Oak Barrels, All Set~
September 2, 1782, Monday. In a Paris coffeehouse, intellectuals affiliated with the Illuminati had gathered to criticize France.
"They call the French monarch an enlightened despot, but he's not all that. Still dragging his feet on abolishing slavery."
They compared realpolitik to their ideals, pointing out France's "unenlightened" aspects.
"Ahem. Aren't you being a bit too loose-lipped? There are ears everywhere—watch yourself, or you might end up in the Bastille without a whisper."
Naturally, their radical views drew concern from the surrounding intellectuals.
"Such impatient fools."
France's traditional intellectuals—lawyers, scholars, professional journalists, pragmatic old nobles, and successful entrepreneurs—dismissed the Illuminati's opinions as the hasty zeal of clueless foreigners.
"Don't be so self-centered. Think about why it hasn't been abolished yet."
The moderate Enlightenment thinkers trusted Louis XVI's capabilities and reformist zeal. Having lived through his gradual—and sometimes radical—reforms over the past eight years, they couldn't help but be skeptical of the Illuminati's extremism.
"Everything has its order, doesn't it? He's abolished feudalism, freed the serfs, granted press freedom, enacted labor laws, even standardized currency and measurements—what more do you want? He's done it all."
In truth, each of Louis XVI's reforms was the stuff of legendary monarchs' legacies.
"Abolished feudalism? Freed serfs? It's just a name change—they're still ignorant, chained to the fields just to earn a wage. Ask them: what letters can they read besides their own names? Press freedom? Then why don't we see stories in the papers every other day about print shop workers getting fired?"
But the Illuminati remained unsatisfied.
"And labor laws? Just enacting them is enough? A 50% overtime premium for 72-hour weeks? Go ask: how many companies actually follow it? Five percent in Paris?"
They belittled Louis XVI's reforms to prop up their own utopia.
"As long as those linger, it's only a half-baked reform. Still, better than before—call it an 8:2 merit-to-flaw ratio."
The moderates grew calm in the face of the Illuminati's ideological fervor.
"Then wait your whole life for those reforms. Maybe you'll see one before you die."
Even among the literate elite, some were more ignorant than the unwashed peasants. The moderates gave up the conversation and drew a line.
"One thing clear: in this France, no one else thinks like you lot."
"Music to my ears."
Clop. Clop. Hoofbeats rang out as mounted police encircled the coffeehouse in an instant.
"Freemason alumni: Christian, Johannes, Emil, Hans, Bruno. Hmm, no Felix? It's right here on the list."
The police checked their arrest warrants, confirming the Illuminati members.
"Anyway, you all have warrants out. Charges: insulting the crown and conspiring to overthrow the state. No resistance—come quietly."
"Arrest decree... Lettre de cachet!"
As the police proffered ropes, the Illuminati members hesitated, then submitted. Like the nobles four years prior, they were bound and carted off to the Bastille.
"We'll see those fellows in the square this Sunday."
Once the police left, the unaffiliated intellectuals tossed barbs at them.
"Paris attracts every kind of fly. If you're in France, follow French law. Want your own world? Build your village and stay there—instead, they drag their trouble here... I knew they'd end up in the Bastille."
The moderates sipped their coffee and resumed chatting as if nothing had happened.
In one corner sat a young man—or so he seemed—actually a National Intelligence Agency operative, nodding over his newspaper.
*
The Illuminati roundup didn't end at the coffeehouse.
"Freeze! You're under arrest as of now. No excuses. You know your crimes best."
The police, somehow tipped off, stormed salons and cafés, nabbing Freemasons one by one.
"I have no ties to the Freemasons! Just passing by, coincidence!"
"True, your name's not on the Lettre de cachet."
With the Freemasons' vast network, innocents sometimes got swept up.
"But consorting with them means you prove your innocence. If clean, you'll walk; if guilty, no more sunlight. Hope you're clear of these subversives."
Thanks to the National Intelligence Agency's pre-screening, no true innocents suffered.
"Tch, watch yourself next time. What a mess."
"Thank you..."
Most detainees were cleared, vowing caution before heading home.
"Out in six hours. His Majesty watches over us."
They thanked their lucky stars for such mercy in this era.
*
"E-emergency! The king's spies have found us! Our comrades are being rounded up! We must flee!"
Louis XVI's "investigation" went deeper than the surface.
"Well, now. Trouble in Bordeaux, eh? Secret society grown this big under your watch?"
Local National Intelligence Agency agents pitched in on the purge, raiding regional branches to decapitate leadership.
"Shut it, Brandenburg. Trace it back—your fault for not containing Prussia's Illuminati."
"Didn't know they were this vicious then. Teaching the metric system, literacy to orphans! Damn you Illuminati!"
"Wasn't that the charge? Inciting republicanism."
"Yeah, yeah. Just venting."
Given the Illuminati's international roots, foreign agents joined the massive sweep.
"How do you know our names...!"
Proud of their secrecy, the Illuminati marveled at the agency's intel.
"How? Wanna know before you die? Felix von Steinburg, third son of the Baron of Steinburg from Bavaria—who fled from that coffeehouse 150 meters east of the Champs-Élysées?"
"..."
The Brandenburg agent toyed with the doomed men, revealing a fake source for amusement.
"What'd you expect? As if we'd tell. That's why republicanism's a fool's dream."
"Your faces, though—priceless."
As an intelligence outfit, info was the agency's lifeblood, currency, weapon. No blabbing.
Weak links—boozy, skirt-chasing agents—had long vanished into the Arve River, the Atlantic off Le Havre, or Biscay Bay.
"One thing I'll share: no trial for you. You're Bavarian nobles, right?"
The Brandenburg agent dangled faint hope.
"Indeed. Dare you try us in court? It'd spark an international incident. House arrest in a tower at worst."
The leaders puffed up, but he crushed it.
"Nah. No trial because of that."
—Slash—
"Not court. Biscay Bay."
With a kukri, Brandenburg severed their wrist and ankle tendons in a flash.
"Mmm. Kukri's the best. That cutting bite. Did the Brits just sunbathe in India? Finally got this gem. Sometimes the East India Company seems handier than the royals."
Bang!
Kukri in one hand, pistol in the other, he neutralized the radicals.
"Bordeaux? Oak barrels ready?"
"Yeah. Twelve enough?"
"Mmm, perfect. Gotta head to Prussia next—leave cleanup to you, senior. Gotta help our Potato King with his empty-house raid."
Brandenburg wiped blood from his face and hands with a handkerchief, then tossed the maimed Illuminati leaders into the barrels like trash.
Ignoring his rudeness, Bordeaux silently packed the limbless heads into the concrete-filled oak barrels. Swept into the Garonne River, they flowed out to Biscay Bay.