I Reincarnated as a Prince Who Revolutionized the Kingdom-Chapter 132: Massena’s Reaction

July 3rd, 1701 — Governor's Estate, Port-Soleil, Pan America

The sun was high over Port-Soleil, casting long golden beams across the lush green hills that surrounded the Elysean governor's estate. The sound of birds echoed in the distance, mixed with the occasional hammering of repairs still being made in the aftermath of the war. Troops patrolled the outer perimeter. Civilians passed through checkpoints. But inside the estate's grand office, the world was quiet.

General André Masséna sat behind a wide oak desk, the sea breeze filtering through the open shutters. On the table in front of him was a scroll, sealed with the red wax of the crown and the insignia of King Bruno.

He had known something like this would come.

But not so soon.

Masséna turned the scroll over once more in his hand before finally breaking the seal and unfurling the parchment. His eyes scanned the opening lines slowly, his brow furrowing with each sentence.

Royal Decree of Colonial Reform...

He read every word. Twice. Then a third time. When he was finished, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment, letting the words settle.

A knock came at the door.

"Enter," Masséna said without looking.

Colonel Devereux stepped in, removing his hat.

"You received it, sir?"

Masséna nodded. "It's exactly what we expected."

Devereux approached the desk, glancing at the decree. "The rumors were true, then. Inspectors. Term limits. Civil and military power separated."

Masséna let out a breath. "Yes. All of it."

The colonel frowned. "Do you think it's aimed at us?"

Masséna gave a tired chuckle and stood, walking slowly to the open window. From there, he could see the distant hills where skirmishes had once raged.

"No," he said. "It's aimed at what we failed to see."

Devereux remained silent, waiting.

Masséna continued, "Roux didn't rise overnight. He grew powerful because the system allowed it. Too much autonomy. Too much trust. We were all so focused on defending Elysea's holdings that we forgot to watch what was happening inside them."

Devereux stepped forward. "But you brought down Roux. You ended the rebellion."

"Yes," Masséna replied, turning around. "But only after thousands died. After a town was burned. After a nation nearly slipped away."

He returned to the desk and tapped the parchment.

"The king knows we cannot afford another Roux. And he's right. If someone like me can be stationed here for too long… I too could forget who I answer to."

Devereux looked surprised. "Sir, no one doubts your loyalty."

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Masséna gave a small smile. "Loyalty fades when a man begins to think of himself as essential. When he starts believing the colony cannot run without him. When he begins shaping policy instead of executing orders."

He paused.

"That's what happened to Roux. And it could happen again."

Devereux lowered his gaze. "Then you support the decree?"

"I understand it," Masséna said. "Even if it feels like a noose."

He walked to a nearby cabinet and poured two glasses of wine, handing one to Devereux.

"I don't take offense to oversight," he continued. "It means the crown is watching again. That's better than silence."

They both drank quietly.

Devereux finally spoke again. "They're going to rotate us out within the year, aren't they?"

Masséna nodded. "Most likely."

There was a brief silence before he added, "I don't mind. I've given enough to this land. More than enough. If the king wants new eyes here, let them come."

Devereux looked at his commander. "And what will you do? When you return to Elysee?"

Masséna looked out the window once more.

"I'll stand before the court. Accept the praise. Let the nobles clap for a war they never fought. I'll walk the parade route and bow when the king calls my name."

He turned back, voice steady.

"And then I will ask to serve somewhere else. Somewhere smaller. Somewhere quieter."

Devereux blinked. "You're stepping back?"

Masséna nodded. "I've seen enough. Done enough. The war is over, Colonel. And I don't want to become the kind of man they write decrees about."

The words hung in the air.

Masséna picked up the scroll and rolled it shut again.

"Send copies of this to all officers under our command. Make sure they read it. Understand it. And accept it."

"Yes, General."

Devereux paused at the door.

"Sir," he said, "you could've refused. You could've fought this. The law… it limits men like you."

Masséna's eyes were tired but calm.

"That's why I accept it, Devereux. Because I am a man like me."

When the door closed, Masséna sat again.

The room was quiet, save for the wind and the rustle of leaves.

He looked down at his own hands—scarred, calloused, steady.

They had ended a war.

And now, they would surrender power.

It was the right thing.

Even if it stung.

A few days later, a formal letter arrived from the Royal Council.

It bore King Bruno's personal signature and the royal seal, written in clean, deliberate script. It summoned General Masséna to Elysee, to attend a private audience with the King followed by a formal commendation ceremony.

The tone was respectful. The invitation absolute.

Masséna stood at the balcony of the governor's estate, the letter in one hand, the other resting on the railing. Below, soldiers continued their drills, their rifles clicking in perfect rhythm. Repairs to the southern wall of Port-Soleil continued, but the mood had shifted—lighter now, steadier. The war was behind them.

"I suppose it's time," he muttered.

He folded the letter and slipped it into his coat.

Later that evening, Masséna called his senior staff together. His voice was calm and direct as he outlined the transfer of authority. Colonel Devereux would temporarily assume command until the royal-appointed inspectors arrived. Orders were to maintain peace, finish reconstruction, and ensure the reforms were smoothly implemented.

There were no protests. Only nods of understanding.

Before dawn broke, he mounted his horse and made his way to the harbor.

The ship that would carry him back to Elysee was already being loaded. Its sails were furled, its deck polished. Royal marines stood ready to escort him.

Masséna turned once, casting a long look at the land he had fought to keep.

He did not wave.

He did not smile.

But he felt, for the first time in a long while, that it was truly over.

And now, he would face the King.