What kind of country is France?
A blessed land occupying some of the richest territory in Western Europe.
Throughout the long history of Europe, it had almost always possessed power above the continental average. At one point it had even come within a breath of conquering all of Europe.
Art, culture, cuisine—military strength and technology as well. There was hardly a field where France did not excel.
Yet, every so often, the country managed to astonish the entire continent by displaying spectacular moments of foolishness.
That was France's peculiar trait.
It was powerful enough that, aside from the British Empire and Russian Empire, there were few states in Europe that could truly compare with it.
And yet this pattern kept repeating.
Perhaps France was simply the sort of nation that had to be struck hard before it came to its senses—despite being perfectly capable of solving problems beforehand.
Or perhaps the land itself was so richly blessed that the country could not truly wake up until it stood on the brink of collapse.
In truth, even before Killian Gore delivered his warning, there had already been signs in France.
But the ruling elite had simply shut their eyes and ears, insisting that things were still acceptable.
The grievances of the bourgeois capitalists were already nearing their limit.
Public sentiment among workers was, naturally, no better.
France, of all countries, had seen its nobles and king lose their heads beneath the guillotine during revolution—and then experienced another revolution afterward.
In a country like that, ignoring growing social unrest was almost impressive in its own way.
But once those ominous predictions began coming true one after another, ignoring them was no longer possible.
At the very least, François Guizot, widely considered a future prime minister, was not so stubborn or foolish as to refuse to face reality.
"…So you're telling me the wheat harvest will truly fall far below normal levels?"
"Yes. At this point, it's practically certain."
"Damn it. How can this actually be real?"
Was Killian Gore truly the reincarnation of Cassandra?
No—that wasn't quite right.
Cassandra had received prophecy from the gods.
Killian, by contrast, claimed to have reached his conclusions through data analysis.
And somehow that made the situation even more chilling.
For as long as human history had existed, foreseeing the future had been considered the domain of the divine.
Across cultures, prophecy and foresight had always been revered as sacred gifts.
If someone could accurately predict the future using nothing more than data…
then humanity might truly have crossed a boundary that once belonged only to the gods.
Of course, forecasting future trends from rational evidence was not impossible.
But this situation seemed to go far beyond ordinary prediction.
Guizot had even asked Louis Philippe I whether he alone felt that way.
The king's reaction proved otherwise.
"If wheat yields fall as predicted," the king said, "how high will grain prices rise? At the very least, workers must still be able to buy bread."
"There are limits to how much prices can be controlled," Guizot replied.
"Those who normally eat three meals a day may have to reduce it to two. Those who eat two will have to cut their portions to two-thirds."
"If they spend nearly all their income on food, they might just barely avoid starvation."
"And now, in the middle of this crisis, there's a proposal to reform the election law?"
"Yes. But the consensus is that it must be rejected."
The reform bill would fail.
The reformists would protest fiercely and organize demonstrations nationwide.
The government would be forced to ban those gatherings.
Meanwhile food shortages, soaring prices, and cascading bankruptcies would push the atmosphere in Paris to the brink.
So far, every development had followed the path Killian predicted with frightening precision.
"We prepared for famine," the king said. "You're telling me the wheat reserves are still insufficient? We couldn't even secure grain overseas?"
"We tried," Guizot replied.
"But we didn't have enough time to prepare."
"What about the New World?"
"Normally we could have purchased grain there. But Britain had already secured advance contracts and bought up the surplus."
"…What?"
Then the king sighed.
"…No. If they truly believed famine was coming, of course they would stockpile everything they could."
After all, if food shortages were imminent, only a fool would fail to hoard grain.
"If only we had imported more food sooner…"
"We hesitated too long."
"Well," the king muttered bitterly, "it was difficult to believe such a claim."
The problem was that solving this crisis required either granting the bourgeoisie electoral reform—
or appeasing the workers.
Both options together were impossible.
But choosing neither could mean revolution.
And if Killian's predictions were right, the French monarchy might once again face destruction.
After long deliberation, the king finally sighed and scratched his head irritably.
"Minister, I'm afraid you'll have to travel to London again."
"…Understood."
"But Your Majesty," Guizot added quietly, "Britain will surely demand that we fulfill our previous agreement if we ask for aid."
"That cannot be helped."
"Tell them we will proceed immediately with establishing the canal company and coordinating with the Rothschild banking family."
"Ask them to consider providing assistance."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
If France had acted the moment Killian issued his warning, there might have been a way out.
But once again France only came to its senses after being struck.
Perhaps a national temperament forged over centuries could not be changed overnight.
France was simply… France.
