Chapter 832: Ruling the World
Middelburg, a major stronghold in the southwestern Netherlands.
The news had reached the city yesterday afternoon, and in an instant, the entire place had fallen into a heavy silence.
Shops had shuttered their doors, and the streets were almost devoid of life. Occasionally, a figure would hurry past, usually someone rushing to seek refuge in the countryside.
Yesterday morning, the Dutch National Guard in Middelburg had lasted only two hours before being routed by the French.
Once the Duke of York led the Coalition forces toward Luxembourg, there were no troops left in the Netherlands capable of standing against the French army.
Lefebvre's Legion marched northward as if moving through an empty land, occupying every Dutch province south of the Waal River at the mere speed of a standard march.
Inside Middelburg, no one knew what the occupying forces would do. A thick dread submerged this coastal city like a rising tide.
Finally, as the sun passed its zenith, the faint beat of military drums drifted in from the east.
Everyone immediately bolted their doors and windows tight, peering nervously through the cracks of their shutters.
Inside a gray two-story building by the road, a middle-aged woman watched the golden fleur-de-lis banner pass by. She trembled as she whispered to her husband, "I heard these terrifying monsters eat frogs every day to replenish their magic. That's why no one can defeat them..."
"Don't be a fool," the man snapped, rolling his eyes at her. "Instead of that nonsense, you should worry about where we'll find bread to eat after the French loot the city's granaries."
Before long, the French army vanished from their sight, leaving only posters pasted on the walls. They did not reappear.
The man cautiously stepped out of his house, glanced at the notice, and then looked toward his neighbor for help. "Kind Mr. Van Leeuwen, what does it say?"
The latter whispered, "The French say they are only pursuing the Parliamentary army that invaded France. They won't harm innocent people, nor will they loot or collect taxes."
Sure enough, the city remained exceptionally calm. As dusk approached, news spread that the French had merely confiscated the weapons from the police station before withdrawing.
The residents of Middelburg breathed a sigh of relief, feeling as though they had just woken from a nightmare.
The next day, shops along the streets began to reopen one after another. Aside from a slight increase in food prices, it seemed as if nothing had happened at all.
The woman who had worried about French magic stood in line at the bakery, chatting with the woman behind her. "Come to think of it, the French don't seem that scary."
"Indeed. A French officer even gave my son a piece of malt candy. Lord, I thought he was going to be killed right then and there..."
A tall man in front of them sighed. "The French are truly a symbol of civilization. Our Parliamentary army followed the Austrians to invade Wallonia, only to be utterly crushed. Now that the French soldiers have arrived, they just put up some notices and left quietly."
Someone nodded in agreement. "Exactly. Those gentlemen in Amsterdam should truly be ashamed."
"The Parliament ought to go and apologize to the French!"
The woman nodded deeply in agreement, just as the voice of a passing young girl drifted over: "Those two French soldiers were so handsome..."
The same scene played out in Breda, 's-Hertogenbosch, Nijmegen, and various other cities. The French army was winning the praise of the Dutch people.
Meanwhile, the vanguard of the French army had already crossed the Waal River and was advancing toward Utrecht, the southern shield of Amsterdam.
There were fewer than four thousand raw recruits there, hastily scraped together by the Dutch Parliament. Before the battle even began, the outcome was already decided.
In Vianen, a small town eight kilometers south of Utrecht.
The French army had leased a lavender estate on the south side of town—a place used for honey production. They had paid ten thousand francs in rent, cash on the spot.
On a sofa in the estate's villa, Joseph pillowed his head on smooth black silk, comfortably inhaling the girl's soothing, faint fragrance. He closed his eyes, enjoying this rare moment of relaxation.
The black silk stockings encased a pair of long, firm, and shapely legs. They were supple and elastic, more comfortable than the finest latex pillows he had used in his previous life.
The owner of those beautiful legs was gently massaging his temples. Her slender fingers were like dancing sprites; every time they touched his skin, they sent a faint wave of pleasant tingles through him.
Joseph had intended to use this comfortable environment to outline his future plans for the European continent, but those soft little hands and the delicate breath grazing his brow made it difficult to concentrate.
He couldn't help but sigh inwardly. No wonder people said, "To hold the world's power when awake, and to rest in a beauty's lap when drunk." It seemed that only after leaving a beauty's lap could one's mind be clear enough to ponder the weight of world power.
After a moment, Camelia's tender voice came from above. "Your Highness, open wide—"
Joseph kept his eyes closed and opened his mouth. A small piece of cashew brittle fell onto his tongue. Then came the sound of a silver fork clinking against a porcelain plate, followed by the "little sprites" resuming their dance across his forehead.
Good times were always fleeting. Joseph hadn't even finished a plate of cashew brittle when he heard Eman tapping softly on the door from outside.
"Your Highness, according to your schedule, you are to receive Prime Minister Kemperen and the other Dutch officials in twenty minutes."
Joseph opened his eyes with great reluctance, loath to end this rare period of rest.
Camelia gave him a sweet smile, leaned down to plant a soft kiss on his forehead, and whispered, "Your Highness, France needs you now."
Joseph let out a breath and sat up. Camelia moved gracefully to fetch his coat and helped him into it. "I will wait for your return."
Half an hour later, on the drying field of the lavender estate, Kemperen and a group of high-ranking Dutch officials bowed respectfully to Joseph. They then cautiously took their seats at a wooden table set up in the open air.
After a moment, seeing the French Crown Prince seemingly admiring the distant lavender, Kemperen glanced at the hundred or so French soldiers standing guard with rifles nearby. He swallowed hard and spoke with difficulty.
"Respected Crown Prince, regarding this war... the Parliament requests that you grant our country an opportunity for a dignified end to this conflict."
The Dutch Parliament had begun discussing surrender terms the moment the French army prepared to cross the Waal River.
It was painfully obvious that Britain, Prussia, and Austria had decided to abandon the Netherlands.
With the weak military strength of the Netherlands, there was no possibility of stopping the French advance. Surrender was their only choice.
Kemperen's greatest fear now was that France would refuse to accept a surrender at all. After all, if the French army simply continued their march, they could occupy Amsterdam in a week at most.
He had even prepared himself for the possibility of being denied an audience with the French Crown Prince entirely. Fortunately, the Crown Prince had granted him this chance.
Joseph nodded nonchalantly and signaled to Eman with a hand gesture.
Eman immediately produced a document and placed it in front of Kemperen. "These are the armistice conditions required by His Highness."
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