I Reincarnated as a Prince Who Revolutionized the Kingdom-Chapter 118: Preparation for War

Marshal Armand Roux stood in his war room, surrounded by his officers. A map of Pan-America stretched across the table, marked with troop movements, supply routes, and fortifications. The reality was clear.

Elysea was coming.

The royal fleet, carrying thousands of soldiers and enough supplies to wage a full-scale war, had set sail. Roux knew that a direct battle would be suicide.

They could not outlast Elysea in an open war.

The New World had been built with resources, manpower, and weapons from the mainland. The guns his soldiers carried, the cannons mounted on the forts, the food that sustained them—all had come from Elysea.

Without resupply from the homeland, they were vulnerable.

And King Bruno knew it.

The siege was inevitable. If Elysea cut them off from trade, Fort Saint-Louis would crumble within months.

For years, the colony had been dependent on the crown. Roux had known this, and so, he had planned for it.

Long before his defiance against Bruno, Roux had taken steps to make Pan-America independent.

Factories had been built across the continent, using both Elysean technology and native craftsmanship. Weapons were forged locally, gunpowder was produced in makeshift mills, and food reserves were stocked in hidden locations.

Trade routes had been established with hidden smuggling operations, allowing Roux to acquire additional supplies through neutral merchants.

By 1699, the New World had become less reliant on the homeland.

Not enough to win a war outright—but enough to fight one.

Still, Roux knew that factories and supplies alone would not be enough.

He needed men.

Deep within the interior of Pan-America, Roux rode out to a hidden meeting place—a great stone plateau where native leaders from across the continent had gathered.

Some of these men had fought against Elysea. Others had submitted in fear. And some had watched from the shadows, waiting to see which side would win.

But now, the war had come to all of them.

Roux, dressed in a simplified military uniform without the golden embellishments of an Elysean officer, stood before the gathered chiefs.

They watched him with suspicion.

To them, he was a conqueror.

A man who had led the armies that burned their villages, slaughtered their warriors, and crushed their empires.

And now, he asked for their aid.

It was a gamble.

He did not kneel before them, but he spoke with respect.

"You all know me," Roux said, his voice steady. "You know what I have done."

Silence.

"You know that my armies have taken these lands for Elysea."

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Some shifted uncomfortably.

"But now," Roux continued, "I no longer fight for Elysea."

That caught their attention.

"I fight for the New World. And if you fight with me, then this land will be yours once again."

The chiefs exchanged glances.

"Why should we trust you?" one of the elder warriors asked. "You have only ever taken from us."

Roux exhaled. "Because if you do not fight, Elysea will return. And they will take from you again."

Silence.

"You have seen what their King does. He treats you as lesser, as nothing more than obstacles in his path." Roux looked at them all, his gaze fierce. "But I have fought beside your warriors. I have seen their strength. And I tell you now—you are not lesser."

He gestured toward the distant horizon.

"The Elysean fleet is coming. When they arrive, they will not distinguish between you and me. They will take everything. Your land. Your people. Your freedom."

He let the words settle before delivering the final blow.

"If you fight for me, you will not be slaves. You will be free."

The room was silent for a long moment.

Then, one of the younger warriors stood.

"We will fight," he said.

A ripple of voices followed. First, a few. Then dozens. Then all of them.

The alliance had been made.

The natives would fight.

And Roux had found his army.

January 1701 – Fort Saint-Louis, New World

The final preparations were underway.

Every factory, every workshop, every forge was working at full capacity. Guns were being made, bullets forged, cannons reinforced. The New World was turning into a war machine.

The native warriors had begun to arrive.

Thousands of them. Fierce, battle-hardened men who had spent their entire lives fighting in the dense jungles, the mountains, and the frozen wilderness. They knew the land better than any Elysean soldier.

They would be the key.

The last line of defense between independence and destruction.

Roux watched as his army assembled before him.

It was no longer an Elysean army.

It was something new.

A force made up of soldiers, frontiersmen, native warriors, and former slaves who had fled Elysean plantations. A force built not for empire—but for survival.

Roux stepped forward, his gaze sweeping across his men.

"They think we will kneel," he said. "They think we will submit. That we will cower before their fleet and their soldiers."

His voice rose.

"But they do not understand what we have built here. They do not understand who we are."

A murmur of approval spread through the ranks.

Roux drew his saber and pointed it toward the sea.

"We do not fight for a King who has abandoned us." His voice was steady, filled with conviction. "We fight for ourselves."

A roar of agreement followed.

"For our homes!" Roux shouted.

"For the New World!"

The army erupted in cheers.

The battle was coming.

And Roux had no intention of losing.

The war drums had begun to sound across the New World.

As the cheers of his army echoed into the cold night air, Roux felt it. The moment when men shed their doubts and embraced their cause—not as subjects of a distant king but as the rightful rulers of their own destiny.

There was no turning back now.

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He gazed upon his forces—Elysean deserters who had chosen loyalty to their commander over the monarchy, native warriors who had cast aside centuries of division to unite under one banner, and freed slaves who now held the very weapons once used to oppress them.

They stood together, not as conquerors or conquered, but as brothers-in-arms.

The world would soon hear their name.

The New World was no longer Elysea's colony.

It was Roux's nation.

And when the Elysean fleet arrived, they would meet not rebels—but a revolution.