Reincarnated as the Crown Prince

The Iron Serpent carved its path through the Andalusian hills like a blade of judgment—steam hissing through pine-covered ridges, signal flags fluttering from its flanks. It had not yet entered Granada, but word of its approach had. Telegraph wires, horse messengers, and fearful whispers moved faster than iron.

Inside the command car, Prince Lancelot reviewed a fresh dispatch. Juliette stood across the table, flanked by Bellido and two newly promoted Civic Brigade officers from Carmona.

"Granada’s nobility has sealed the Alhambra," Lancelot said, voice low. "They’ve requisitioned old cannon from their family arsenals. Artillery from another century—but with powder, still deadly."

"They intend to make a last stand," Bellido said grimly. "A symbol. Hold the palace, hold the past."

Juliette crossed her arms. "Then we tear down the symbol without destroying the city. We won’t become what they accuse us of."

Easier said than done.

The closer they neared Granada, the more complicated the terrain—politically and physically. Nobles had bribed peasant militias, flooded farmland to slow train lines, and erected false checkpoints on the trade roads. More than once, the Iron Serpent was forced to halt while workers cleared debris or disarmed crude explosives laid beneath wooden bridges.

At midday, Juliette disembarked with two dozen civic scouts to inspect a collapsed trestle near the village of Padul. They found a sign left behind—painted in crude red on wood:

"The Light Brings Plague. Turn Back."

She ran her hand along the rough grain of the plank. "They’ve begun equating sanitation with sin."

Back on the train, Lancelot received a private letter from a contact in Glanzreich: the Vatican had issued an informal decree against "technological evangelism." It did not name Aragon directly, but everyone knew.