I Reincarnated as a Prince Who Revolutionized the Kingdom-Chapter 166: Shadows and Smoke

Bruno folded his arms. "And what do our 'friends' think?"

Leclerc handed him a new report stamped with an owl-and-eye seal—the emblem of Athenaeum's eastern intelligence cell.

"They've taken the bait," he said. "Orosk satellites have repositioned. Germanian operatives were spotted in Caldre's border taverns trying to bribe cartographers. Even their radio bands have new encrypted chatter."

Bruno didn't smile. Not quite. But his eyes said everything.

"Then it's time for the next phase."

Berlinhof, Germania — Intelligence Annex

Eliska Weiss sipped her tea with steady fingers, but the twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed the irritation bubbling beneath.

"Three weeks," she said quietly, voice like snow on glass. "Three weeks and we still don't have confirmation on what Phantom Station actually produces."

The young analyst before her—a thin, nervous man named Fischer—adjusted his spectacles and cleared his throat.

"Ma'am, our latest scout reached the northern observation ridge. Based on the emission signals and activity spikes, we believe the station is a weapons testing platform. Possibly thermobaric or alchemical—"

"I don't want belief," Eliska cut in sharply. "I want certainty."

She turned to the map and tapped her finger against the northeast quadrant of Elysea. The circle around Phantom Station pulsed red beneath her nail.

"They've built a lie so convincing it makes us doubt reality. That's not engineering. That's artistry."

Behind her, the Chancellor entered without announcement.

"Still chasing ghosts?" he asked.

Eliska didn't turn. "They've given us a stage, Friedrich. And every time we blink, they change the curtains."

Chancellor Rosenthal walked to her side and stared at the map.

"Then maybe it's time we stop chasing and start pulling strings."

He handed her a folder.

Operation Sirensong

Status: Authorized

Eliska's eyes flicked across the contents.

Sabotage. Media fabrication. A whisper campaign to paint Elysea's success as a dangerous escalation—an empire out of control, ready to destabilize all of Europa. Accusations that Hawkfire was powered by unstable arc-reactors, that the Phantom Station was a prison camp for forced inventors.

And perhaps… the start of a rebellion.

She shut the file.

"Then let's give them a little fire to dance through."

Port-Luthair — Elysea

Captain Varin didn't look like much.

With a greying beard, oil-stained uniform, and a limp earned from a factory collapse years ago, he seemed more at home behind an engine than a gun. And that's exactly why he was chosen.

He had no reason to be noticed.

Which made him perfect.

"Sir," Rena said, approaching with a sealed packet. "Intercepted communiqué. Just came in through the Athenaeum relay. It's in the Sirensong pattern."

Bruno, standing beside the window of the forward command hut, took the packet without speaking.

He read it once. Then again.

"They're turning the world against us," he said at last.

Leclerc glanced up from his desk. "Fabricated stories?"

"Fabricated witnesses," Bruno replied, dropping the page. "They've planted actors in neutral nations—screaming about forced labor camps, rogue weapons, children stolen for experimentation."

Amalia stepped inside just then, helmet under her arm, face still windburnt from a flight patrol.

"I assume you're planning to answer this?"

Bruno looked at her, calm and cold.

"We don't answer lies with words."

A public square. Late afternoon.

A man—foreign, thin, dirt on his sleeves and desperation in his eyes—stood before a crowd with tears streaming down his cheeks.

"They took my brother," he cried. "The Elyseans—they told us we would help build machines. But we never saw sunlight again. He died underground. Chained to steam engines and silence."

People gasped. Some cried.

And a camera—carefully hidden in a second-story window—recorded every word.

The feed would be broadcast in telegram in six countries by nightfall.

But the man wasn't crying anymore.

Later, in a hotel room paid in Germanian coin, he counted the bills in silence.

And behind the curtain, a girl named Iris—Athenaeum operative—photographed him through a lens barely thicker than a quill nib.

Elysee – War Ministry Hall

The report landed on Bruno's desk with a solid thunk.

"World sentiment's shifting," Leclerc said. "Five editorials. Two merchant alliances now reconsidering trade deals. We're being painted as a threat."

Bruno said nothing for a moment.

Then he pulled open a drawer and removed a dark velvet case.

Inside: a single medal. His own design. It bore the sigil of the hawk—but beneath it, a mask.

"I was hoping not to use this," he muttered.

Amalia raised a brow. "What is it?"

"Authorization to activate The Ghostlight Division," Bruno said.

Leclerc sat up straighter. "I thought that was only theoretical."

"It was," Bruno replied. "Now it's essential."

The Ghostlight Division

A classified subdivision of Athenaeum, specializing in psychological disruption, false flag operations, and rapid-turn narrative warfare.

Number of personnel: 31.

Number of confirmed existence: 0.

Somewhere on the Northern Coast of Germania — Midnight

A government warehouse exploded in a ball of green flame.

No casualties—but the shockwave cracked every window within two blocks. Graffiti appeared overnight on a dozen official buildings: "From the Shadows You Lie. From the Sky We See."

Anonymous manifestos flooded underground print circles.

A former Oroskan officer defected—claiming on record that Germania and Orosk had conspired to provoke war through disinformation.

He vanished a day later. But the seed was planted.

And behind it all, names no one knew. Faces no one recognized. A story told in fire, ink, and silence.

The Ghostlight had begun to burn.

Royal Palace – Elysee, One Month Later

Bruno stood once more at the balcony, overlooking the capital below. It was night again. Stars overhead. The city quiet.

But this time, he wasn't alone.

Beside him stood Queen Amelie.

She held their infant son, Louis, in her arms. The child's head rested against her shoulder, peaceful.

"You never told me you'd go this far," she said softly.

Bruno looked at her. "Would you have told me to stop?"

"No," Amelie said. "But I would have wanted to stand beside you sooner."

He took her free hand and kissed her knuckles gently.

"Now you are."

She looked out at the stars.

"And what comes next?"

Bruno exhaled slowly.

"We wait. We build. We guide the narrative before it becomes truth."

He looked down at his son.

"And when the storm finally comes… we make sure our skies are ours."

Far to the East — Unknown Coastline

An Oroskan scout ship docked silently in the dead of night.

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Waiting on the pier was a man with no official rank. He handed a sealed letter to the ship's captain.

The wax bore the mark of the Tsar.

The message was simple.

"If we cannot match the hawk… then let us build the serpent."

The ship vanished into the dark harbor mist, its lanterns extinguished before it passed the headland. No horns. No flags. Only the cold slap of water against its hull.

Onboard, deep in the hold, the captain unsealed the letter beneath a lantern's flicker. The parchment inside was coded, but the final line was unmistakable—underlined in crimson ink:

"Project Veles: Commence."

In the frozen laboratories beneath Velmir, machines that had long been dormant began to stir. Engineers were summoned from exile. Files marked "prohibited" were pulled from vaults. The doctrine was different now. It would not aim for elegance. It would not chase speed.

It would strike.

Steel-bellied. Fire-breathing. Less a plane and more a winged warhead.

The hawk had mastered the skies with precision and poetry.

The serpent would answer with chaos and fear.

Back in Elysea, as Bruno watched the night deepen from the palace balcony, he felt a breeze shift colder than before.

Not from the mountains.

From something unseen, far away.

He turned to Amelie, the weight of foresight in his voice.

"They're building something."

She nodded, lips pressed thin.

"And so must we."