Chapter 2015: Blood Cruelty

How could the French possibly let the people of the Wahala Tribe go!

Henry, his body trembling, walked before the heads of his wife and child.

As he took them down, endless rage instantly flooded his mind.

A pair of War Horses ran out from the Wahali Tribe and charged at those French Soldiers.

But they were intercepted by Nashadier; looking at the two furious generals, Nashadier did not need to think much to guess what had happened.

"What use is it for you to kill them?"

"To let you avenge your tribe?"

"Killing them has no meaning; those French who gave the orders are your true enemies."

The two men looked at Nashadier and roared with voices that were nearly tearing apart: "We absolutely cannot allow our enemies to live!"

"Absolutely not!"

Nashadier promised the two men: "Rest assured, Smith will die!"

"I said it."

At this time, Europe.

French mainland, Army Academy.

With the frontline situation becoming critical, Bonaparte was forced to end his studies early and become an intern Artillery officer.

But Bonaparte had not the slightest intention of laying down his life for the French.

He spoke the French language with an Italian accent, and in his heart, he did not identify with the ruling status of the French at all, just as he always believed that Corsica did not belong to the French.

However, in order to obtain better knowledge for self-improvement, Bonaparte still chose to enter the battlefield.

He joined Raphael's Artillery regiment; this unit did not head to the front lines but remained within the country to eliminate reactionary forces.

Because of Louis XV's war policies, signs of collapse were appearing everywhere on the battlefield.

Prices began to soar, and the backlash brought about by rapid expansion began to emerge.

Grain that could previously be bought at a very low price was now also beginning to collapse.

The loss of America and the failure to establish Niuxilan directly caused the capitalists in the country who owned large plantations and Factories to lose a vast amount of wealth in an instant.

Such fluctuations left them with no ability to hold onto their wealth.

In the face of war, their money lost its value.

After losing the resource transmission between vast colonies, the fragile French economy suffered another heavy blow, and the taxes and suffering of the farmers, who were already heavily oppressed, were further aggravated.

Countless ideas began to sprout.

Among them, some even raised the Flag of resistance; they could no longer accept such oppression.

However, after Bonaparte witnessed these "heroes" who considered themselves resistance fighters, he felt complete despair regarding their resistance.

Such resistance was merely venting their own desires; they could not be called resistance fighters. These people were simply using the weapons in their hands to force those weaker than them to pay a price.

Or perhaps they were using the name of resistance to coerce the government into granting them amnesty.

Raising the banner of resistance, winning over wealthy gentry, accepting amnesty, and becoming new officials or capitalists...

This was their so-called resistance, and its ultimate direction was merely to continue moving toward the now near-collapsing French.

Bonaparte felt not the slightest sympathy for the various evil paths of these resistance fighters.

He believed they were all people who deserved to die, and he showed no mercy when fighting.

However, after seeing the large amount of bright red left behind because he had killed those resistance fighters with his shelling, a strong sense of discomfort still appeared in his heart.

His stomach was churning, but Bonaparte gritted his teeth and persisted.

A veteran in his unit, who was also his subordinate, brought over a cup of coffee and said: "First time seeing a scene like this, sir."

"It is very normal for your body to feel uncomfortable; after seeing it more, you won't feel anything."

Bonaparte stood up and looked at the soldier who was intentionally keeping his distance, and he said casually: "Is it numbness?"

The soldier's expression froze, and he did not refute.

He simply handed the coffee to Bonaparte and said nothing more.

Bonaparte looked at the coffee in his hand; the discomfort in his stomach left him in no mood to savor this bitter and sour taste.

As he looked at the traces left by those who had died in battle, there was no longer any discomfort in his body.

But he still turned and left.

He was informed that the unit would be garrisoned here.

Although this was within the military, there was no shortage of books, and for him, this was a good opportunity to enrich himself.

He obtained knowledge he deemed useful from books; for example, Physics could let you know why a Cannonball would trace a parabola in the air.

And mathematics would tell you what kind of parabola to draw in order to land the Cannonball accurately on the city wall.

And architecture would teach you how to analyze where these Cannonballs would land to cause the greatest damage to such buildings.

Of course, all of this was just the foundation; he preferred the war history works written by a great monarch in European history.

Alexander, generally called Alexander the Great by Europeans.

He once turned the Mediterranean Sea into his own inland lake here in Europe.

He opened up an era, and his conquests brought prosperity and flourishing kingdoms to the world.

He opened the era of Greece culture!

He is recognized by the world as a military genius even to this day.

Bonaparte liked his books very much, perhaps because the other party was somewhat similar to himself.

However, in the library in this region, Bonaparte had not found many war history works of Alexander that he had not read.

This made him somewhat disappointed, but he met a man here who was just as disappointed as he was.

That person seemed to be feeling somewhat dejected because he was writing a book.

He could not think of his own language, or rather, he had not thought through how his content should be written.

Bonaparte had originally intended not to disturb him, but upon seeing the name in a corner of his writing, Bonaparte immediately stopped in his tracks.

He had read this person's books and had been influenced by the thoughts described within them.

Bonaparte greeted the person softly; he wanted to learn more about the author of the books he had read.

"Hey, hey..."

Rousseau, who was clutching his hair in distress over how to write his book, saw a short man greeting him; he raised his head to look over, frowned, and said, "I don't know you."

Bonaparte picked up the book in his hand and pointed to the author's name on it.

"I am a loyal reader of your books."

Seeing the book in Bonaparte's hand and the name on it, Rousseau immediately understood what the other person's intentions were.

He smiled and said, "Thank you. As for my book, if you want my autograph, I can only say I'm sorry; I don't consider myself someone who can show off their fame."

Bonaparte smiled, sat down casually beside his small table, leaned back on the sofa, looked at Rousseau, and said, "Rather than an autograph, I would prefer to discuss the book with you."

He pointed to the manuscript under Rousseau's hand and asked, "Is this a new work? May I take a look?"

Rousseau spread his hands, signaling for Bonaparte to look as he pleased.