even get their line straight, yet they dream of 'unparalleled glory', haha."

"That's how the nobles are, their talents for talking far exceed their talents for doing by a thousandfold."

"Let them have their fun. By the time they start moving, we'll have already knocked the People of Algiers to the ground."

Victor immediately turned toward the sparse-haired, somber-eyed young cavalry officer at the front of that troop and called out in dissatisfaction, "Lieutenant Ney, please control your men and do not interfere with our preparations for battle!"

The latter glanced at him coldly, then raised his hand to his troops behind him and ordered, "Silence! Quick march."

"Yes, sir!"

The non-commissioned officers within the line immediately echoed aloud, beginning to restrain the soldiers. At the same time, their only four worn military drums were hit even louder, and the entire troop immediately quieted down.

Victor watched as the civilian troop quickly marched away, growing rather anxious.

These civilians, who arrived in Tunisia on the same naval transport ship as they did, numbered around eight or nine hundred people. He hadn't expected them to be so fast! It seemed that this Michel Ney, the civilian officer, actually had some real skills.

He hurriedly cut his speech short and ordered the noble youth to form ranks, ready to head to Tamire.

Tamire was the westernmost town in Bizerte. As long as they held that town, they could block the Algiers Army from advancing deeper into Bizerte.

Spurred by the recent mockery, the "volunteer army" of nobles moved quickly and, within barely an hour, had formed a marching column. With the rhythmic sounds of drums and harmonium, they hastened westward.

The transport ship officers, seeing both groups leaving on their own initiative, rushed after them, demanding they first report to General Sherelle but were completely ignored by everyone.

And when Shalner's attendant, Mathew, carrying two bags of oats and gasping for breath, rushed back to the dock, his master was nowhere to be seen...

Just before nightfall, Victor finally caught sight of the civilian camp and immediately spurred his horse to advance joyfully—the column of nobles had nearly everyone on horseback, and even some servants had mounts. Along the way, they had spent money to hire locals from Tunisia to carry their luggage and drag their supply carts, so their marching speed was significantly faster than the civilians.

Lieutenant Ney, who was inspecting the camp, also saw him and unexpectedly initiated a greeting, "Lieutenant Moro, honestly, I'm quite surprised by your speed."

"It's nothing," Victor Moro nodded to him, "We are the 'Guided Cavalry Corps of the Almighty,' how could we possibly fail to catch up with the infantry?"

Ney frowned slightly, "The Almighty's... guidance?"

"Oh, although it hasn't been officially recognized by the staff headquarters yet, this name will surely be remembered by France!"

Victor Moro intended to say that all these nobles had joined the army in response to the call of "the Favored Child of God", which is why they had chosen such a flashy name—the Favored Child of God's guidance. By rounding up, it was practically equivalent to the Almighty's guidance.

Ney shook his head at this silly and naive name, thinking to himself: It seems there's no hope of getting any help from the noble lords behind us.

The next morning, as Moro was getting ready to brush his teeth in the first light of dawn, he heard faint drumming from not far away and immediately looked at his attendant, "Is the civilian camp breaking up?"

"It seems so, Lieutenant," the attendant replied.

Moro instantly grabbed a military drum and began drumming it forcefully, anxiously shouting, "All troops assemble and form ranks! Prepare to depart!"

...

London.

The Marquess of Wellesley looked at the secret report of the Moroccan and Algiers armies' deployment, feeling somewhat relieved.

Two days ago, the Congress had already passed the Prime Minister's proposal, which involved trading some interests in the Caribbean Sea and acknowledging France's claim to Tunisia, in exchange for France's non-interference in India.

The premise of all this was that France would encounter sufficient trouble in North Africa.

At present, 40,000 troops were attacking Tunisia simultaneously in North Africa—that was the bargaining chip he needed.

He was just waiting for the French Cabinet to start discussing reinforcing North Africa, so he could immediately go to Paris and negotiate with them.

...

The northern border between Algiers and Tunisia.

A troop dressed in yellow thin shirts, wide horseman's trousers, and carrying brown flintlock guns, marched imposingly through the mountain pass, stretching back for nearly two miles.

Said, wearing a red leather tarboosh, looked towards the distant plains and asked the black officer beside him, "Agold, how much further is it to Bizerte?"

"Less than five miles, Pasha." Experience tales at My Virtual Library Empire

Said nodded proudly. The cavalry that returned at noon had seen the French Army's main force downstream of the Oued Medjerda, three days' march from the north of Bizerte.

By the time the French realized that the Algiers Guard was just a decoy, and they thought to turn back to rescue, he would have already captured Bizerte Port.

Afterwards, whether to continue striking east towards Tunis City or turn south to Kairouan, he would have a significant advantage either way. Even in the event of an unfavorable situation, he could threaten the French with destroying Bizerte Port, placing him in an almost invincible position.

As long as he stirred trouble within Tunisian territory for a month or two, he could return to Morocco, and the British would pay a hefty reward of two million Rials.