Chapter 51: Provisional Government (4) Versailles Palace, a few days before Lieutenant Napoleon's leave got cut.
"This is the current status of each unit and the list of their garrisons as we've confirmed them."
"Mm. Thank you, Captain."
"Not at all, Commander. I'm the one who should be grateful to have the honor of serving a hero like you!"
National Guard Commander Lafayette smiled kindly at the young-faced captain and replied,
"Haha, you're flattering me too much. In any case, your work for today is done, so you can go home now. All that's left is for me to read through it myself and sign off, so go in first and get some rest."
"B-but…"
"It's fine. You look like you haven't slept properly for the past few days—you must be tired. Go in first. See you tomorrow, Captain."
At Lafayette's continued insistence, the captain finally saluted, opened the door, and left the room.
As the adjutant's footsteps in the hallway gradually faded, Commander Lafayette tugged at his collar to loosen it, took off his coat, and sat down in lighter attire.
Now that no one was watching him, Lafayette leaned back fully in his chair and began reading, comparing the report the captain had brought with the map spread beside it.
"…In the Marseille Infantry Regiment, a captain deserted with the company he commanded, and at the port of Calais, ten naval officers defected to Britain via the Dover Strait."
It was a complete mess.
Commander Lafayette of the National Guard added in a low voice.
France's army was not merely in disorder—this was chaos. Officers from feudal noble families treated soldiers like private retainers, led armed desertions, and committed scattered crimes—looting, arson, and worse—throughout the country.
With a sigh, he turned the first page of the report and continued.
"'The German mercenary cavalry regiment is being monitored by the 2nd Dragoon Regiment'—hm…"
He thought for a moment, then set the report down with a thunk on the desk and began scanning the map horizontally beside it.
His eyes traveled through France's northern cities—Calais, Lille, Amiens, Paris—until they twitched and stopped on one region.
"…Flanders."
The Flanders mercenary regiment.
One of the king's loyal mercenary guard units, and the only mercenary guard unit that had slipped beyond the revolutionaries' eyes.
They were an elite force with distinguished service even in wars against the Austrian Habsburgs. If the king contacted them in secret like last time and ordered a sudden strike on Paris—
"…No. It's more likely they'd come to Versailles than Paris."
Lafayette spoke with his chin propped in both hands.
Paris's six hundred thousand citizens were already armed with firearms. No matter how elite they were, a single regiment of only a few thousand could not defeat Paris.
So the better move was to march on Versailles instead and go for the National Assembly's throat.
"There's no harm in preparing."
With a grave expression, Lafayette picked the report back up and continued reading unit by unit.
"…At minimum, it would have to be regiment-scale, and if we want to show effective deterrence while holding the high ground around Paris under observation, it would be better to keep an artillery regiment on standby."
As he spoke, Lafayette wrote a few words under one regiment listed in the report.
• Maintain readiness for immediate deployment.
That was the moment Lieutenant Napoleon's first leave in a year got cut.
At the same time, another room in Versailles Palace.
"Maximum Price System" and "Robespierre"—those two words were enough to yank out a twenty-year-old memory from the far side of my sleeping subconscious.
• Seniors, in the French Revolution, the one you need to remember is Robespierre. Got it?• Now, what is the Maximum Price System? The worst economic policy. Look—on this supply-and-demand curve…
Fuck. I'm screwed.
Ah! You know about the "Maximum Price System"! Such an amaaaazing god-tier policy!
Wow! Guillotine! Wow! Robespierre!
Why has Teacher Robe, the final boss of the French Revolution, descended on me? Is he already planning to shove my neck into a guillotine?
"…Why are you looking at me like that, Finance Minister?"
"Oh, it's nothing. I just need a moment to think…"
To Deputy Robespierre, who was staring at me with a puzzled expression, I answered with a forced, awkward smile.
What is the Maximum Price System? It means the government sets a price ceiling on goods.
In other words, once the government sets the price, you absolutely can't sell above it.
And it's not just trash—it's the kind of absolute garbage that doesn't even belong in recycling.
Think about it. You produce milk and sell it. Say your cost is 1,000 won.
But the government tells you to sell it for no more than 500 won. Then who would produce milk? The more you produce, the more you lose.
