Reincarnated as Napoleon

Inside the drawing-room, the individuals exchanged greetings and took their seats. Zubov, the host, stood at the head of the room, ready to guide the conversation.

ραΠdαsΝοvel.cοm Vladimir Yashvil cleared his throat and spoke, “Gentlemen and ladies, thank you for coming all the way here to my estate to discuss a matter of importance for the future of our country. I’m sure that on your way here, you aren’t followed by someone?”

Levin von Bennigsen shifted slightly in his seat, his eyes scanning the faces of those around the table. “We took precautions to ensure our privacy.”

Nikolay Zubov’s lips twitched into a semblance of a smile. “Rest assured, Yashvil, we are in good company here.”

Vladimir Yashvil nodded, his gaze lingering on each individual briefly before continuing. “As you are all aware, the changes happening in our empire have raised concerns. Our roles, our influence, and everything we’ve worked for are being threatened. It’s imperative that we safeguard our positions.”

“For me, this is not just about safeguarding our positions. It’s about removing the root cause of our family’s decline. The Tsar’s actions have brought disgrace to our name,” Olga said.

Ever since the death of Catherine the Great, the Zubov family, of which Olga was a member, had seen a decline in their influence at the Russian court. Their sentiments were shared by others around the table, each with their own grievances about the shifts in power.

Nikita Panin, a figure of influence among the nobility, offered a nod of agreement. “The Tsar’s abrupt and radical reforms have destabilized the empire. The centralized power he wields threatens the autonomy we have historically enjoyed. And the fact that he is aligning himself with the French, a country that erased monarchy from their own soil, only deepens the uncertainty. The Russian Emperor is going to lead this country into ruins.”

Peter von der Pahlen, known for his disdain of Emperor Paul’s dismissal of him as governor of St. Petersburg, leaned forward. “I have never been humiliated in my whole life until that Tsar ascended to the throne. And aligning with the French? Who seeks to disrupt established orders, that I can’t accept.”

Charles Whitworth, the British Ambassador to Russia chimed in. “Everyone, I understand your personal grievances towards your Emperor, but the United Kingdom only wants one thing, which is that we want you to take care of your Emperor. This is the reason why we convened in the first place right? Olga, I’m sure you have received the funds from my government as we discussed.”

Olga nodded. “I did, and I must share that we are using that funds wisely, hiring personnel that would help us achieve our collective goals.”

Charles Whitworth is indifferent to the fate of the Russian Empire; his concern lies solely in the direction it is headed. Emperor Paul was the one who proposed the Second League of Armed Neutrality and is currently ensuring its stability. Whitworth believes that once Emperor Paul is no longer in power, the alliance would collapse as it was the Russian Empire that was holding it together. However, removing the Emperor alone won’t be sufficient. The heir who ascends to the throne must align with Britain’s interests to maintain the established order.

Meanwhile, for Bennigsen and Yashvil, the reason why they joined this group was because they were dissatisfied with the Emperor dismissing them from the positions they held. It was a blow to their pride and a stark reminder of their dwindling influence in the shifting landscape of the empire. Their ambitions and loyalties were redirected, prompting them to seek a way to regain their lost power.

As for Nikita Panin, he disliked the reforms the Emperor is implementing, which he views as destabilizing and contrary to the historical principles of the Russian Empire. He believes that a centralized power under Emperor Paul’s control threatens the traditional autonomy enjoyed by the nobility.

The discussion continued, the atmosphere tense with a shared sense of urgency. These individuals, from various backgrounds and motivations, were united by their dissatisfaction with Emperor Paul’s rule.

“So, what is your plan for taking care of the Emperor?” Charles asked.

“It’s simple,” Zubov began. “Bennigsen, Yashvil, and I will be attending the opening ceremony of Saint Michael’s Castle, which will be finished anytime soon. We will dine with the Emperor and drink wine with him. And once the Emperor is drunk and is retiring to his room, Bennigsen and Yashvil will enter the room and then force him to sign an abdication in favor of his son, Alexander Pavlovich Romanov. If he resists, then we will have to take drastic measures.”

“Which is what?” Charles asked.

Zubov’s lips curled into a cold smile. “Which is to eliminate the Emperor,” he stated matter-of-factly.

“And how can the British be assured that the heir who takes the throne won’t act against the best interests of the United Kingdom?” Charles Whitworth interjected.

Nikolay Zubov’s smile faded, replaced by a serious expression. “We have been in discreet communication with Alexander Pavlovich Romanov, the heir apparent. He understands the importance of aligning with our interests to maintain stability. Our agents have cultivated this understanding and have received assurances that he will be receptive to a closer alliance with Britain.”

“Make sure of it, Zubov. We don’t want another Paul on the throne,” Charles Whitworth emphasized. 𝒏𝗈𝑽𝔢𝓛𝑵𝗲xt.𝒸𝐎𝔪

Zubov’s gaze hardened as he nodded in agreement. “Rest assured, Whitworth. We are taking every precaution to ensure that Alexander Pavlovich Romanov is fully committed to our cause.”

“Okay, when will this plan take place exactly?” Charles asked.

“March 11, 1801,” Zubov answered simply.

The room fell silent for a moment as the weight of the date settled among the gathered individuals. Each person understood that the path they were embarking upon was fraught with danger and uncertainty. The plan they had outlined was bold, risky, and carried the potential for dire consequences.

“Now, everyone in this room,” Zubov addressed, his tone resolute. “There is no turning back from this course of action. You all have committed yourselves to this cause. If we succeed, we will be rewarded greatly, but if we fail, we will be at the mercy of the Emperor.”

With the room’s tension hanging in the air, a subtle shift in the atmosphere signaled the entrance of the manservants, dressed impeccably in formal attire. Each servant moved gracefully around the table, pouring wine into the crystal glasses before each individual.

As the glasses were filled, Zubov’s gaze swept across the room, his expression determined. The murmurs of the participants quieted as they lifted their glasses, their eyes fixed on Zubov, waiting for his next move. Standing tall at the head of the table, Zubov raised his glass.

“To the success of our endeavor,” Zubov’s voice resonated through the room, and the individuals echoed his gesture, raising their glasses in unison.

And then—they sipped the wine. The clinking of glasses returned as they placed them back on the table.

But just as the room settled into a tense calm, a sudden disruption shattered the atmosphere. The main doors of the estate burst open with a thunderous bang, the sound reverberating through the room like an explosion. The individuals jerked in their seats.

One of the manservants entered the room, panting heavily. “Sir…everyone… you’re in danger. There’s…an army who broke into…the estate…”

A collective gasp swept through the room, and the tension that had been palpable only moments ago escalated into sheer panic. The individuals exchanged wide-eyed glances, their faces drained of color as the realization of imminent danger gripped them.

“Shit…he knows!”

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