Reincarnated as the Crown Prince-Chapter 35: The Impression

The dreadnought’s roar still echoed in the minds of those who had witnessed it.

The Gulf of Valencia, once tranquil and overlooked, now bore the smoking crater of an island that no longer existed. The uninhabited islet—Cala Negra—had been reduced to flaming debris in under three salvos. Aragon’s naval flagship, Santo Dominio, had done in ten minutes what it once took fleets hours to achieve.

Foreign observers had stood aboard escort vessels and smaller cruisers during the demonstration. Now, just two days later, their dispatches had reached the capitals of Europe—and the world had begun to panic.

Inside the War Office in Madrid, Alicia laid out a stack of telegrams on the strategy table.

"Londale, Glanzburg, New Vienna, and even Orosk have all sent follow-up queries," she reported. "They want to confirm what they saw. Or, more likely, they hope it wasn’t real."

Regent Lancelot remained seated at the head of the table, arms folded, brows knitted in thought. Around him, the senior ministers and military officials of the realm had gathered again—General Montiel, Minister Vellasco, Admiral Tormes, and Mirena d’Aurelion herself.

The Admiral, once known for his disdain of Lancelot’s early naval policies, now stood silent in awe of what had become reality. He had been aboard Santo Dominio during the trial. He had felt the deck lurch, had watched the elevation motors align with mathematical precision, had listened to the bellow of each 305mm gun as it fired with mechanical grace. The admiral’s pride was now genuine—his dread had only grown in the aftermath.

"They never believed we’d leap this far ahead," he muttered. "The Britannians still talk about triple-expansion steam engines as if they’re miracles. And the Francois..." He shook his head. "They thought their coastal batteries were enough."

"They’re not," Lancelot said firmly. "Not anymore."

Mirena leaned over the table, adjusting her spectacles. "We used a modified cordite mixture for the powder bags. Maximum velocity per shell: 820 meters per second. Armor penetration test on steel plating was... devastating."

"Distance to target was?" Vellasco asked.

"Twenty kilometers," she replied.

The silence hung heavy.

It was General Montiel who finally voiced the obvious. "We’ve changed the nature of power. They’ve seen it now. We’re not just another industrial kingdom anymore. We are the standard they must catch up to."

Alicia nodded. "And they won’t. Not in time."

Lancelot gestured toward her. "Read the Britannian response."

She unfolded a sealed message. "From Lord Almsley, Minister of the Admiralty: ’Her Majesty’s Government acknowledges with great respect the demonstration undertaken by the Kingdom of Aragon and looks forward to enhanced naval cooperation and possible orders for joint maritime exercises. The realm of Britannia remains committed to mutual defense agreements and shared strategic interests.’"

"In short," Lancelot said, "they want to stay close in case we decide they’re next."

There were soft chuckles around the table.

"What of Glanzreich?" asked Tormes.

"They’re... disturbed," Alicia replied. "Their envoy reported back to the Kaiser, and they’ve recalled a technical delegation to assess their own capabilities. No overt hostility, but they’re now requesting blueprints for lighter armaments—specifically our coastal artillery emplacements."

"They’ll get nothing," Lancelot said. "Let them build their own miracles."

Vellasco tapped the table. "And the Francois?"

Alicia hesitated, then read a shorter note. "’The Revolutionary Government of Francois condemns the demonstration of excessive, unprovoked firepower by the militarist regime in Aragon. Such displays of imperialist intimidation will not deter the free peoples of the continent.’"

Montiel scoffed. "They’re scared. And they should be."

Lancelot’s expression remained unmoved. "They know what’s coming."

He rose from his chair, walking toward the tall window overlooking the gardens of the capital. A peacock strutted across the lawn below, oblivious to the plans of kings and generals.

"They’ve built a republic on blood," he said quietly. "It’s kept alive by propaganda, fear, and the illusion that they can’t be touched. That illusion is gone now. Their generals saw that demonstration. Their ministers saw it. The Republic cannot protect them from me."

Mirena joined him at the window. "What will you do?"

Lancelot turned slightly. "I will let the dreadnought speak for now. Let them panic. Let them delay and second-guess. Meanwhile, we prepare the rail lines. We mobilize divisions."

"They’ll dig in," Montiel warned. "If they believe we’re coming, they’ll turn the southern coast into a fortress."

"Then we’ll make them dig their own graves," Lancelot replied.

A messenger entered, bowing. "Telegram from Sardegna, Your Highness."

Alicia took it, scanned, then raised an eyebrow. "They’ve proposed a joint task force for the Mediterranean—naval drills and combined operations near Corsica. They want to appear strong."

"We’ll send a single ship," Lancelot said. "Make sure it’s Santo Dominio. Let them see it up close."

As the meeting drew to a close, Lancelot lingered behind with Alicia.

"The Francois are terrified," she said. "But the others? They’re rethinking the world order. You’ve created something that doesn’t just win battles—it shifts alliances."

"That was the point," he murmured. "Steel and steam win wars. But fear wins peace."

Alicia looked at him curiously. "And what if fear fails?"

Lancelot’s gaze grew cold.

"Then we make them remember what terror is."

Beyond Aragon:

Britannia – Londale

In the foggy halls of Parliament, Lord Almsley briefed the War Cabinet.

"He’s built a weapon that invalidates our entire fleet strategy," he said. "We need at least three years to catch up."

"Three years?" gasped the Home Secretary. "That’s assuming he lets us live that long."

"Which is why we must stay on his side," Almsley concluded. "No provocations. No betrayals."

The Prime Minister nodded grimly. "We’ll buy Aragonese-built ships if we must. But we must not fall behind."

Glanzreich – Royal General Staff

An argument broke out in the Kaiser’s war room.

"They have heavier guns than anything we’ve seen," shouted Field Marshal Osterwald. "And they fire faster, further, with better accuracy. Our ships of the line will be kindling!"

"We must prioritize air reconnaissance," a younger colonel suggested. "If we can’t match their guns, we must at least see them before they see us."

The Kaiser stood, pale but firm. "If Aragon attacks the Republic, we will support them. But... God help us if they look elsewhere next."

Francois Republic – The Revolutionary Council

Panic.

Not whispered fear—but visible, choking dread.

In the marble chamber beneath their Assembly Hall, the Council screamed at each other.

"You told us they were backward!"

"They were!" fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓

"Then how did they erase an island in ten minutes!?"

General Marceau stood, fists clenched. "Because we stopped teaching engineers. We stopped training commanders. We exiled the men who built our defenses and filled their place with slogans and martyrs."

One of the civilian ministers shouted, "Then what do we do?"

Marceau exhaled slowly. "Pray they don’t land in our lands."

Silence followed.

They all knew.

If Aragon landed in the south, with their dreadnoughts, their mortars, their trains... there would be no Second Revolution.

Only rubble.

Back in Madrid, under the evening lights of a city that hummed with new power, Regent Lancelot sat alone in his study, reading the final report from the demonstration. The observers’ names were all there. So were their faces—etched in awe, fear, and resignation.

He closed the folder, eyes narrowing.

The world now knew what Aragon could do.

And soon, they would learn what Aragon would do.

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