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Chapter 302: The Mocked Napoleon

"No, none of them..."

Joseph suddenly realized he had been careless—by modern standards, a fifteen-year-old wouldn't even consider marriage, but in the 18th century, he was already nearing the ranks of eligible bachelors!

Queen Mary's brow furrowed a little deeper:

"My dear, you are already fifteen. Your grandfather and great-grandfather were both married by your age." She glanced at Louis XVI beside her. "Although your father married me when he was sixteen, that was quite late. Don't be like him."

Louis XVI nodded in perfect agreement.

Queen Mary took her son's hand, took a deep breath, and said in the gentlest tone she could manage:

"My dear, since you have no complaints about Clémentine, why not marry her sooner? Once you have children, the people of France will feel much more at ease!"

"I..." Joseph felt utterly cornered at the moment. He had meticulously planned for all of Europe, Africa, and America, but had utterly failed to consider his own marriage.

'Who rushes to find a wife for a fifteen-year-old boy, seriously! He's barely been through puberty for two years, alright?'

'Marrying too young isn't good for one's health, that's common sense... My great-grandfather and grandfather married early, but one only lived to sixty-four, and the other passed away in his prime at thirty-six. Haven't you considered the reasons behind that?'

'And Clémentine is a close relative. Did they really expect him to commit incest in 18th-century France? She's only twelve! That's a crime! In a later era, that would be at least three years in prison, with no upper limit!'

Seeing her son's silence, Queen Mary spoke with sincere and earnest words:

"My dear, if you're thinking of that girl Perna... well, it's not entirely out of the question, but how should I put it? Her background is simply too humble... If you truly like her, you can certainly keep her by your side. But as a formal spouse, I believe she must be a princess of a nation, or at the very least, the daughter of a crown prince."

Joseph nearly spat out a mouthful of blood. 'Why was his mother bringing up Doctor Perna again...?'

He tried to calm himself, gave it some thought, and decided to employ the "grand ambitions" strategy:

"Mother, if we're speaking of love, then I have only one true love—France!

"As the Crown Prince, I hope, with God's witness, to see France stand supreme at the pinnacle of Europe!

"If I must marry, I must find a princess from a nation that can provide France with immense support.

"And clearly, that nation is not Austria."

Queen Mary immediately looked astonished. "You believe there's a nation more suitable than Austria?"

Joseph nodded. "You must have heard that Austria was just defeated in the Southern Netherlands by the combined forces of Prussia and the Netherlands. If they lose the Southern Netherlands, Austria's national power will rapidly decline. They might even be surpassed by Prussia!"

"No, my brother will certainly reclaim the Southern Netherlands," Queen Mary's voice immediately grew louder. "I know him; the Prussians won't scare him!"

A faint smile flickered in Joseph's eyes. "Father, Mother, perhaps we should wait until the conflict in the Southern Netherlands concludes before considering an alliance through marriage with Austria?"

Louis XVI nodded with a touch of emotion, took his wife's hand, and whispered, "My dear, Joseph has truly grown up. He's already considering his marriage from the perspective of the nation. Perhaps we were a bit too hasty."

He winked at Joseph when his wife wasn't looking, mouthing, 'You go ahead. I'll convince her.'

While his mother was still stunned, Joseph quickly rose, bowed, and swiftly escaped from the Petit Trianon.

After a long silence, Queen Mary looked at her husband with a hint of resentment. "You know he's just making excuses."

Louis XVI smiled faintly. "Our son is so clever; he must have his reasons. We should trust him."

"You truly spoil him too much," Queen Mary sighed. "Clémentine is so beautiful and charming, why doesn't Joseph like her?"

Louis XVI kissed the back of his wife's hand, offering a rare compliment with impressive emotional intelligence. "With such a beautiful mother, I imagine he sets a very high standard for what he considers a beautiful woman."

"Oh, you!" Queen Mary let out a playful laugh, but then immediately adopted a serious expression. "But his age is indeed quite advanced. Before next year, we absolutely must find him a suitable marriage partner."

"Alright," Louis XVI said, also appearing quite agreeable. "I'll have a serious talk with him."

...

East-central France.

Troyes Province.

A military unit, their uniforms crisp, collars adorned with golden fleur-de-lis, and carrying brand-new Auguste Pattern Percussion Rifles, marched in orderly columns, swiftly heading towards the distant outskirts of the town.

There, they were to conduct a "performance standard demonstration" for the renowned Champagne Legion. They had performed this task many times before, and every unit that witnessed their demonstration had ended up with their "confidence shattered."

After they departed, the capable and ambitious officers and soldiers from those legions all submitted transfer requests to the General Staff Headquarters, asking to join the Royal Guard Legion, even if it meant serving as mere orderlies there.

In the middle of the formation, a few soldiers spotted the young officers on horseback slightly ahead of them and began to chat in low voices. "Hey, that captain's new, isn't he? Does anyone know him?"

"Word is, he got transferred to the Guards Corps through General Berthier's connections," said a tall, scruffy-bearded soldier. "His name's something like Napo... A strange name."

"It's Napoleon. Napoleon Bonaparte," a middle-aged soldier behind them whispered. "He's Italian. But he didn't join the Guards Corps through connections; I heard he rendered considerable service suppressing unrest in Amnes Town."

"Haha." Two soldiers burst into laughter. "You probably don't know, but this celebrated officer hasn't even managed to pass the five-kilometer run. He stayed in the barracks during the last few 'demonstrations'."

"Well, he's Italian, so it's not surprising if he's a bit weaker physically..."

"I also heard that this Captain often took sick leave in the past."

"So he was a sickly fellow after all, no wonder, haha."

The young officer riding ahead vaguely heard the soldiers' laughter behind him as they talked about him. Veins throbbed visibly on his forehead, and his hands, clutching the reins too tightly, had turned stark white.

Yet, he couldn't retort, because that damned five-kilometer run was simply too difficult.

He initially couldn't believe these soldiers could run such a distance in twenty-two minutes, but reality taught him a harsh lesson—only three people in the entire legion failed to finish on time. One of the other two had a slight fever, and the other had broken boots.

The worst part was that the Guards Corps required all officers below the rank of Major to complete the five-kilometer run training alongside the soldiers.

He secretly swore to himself that during this "performance standard demonstration," he would make those mocking soldiers shut up!

'When had he, Napoleon, ever lost to anyone? All those who looked down on him in military school had eventually been surpassed by his outstanding achievements!'