Lancelot stepped onto the command flatcar—once a cattle wagon, now transford into a mobile headquarters. A large map of southern Francois territory had been nailed to the interior wall. Colored pins marked rail junctions, river crossings, telegraph lines, and suspected rebel strongholds.
Alicia was already inside, poring over the logistics manifest with a pencil between her teeth.
"We’re sending food ahead to the villages," she said, looking up. "Civilians along the route will either welco us or at least not resist. If we feed them, they’ll rember."
"Clever as ever," Lancelot replied.
"The mobile field kitchens are ready," she continued. "Pulled on flatbeds, steam-fed, built with quick-deploy chimneys. We can feed two thousand n in a single sitting per train."
Montiel tapped the map. "We’ll need to secure the Rhône River bridge near Orange. That’s the choke point."
"We’ll hit it at dusk," Lancelot said without hesitation. "Send a fast detachnt with engineers. Disable their telegraph lines. Once that bridge is ours, the route to Lyon is wide open."
The train jolted into motion with a shrill whistle. Outside, cheers echoed from the ranks as fresh banners were raised along the engine’s sides—deep red with Aragon’s steel gear insignia. It was not just a military march. It was a parade of progress.
Two nights later, Avignon lay before them, half-abandoned, its mayor nowhere to be found.
Aragonese cavalryn rode through the streets unopposed. The local garrison had vanished, reportedly retreating north to regroup. What remained were frightened shopkeepers, scattered papers, and empty municipal halls.
Lancelot’s army did not slow. They left behind a delegation—civic engineers, a magistrate, and a detachnt of the Urban Guard—to restore order and establish provisional administration.
By dawn, telegraph wires were being re-strung across the city hall. Engineers mapped existing sewer systems, while dical staff opened a temporary hospital using tents erected in the central square. The Aragonese flag was raised not with fanfare, but with quiet efficiency.
Three days later, the main force halted twenty kiloters south of Lyon.
The city was still under Republic control—at least nominally. But reports from sympathizers painted a clearer picture: the local command was fractured, the governor indecisive, and the population restless. The Francois army had diverted its best troops to the Prussian front, leaving only poorly equipped units and remnants from Marseille.
Lancelot summoned his general staff in the field encampnt beneath a grove of olive trees. The stars above were dimd by smoke from cooking fires and signal lamps. Folding chairs circled a campaign table lit by a portable electric bulb powered by a hissing dynamo nearby.
Montiel laid down the updated map. "They’ve fortified the rail yards and posted guards at the eastern gate. But no artillery has been reported. The old fortress in the north is unmanned."
"What of the Rhône River crossing?" asked Tors.
"Still intact. No signs of sabotage. Their engineers may be waiting for orders."
Lancelot rubbed his chin. "We take the yards first. At dawn. Then sweep eastward into the city, block by block. Avoid damage if possible—this city is a prize, not a ssage."
Alicia nodded. "Our agents inside report low morale. Once our banners are seen and shots fired, they’ll break."
"Then we give them sothing to break for."
Dawn arrived wrapped in mist.
From the east, Aragonese artillery opened the assault. Mobile mortars rained shells onto the rail yards, shattering fuel tanks and flattening barricades. The defenders scrambled, returning fire with outdated muskets and two aging swivel cannons.
By the ti Aragon’s vanguard stord the rail gate, the defenders were in full retreat. Lyon’s civilian population awoke to the sounds of marching boots, shouted orders, and the hiss of steam cranes unloading more track behind the frontline.
By midday, the southern half of the city was under Aragonese control.
A few die-hard loyalists tried to resist in the city square, but fell quickly under suppressive rifle fire. Smoke drifted from scattered fires, but the city remained largely intact.
Lancelot entered on horseback, flanked by Alicia and Montiel. Civilians peered from windows, astonished at the order and professionalism of their new masters. Aragonese soldiers handed out water and bread, secured public buildings, and posted decrees promising justice and discipline.
One captured officer of the Republic, a weary lieutenant, asked bitterly, "Is this how you conquer France? With food and rail lines?"
Lancelot answered simply, "We don’t conquer France. We replace it."
By the next evening, telegraphs carried the news across Europe.
"LYON FALLS WITHOUT FULL BATTLE – ARAGONESE ARMY ADVANCES NORTH" declared the Sardegnan papers.
"STEEL AND SMOKE: THE NEW MODEL OF WAR" read Glanzreich’s military bulletin.
In Britannia, Parliant convened an ergency session. Debates erupted over whether Aragon’s campaign was an existential threat or an inevitable restructuring of the balance of power.
In Paris, the Francois Republic was in panic. Protesters demanded accountability. Radical factions called for ergency conscription. Others whispered that surrender to Aragon might spare the rest of the nation.
In Prussia, Chancellor von Erich was reported to have said, "We thought the Francois were collapsing from within. We did not expect an empire of fire to rise in their place."
That night, from the newly captured Lyon city hall, Lancelot dictated a formal proclamation to be sent via telegram to every major court and consulate.
"To the nations of the civilized world:
We have not marched to conquer, but to end chaos.
Where there is rebellion, we bring law.
Where there is hunger, we bring structure.
Where kingdoms fear the mob, we remind them—order is not tyranny.
Marseille and Lyon now operate under Aragonese civil administration.
Rail lines are operational. Food is flowing. No citizen is denied rights, only disorder.
To those who seek peace—we are allies.
To those who traffic in disorder—we are your reckoning.
From this day forth, France shall no longer be a land ruled by fear and confusion.
It shall be rebuilt, one city at a ti, under the steady hand of industry and law.
—Regent Lancelot of Aragon"
As midnight approached, Lancelot stood at the top of Lyon’s city hall steps. The air was cool, scented with oil and coal, but free of gunfire.
Alicia joined him, handing him the final city reports. Lyon had fallen completely. The river bridges were intact. Refugees had begun arriving, not fleeing.
He looked up at the night sky.
"Two cities," he said softly. "And the world now watches."
Alicia glanced at him. "What do they see?"
Lancelot didn’t answer imdiately.
Then, with quiet certainty: "They see the future."
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