Descending On France 1780-Chapter 23 - 020 Civilian Hero

Anning was brought by Mirabeau to consult what he called a very good doctor.

To be honest, Anning had a bit of fear toward doctors of this era, as Pasteur had not yet been born, humanity had not yet discovered microbiology, hence medicine was a purely empirical practice.

Western medicine at this time was practically synonymous with anti-intellectualism. When in doubt, their first solution was bloodletting. If you got an infection during bloodletting, causing the wound to fester, you got a fever, and the doctor would tell you it meant the bloodletting was effective.

Yes, doctors of this era were "well-trained" like that.

So, whether you could recover from an illness in this age was entirely a matter of how tough your fate was. Thinking about it, those who lived to a ripe old age back then were quite badass.

However, the doctor recommended by Mirabeau was quite impressive. He actually used alcohol to wash Anning's wounds. Anning couldn't help but ask him why, to which the doctor replied: "I don't know. When I was young, my family used to wash wounds with alcohol. My teacher said doing so was wrong, that an infection indicated the body was healing in the right direction, but I always felt that was not correct. I don't like it when wounds fester."

Anning: "You are right, you are certainly the best doctor I have ever met."

——Well, what's this about festering showing the body is healing in the right direction? Better to handle injuries myself in the future.

The doctor then said: "Nevertheless, actually, your wound doesn't need any treatment, it's quite superficial, just a break in the skin. I don't even know how you bled so much."

No wonder the doctor was puzzled, after all, Anning was a chosen one with the skill "Breathing to Replenish Blood." By the time he got to the clinic, his wound had already healed considerably.

Anning: "Perhaps it's not my blood. I just dueled and stabbed my opponent in the chest; he bled quite a bit."

In fact, Reginald hadn't bled as exaggeratedly, but at the moment, Anning could only explain the large stain of blood on his body in this way.

Mirabeau: "Now that the bandaging is done, let's head back to the Royal Palace. The news must have spread through every tavern in the Royal Palace by now, quite a few people are probably waiting to celebrate your return."

Anning nodded: "I also want to go home quickly and change out of this blood-stained shirt."

So Anning bid farewell to the doctor, then boarded Mirabeau's carriage and traveled back through Paris to the Royal Palace.

Just arriving at the public square of the Royal Palace, Anning heard a newsboy outside the carriage window shouting: "Extra, extra! The benefactor of the Duke is actually the descendant of a hidden Noble, who defeated the Paris Duel King with his family's swordsmanship!"

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Anning frowned, thinking that the Paris Duel King probably referred to Reginald, who had won three duels and had a considerable reputation in Paris's social circles.

It was the title of "Duel King" that sounded like someone capable of summoning Blue-Eyes White Dragon.

Mirabeau opened the carriage window and handed out a copper coin: "Here, give me a copy of the extra."

"Here you go!" The newsboy promptly stuffed a newspaper into Mirabeau's hand.

Mirabeau muttered as he flipped through the paper: "Damn it, I can tell it's Valer's writing at a glance. You defeated a Noble, and this fellow has portrayed you as a hidden Noble. These diehards just won't admit that commoners can beat Nobles!"

Anning: "What would you say if you were writing it?"

"Me? I don't write these things, unless you were a woman." Mirabeau paused, then added, "Or if your opponent was a woman."

Anning couldn't help but laugh wryly, he had not expected that someone who would later be admitted into the French Panthéon was actually a heavy-drinking, womanizing author of erotic literature.

At this moment, the carriage stopped, and the coachman knocked on the front window of the carriage: "We've arrived, gentlemen."

As Mirabeau paid the coachman, Anning directly stepped out of the carriage.

As he opened the door, he saw Mabuli giving a speech nearby: "Gentlemen, today a Leatherworker's son has defeated the Marquis's son, who was known for his swordsmanship, in a duel. What does this tell us? It shows that commoners are not inferior to Nobles!

"And as a witness to the duel, I personally saw the furious Nobles companion try to shoot a Leatherworker's son and humiliate himself as the bullet slid out of the barrel!

"This proves one thing, trash remains trash, Noble or not!

"What Nobles can do, commoners can do as well! Nobles can win three consecutive duels, so can commoners!"

