I Reincarnated as a Prince Who Revolutionized the Kingdom-Chapter 80: High Tension

The city of Carthage was no longer calm.

The Elysean compound was under lockdown, its iron gates shut, guards stationed at every entryway, muskets loaded and bayonets fixed. Outside the compound, Tunisian soldiers patrolled the streets, their presence heavier than before. Every man inside the Elysean delegation could feel it—the growing hostility, the seething resentment.

Inside the compound, General Armand Roux stood in the dimly lit war room, his gloved hands pressed against the wooden table. Across from him, Foreign Minister Charles Dufort paced, his face lined with frustration.

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On the table lay the official demand from the Grand Vizier—hand over the Elysean officers responsible for the bloodshed at the Grand Bazaar, or face expulsion from Tunisian lands.

Dufort exhaled sharply. "This is an impossible demand."

Roux’s eyes narrowed. "It’s a threat."

Dufort stopped pacing, turning to face him. "And what would you have me do? Turn over our men to be butchered?"

Roux’s jaw clenched. "We can’t let them dictate terms to us, Charles. If we surrender Giraud and his men, we set a precedent—Elysean soldiers become bargaining chips. Today, it’s this incident. Tomorrow, it’s another excuse. If we show weakness, we might as well pack up and leave North Africa altogether."

Dufort rubbed his temples. "I understand that, Armand, but if we refuse outright, we risk war. And we are not ready for war."

There was a heavy silence between them.

They both knew the truth.

Elysea was strong. Stronger than Tunis, militarily and technologically. But an outright conflict, here and now, would be a catastrophe. Elysea’s foothold in Carthage was small. Their men were outnumbered. Their supply lines stretched across the Mediterranean. They could not afford a prolonged struggle—not yet.

A sharp knock at the door broke the silence.

An aide entered, bowing slightly. "Your Excellencies, the Grand Vizier has arrived."

Dufort straightened, his expression hardening. "Then let’s see where this leads."

The Council Hall of the Elysean compound was cold, tense, and heavy with anticipation.

Grand Vizier Suleiman al-Mutazz entered, flanked by two Tunisian guards, their hands resting on their scimitars. The vizier moved with calm, deliberate steps, his aged but sharp eyes scanning the room like a man who already knew the outcome of the conversation.

Dufort and Roux stood at the opposite end of the table. Behind them, Elysean officers watched in silence, their hands resting on their sword hilts, muskets leaning against the walls.

The Vizier took his seat.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then, Suleiman broke the silence.

"You have received our demands." His voice was steady, unyielding.

Dufort nodded. "We have. But before we proceed further, let me ask you one thing, Grand Vizier—do you truly wish to see our nations at war?"

Suleiman’s expression did not change. "It is not we who brought war to Carthage, Minister Dufort. It was your men who fired the first shot. It was your soldiers who killed our citizens in the streets of our own city."

Dufort’s lips pressed into a thin line. "The situation escalated beyond control. Your people attacked our men first."

Suleiman’s eyes flickered with a dangerous glint. "They attacked with stones and fists. Your men responded with gunpowder and steel. Tell me, Minister Dufort, do you believe this is justice?"

Roux spoke before Dufort could answer. "Justice? Justice would have been preventing the attack in the first place. Justice would have been ensuring your citizens didn’t rise up against uniformed men protecting diplomatic interests."

Suleiman’s calm mask cracked slightly, his fingers tightening against the armrest of his chair. "Protection? Your men insulted our people, mocked our traditions, called us uncivilized in our own streets. If this is your idea of protection, then we do not need it."

A long, tense silence followed.

Dufort sighed. "We cannot hand over our officers to be executed."

Suleiman’s eyes narrowed. "Then our Sultan will have no choice but to expel every Elysean from our lands. That includes your merchants, your diplomats, and your soldiers. Your foothold in North Africa will be gone."

Dufort’s heart pounded, but he forced himself to remain outwardly calm.

If they lost Carthage, they lost everything they had spent a year building.

He could not allow that to happen.

"We can find another solution," Dufort said carefully.

Suleiman leaned forward. "There is only one solution."

Roux slammed his palm on the table. "You are making a mistake, Grand Vizier."

Suleiman met his gaze, unflinching. "No, General Roux. It is Elysea that has made a mistake."

The negotiations collapsed.

Suleiman stood, his movements slow, deliberate. "You have until sundown tomorrow to deliver your decision. If you refuse to hand over your men, consider our agreement nullified."

Dufort exhaled sharply, but nodded. "We will… consider your request."

Suleiman watched him for a long moment before turning on his heel and exiting the chamber.

As the door slammed shut, Roux swore under his breath. "This is going to end in blood."

Dufort sat back down, his fingers interlocked. His mind was racing.

What options did they have?

Hand over Giraud and the other officers. This would humiliate Elysea and set a precedent that would make them look weak in the eyes of their European rivals.

Refuse outright. This would likely mean war, or at the very least, the complete loss of their trade agreements and foothold in Tunis.

Negotiate a compromise. But would the Tunisians accept anything less than full punishment?

Dufort turned to Roux. "If it comes to war… are we prepared?"

"We are well-prepared," Roux stated with absolute certainty. "We have the best weapons, and these Tunisians are equipped with primitive muskets and outdated tactics. If war comes, we will dominate them."

Dufort exhaled sharply. "This isn’t about whether we can win, General." He ran a hand through his graying hair. "It’s about whether we should."

Roux’s expression remained unreadable. "They have already declared their position. They demand our officers. They openly threaten to expel us. This is not diplomacy anymore. It is a power struggle."

Dufort shook his head. "We came here to trade, not conquer."

Roux’s voice darkened. "You came to trade. The king sent me to ensure Elysea takes what it needs."

Silence fell over the room.

Finally, Major Baptiste Laurent spoke, breaking the tension. "The Tunisian army is mobilizing. If we hesitate, we lose the initiative."

Dufort sat back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. "This will mean the end of any diplomatic relations with Tunis."

Roux smirked. "We don’t need relations. We need their land."

Dufort’s lips pressed into a thin line. His eyes swept across the faces of the gathered men. "Then… this is war."

Roux nodded. "Then let’s prepare for war."