I am the Crown Prince of France

Chapter 696 697: The Useless King

Warsaw.

Royal Castle.

King Stanisław II stared gravely at the map, his gaze fixed on the enemy positions marked across Polish territory. He murmured with deep regret, "Everything happened just as the Prince warned. We should have listened to his advice back then…"

Royal Minister Małachowski had just analyzed the current situation for him. Based on the latest intelligence, Poland was now facing attacks on all fronts:

To the east, Russia was launching offensives in both Lithuania and the western bank of the Dnieper River.To the west, Prussia had declared war and seized three provinces in just a few days.To the south, Austria had also entered the fray, declaring war a week ago.

The Speaker of the Senate, Staszic, lowered his head and said quietly:

"Yes, we trusted the alliances too much."

If Poland had fortified Poznań earlier, Prussian forces wouldn't have been able to capture the western provinces so quickly.

Even worse, the Lithuanian army was suffering defeat after defeat at the hands of Russian General Kreizernikov. Minsk was on the verge of falling.

After a long silence, King Stanisław sighed and turned to Małachowski.

"What does the Military Council suggest?"

"Your Majesty, Warsaw has five newly formed regiments." Małachowski explained, "General Białack will need at least four regiments to hold the front line."

General Białack was commanding the defense of Minsk.

Staszic frowned deeply. "So we have no troops left for the western front?"

"I'm afraid that's the case…"

The room fell silent. The ministers looked grim. Poland had mobilized all its resources but still couldn't resist the combined assault of three great powers.

Was surrender the only option left?

Suddenly, Stanisław pointed to Kraków on the map's southwestern corner.

"How many troops would it take to hold off the Austrians there?"

The ministers turned to a military advisor standing by the door.

The officer thought for a moment before replying, "To defend with full force, around 10,000 men, Your Majesty."

At present, Warsaw could muster only 7,500 soldiers—the equivalent of five regiments.

The king then asked Małachowski:

"How long would it take you to assemble four more regiments?"

After a moment of hesitation, Małachowski gritted his teeth and declared, "Two months… No, Your Majesty, I can gather enough recruits in just 40 days!"

Across Poland, public morale was soaring. Recruitment centers were overwhelmed daily with crowds of volunteers. From nobles to merchants, workers to peasants, everyone wanted to join the fight, take up the cross, and repel the invaders.

Manpower wasn't the problem—there were already two to three times more applicants than positions. If recruitment standards were relaxed, Poland could easily field over 50,000 men.

But forming an army wasn't as simple as handing out guns to a group of men. Even the most basic training was essential. Without it, the soldiers wouldn't understand orders or maintain formation on the battlefield, creating chaos instead of defense.

Fortunately, the Warsaw Royal Military Academy, built six months ago, was ready with a large pool of instructors. This gave Małachowski confidence in forming four regiments in 40 days, though their combat effectiveness would be minimal.

"Forty days…"

Stanisław pressed his hands firmly against the map, as if trying to muster his courage. Then, turning solemnly to Małachowski, he declared:

"I can buy you at least a month on the Minsk front.

"Recruit those troops as quickly as possible.

"The five regiments we have now will go to Kraków. We cannot lose the Tarnowskie Góry silver mines."

The silver mines funded nearly half of Poland's wartime expenses. Losing them would mean immediate collapse.

"Your Majesty, what do you intend to do?"

The king hesitated, then replied, "I still have my title as king. And I owe some… favors in Russia. That should be enough to buy us a month."

Małachowski suddenly realized what Stanisław meant and shook his head vehemently.

"Your Majesty, no… You can't do this…"

Stanisław chuckled weakly. "Politics and war have never been my strengths. Even I know the Tsar only made me king because I'm so useless…"

"No, Your Majesty, you are not…"

The king, surprisingly calm, continued:

"My reputation has never been good. If sacrificing myself can help the nation, then so be it.

"In the future, the people will likely feel disappointed in me. But Józef is far more suitable to lead this country. I hope the parliament will fully support him."

Józef was Prince Poniatowski's given name.

Stanisław explained his plan, and the ministers vehemently objected.

"Your Majesty, this is unacceptable!"

"Poland needs you!"

"There must be another way…"

The king raised his hand to quiet them. "Let me stand and fight alongside my people."

Western Poland. Occupied Poznań Province.

Count Potocki, Poland's Foreign Minister, sat hunched in a chair, fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.

In his pocket was the humiliating ceasefire agreement passed by parliament. Today, he was to hand it over to the Prussians, ceding the three provinces of Greater Poland and the city of Gdańsk in exchange for their withdrawal.

Poland simply couldn't spare the troops to defend the northwest.

Potocki checked his pocket watch. He had already been kept waiting for over an hour—an intentional humiliation by the Prussians.

Just then, his aide approached him quietly and whispered,

"My lord, a Prussian tax officer from Kulm is here. He claims to have urgent news."

"Kulm?" Potocki's brow furrowed. Kulm, once part of Poland, still retained a predominantly Catholic population.

Making an excuse about the chair's moldy smell, he stepped outside.

A short, gray-haired man passed by nonchalantly, slowing down as he neared Potocki. In perfect Polish, he whispered:

"Please inform Warsaw: Gdańsk has not fallen.

"Captain Romilev and his French allies are holding the port. He says they can hold for at least three months. His corpse will be the last line of defense."

Potocki's heart raced as he struggled to contain his emotions. He confirmed in a low voice, "Is this true?"

"I swear it. I rode through the night from Toruń to bring you this news." The man crossed himself. "May God protect Poland."

Tears welled in Potocki's eyes as he gave the man a respectful nod.

Then, with a trembling hand, he reached into his pocket and tore the ceasefire agreement into pieces.

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