"This is a conspiracy of the Nobility!

"Our distinguished representatives have won a glorious victory in the Assembly, but how could those lords, so accustomed to oppressing us, ever accept it?!

"I can tell you all in no uncertain terms that last night’s incident was a conspiracy between the Nobility and the Cultists! They want to throw us into chaos, to make us panic, so their army can march into the city under the pretense of protecting us and suppress everything!"

The ferocious George Jacques cried out to the masses, "Unite, citizens! Arm yourselves, citizens! The time has come to defend ourselves and the National Assembly!"

Many people did not understand what had happened. They only knew of a riot and a strange, terrifying "natural disaster." To ordinary people who couldn’t even manipulate Ether, the Angel’s true form was just a blurry mass of thunderclouds and lightning.

But the Cultists had appeared for real, causing injury and destruction. Thus, the frightened citizens were quickly swayed by the agitation of George Jacques, who was rallying support everywhere.

Kalar had a stutter, but it didn’t stop him from writing brilliant press releases. The lawyer had switched careers to become a journalist, fabricating a conspiracy theory that linked the "Cultists" to "the Nobility’s revenge against the National Assembly."

This piece of "non-fiction" was tacitly picked up and reprinted by all the newspapers.

The truth was that most of the influential figures and elites had already learned from various channels (mainly the Magic Guild) that the turmoil with the Cult Group and the Angel was over. They could now safely use it for their own machinations.

The Church tried to convince the populace that the Cult no longer posed a threat, but the citizens’ trust and patience were long exhausted. No matter what the Priests said, they could neither shake the determination of the property owners to arm themselves, nor quell the fury of the poor who had been pushed to the brink.

The news that finally snapped everyone’s nerves was the dismissal of Dipresy and Nekker. The public universally believed this was a sign that Charles XVI had completely sided with the Noble Faction. There were no longer any high-ranking ministers of commoner origin in the court to stop the Nobility from retaliating against the Assembly.

"Are we to just sit here and wait for death? Patriotic citizens, take action! Save our representatives! Save Valuva!" George and other progressives began to call the people to battle. To battle!

At the City Hall, the patrolling Personal Guard watched in astonishment as excited crowds flooded in from the streets on all sides. When George, wearing a green cockade, rushed to the front and gave another speech, the Personal Guard, who already supported the National Assembly, defected on the spot.

"What are you doing? What are you— Ah!"

The torrent of citizens, armed with pitchforks, hammers, and crowbars, flooded into the City Hall. Led by the Personal Guard, they found the armory. When they emerged, they were equipped with firearms and held aloft the head of Valuva’s city administrator.

As the armed groups dispersed back to their various districts, the streets of Valuva were spontaneously barricaded. Sandbags were piled up, firearms were mounted, and private homes became sentry posts. Everyone waited nervously for the imagined army and Cultists.

Admittedly, the public’s reaction was excessive. The Nobility were still arguing over matters in the Assembly, and among the cavalry and guards belonging to His Majesty the King, no one was willing to step forward and take command.

Because all the canny old foxes, concerned only with self-preservation, understood that whoever ordered the violent dissolution of the Assembly would give their political rivals an exploitable weakness and face a frenzied attack from the progressives.

Ultimately, His Majesty the King himself remained indecisive. He hoped the Nobility would join the National Assembly to reopen the Third Level Estate Assembly, yet he also wanted to control the Assembly’s agenda.

’Can’t do it? Then I’ll just go to the hunting grounds to clear my head! Running away may be shameful, but... it doesn’t seem to be very useful.’

Did the citizens, who had been waiting for Cultists and bayonets that never came, calm down? No! They began to organize, forming the National Guard under the banner of protecting the Assembly.

A new call to arms was issued. The Bastille Fortress—it was a prison, holding those who resisted the tyrant. It was a military fortress, its cannons aimed at downtown Valuva, ready to fire at any moment!

"Do you see it? It watches over us, its shadow looming over the entire city, ready to blast through our defenses with cannon fire at any time. National Guard, the best defense is a good offense! We charge!"

The Guard’s commander was, surprisingly, a Marquis. But this was not strange. First, only the Nobility usually had the qualifications for a military education. Second, the citizens’ inner trepidation prompted them to find a "respectable man of the old era" to be the face of the new one.

Marquis Gilbert led his motley crew on a march toward the fortress. "Motley crew" was not a slight, but a fact. The people holding firearms might have been coachmen, laborers, or small business owners just the day before. Members of the Personal Guard had spent ten minutes teaching them how to fire their "fire pokers," and the courage they gained far outweighed their actual marksmanship.

As the troops arrived before the Bastille Fortress, the roar of cannons confirmed their suspicions. Yes, the Nobility were bombarding the National Guard! Fury would not allow them to retreat, despite the casualties.

However, the Guard underestimated the fortress; several charges proved futile. It was unclear whether it was due to the fortress’s restraint or concern for ammunition reserves, but the firing interval of the eight cannons on the ramparts was far longer than it would be in wartime.

The turning point came when the National Guard’s reinforcements arrived. A burlap-covered wagon was unveiled, revealing brand-new cannons!

The people cheered as an instructor from the former Artillery Academy adjusted the aim, and lit the fuse...

BOOM!

A Fireball shot out from the Guard on the ground. A massive explosion and fiery light engulfed the position atop the fortress.

"Yeah! Our Guard’s cannons are stronger than the tyrant’s pea shooters!"

Only the gunner who fired the shot and the commander on the fortress were dumbfounded. ’Since when did the Kingdom have artillery this powerful?’

’It’s practically... the Blast Fireball Technique...’

The fortress commander, finally understanding, came to a sudden realization and tactfully raised the white flag.

Victory! The tyrant’s fortress had surrendered! The citizens felt they had nothing left to fear. What could possibly threaten the great Valois? They charged, they stormed the fortress, smashed the cells, and freed the prisoners.

The shocking news spread from Bastie to every district, to the Assembly, and via telegraph to all corners of the Kingdom.

In other places, property owners, fearing Cultists and refugees from the famine, had similarly armed their towns. But the peasants who had taken up blades and guns to join the patrols, waiting in vain for the rumored Sect and refugees, suddenly realized that they and their comrades were now organized—and armed.

’We have blades and guns... and the Lord has grain and land deeds...’

The castle gates were broken down. Contracts, IOUs, and land deeds passed down for generations were all put to the torch.

In less than ten days, the legal credentials of the privileged class, and even their physical bodies, were eliminated. The changes that Dipresy and Nekker had tried to implement were brutally accomplished in a matter of days by commoners, incited by the property-owning class, after the Nobility’s refusal.

However, on the day Bastie was stormed, Charles XVI returned from the hunting grounds. His already gloomy mood was made even more irritable by his empty-handed return from the hunt.

After washing up, he opened his diary and wrote: "Nothing happened today." 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

’Time for bed, time for bed...’ The King was about to enjoy his soft, silk-covered bed when the newly appointed Guard Captain burst in, interrupting him. "Your Majesty!"

"What is it?" Though annoyed, he knew a visit in the middle of the night must mean something urgent. Charles’s new Guard Captain was younger and more capable.

"The populace stormed Bastie during the day."

"What did they do that for?" Charles climbed into bed anyway. He considered the impossible, and actually let out a small laugh. "Rebel? Why?"

"No, Your Majesty, it is not a rebellion." The new Guard Captain’s eyes were blazing. "It is a revolution!"