Suppressing a bitter sigh, Guizot turned to prepare for yet another journey across the Dover Strait.
At this rate he might soon hold the record for crossing it more often than any minister in history.
In fact, he might already have broken it.
What troubled him more, however, was the uneasy feeling that this would not be the last time.
Even without Cassandra's gift of prophecy, anyone could see what was coming.
And that was the truly depressing part.
When 1846 began, the drought arrived exactly as predicted.
My associates erupted in cheers.
Thinking about the suffering spreading across Europe left a bitter taste, but even if I had known everything in advance, preventing famine entirely would have been impossible.
At the very least, thanks to the precautions I had taken, conditions across Europe were already far better than they had been in the original timeline.
In that sense, everyone benefited.
Even Ireland was weathering the Potato Blight far more smoothly than before.
For the British Empire, the coming famine posed little real danger.
The Chartist movement had been carefully managed in advance, and labor laws had been reformed.
Worker dissatisfaction was significantly lower than elsewhere in Europe.
It wasn't merely because Britain was an island.
The British Empire was genuinely observing the turmoil sweeping Europe as if watching a fire across the river.
"Your Highness," Guizot said with a respectful bow, "astonishingly, every warning you gave us has proven true."
"Not merely proving true," I replied calmly.
"They have already come true."
"Ah—yes. My apologies."
"At this point we can only conclude that the information Your Highness provided was entirely reliable."
Recently I had been seeing Guizot far more often.
Compared to his previous visit, his attitude had changed completely.
A man who needed something quickly learned good manners.
Coming from a land once known for its traditions of courtesy in the East, I found such politeness quite agreeable.
Perhaps I should do my best to help France remain a country of such fine manners.
"Then I assume the agreement we previously made is now effectively confirmed."
"Of course. His Majesty has already instructed the establishment of a canal company in cooperation with the Rothschild bank."
"Our embassy in Egypt has been notified. We expect positive news within a month."
"Good. In that case we can schedule the share sale for next year."
"If the company sells everything immediately after being founded, the Egyptians might grow suspicious."
"Understood. We will follow your recommendation."
Guizot hesitated before continuing.
"Your Highness… as you know, this agreement is between yourself and the French Crown."
"You wished for the French monarchy to remain stable."
Ah.
I already knew what he was about to ask.
And sure enough, his request unfolded exactly as expected.
"Our government is struggling to secure grain," Guizot said carefully.
"Nearly all available supplies appear to have been purchased by Britain."
"Would it be possible… for you to sell us some grain?"
"That falls under government jurisdiction," I replied.
"I cannot interfere."
"There are large reserves in Canada, are there not? Exporting Canadian grain would not require parliamentary approval."
"That is true," I admitted.
"But importing food implies you intend to reject electoral reform. Am I understanding correctly?"
If the bourgeoisie received voting rights, they would lose their incentive to support revolution.
Food prices would matter far less to them than political power.
Therefore importing grain meant appeasing workers—not empowering capitalists.
And that meant electoral reform was off the table.
It seemed France was truly determined to keep its bourgeoisie out of politics.
"You are correct," Guizot said.
"The government intends to reject the reform bill."
"But when protests erupt, we will announce that France has secured large quantities of grain from Britain and will sell food to workers at low prices."
"An effective strategy," I said.
"Dividing capitalists and workers would certainly prevent a revolution."
Of course, how long France could continue ignoring its bourgeoisie in an industrializing society was another matter entirely.
Personally, I would simply grant the capitalists part of what they wanted.
But France seemed strangely attached to privileges it could not maintain.
Then again—
France behaving irrationally during a crisis was exactly what I expected.
"Your Highness," Guizot said earnestly, "if we overcome this crisis safely, France will never forget the generosity shown by the British royal family."
"Please…"
"Of course," I replied warmly.
"There is a saying: a friend in need is a friend indeed."
"The British Empire will remain France's true friend."
"We will sell Canadian grain—and part of Britain's own reserves—within reasonable limits."
"But I do have one condition."
"Anything," Guizot said immediately.
Give and take.
That was simply how the world worked.
But my demand was not unreasonable.
In fact, it would benefit France as well.
After all, strengthening France would help balance the coming rivalry with the Russian Empire.
"The unrest will not be limited to France," I said.
"Germany will face upheaval as well."
"In particular, Austrian Empire may encounter serious instability."
"When France stabilizes, assist Austria."
"And do so faster than Russia."
Sending British troops would be expensive—and suppressing liberal uprisings could damage Britain's reputation.
But if France handled the unpleasant work instead…
How convenient.
France really was Europe's hero.
Thank you, France.
You were exactly the kind of hero Britain needed.