From atop the mound came the pleas for mercy from a fat man. Several bandits turned their heads and saw a man, not very tall and looking like an ordinary farmer, brandishing a pistol as he pushed the fat man down.
Before long, except for the dead leader, the other four bandits had their weapons taken and were being held at gunpoint, squatting fearfully on the empty space beside the road.
A carriage approached from a distance and stopped by the group, and Fouche stepped out from it. To capture this gang alive, he had personally come to this small town, crafting the tale about Baron Geddon, and finally, the “fish” had taken the bait.
Playing with a pistol in his hand, Fouche’s dead fish eyes swept over the bandits as he snorted from his nose, “Hmm, the Blood Blade Bandits, is it?”
The fat man who had been on lookout earlier started crying out of fear, “Let, let me go, I can tell you where our boss hides the money…”
The bald man glared at him and said firmly, “Yes! We are the Blood Blade Gang, and it’s our bad luck to be caught by the military.”
At that time in France, everyone took it for granted that only the military could deal with a ferocious gang like the Blood Blade Gang; the police were simply not up to the challenge.
Prosper, who was holding a gun, shook his head with a cold laugh, “Who said we are the military?”
“We’re from the Leckie Gang,” Fouche continued, “We’ve got a big deal coming up, so we need some extra hands.”
Upon hearing this, the Blood Blade Gang members all breathed a sigh of relief, realizing they wouldn’t be sent to the gallows, and they all looked up at Fouche, “I’m willing to join your crew.”
“I want to join, too.”
“And me…”
But Fouche snorted coldly, “However, I only need two people. We’ll have to see who’s more capable.”
With that, he threw two daggers onto the ground, his eyes filled with excitement and madness.
The bald man and the redhead reacted fastest, immediately pouncing to grab the daggers from the ground and without hesitation, they plunged them into the other two accomplices.
…
Southern Suburbs of Paris.
The trees lining the road leading to the city were decorated with ribbons, looking like beautiful corals growing there.
In the distance, sparse farmhouses had been painted in pretty white and gold, resembling treasure chests nestled among the corals.
And on both sides of the forty-meter-wide road between the corals and treasure chests, every five or six meters stood a French Imperial Guard soldier with a rifle. The guard stretched from the suburbs to the Paris City area.
For two days now, the area had been under martial law, and General Besanval, never weary, had personally led officers to check and recheck this four-league stretch of road—tomorrow, the princess from the Two Sicilies was due to arrive, and according to the Palace of Versailles’ arrangement, the Crown Prince was also coming here to greet the princess, so there could not be the slightest slip-up.
Just then, a group of artisans carrying paint and brushes, led by French Imperial Guard soldiers, were heading towards a farmhouse on the east side.
General Besanval casually asked the officer beside him, “Who are those people?”
The latter replied promptly, “General, they are court painters from the Palace of Versailles. Their credentials have been strictly checked. No problem. They always claim here and there isn’t perfect yet, constantly decorating. In my opinion, they just want to snag a bit more funding.”
General Besanval nodded, his face stern, “We can’t let our guard down. We need to keep a close eye on everyone.”
“Yes, General.”
As they spoke, they saw several officers accompanied by twenty or thirty soldiers in uniforms that were obviously more imposing and crisp than the Imperial Guard’s, coming towards them.
“Imperial Guard?”
General Besanval frowned, but as the group came closer and he could see their faces clearly, he quickly put on a smile, raised his hat in greeting, “Viscount Kesode, what brings you here?”
Sitting on his horse, Kesode also raised his hat in response, “Pleased to see you, General Besanval. You know, I can’t afford any mistakes tomorrow, so I had to familiarize myself with the surroundings in advance.”
“Who says otherwise?” laughed Besanval, “Look, I’ve been around here a dozen times today.”
Kesode looked towards the wasteland on both sides of the road, “Oh, I’ll go and have a look over there. You continue with your work. After the princess’s welcome is done, I’ll treat you to a drink.”
“Ha, I look forward to your invitation.”
The two passed by each other, with Kesode seeming very earnest as he had his men carefully check both sides of the road several times.
An officer beside Besanval glanced disdainfully at Kesode’s retreating figure, “Humph, all show. This place is full of our people, what’s there to see?”
Besanval waved his hand dismissively, “The Crown Prince is coming here, so it’s normal for his guard to do some routine checks.”
Meanwhile, Kesode’s troops passed by a thicket as seven or eight court painters approached from the opposite direction.
Upon seeing the lead painter’s appearance, Kesode hastily reigned in his horse and signaled to the men behind him. A tall, high-nosed soldier nodded back at him, and, along with two others, slipped into the thicket.
Kesode’s troops halted in place, tightly shielding the actions of the three men.
The high-nosed soldier and his two subordinates swiftly stripped off their military uniforms, revealing the painters’ clothing they had already put on underneath, complete with splotches of paint.
The three stuffed their military gear into empty paint cans and handed their weapons to the soldiers behind Kesode. Then they picked up the paint cans and, as if nothing was amiss, followed the painters away into the distance.
On Kesode’s end, as if nothing had happened, they circled the vicinity a few times before returning the way they had come.
None of the officers or soldiers of the French Imperial Guard noticed that three men had disappeared from the group of more than twenty belonging to the Crown Prince’s Imperial Guard.
The painters headed cheerfully toward a farmhouse not too far away.
Among the group, a red-haired man nervously looked around and asked the high-nosed “painter” beside him in a low voice, “Boss, why are there so many soldiers? What exactly are we going to do? Won’t it be very dangerous?”
The high-nosed man smiled relaxedly, “You’re new, so you don’t know the strength of our Leckie Gang. Let me tell you, half of these soldiers around us are our guys.”
As he spoke, he waved at a soldier in the distance. That soldier also waved back nonchalantly and responded with a smile. These craftsmen were from the Palace of Versailles, after all—who knows which high-ranking individual they might work for—so the lower-ranking soldiers preferred to not offend them if possible, treating them quite courteously.
“It’s really one of our own.” The unaware middle-aged “painter” beside him exclaimed in surprise.
If you removed his felt hat, you would discover that he was actually bald.
Indeed, this man and the red-haired man were surviving members of the Blood Blade Gang. The high-nosed man leading them was none other than Kesode’s confidant, named Audric.
The matter was so important that Joseph had not even involved Fouche. After the latter had caught the Blood Blade Gang members, he handed them over to Kesode, and from there on, Kesode was in charge of everything.
The red-haired man was still not completely reassured, “Boss, what are we actually going to do this time?”
Audric recited from the “script”, “Robbery. Tomorrow, a nobleman will pass by here with several carriages of gold, which is the money of the discount bank. They have some connections with the military, so they asked these soldiers to act as bodyguards.”
“But what he doesn’t know is that our boss has powerful backers, who have already planted our people inside the army.”
“You all saw just now, no one came to question us.”
He continued to encourage the two thugs, “And our only job is to keep watch from a distance. Once we get the gold, we’ll just hide in those woods behind us. There’s no risk, and afterward, you’ll get at least seven or eight thousand livres.”
As they spoke, the painters had already reached the farmhouse. The homeowner had long been “invited” elsewhere by the French Imperial Guard, leaving only one soldier to keep watch. Discover magic on m_v_l_e_m_p_y_r
After greeting the guard, the painters dispersed and busied themselves.
Meanwhile, Audric, along with his two “underlings”, casually slipped into the attic and hid in a wooden cabinet.
