Reincarnated as the Crown Prince Chapter 29: Five Years Later

By the sumr of 1793, the Kingdom of Aragon had beco sothing entirely new. Not just in substance, but in soul. What began as sketches in a prince’s study had beco the beating heart of a nation—thundering with piston, spark, and steel.

Beyond the city limits, iron rails crisscrossed the countryside. Steel bridges spanned rivers where only ferries had once dared. Telegraph poles marched like sentinels across the land, humming with ssages about harvests, trade, and innovations. In workshops across Toledo, Zaragoza, and Segovia, belts turned, gears clicked, and hamrs rang—not in isolation, but in harmony. The kingdom had beco a machine, and every citizen, willingly or not, was now part of its rhythm.

Even the nobility had changed.

The sa lords who once whispered rebellion behind mahogany doors, whose powdered wigs curled in disdain at the scent of coal smoke, had transford. Faced with Lancelot’s unshakable resolve and the dazzling returns of industrial production, they’d adapted—not from loyalty, but from necessity.

Marquis Altamira of Valencia, once the loudest opponent of the reforms, now operated the largest textile mill in the eastern provinces, powered entirely by Mirena’s high-efficiency rotary engines. Count Ferrán of Burgos, who once warned of "machines stealing n’s souls," oversaw foundries producing railway spikes and bridge trusses for the Crown—at a tidy profit. Even Duchess Leona of Segovia, whose family had declared the electric telegraph "witchcraft," now bragged of having the first electrically illuminated ballroom in the kingdom.

Lancelot allowed their pride. So long as they paid their taxes and expanded his vision, he didn’t mind their newfound enthusiasm. Let them call themselves industrialists—titles mattered less than results.

But tonight... tonight was different.

Tonight, the capital would bear witness to a promise made real. Tonight, Madrid would beco the first city in Europe—not just Aragon—to be illuminated entirely by electricity.

The anticipation had built for weeks.

Atop rooftops, workers had installed thick copper wiring and ceramic insulators. Thousands of wrought-iron lamp posts had been installed along the boulevards and plazas. In the basent of the Royal Telegraph Building, Mirena’s engineers had constructed a sprawling dynamo array, powered by a coal-fed steam engine that hissed and roared with restrained might. The entire capital had been wired to a central grid—fed by science, not superstition.

As the sun dipped behind the hills, crowds gathered across every district. From the muddy boots of cobblers to the silk gloves of duchesses, all turned toward the Plaza of the Sun, where a grand stage had been erected beside the palace steps.

On it stood Prince Lancelot, clad not in a robe of state, but in a tailored charcoal coat with silver trim—a subtle nod to both monarchy and industry. At his side stood Lady Mirena d’Aurelion, her goggles pushed up onto her forehead, hands ink-stained from last-minute adjustnts.

To their right stood King Edric, older and grayer than before, but alert and smiling. He had survived tuberculosis thanks to the new dicine called streptomycin that was pioneered by Lancelot.

And beside him, Juliette—no longer a child, but a poised young woman of thirteen. She wore a light blue dress embroidered with tiny brass stars, her gloved hand resting gently on her father’s arm.

The crowd hushed as Lancelot stepped forward.

"Five years ago," he began, his voice carried by newly installed electric amplifiers, "this city was bound by horse and parchnt. It crawled under the weight of illness, darkness, and doubt. But we dread—of machines, of light, of a better way."

He turned slightly toward Mirena.

"And together, we made that dream real."

Cheers erupted, but he raised a hand gently to quiet them.

"This is not the end. It is the beginning. Today, Madrid shines not with the flicker of gas, but with the pulse of power. From this plaza to the farthest alley, no child will walk in fear of the dark. No soldier will march blind. No nurse will treat a wound by candlelight. This is not magic. It is progress. It is the triumph of mind over misery."

A slow breath. Then he gestured toward a great brass lever standing beside the stage—linked by copper wire to the generator hall.

"With the blessing of His Majesty King Edric..." Lancelot looked toward his father.

The old king nodded. "Do it, my son."

Lancelot reached forward. His gloved hand gripped the lever.

"For the people of Aragon," he declared.

And then—he pulled.

For a heartbeat, the city held its breath.

Then—

A low hum surged across the wires.

And one by one, like stars bursting to life, the lamps across Madrid ignited.

First the plaza, then the avenues. Then the hills, the gates, the winding streets and market stalls. The rooftops lit like dawn, the lamp glass glowing white and warm. From the palace towers to the poorest tenent, light filled every corner.

Cheers rang out like cannon fire. Children scread with delight. Won cried openly. n dropped their hats and embraced strangers. Horses startled. Dogs barked. Priests fell silent. And sowhere in the slums, a little girl pointed to the glowing pole outside her window and whispered, "The sky ca down."

Juliette clapped with wide-eyed joy, her laughter pure and unfiltered. King Edric leaned on his cane and said softly, "I thought I would die in the dark."

Beside the Prince, Mirena looked out over the glowing city, her voice quiet. "We did it."

"No," Lancelot said. "This is only Madrid. Tomorrow, we bring light to Zaragoza, to Valencia, to every town and village that once feared the night."

He turned toward the crowd again. "Let it be known across the world: the dark no longer rules here. Not in our hos, not in our hearts, not in our streets. Aragon walks into the future—and the light walks with us."

As the cheers returned, Mirena stepped back toward the generator’s control panel, checking gauges and dials like a watchful mother. Alicia approached from the wings, holding a new report.

"The engineers in Segovia confirm their turbine station is complete," she said with a grin. "They’ll be ready to power the southern districts within the month."

Lancelot smiled. "Then let’s prepare another lever."