Life of Being a Crown Prince in France

The villagers immediately began to discuss in fear, or looked towards the village chief,

“Oh God, this is terrifying!”

“If this continues, we will all die…”

“Chief, is this all true?”

“It’s all rumors!” The church door was suddenly pushed open, and a man with a fierce face walked out, looking towards Igor and loudly asking, “Where did you hear these things?”

“It was Me…” Igor instinctively wanted to say “my cousin from Meida told me,” but suddenly remembered that this “distant cousin” had come secretly, so he raised his hand to cover his mouth.

The fierce man signaled to an officer beside him but before he could speak, the village chief stepped forward, bowing repeatedly and smiling apologetically, “Master Matos, please don’t mind those rascals. They always love to talk nonsense to attract the girls’ attention.

“I will have someone discipline him. I promise, the migration will be completed as scheduled.”

The fierce man glared at him but did not pursue the matter further.

The village chief finally breathed a sigh of relief. The man in front of him was an official from Viseu, who could arrest Igor or even hang him with a single word.

The villagers, intimidated by that officer, dared not say much more and, at the village chief’s request, each returned home to pack their belongings.

Igor, however, looked worried, telling everyone that “leaving the village is very dangerous” and “there’s a high chance of dying,” but most villagers cautiously avoided him—

Firstly because Igor was too young and didn’t carry much weight in what he said. Secondly, the migration was to deal with those hateful Spaniards, and even if they suffered a bit, everyone could accept it.

In the afternoon, Igor returned home, greeted his mother, and grabbed two pieces of black bread before heading out again, rushing towards the barren mountain behind the house.

In a dilapidated thatched hut halfway up the mountain, Igor shared half of the bread with a brown-haired man in his mid-twenties before him, his “distant cousin”, and said anxiously, “Valent, no one believes me. Everyone is going to leave the village in three days, what should we do?”

Valent took large bites of the bread, frowning and shaking his head, “What can I do? It’s over, it’s all over for everyone.”

However, while he said this, the dim light made Igor fail to notice the calmness in his eyes.

Yes, Tarrent was not some “cousin who escaped from Kaliseli Village,” but a Spanish spy stationed in Viseu, now under the command of the French Security Bureau.

After coming to Nehabe Village, he quickly targeted the daring yet straightforward Igor for his mission, using a simple trick to make the latter believe they were long-lost distant relatives.

Then Tarrent told his “cousin” that the people of Kaliseli Village had gone to Lisbon on the King’s orders, but there was nothing there, many starved to death, and the able-bodied were sold as slaves by the British.

In order to survive, he escaped from the “resettlement area” and, by chance, came here.

During this time, Tarrent continuously instilled ideas in his “cousin” such as “the British plan to destroy Portugal,” “France attacked Coimbra because the King of Portugal supported the British,” and “the King wants people to die to occupy their lands.”

Although he had only trained him for less than a month, because the “teaching materials” were excellent, he just needed to recite them, persuading not only peasants like Igor but even educated nobles.

Tarrent swallowed the last bit of food, looked at Igor, and earnestly said, “Don’t worry about anyone else. We and Aunt will escape tomorrow afternoon.

“I have acquaintances over at Gata Mountain, we should be able to find a living.”

Igor, already in a state of panic, immediately agreed, “Okay, I’ll go pack now.”

Tarrent accompanied him down the mountain and reminded him, “If there are any trustworthy relatives or friends, try to persuade them to come along. Save one person if you can, but don’t let the news leak out.”

“Alright, I understand.”

Tarrent, once his “cousin” had gone far enough, immediately rushed overnight to the north of the village to notify the waiting companions.

The next afternoon.

Tarrent, along with his cousin and mother, as well as another family of four from Igor’s neighborhood, drove a cart through the forest path, leaving Nehabe Village.

The journey was fairly smooth until the sunset, when Tarrent suddenly signaled the others on the cart to be silent, pointing towards the bushes ahead, “Shh—there’s someone there.”

Fearing they had been discovered, as they were on the run, they quickly drove the cart behind a distant mound to hide.

Tarrent pretended to look towards the bushes ahead and said to the other two adult men in the escape group, “Let’s go check it out. Aunt and the others wait here.”

The three soon approached the source of the sound and indeed saw the glow of torches in the bushes, followed by a man’s coarse voice.

Tarrent turned back and whispered, “It seems to be in English.”

Igor and the household head from the neighbors tensed up immediately.

Then, there were footsteps approaching, as if several people were moving something.

The three lay flat in the weeds and soon heard low voices speaking in Portuguese,

“Diego and Ricardo’s family were just sick; they shouldn’t have been killed like that…”

“Damn those British. Bruno just didn’t want to give up his wheat and was beaten to death by them!”

“Quiet down! If we’re heard, we’ll be the ones buried here next.”

“Either way, it seems inevitable. We’ve lost over 20 people in just half a month since leaving the village; once we reach Lisbon, less than half of the villagers might remain.”

“We never should have trusted those bureaucrats to leave the village in the first place…”

“But they brought soldiers, what could we do?”

“We had guns then; we could have driven them away!”

“Yes, if that were the case, old Bruno and the others wouldn’t have died…”

Igor and the neighbor were increasingly terrified as they listened, trembling all over, secretly grateful that they had heeded Tarrent’s advice; otherwise, they might be facing burial or being buried someday too.

It was over half an hour later when the commotion in the bushes finally disappeared, and then the light moved away.

The three of Tarrent waited a while longer before emerging from their hiding place.

Igor cautiously lit a candle with a flint, revealing a large patch of freshly overturned soil on the ground.

His pupils contracted; he suddenly picked up a dry branch and frantically started digging…

The next morning.

Bameluo, the minor noble of Nehabe Village, listened to Igor and Diado’s account at home, frowning immediately, “You really saw those corpses clearly?”

“I swear, at least four of them, all from Huca Village!”

With a grave expression, Bameluo pondered for a moment and then summoned his steward, instructing, “Go find Mr. Callova and Mr. Roritog. Be sure not to let those people from Viseu know about this.”

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