"Ensuring Grand Duke Ferdinand enters Strasbourg safely is my mission for this trip. Let that vampire go for now—there will be other chances to kill him."
Charlot nodded and followed this "Senior Lady Commander."
Truthfully, upon meeting Menielman, he felt more relaxed and even wanted to ask: "Senior, how have your matters been?"
However, Menielman had already engaged with the assassins, leaving him no choice but to put away his Anti-Space Long-Range Rifle and, gripping his alchemical Battlefield Cane, join the fight.
He wasn’t skilled with the sword, and his skills with the cane, derived from swordsmanship, were equally poor. His participation in the fight was mostly for show. The real combat power lay in Menielman Soumet, the Empire’s First Rose.
Menielman, a high-ranking Transcendent, swiftly ended the battle within minutes. She stood silently by Grand Duke Ferdinand’s side for a moment but didn’t know how to console him.
The love story between Grand Duke Ferdinand and his wife was known across the Old Continent. Though Menielman had stopped believing in love after her own fiancé turned out to be a degenerate, she still deeply respected this pair of lovers who shared life and death.
Charlot approached Menielman, observed for a moment, and then whispered softly, "Honorable Grand Duke, the ground is too cold. We cannot let the Duchess lie there like this."
The otherwise unmovable Grand Duke Ferdinand reacted to these words, pressing his hand to his chest and murmuring, "You are right. The ground is too cold. Help me carry Josephine onto the carriage."
The guards awkwardly lifted the Duchess and placed her on the carriage. Grand Duke Ferdinand gripped his wife’s hand, still and silent like a wooden statue, tears flowing quietly.
Menielman gave Charlot a gesture of approval before organizing the men to leave the mountain pass, heading straight for Strasbourg. Before they had gone far, reinforcements began arriving—teams of city patrol guards marching to the scene.
On the way, Charlot finally found a moment to ask Menielman, "Senior, which department have you been transferred to now?"
Menielman glanced at him and replied, "I already know about your performance this time."
Her evasive answer made Charlot’s heart settle even more.
Looking into the distance, Menielman said, "You have two choices: I can get you transferred out of Kilmainham Prison, arranging a clerical position where you can continue as a civil servant. Or, you can switch to military service, but your post will be uncertain—it might be far away, somewhere outside Strasbourg."
Charlot placed his hand over his chest and said resolutely, "I’m willing to transfer to military service!"
With a mentor like Menielman to rely on, how could he not seize the opportunity? Staying in a clerical job without such a strong backer would make promotion nearly "impossible."
Menielman lowered her voice and said, "No matter what you’ve seen this time, don’t mention it to anyone—including me. Not a single word."
"Otherwise, I won’t be able to protect you either."
Charlot had briefly considered whether exposing the connection between the Byron people and the Black Phoenix Dynasty in the assassination of Grand Duke Ferdinand could earn him another promotion or a pay raise. But Menielman’s warning poured over him like a bucket of cold water. He immediately replied, "I will remember your teachings, Senior."
Politics was complicated. Charlot knew he was a political novice, so he chose to trust Menielman, staying honest and silent rather than trying to act clever.
Near Strasbourg, no fewer than two hundred city patrol guards escorted Grand Duke Ferdinand into the Empire’s capital.
Charlot exhaled softly. Protecting the Grand Duke was no easy task; he’d feared a sudden group of assailants might jump out and kill indiscriminately, himself included.
Though he was from the Behemoth Principality, he held no particular loyalty toward Grand Duke Ferdinand.
Once inside Strasbourg, Menielman handed over the city patrol guards to a hurried officer and ceased escorting the Grand Duke. Naturally, Charlot followed his senior, ready to ask what they should do next—after all, he still had a dismissal order in hand.
Just then, three gunshots rang out, followed by cries:
"Assassins! Grand Duke Ferdinand has been killed! There are assassins—quickly, catch them! Grand Duke Ferdinand has been shot! Open fire..."
A chaotic volley of gunfire followed, clearly indicating that the assassin had already been gunned down.
Charlot’s heart turned cold. For Grand Duke Ferdinand to be killed even after entering Strasbourg could only mean that those who wanted him dead weren’t limited to the South Seraph restorationists and the Byron people. As for who else might be involved—Charlot dared not even think about it.
Menielman visibly relaxed, unfazed by the Grand Duke’s death. She remarked, "He wasn’t assassinated on our watch. This has nothing to do with us anymore."
"By the way..."
"The hundred-plus Extraordinary weapons that went missing from the prison were most likely sold secretly by the new warden, Magru Trell. None have been recovered, apparently."
"Because of you, Mrs. Pascal and a few other intermediaries insist the new warden was behind it."
"Thank you!"
Charlot bowed slightly, recalling when Mrs. Pascal had come to him. He vaguely remembered saying something casually, but how that tied back to her accusing the new warden, he had no idea.
Not delving deeper into it, he felt both relieved and a little annoyed, thinking to himself, "I wanted to take revenge personally, but Magru Trell has already fallen?"
He couldn’t find a way to vent this frustration.
Menielman patted him on the shoulder and said, "I’ll have you handle this case as a small reward."
Charlot was immediately thrilled.
He smiled slightly and said, "I will ensure the case is handled fairly and according to the law. I will make certain that Mr. Magru Trell does not suffer any unwarranted injustice."
Menielman smiled faintly. "I trust your character."
"I’ll give you three days off. After that, go to the prison and sort this case out. Then, wait for your transfer orders."
"The Empire is on the brink of war! Every empire on the Old Continent will be dragged into it, and even the nations of the New Continent may join in."
"Prepare to make your mark on history!"
Charlot nodded, watching his senior stride off with effortless grace. He murmured to himself, "I wonder how many people will die."
With a slight sigh, he reflected on the events he had personally witnessed. He had watched helplessly as the spark of war was ignited, yet he could do nothing.
It was not a pleasant feeling.
He knew, of course, that there was no way he could stop the war.
The schemers had already set the table for war. As an ordinary transmigrator, he could only drift along with the current for now.
Sighing again, Charlot called for a carriage and returned to 58 Elysée Avenue.