Reincarnated: Vive La France-Chapter 70: "You reminded them what competence looks like.”

The Élysée Palace looked like a marble fortress beneath the cloudy Parisian morning, its grand halls ringing with polished boots and muffled noise of people whispering around.

General Beauchamp was led into the President's chamber, where President Lebrun waited beside a half-dozen men senior officials from the Foreign Ministry, military attachés, and the Interior Bureau.

President Lebrun didn't waste time. "General," he said, voice firm but worn, "I assume you've made your selection for the envoy to Belgrade?"

Beauchamp nodded, removing his gloves. "Yes, Monsieur le Président. Capitaine Étienne Moreau."

Then came the wave of disbelief.

The Foreign Ministry's Acting Undersecretary, Pierre Lescotward sharply. "Moreau? The same Moreau of which we have been hearing a lot."

"The same," Beauchamp replied calmly.

Another advisor, Minister of Protocol Morelle, frowned deeply. "With all due respect, General, this is a funeral procession for a monarch assassinated on our soil. It is an affair of deep mourning, sensitive diplomacy, and unstable Balkan politics."

"I'm aware," Beauchamp said coolly.

The President's brow furrowed. "You've backed him before. But this is different. You're placing him in the middle of a diplomatic firestorm. What happens if he missteps?"

Beauchamp finally turned to face the table, voice firm. "Then we burn. But if we send one of the usual officers arrogant, ignorant of the region we still burn. I'd rather have someone who's proven he can walk through flames and not choke."

Morelle shook his head. "He's young."

Beauchamp smirked. "So was Alexander when he became King of Yugoslavia."

Pierre pressed further. "Does he even understand the region? The royal structure? The Slavic complexities?"

"Then ask him," Beauchamp said. "I've already sent for him."

They didn't wait long.

Ten minutes later, Moreau entered the chamber, sharply dressed, nervous but composed.

It was his first time inside the highest seat of French power.

He saluted crisply. "Monsieur le Président. Messieurs."

President Lebrun nodded. "Relax, Capitaine. You're among colleagues. Today is about clarity, not judgment."

Pierre stepped forward. "Capitaine Moreau, I hope you understand the seriousness of this responsibility."

"I do, sir."

"Very well. Then let's begin."

He flipped open a thick file. "Who currently rules Yugoslavia, Capitaine?"

Moreau didn't hesitate. "At present, Yugoslavia is under a regency council for King Peter II, as he is still a minor. The real power lies with Prince Paul, who acts as the de facto ruler. He succeeded the late King Alexander after the assassination."

Pierre glanced up. "And what are the main ethnic divisions within the kingdom?"

"There are several: the Serbs form the majority, followed by Croats, Slovenes, Bosniaks, and a number of smaller minorities like Albanians and Macedonians. The Serb-Croat divide is the most politically sensitive and has created numerous internal tensions."

"Good," Pierre replied, with no praise in his tone. "What about the Vidovdan Constitution?"

Moreau nodded. "Enacted in 1921. Centralized the government in Belgrade and effectively ensured Serb dominance over the state apparatus, which created long-standing resentment, especially among Croats."

A few brows rose.

"Foreign influences?"

"Germany is working through Croatian separatists, particularly the Ustaše. Italy supports them as well. The Soviets have limited influence, mostly through ideology. France, traditionally, was the kingdom's closest ally, primarily due to shared interests after the Great War and the Little Entente."

"What was the nature of that alliance?"

"Military and political. France helped arm and train the Yugoslav army in the 1920s. We shared a common interest in containing Hungarian revisionism and German expansion."

"What's changed?"

"Everything," Moreau answered. "After the death of King Alexander, the Yugoslav state is in a political free-fall. The regency is weaker, the separatist voices are louder, and their confidence in France has been shaken because we failed to protect their king on our soil."

Pierre tilted his head. "And what would you say to a Yugoslav general who tells you France can no longer be trusted?"

Moreau didn't blink. "I would tell him: France didn't fail because she didn't care. She failed because she forgot how to listen. And I'm here to change that."

A pause.

One of the junior advisors leaned back in his chair. "What's your position on Croatian autonomy?"

Moreau hesitated a moment, choosing his words carefully. "It's not for France to decide the borders of another state. But it is our duty to avoid legitimizing movements that employ terror. Stability in Yugoslavia means respecting the voices of all its people without letting it splinter under foreign pressure."

Another voice: "And your views on the internal structure of their military?"

"They lack true modernization. Their officer corps is divided along ethnic lines, which affects command unity. They rely heavily on infantry and are behind in mechanized doctrine. Prince Paul wants reforms, but they're slow and unpopular with old-guard nationalists."

There was silence.

President Lebrun finally leaned forward, his voice quiet. "And what will you say when you stand by that coffin, Capitaine?"

Moreau paused.

"I will bow my head for the man who believed in unity, even when it was breaking beneath him. I will speak not as a soldier of France, but as a man who knows what it means to fight for a country that doubts itself."

There was a long silence.

Undersecretary Pierre closed the file.

"I have no more questions."

President Lebrun stood and walked over to Moreau.

Placing a firm hand on his shoulder, he smiled a tired, relieved expression.

"I believe you're the only one among us who still remembers that diplomacy is not about pride, but memory."

He turned to Beauchamp. "You were right."

General Beauchamp smiled, barely concealing the quiet pride behind his tired eyes.

"Good," Lebrun continued. "We will brief the ambassador. You'll leave in forty-eight hours."

Moreau saluted. "Yes, Monsieur le Président."

As the meeting concluded, Beauchamp walked with Moreau toward the exit.

Outside the chamber, he glanced at him with a faint smirk.

"You really know how to walk into a lion's den and look like the zookeeper."

Moreau raised an eyebrow. "I didn't think they'd grill me like that."

"You passed," Beauchamp said. "And not just passed. You reminded them what competence looks like."