Re: Blood and Iron-Chapter 430: Putting Away the Strays

The French delegation had somehow managed to worm their way into the Arena of Victory, now watching from afar in a VIP booth where delegates of each major nation sat, admiring the processions following the opening ceremony.

But during this time, they had been isolated. Everyone knew they held no legitimacy. No authority. They flew the banner of a dead republic while hiding in its more stable colonies—masquerading as the governing body of a nation in total anarchy. Existing in name only, and as an ideal. That was all.

So when they found no one approached them—no respect given, no deference paid—they turned to the bountiful free food and wine, engorging themselves beyond the point of intoxication. And as the wine flowed, so too did the complaints. They began to whine, sneer, and speak loudly of their supposed superiority over Germany.

Twice in fifty years France had fallen to its eastern neighbor. Both times utterly humiliated. Dominated by a people they had long believed themselves superior to. But this defeat—this modern collapse—was unforgivable. The annexation of Elsass-Lothringen was permanent now. The lands once stolen by France had returned to German hands, and that could not be undone.

Bitterness consumed them.

Their words, vulgar and petulant, drew no attention from others. At least not most. One young girl, not even legally an adult, gave them a sidelong glance—clearly understanding some French. But she said nothing.

Until her father turned.

A man with sharp features and ice-blue eyes. A man who calmly faced them and spoke in French so flawless, so Parisian in tone, that they felt ashamed of their own heritage upon hearing it.

And what he said was true.

He had spared Paris. The outskirts had burned, yes—but only those districts of little cultural or historical value. The heart of the city had remained intact.

Bruno had warned the inhabitants ahead of time, scattering fliers before the offensive. He had given them time to flee or surrender. He had brought order.

It wasn't the Germans who destroyed Paris. It was those within it, after the army left.

"You dare have the gall to say you tried to preserve Paris? I would have liked to see you try to burn it to the ground, you filthy barbarian!" one of them shouted.

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Bruno's expression didn't change. But a flicker of sadistic pleasure danced in his eyes. The bait had been taken.

"Do you know what I did when Paris fell?" he began, voice low.

"If memory serves, you lot saw the tides turning and looted the national treasury before fleeing to North Africa. Not because I investigated—no. Because had you stayed, the revolutionaries who burned your beloved Palace of Versailles would have lined you up and shot you first."

Silence fell.

"I didn't sack the Louvre. I didn't torch the Sorbonne. I didn't parade your women through the streets like war trophies. I brought order."

He set his glass down, never breaking eye contact.

"And when you demanded I leave—without a government, without a plan, without so much as a roadmap for what came next—I honored your pride. I left you a city intact… and watched from a distance as you set fire to its soul.

Paris shouldn't have burned. Not like that. But you all wanted to kill your kings. You cheered as the guillotine took tradition and stability with it."

His voice dropped further.

"And this is how liberty ends. Always."

Then he turned the blade.

"You do not bear the torch of civilization—you lost that claim the moment you deposed the House of Bourbon. What trail you blaze is one of destruction, death, and eventually anarchy. As history has shown—

It is the fate shared by all who follow such hollow ideals built on the failures of relentless utopianism and a rejection of what makes us human, naively believing we could ever be as graceful as the angels in heaven above. We are not gods, and you least of all..."

He let the final cut come slow and merciless.

"You call me a barbarian," Bruno said, his voice cool, "but you're the ones killing each other in the streets of a once-civilized nation over something as simple as bread."

He let the silence hang, then added with a soft, lethal edge:

"So tell me—who here is the real savage? Because from where I stand, I see only you three... You are welcome to remain for the duration of the Games. After all, someone must represent the people of France… even if only symbolically."

Then, without raising his voice, he delivered the final line like a sentence passed:

"But any further outbursts like this—and you'll see just how quickly a nation of chivalry deals with disrespect… Especially when it is gracious enough to be hosting the party and paying the bill."

Then Bruno shot a glance toward the American diplomats, as if to say, You too are among the damned. You just don't know it yet.

With that, Bruno turned away from the sputtering Frenchmen, calmly picking up another glass of chardonnay. He walked past his eldest daughter, Eva, and gave her shoulder a gentle pat before leaning in to whisper words only she could hear.

"And that, my sweet little girl… is how we put away the strays in our house."

Eva said nothing as her father passed her by, simply wearing a malevolent smile as she witnessed the Frenchmen utterly ignored once more by those present the moment their disruption had been properly dealt with.

Bruno, however, continued onward, joining his wife Heidi, who was engaged in lively conversation with their daughter-in-law Alya, as well as the Kaiserin and the Tsarina. The royals were discussing the possibility of inducting Alya into one of their female chivalric orders, impressed by Heidi's glowing account of her charitable works—a feat, Heidi claimed, impossible without the aid of the young Russian war orphan who had somehow married her eldest son.

By law, Alya was already a countess, adopted by Heinrich—the man who had led the charge that captured Paris. But this was the first time she stood among such women of power.

When Bruno heard the suggestion, he spoke without hesitation.

"I think that's a wonderful idea! Alya may be my daughter by law, but she is also my goddaughter—and one of the most virtuous women I've had the honor to know. She would be a fitting dame of any of your noble orders… that is, if you would allow me the honor of offering my recommendation alongside that of my beloved wife."

The surrounding nobility murmured in surprise at his words, the tension from moments before already forgotten.

Back at the wine table, Eva sipped her glass and shook her head with a half-smile.

"Father truly is a master of the game. And no one sees it… except mother."