And if producers simply stopped, that would still be better. The most fucked-up part of that law is that it creates a black market. Demand exists, but there's no supply—so where does that demand go?
A black market forms to avoid the government's eyes, and in a black market where law and order don't work, prices swing wildly and people's livelihoods get hit.
In short, the Maximum Price System doesn't control inflation—it obliterates it.
So as long as my eyes are open, I will never allow a monstrosity like that to be implemented!
"D-Deputy? About that Maximum Price System you mentioned. I think it's… a liiittle unrealistic…"
"Is… that so, Finance Minister?"
At my words, Deputy Robespierre spoke with a disappointed look.
Am I going to get on his bad side and end up at the guillotine? Still, on the conscience of a business student, I can't unleash something as hideous as the Maximum Price System into this world.
Then the only option is to persuade this Guillotine Master Mr. Ro no matter what.
I clenched and unclenched my trembling hand once to calm myself, then slowly opened my mouth.
"…As you know, Deputy, this supply-and-demand curve is actually difficult to control artificially."
"Pardon? Supply and demand?"
"The supply-and-demand curve."
"…Pardon? What is that?"
"…"
…Sir—no, Mr. Guillotine. You don't know supply and demand?
Come to think of it, when did Marshall's economics come out?
"Deputy, have you heard of Adam Smith?"
"Ah, that British scholar? I recall he's a professor somewhere in Britain."
"…Is he still alive?"
"I haven't heard he's dead yet. Why do you ask, Finance Minister?"
"Oh, it's nothing."
A world where Adam Smith is still alive—if my professors back at school saw this, they'd faint from joy.
Anyway, if I'm going to persuade Mr. Guillotine, I'll have to cram basic economics into his head first.
I pulled out a sheet of paper and drew an X with my pen.
"Alright, Deputy—let's take the vertical axis as demand, and the horizontal axis as supply. The point where these two lines intersect in the middle of this X graph is where demand and supply quantity match."
Welcome to the simple economics class of Lim Gichan—no, Guillaume de Toulon.
How much time passed?
"So! If you set a maximum price and push the policy—!?"
"…No one will supply it! My goodness…"
"Now do you understand what marginal utility is?"
"Indeed, Finance Minister. As you say—what people value differs!"
"Bonds are not currency!"
"Then after collecting them, must we eliminate them immediately?"
"Of cour—ahem—of course!"
"Oh!"
"Now, interest rates are—"
"Oh!"
For nearly two weeks, I was stuffing the basic economic knowledge I'd learned in university in my previous life into the head of our Mr. Guillotine, Deputy Robespierre.
Ahem. In case you didn't know, I'm an A+ graduate of Intro to Economics.
Sure, there was a big gap between school and actual business, but—
Ugh. Bad memories again.
"As long as you remain in office, Finance Minister, there's nothing to worry about with the economy."
"Oh, there's no need to go that far."
Robespierre said brightly, smiling at me.
"No, Finance Minister. I realized my insight was quite shallow."
"Everyone has their specialty. Don't worry too much. I don't know anything about law either."
Seriously—how does someone this polite become the brutal man who chops off hundreds of heads at the guillotine?
Did he get hit in the back of the head hard somewhere?
"Then I'll be going now, Finance Minister. Thank you again today."
"Yes, take care on your way, Deputy Robespierre."
Robespierre gave a small nod in farewell, opened the door, and left.
Ah. Finally I can rest. Rest really is the best.
But that expectation was shattered in barely ten minutes.
Uh… excuse me? Huh? What is this?
A beautiful lady of thirty-four, wearing a modest dress compared to the other royals, sat in her seat and smiled gently at me.
"When I first saw you, I wasn't sure, but up close, it's you. It's been a long time since that cold winter, warm young man. No—Finance Minister."
"…That lady back then—were you Her Majesty the Queen?"
Marie Antoinette didn't answer. She smiled again, lifted her teacup for a sip, then spoke.
"Those memories with you are nice, but today, I came to ask the Finance Minister for a favor."
"…What could it be…"
At my words, the Queen's smile vanished. In a serious tone, enunciating each word clearly, she said,
"Please meet His Majesty the King—my husband."
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