Chapter 33: Lose Some Weight

Vienna.

Because Talia had been overindulging in grand feasts lately and had gained some weight, Franz decided to supervise her weight loss.

Talia supported herself on the ground with her hands, while Franz, engrossed in his newspaper, rested his legs across her waist.

"As a teacher, you must lead by example. Being this plump will damage the image of the Imperial family."

"You little brat... I’m not a PE teacher," Talia replied, clearly reluctant.

"But pillows are too soft; they affect the quality of sleep," Franz remarked casually, his attention still on the newspaper.

The frantic investment in Austrian railways had exposed the empire’s insufficient production of pig iron. Seeing a business opportunity, merchants naturally refused to sit idly by. Within a year, ten new steel mills had appeared in Austria. While they were expected to surpass Prussia in a year or two, they still lagged far behind Britain and France. Nevertheless, it was a promising start for Austria’s industrialization.

Following the death of the old Emperor, the entire Austrian Empire had fallen into chaos. To alleviate his restlessness, Franz continued to tease Talia.

"As a royal tutor, you must exercise self-discipline."

"I know that without you telling me," Talia retorted indignantly; after all, no woman likes to be told she is fat.

"This is to help you strengthen your core. Besides, push-ups can improve your posture; they are perfect for sculpting the muscles in your shoulders, back, and upper limbs."

Before long, sweat had dampened her face, and her arms were trembling uncontrollably. Sensing she had reached her limit, Franz moved his legs away.

"Take a break. Don't push yourself."

"Why don't you do it!" Talia, having just completed twenty push-ups, asked back breathlessly.

"Because I am stronger than you."

"I don't believe it!"

Franz dropped to the floor and performed twenty push-ups with one hand, leaving Talia stunned. In truth, the lighter one’s body weight, the easier push-ups become. Franz’s small, childlike frame was quite an advantage.

Franz smiled at the wide-eyed Talia.

"Fat Talia."

...

The news of Francis II’s death soon reached Prussia, where William III was so overjoyed he nearly fainted. He believed that an Austria led by an idiot could never compare to his Prussia.

Likewise, the Russian Tsar and the French cabinet were equally pleased, as the recent rise of the Austrian Empire had left them on edge. The passing of Francis II, who had ruled for forty years, and the ascension of the intellectually disabled Ferdinand I, would undoubtedly deal a massive blow to the Austrian Empire.

No one knew the extent of this impact yet, only that the newly appointed Chief Imperial Advisor had frantically dismissed all of the late Emperor’s advisors. Prince Metternich, Kolowrat, and other powerful figures in Austria were forced to personally invite Baron Bruck back to continue managing the nation’s debt.

Regarding Ferdinand I’s ascension, some ministers had voiced opposition, suggesting the less severely ill Archduke Franz Karl take the throne instead. However, the will had already been recognized by the House of Habsburg. Imperial orders were immutable, so these ministers had no choice but to resign themselves to fate. They did not know toward what destination this dilapidated ship of an empire was sailing.

Franz read the letter from Ambrosius and felt there was no need to be anxious about not meeting the princess. They could treat the trip to Chenla as a vacation. Ambrosius might think so, but the Catholic priests would certainly disagree. Thus, Franz suggested establishing a base first, using the excuse of assisting the government forces in suppressing bandits. He advised against Phnom Penh, as it was in the Vietnamese sphere of influence, and suggested Sihanoukville (known as Kompong Som at the time) instead.

Back then, Sihanoukville was just a remote fishing village; the lower the level of literacy, the easier it would be to proselytize. "Once you have established a firm footing in Sihanoukville," he wrote, "the Chenla royal family will contact you."

Chenla, Port of Phnom Penh.

The news that Ambrosius and his party had killed fourteen bandits in one night had spread like wildfire. With bandits running rampant in Phnom Penh and the government army helpless, the sound of the rifles used by Ambrosius’s group was perceived as thunder. Consequently, the rumors began to shift toward the idea that these "foreign monks" possessed sorcery.

Ouk Kim-pan also learned of this. He ordered the rumors to be suppressed while simultaneously arranging the itinerary for Ambrosius. Ouk realized that these men were not lambs to the slaughter, but beasts with sharp fangs. He simply could not fathom why such a group would travel thousands of miles to Chenla to act as... what was it? Military observers? He assumed they were Westerners wanting to learn advanced techniques, yet something felt off. He didn't want to dwell on it; he just wanted to intimidate them. He wanted them to see one of the world's most formidable fighting forces: the Royal Guard of Chenla.

Outside Phnom Penh, at the Royal Guard’s grand training ground, the strongest army of Chenla gathered. Their duty was to protect the royal family, though ironically, the royal family was already controlled by the Vietnamese, and King Ang Chan was not even in the Phnom Penh palace. The Vietnamese had downsized the Royal Guard, decreeing that it could not exceed 3,000 men and could not be equipped with iron armor. Even so, the Royal Guard maintained their final shred of dignity; they never ceased their training and were undoubtedly the strongest force in Chenla at the time.

The weather in Chenla was humid and sweltering all year round, yet the soldiers of the Royal Guard remained fully armored. They let out thunderous roars, swinging their broadswords with fierce intensity; every thrust of their spears was executed with all their might, the tips nearly slicing through the air.

The Commander of the Royal Guard, Hong Bu-fu, was very satisfied with the performance of his men, though he lamented that with the nation in decline, there was no way to serve the country. Ouk Kim-pan was equally moved; every time he visited the training ground, he would sigh, thinking that if His Majesty could return and revitalize the spirit of the nation, they would have nothing to fear from the "Eastern Barbarians and Western Bandits" (referring to Vietnam and Siam).

However, none of this seemed to capture the attention of the young foreigner before him. Ouk decided to use his trump card. He looked at the Commander, who understood the intent of the Director of the Foreign Affairs Office, though he was somewhat pained by the thought of wasting ammunition.

At Hong Bu-fu’s command, four rows of soldiers holding matchlocks ran forward. Fifty paces away stood fifty straw dummies, their heads replaced with watermelons.

"Load powder!" The soldiers began pouring gunpowder into the barrels.

"Ram the powder!" The soldiers tamped the powder down.

"Load lead shot..."

After a dozen more commands, Hong finally ordered: "Ignite!"

The fifty soldiers in the first row lit their matchlocks, but due to the varying lengths and qualities of the fuses, the shots fired at different times, sounding disorganized. As for these marksmen who were only allowed to fire three rounds a year, their accuracy was pitiful; only ten watermelons were shattered.

Watching the watermelon pulp splatter everywhere, Ouk and Hong could not help but cheer. Seeing their superiors so pleased, the guards, thinking their overdue salaries might finally be paid, joined in the cheering. After four rounds of firing, 200 shots had destroyed about thirty watermelons.

Ouk looked at Ambrosius, hoping to see surprise, fear, or admiration in his eyes. Instead, he found only disappointment and disdain. Still, Ouk asked the question he had been harboring all along:

"Does the great Chenla army have any rivals in Europe?"