I Reincarnated as a Prince Who Revolutionized the Kingdom-Chapter 120: Aftermath of the First Encounter

March 22nd, 1701.

Marshal Armand Roux sat in his war tent, the dim glow of lanterns flickering against the fabric. The scent of blood and gunpowder still clung to the air, and outside, the wounded moaned as medics worked tirelessly to tend to them.

He exhaled, staring at the map of the battlefield spread before him.

The battle had not gone as planned.

He had expected the Elyseans to fall into his trap, to be bled dry in the dense jungle where they could not bring their full force to bear. Instead, they had turned the trap against him.

How?

His mind replayed the battle—the way the enemy had reacted swiftly, countering his ambush as if they had known exactly what he would do. That was no ordinary battlefield instinct.

No. That was calculated.

And there was only one conclusion: King Bruno had sent someone who thought like him.

"Who is he?" Roux muttered to himself.

A new enemy. One unlike any he had faced before.

The flap of the tent parted, and Captain Étienne Giraud entered, his uniform stained with dirt and blood. He saluted but didn't wait for permission to speak.

"The scouts have returned," Giraud said. "We have a name."

Roux straightened, his sharp eyes locking onto Giraud. "Go on."

"General André Masséna."

Silence.

Roux's fingers curled into a fist.

The name wasn't unknown to him. Masséna was a soldier of legend, a man whose victories had earned him a reputation as a brilliant strategist in the Elysean military.

And now, he was here.

A slow exhale left Roux's lips.

"So, that's who they sent," he murmured. "King Bruno didn't send a lapdog. He sent a wolf."

Giraud nodded grimly. "We have a problem."

Roux smirked, but there was no humor in it.

"A problem?" He leaned back in his chair and continued. "No, my friend. We have a worthy opponent."

March 22nd, 1701.

Masséna sat on a makeshift wooden bench inside his command tent, writing in his journal by candlelight. The first battle had gone well—not a victory, but certainly not a loss.

He had expected Roux to be formidable. The man had built an empire from nothing. He had waged war, crushed enemies, and carved out the New World for himself.

But war was not about past glories.

It was about adapting.

A knock at the tent entrance.

"Enter," Masséna said without looking up.

A tall officer stepped inside—Colonel Jean Devereux, his second-in-command. The man was a hardened veteran, loyal to the crown, and had fought in campaigns across the world.

"The men are ready," Devereux reported. "Our scouts have identified Roux's fallback position. He has pulled his forces deeper into the jungle."

Masséna smirked.

"Of course, he has."

Devereux frowned. "He'll try to lure us into another ambush."

"Let him." Masséna dipped his quill into ink, continuing his writing. "The more he thinks we are playing into his hands, the easier it will be to tighten the noose."

Devereux hesitated before speaking again. "Shall we pursue immediately?"

Masséna shook his head.

"No. We wait."

Devereux's brow furrowed. "Wait?"

Masséna placed his quill down and stood, his sharp gaze fixing on his officer.

"Roux is expecting us to chase him. He thinks we will follow him into his terrain, where he holds the advantage."

He smirked.

"But we won't."

Devereux nodded slowly. "Then what do we do?"

Masséna pointed at the map.

"We cut him off."

March 23rd, 1701.

The native scouts returned at dawn, their faces grim.

Roux was already awake, sitting outside his tent, drinking from a tin cup.

"Tell me," he said simply.

One of the scouts knelt before him. "Masséna's army has not moved into the jungle."

Roux's grip on the cup tightened slightly.

Not moving?

Giraud and Lieutenant Adrien Vasseur stood nearby, listening. Vasseur spoke first.

"If he's not moving toward us, then what is he doing?"

The scout hesitated. "They are fortifying their position. Establishing supply lines. They are digging in."

Roux frowned.

That was… unexpected.

Giraud scowled. "He's not taking the bait."

Vasseur exhaled. "Which means he knows what we're trying to do."

A cold realization settled over them.

Masséna was not going to fight Roux on his terms. He was shifting the battlefield, forcing Roux to be the one to make the first move.

Clever.

Very clever.

Roux tapped his fingers against his knee, thinking.

So, Masséna wanted to force him into a siege?

If the Elyseans held their ground and secured their supply lines, it would be Roux's forces that would be starved out. The rebels were still producing weapons and supplies, but not fast enough to sustain a prolonged war.

Masséna had flipped the entire battle upside down.

And now, Roux had a choice.

Attack first… or watch his forces starve.

Giraud folded his arms. "We can't sit back. If we let them entrench themselves, they'll grind us down."

Vasseur nodded. "Then we attack?"

Roux let out a breath. His instincts screamed for him to strike now. But something about Masséna's strategy unnerved him.

This wasn't just about brute force.

This was about positioning.

Roux's eyes drifted to the map, his mind racing.

There was one way to break Masséna's hold before it could tighten around them.

Destroy his supplies.

A slow grin crept onto his face.

"Giraud," he said. "How many cavalry units do we still have?"

Giraud blinked. "Around 500. Not enough for a direct assault, but—"

"Enough to launch a raid."

Vasseur straightened. "A raid?"

Roux pointed to the Elysean supply depots on the map.

"If Masséna wants to sit behind his fortifications, then we'll make sure he has nothing to eat, nothing to fire, and nothing to reinforce his men."

His eyes gleamed.

"We will burn everything he has."

Giraud grinned. "Now that's a plan I like."

This chapt𝙚r is updated by freeωebnovēl.c૦m.

March 24th, 1701.

A scout burst into Masséna's tent, breathless.

"General! The supply line—it's under attack!"

Masséna rose instantly. "Where?"

The scout pointed to the map. "Near the main depot. Cavalry hit us in the night. They torched the supply wagons and disappeared into the jungle."

Masséna's expression remained calm, but sharp.

Roux was adapting.

Good.

"How much did we lose?" he asked.

"Food stores, ammunition… nearly half of it is gone."

Devereux cursed. "That will cripple us."

Masséna smiled.

"No, Colonel. That will make him think he has crippled us."

Devereux hesitated. "You mean—"

Masséna looked at the burning remains of their supply line in the distance.

"This is a game of moves and countermoves," he murmured.

"Roux believes he has struck a critical blow."

His eyes narrowed.

"Let him believe it."

Masséna turned to Devereux.

"Ready the men. The real battle begins now."