I Reincarnated as a Prince Who Revolutionized the Kingdom-Chapter 116: Growing Tension

Marshal Armand Roux had spent years at war, carving out an empire from the untamed wilderness. His hands had shaped Elysea's future, and now, the entire continent belonged to the crown.

Yet, as he stood in Fort Saint-Louis, overseeing the daily affairs of what had become the de facto capital of the New World, he felt something that had never weighed on him before.

Discontent.

The land was his to rule in all but name. His orders governed the territories, his generals controlled the garrisons, and his soldiers marched at his command.

And yet, across the ocean, King Bruno sat on a throne, signing documents as if he had fought for any of this.

Roux dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come. He was no king. He was a soldier.

But soldiers were meant to fight, to conquer, to create. What happened when there were no more wars left to win?

He pushed the thought away and turned to his officers.

"We move forward," Roux said, his voice firm. "The conquest is over, but Elysea's work has just begun. We must ensure our rule lasts beyond our lifetimes."

The empire was built. Now, it had to be secured.

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Two weeks later, a royal courier arrived at Fort Saint-Louis.

The men gathered as Roux opened the sealed letter, reading it in silence. It was a summons.

King Bruno was calling him back to the capital.

For what purpose, the letter did not say.

His officers waited for him to speak.

Giraud crossed his arms. "You've not even finished settling the new territories, and already the King calls you back."

Vasseur nodded. "Perhaps he means to reward you."

Roux exhaled. "Or remind me that he is still my King."

He folded the letter and set it aside. "We will go."

There was no hesitation. He was still loyal.

Wasn't he?

When Roux arrived in the royal capital, it was the first time he had set foot in the homeland in years.

It was different. Softer.

The people did not march; they strolled. There was no scent of gunpowder or iron in the air, only perfume and the sweet aroma of street vendors selling fresh bread.

Roux should have been comforted. Instead, he felt out of place.

Inside the royal palace, he was met with grandeur beyond anything in the New World. Gold-trimmed walls, high marble ceilings, and nobles dressed in the finest silks.

They whispered as he passed.

This was not his world.

King Bruno sat on his throne, watching as Roux approached.

The Marshal knelt, though only briefly. It was a formality, not an act of submission.

Bruno studied him carefully before speaking. "Marshal Roux, you have given me a continent."

Roux nodded. "It was your vision, Your Majesty."

The King smiled, but there was something calculated behind it. "Yes. And your strength that made it reality."

A pause.

Bruno leaned forward. "And now, tell me, Roux—what should I do with you?"

Roux blinked. What should I do with you?

It was an odd question, but it carried weight.

Bruno wasn't just thanking him. He was probing. Testing.

The court listened in silence. Would the Marshal ask for power? For a title? For more?

Roux's answer would shape what came next.

But Roux, ever the soldier, kept his response simple.

"I serve Elysea, Your Majesty. That has not changed."

Bruno studied him. He didn't believe it.

And for the first time, Roux wondered if he truly believed it himself.

The meeting ended shortly after, but the question still lingered.

As the weeks passed, Roux remained in the capital. And he realized something unsettling.

He had not been summoned to be rewarded.

He had been summoned to be contained.

Bruno was no fool. He saw what Roux had become—more than a soldier, more than a governor.

To the people, to the army, Roux was a legend. A hero.

And a hero was a dangerous thing.

Bruno had no intention of letting that power grow any further.

One evening, Roux met with Leclerc, the King's most trusted advisor.

Leclerc, ever the shrewd politician, poured them both a glass of wine.

"You know why you're here, don't you?" Leclerc asked.

Roux sipped his drink, saying nothing.

Leclerc chuckled. "The King does not need to say it aloud. You are too powerful."

Roux finally spoke. "I serve the crown."

Leclerc smirked. "And yet, the soldiers do not cheer for the crown. They cheer for you."

Roux exhaled, setting his glass down. This was not a conversation. It was a warning.

The King was watching.

Waiting for Roux to overstep.

And if he did… it would mean war.

Two days later, Roux received his new orders.

Bruno was sending him back.

Not to govern, not to expand—but to remove him from the capital.

The message was clear. Stay in the New World. Stay away from the throne.

Roux left the capital without protest, but as he boarded the ship, he understood something he had never considered before.

Bruno feared him.

Not as a rival.

But as a potential king.

And now that the thought had entered his mind, Roux could not let it go.

As Roux returned to Fort Saint-Louis, he was no longer just a Marshal.

He was something more.

Something the King could not control.

And that meant only one thing.

Elysea was at peace. But war was coming.

***

Meanwhile, back in the Royal Palace. King Bruno knew it's better safe than sorry. After all, the rise of Marshal Roux reminded him of that one historical figure from his previous world, Napoleon Bonaparte.

A brilliant general who had led France to glory, only to turn on his own monarch and seize power. The similarities between Napoleon and Roux were too striking to ignore.

Both were war heroes, beloved by their men. Both had been given great power by their kings, only to outshine the throne itself. And now, Roux was in a position no general should ever be in—a ruler in all but name.