Anning was enjoying the speech at first, but he became unsettled upon hearing this. Damn it, I was almost fatally stabbed this time. I have no desire to become the Paris Duel King.

Mirabeau got out of the carriage at this point, patting Anning on the shoulder: "If Mabuli continues to propagate this, every Noble idiot in town will come looking for you to duel."

At that moment, Mabuli spotted Anning and immediately pointed in his direction: "Ladies and gentlemen, take a look, the man who shattered the Nobles' pride has come! Cheer! Cheer for our commoner hero! He fights back not only against the scorn directed at him but also against the Nobles' arrogance towards commoners!"

""

Everyone turned to Anning, as several drunkards in long trousers rushed over, lifted Anning up, and tossed him high into the sky, shouting as they did: "Long live the commoner hero!"

Tossed into the air, Anning thought it was fortunate he had eaten drier bread at noon; otherwise, anything mushy would have surely been vomited out by now.

The commoners in the square all gathered around. Someone loudly asked Anning, who was being thrown into the sky, "You're not actually some kind of Noble, are you?"

Anning: "No, I'm a Leatherworker's... for crying out loud, stop throwing me! I'm the son of a Leatherworker!"

"Then where did you learn swordsmanship?"

"I don't know swordsmanship! I just swung wildly!" Anning replied truthfully.

However, because he was up in the air, his words were muffled and unclear, and nobody heard him properly, leaving some people dissatisfied: "Stop tossing him, let him speak!"

The long-trousers drunkards, who had probably had their fair share to drink, were just not happy. They continued to throw the "commoner's hero" up into the sky time and time again.

Eventually, the drunkards made a mistake and Anning was dropped to the ground, finally landing on his feet.

Rubbing his butt, Anning stood up and said to the onlookers: "I don't know swordsmanship, what's said in that special edition is fake! My ancestors for eight generations have been long-trousers-wearing commoners!"

As his words ended, those surrounding him cheered: "Long live the commoners!"

It seemed that today was destined to be a day for the commoners gathered at the Royal Palace to raise their eyebrows and breathe a sigh of relief.

Nobody knew that in nine years, they would do so again, even more emphatically.

Anning emphasized his commoner status primarily because he didn't want to be mistaken for a Noble, with the great revolution only nine years away.

After the great revolution, even the major Nobles could save their lives by sitting on the fence and acting like liberal Nobles, while the minor Nobles would definitely be hanging ornaments on the street lamps.

However, the special edition had already been printed; could it possibly bring trouble during the revolution?

Surely no one in the future would brandish this edition, pointing at my face and calling me a Noble?

Anning was slightly anxious, but at that moment, the crowd around him started to heckle, wanting him to tell the story of how he won the duel.

The crowd forcefully pushed Anning onto a roadside flower bed, urging him to share the tale.

Anning spread his hands: "To tell the truth, I don't know how I won. They insulted me earlier, saying I managed to defeat the bandit and save the Duchess's young lady because the bandit slipped and his neck hit my knife.

"I guess I won the duel because His Excellency Earl Reginald probably slipped on his own, and his heart hit the tip of my sword!"

The crowd burst into laughter.

Anning continued: "After I won, one of the Earl's lackeys actually pulled out a gun to shoot me, but as he raised the gun, the bullet slid out of the barrel and rolled to my feet!

"That's it! I was just lucky; otherwise, a Leatherworker's son could never defeat an Earl!"

The onlookers began to jeer in unison.

At that moment, someone shouted: "They say firearms, like crossbows, are the weapons of commoners! It must be for that reason you won!"

"Yes, that must be it! Long live firearms!"

Anning joined everyone in shouting the cheers.

Maybe it really was so; firearms leveled the last hard difference between Nobles and commoners, firearms shattered armor, replacing swords, and from that point on, martial Nobles would never again be unrivaled among commoners.

After some more raucous moments, the crowd began to slowly disperse.

Then Anning noticed Vanni and the Duke's steward not far behind him.

Steward: "Mr. Frost, the Duke invites you to dine with him this evening."

At this point, a prompt suddenly popped up in Anning's field of vision.

[Duke Tolleson seems to appreciate you even more.]