I Reincarnated as a Prince Who Revolutionized the Kingdom

June 21st, 1701 – Royal Palace of Elysea

The throne room of the Royal Palace, usually reserved for ceremonies and state functions, had been repurposed for something more solemn. The long marble floor, polished until it reflected the gold chandeliers above, now echoed with the deliberate steps of ministers, military officials, and court scribes.

At the far end, beneath the towering banners of Elysea, King Bruno sat on his throne—not in ceremonial garb, but in his plain royal coat, the same he wore during war councils and long nights in the palace study. A stack of parchment sat beside him. At the top: the completed Royal Decree of Colonial Reform.

This was not a document born of celebration. It was a product of necessity—of blood, of betrayal, and of harsh lessons learned.

Bruno glanced to his left, where Antoine Leclerc stood holding a bound copy of the decree. The minister's face was unreadable, but Bruno could sense the weight in his stance. Everyone in the room knew that today marked a turning point in the empire's governance.

The king looked toward the gathered assembly.

"Gentlemen," he began, his voice calm but clear, "you all know why we are here."

Silence.

He rose from the throne, pacing slowly before the gathered ministers and generals.

"The rebellion is over. General Masséna has done what we asked of him—he ended a war that should never have begun."

His words echoed across the chamber.

"But what happened in the New World was not born out of foreign meddling or external threat. It was born from within. From our own system. From the way we entrusted too much to one man—and expected loyalty to carry the rest."

Some shifted uncomfortably.

Bruno continued.

"We gave Marshal Armand Roux command of both military and civil authority. We allowed him to grow too powerful, too independent. His rebellion was not just about the New World—it was a warning."

He looked directly at General Tissot, one of the senior military leaders present.

"No man, no matter how decorated, should ever hold unchecked authority over crown territories."

Tissot gave a small nod, though his jaw was tight.

Bruno gestured to Leclerc.

"The Royal Decree of Colonial Reform outlines a complete restructuring of our overseas administration. From this day forward, all colonial military commanders will be subject to royal-appointed inspectors. No longer will civil and military power be concentrated in a single figure."

He turned to face the civilian officials.

"Governors will be rotated every four years. Their appointments must be approved by the Council and reviewed annually. No local ties. No private militias. Their safety will come from the Crown Guard alone."

A few murmurs rippled through the crowd. Bruno didn't flinch.

"This is not about distrust," he continued. "It's about balance. About ensuring that the colonies serve the empire—not the ambitions of those who rule them."

He nodded to Leclerc, who stepped forward and unrolled the parchment.

"With your permission, sire," Leclerc said, "I will read the opening provisions."

Bruno gave a small nod.

Leclerc's voice rang out through the hall.

"By order of His Majesty King Bruno of Elysea, the Royal Decree of Colonial Reform is hereby enacted. Article One: All colonial military commanders shall report not only to the Crown, but to an Office of Colonial Oversight, formed under the Ministry of War and the Royal Council."

"Article Two: No colonial governor shall serve more than one four-year term in the same territory. Reappointment requires royal approval and recommendation by the oversight office."

"Article Three: Civilian governors are prohibited from maintaining private armed forces. All security is to be managed through the Crown Guard, whose command remains with the Ministry of Defense."

"Article Four: All sermons, public writings, and political gatherings in colonial territory shall be monitored by a Crown-appointed magistrate to ensure loyalty to the realm."

Bruno held up a hand, and Leclerc paused.

"Let the rest be read later," the king said. "The core message is clear."

He looked out over the room once more.

"This is not an act of vengeance. It is an act of preservation. If we do not adapt, we will invite another Roux. And next time, we may not be so fortunate."

He stepped forward, accepting the decree from Leclerc's hands.

"I, Bruno of Elysea, sovereign and protector of the realm, do hereby sign and enact this Royal Decree."

He dipped the quill into the ink and, without hesitation, signed his name at the bottom of the parchment.

The seal of the crown was pressed into the wax moments later.

It was law.

A round of formal bows followed. The ministers nodded respectfully. The generals gave stiff salutes. But the mood remained somber. They all knew the implications.

Bruno returned to his throne, resting his hand on the armrest.

"There will be resistance," he said quietly. "Some will call it overreach. Others will call it fear."

Leclerc stepped closer, lowering his voice. "But they will obey. Because they saw what happened when we didn't act."

Bruno nodded once.

"Begin dissemination to the colonies. I want every general, every governor, and every magistrate to have a copy within the month."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"And inform General Masséna of the decree. Send him a personal letter—he must understand this is not a slight against him."

Leclerc hesitated, then asked, "And Roux?"

Bruno looked down at the empty floor for a long moment.

"The trial proceeds. But there will be no execution."

Leclerc blinked. "Sire?"

Bruno looked up, eyes tired but certain.

"We will strip him of his titles. Sentence him to life imprisonment in the capital, where no cause can grow around him."

"Why spare him?"

Bruno exhaled slowly.

"Because death is too easy. And because… I want future rebels to see what happens when you fight the crown."

Leclerc gave a single nod. "As you command."

The session ended. One by one, the ministers and commanders filed out, whispering among themselves. The kingdom would shift in the coming months—rules rewritten, old allies tested, new rivalries formed. But Bruno didn't fear that.

He feared silence. The kind that had allowed Roux to grow unchecked.

Later that evening, alone once more, Bruno returned to his study. The fire still burned low. On the desk, next to the empty wine cup, sat the original copy of the decree—his handwriting still fresh.

He ran his fingers across the page.

He had signed away the old way of ruling. What would rise in its place was still uncertain.

But for now, he had done what kings must do.

He had acted.

And history, as always, would decide the rest.