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Chapter 539: Return to Paradise

Meition Village, west of Reims.

Paul Leonor gently ran his hand over every inch of his old house, as if caressing a rare treasure. Tears welled in his eyes, which were always red and swollen from the toxic gas exposure.

This was Leonor's home, the one his father left him, filled with memories from his childhood to adulthood. After losing it for five years, he had finally returned to his warm hometown.

His Royal Highness the Crown Prince had beheaded Master Boca—Leonor had seen it with his own eyes. That day, upon hearing that a tax farmer was to be executed, he and his wife risked their family going hungry, dropping all their work to go watch at Louvre Square.

Boca had been trembling with fear, completely devoid of the arrogant demeanor he once displayed when forcing them to pay. In the end, when his ugly, bloated head was held aloft by the executioner, Leonor and his wife shouted along with the crowd until their voices were hoarse.

Their children, however, seemed terrified and cried incessantly. Finally, the eldest, Domi, displayed a big brother's courage, standing in front of his younger siblings and loudly telling them that he was a bad man, and God was punishing him by sending him to hell.

What Leonor never expected was that a week later, a local court official from Reims came to find him. After having him press his handprint on several documents, the official informed him that his 7.7 acres of land, along with his property and other assets he had mortgaged to Boca, would all be returned to him in the near future.

Furthermore, Boca would compensate him with 35 francs.

The official was very polite, explaining that according to His Royal Highness the Crown Prince's instructions, Boca should have paid double the compensation for the unlawfully seized property. However, Boca had wronged too many people, and if his entire estate were divided, each victim would only receive a few dozen francs.

Of course, Boca likely still had many hidden assets, but they were now difficult to locate. In reality, even when justice was served, those who suffered often couldn't reclaim what was taken from them, let alone the years they had lost.

Leonor, however, was already extremely content.

He thanked the court official profusely, and then he and his family prayed for His Royal Highness the Crown Prince for several hours.

Another half-month passed, and he finally received his house deed, land deed, and 35 francs in cash.

Afterward, Leonor borrowed another 30 francs—with land as collateral, obtaining a loan from the bank was easy—to pay for his wife's surgery to amputate her two ulcerated fingers.

Then, the whole family shared their first beef stew in five years. The children ate so quickly that they spent half the night groaning with stomachaches, yet not a hint of pain could be seen on their faces.

As Leonor reminisced about the recent ups and downs, he saw his wife, who had been packing luggage nearby, suddenly stand upright and gaze toward the gate.

“Dear, what's wrong?”

“Sophie,” Mrs. Leonor exclaimed, her face alight with excitement. She gathered her skirt and dashed out the door. “It's old Sophie! I remember her hoofbeats!”

When Leonor followed her out, he saw his wife hugging the slightly shedding old horse, laughing and jumping with joy like a child. Sophie, too, rubbed her cheek against her old owner, her eyes seemingly a little moist.

For farmers like them, a horse was like another pillar of the household. As long as they had a horse, their lives held hope.

Immediately, Mrs. Leonor began to sob softly, kissing Sophie's now-slackening skin, choked with emotion:

“Old friend, I thought... I thought we'd never see each other again...”

Father Carlo, who had brought the horse, comforted her for a moment, then made the sign of the cross over his chest and said:

“Thank God. You see, hasn't everything turned out for the better?”

Mrs. Leonor nodded and added:

“And thanks to His Royal Highness the Crown Prince. Oh, and the gentlemen from the Tax Bureau. Oh, and the Reims court...”

Father Carlo had Leonor press his handprint on the documents for Sophie, then declined the hostess's invitation to come inside for coffee and hurried to leave:

“It's getting late, and I still need to rush to baptize little Joseph. Another time, perhaps.”

“Joseph?” Leonor asked, somewhat surprised. “Is that Troué's child? He was supposed to be baptized last week, wasn't he?”

“It's Corgeva's youngest son,” the priest said, waving his hand with a smile. “Honestly, in the past two months, all four children born in the village have been named Joseph. I'm almost getting confused myself.”

In this small village of just over a hundred households, a third of the villagers had gone bankrupt or fallen into extreme poverty over the past decade due to the exploitation of tax farmers. But now, seventy to eighty percent of them had regained their property. The Crown Prince's prestige in the village was almost second only to God's.

These simple farmers expressed their gratitude to the Crown Prince in the most direct way: by naming their newborn sons Joseph. If it was a girl, they named her Josephine—the feminized version of Joseph.

In fact, in recent times, between sixty and seventy thousand newborns across France had been named Joseph...

Father Carlo took a few steps, then suddenly remembered something and turned back to Leonor.

“Oh, by the way, the parish is planning to hold a Mass for His Royal Highness the Crown Prince next Sunday. You all must come!”

Leonor nodded immediately. “We and the children will all be there, Father.”

He then looked at his wife and asked softly, 'How much money do we have left?'

“Seven francs and nine sous, Paul.”

Leonor quickly told the priest, “Father Carlo, I'd like to donate five francs for the Mass.”

An offering in the Catholic faith was a donation.

The priest paused, then advised, “That's a bit much, Leonor.”

“No, it's not too much at all. His Royal Highness helped us reclaim all of this...”

Western suburbs of Paris.

In the newly rented courtyard of the Viennal family, a ball was being held to celebrate them regaining their family property from the tax farmers.

Their villa had actually been recovered as well, but it was still quite messy, so Mrs. Viennal decided to renovate it, and they were temporarily staying here.

Though Mr. Viennal's face still bore the marks of his previous arduous life, he was now full of high spirits and energy.

He stood on a chair, tapped his glass to attract the guests' attention, and declared loudly:

“Thank you all for attending this ball. Now, let us all raise a toast to His Royal Highness the Crown Prince, to our 'Son of Divine Favor'!”

Everyone raised their glasses and echoed loudly:

“To His Royal Highness.”

“To the Son of Divine Favor.”

“May God bless His Royal Highness the Crown Prince.”

However, a few individuals did not join in, instead muttering coldly:

“The Crown Prince actually allows nobles to be beheaded alongside those commoners? This is an utter humiliation for respectable people.”

“Indeed, even those commoners are using beheading—that was supposed to be a privilege reserved for nobles!”

“Hmph, is the Royal Family trying to let these lowly ruffians climb all over us?”