Reincarnated: Vive La France-Chapter 169: "I know tyranny when I smell it. And your empire reeks."

Chapter 169: "I know tyranny when I smell it. And your empire reeks."

November 1, 1936.

Geneva, Switzerland.

The League of Nations building was unusually full for a body long dismissed as toothless.

Heavy coats and foreign languages crowded its cold marble halls from London, Moscow, Paris, and Rome.

Delegates gathered in cliques of whispered speculation and stiff greetings.

But one name stirred them all.

Étienne Moreau.

As the French delegation entered, heads turned.

Dressed sharply in a dark overcoat, one arm still stiff from the injuries of Alborán.

Moreau moved like a blade.

Behind him followed two attachés and a translator, though most already spoke his language the language of war, conviction, and memory.

Sir Hugh Sinclair of Britain approached first.

"Major Moreau."

Moreau offered a nod. "Director Sinclair."

"You’ve become something of a legend."

"Legends are often just names scratched on gravestones. I’m here to stop the next ones."

Sinclair smiled, more sadness than warmth. "Then we should be grateful you’re still here to speak. Not many return from the kind of stand you made."

"I didn’t return," Moreau said. "I rose."

From the Italian delegation, Count Ciano raised a glass of water in salute.

"Major Moreau, the man who made rubble into rhetoric."

"Count Ciano, the man who makes rhetoric into rubble," Moreau returned.

Delegates laughed nervously.

The tension in the room was like dried wood near flame ready to ignite.

From the American gallery, Cordell Hull leaned toward his assistant.

"He’s the only man in Europe who can cause a riot with a sentence."

"And he’ll probably write the next one too," the assistant whispered.

Then, the Japanese delegation entered.

Led by Yosuke Matsuoka smiling thinly, flanked by stone-faced officers.

Germany followed.

Joachim von Ribbentrop, cold and precise, nodded to no one.

Their flags were not officially raised.

They had left the League in 1933.

But Britain had extended invitations.

And where Britain insisted, the world, grudgingly, followed.

The main chamber was vast.

Nameplates were set.

France to the left of Britain.

Germany and Japan, unmarked but seated.

The British representative, Sir Arthur Henderson, opened the floor.

"Gentlemen, we gather not out of procedural duty, but because the peace of Asia and Europe now tremble beneath duplicity. Japan’s recent proxy movements in Inner Mongolia and Germany’s newly formalized alignment with Tokyo under the Anti-Comintern framework raise grave concerns."

The Japanese delegate didn’t rise.

Matsuoka simply leaned forward, tone mild but sharpened.

"The Empire of Japan ceased to recognize the League’s authority in 1933. Your concern is noted, but irrelevant. What we do within Asia, with whom we choose to align, is our sovereign right."

He paused.

"If Britain remains nostalgic for influence in Asia, perhaps it should first reconcile its own colonial hypocrisies."

A stir passed through the chamber.

Henderson opened his mouth, but Ribbentrop stood.

"Germany seconds our Japanese colleagues. We recognize no authority from an institution that stood idle as communism butchered Spain, Poland, and China. You question our pacts? What of yours? Anglo-Soviet talks? French Soviet defense? Do not feign surprise that others seek their own alliances."

A Spanish observer hissed.

"You lit Spain on fire!"

Ribbentrop turned. "We returned it to order. We put down chaos where others merely fanned it."

Matsuoka added, "You pretend this is about law. It is not. It is about power. And Japan does not ask permission."

Chairs scraped.

Voices rose.

Then Moreau raised his hand.

Silence fell.

No gavel.

No shout.

Just the raising of a wounded arm.

He stood slowly, walked to the center, and turned to face the room.

"Let us call this what it is. A theater."

Matsuoka smiled. "And what role do you play, Major?"

"The usher," Moreau replied. "Here to show you the door. And I hope you remember your exits."

Laughter rippled.

He let it settle.

"Germany speaks of communism. Of disorder. And yet it funds bloodshed, arms traitors, and invades in silence. I fought your doctrine in the hills of Spain, Herr Ribbentrop. I buried boys torn apart by your ’order.’"

Ribbentrop’s smile vanished.

Moreau turned.

"And Japan. You dress war in the robe of sovereignty. You speak of honor while using children to dig trenches in Suiyuan."

Matsuoka’s jaw tightened. "You know nothing of our struggle."

"I know tyranny when I smell it. And your empire reeks."

"You cross a line."

"Then redraw it. I’ll be waiting on the other side."

"Do not pretend outrage, sir," Moreau continued.

"You wear it poorly. Your empire poisons with gifts. Puppet governments. Proxy militias. And when called to account, you wave the banner of independence while marching under the sun of conquest."

There was no sound but the ticking of the great wall clock.

Moreau turned slowly.

"This room has no power over you. We all know this. You walked away from this body when it failed to applaud your crimes. But you came back today. Not because you respect it. But because you fear it."

Gasps.

Moreau continued.

"Not the League. But the nations within it. France. Britain. America. The people who still matter. You feared that your silence would be filled by someone else."

Ribbentrop stood. "This is not a courtroom."

"Then why are you sweating like a guilty man?"

Moreau turned to the assembly.

"You have no obligation to stay. But history has a chair for you either way. You may sit at this table, or stand in the dock later."

He paused.

Then pointed toward the door.

"Leave."

Matsuoka stood first.

He said nothing.

Just bowed slightly the way a man bows before slamming a door.

Germany followed.

Ribbentrop gathered his papers with practiced calm.

As they left, Moreau exhaled.

"My job is done."

Sinclair stood.

"You just drove two nations out of a meeting they weren’t even part of."

"I only reminded them why they left to begin with," Moreau said.

"They can’t survive in a room full of mirrors."

Later that evening, in the streets of Geneva, headlines ran.

"Moreau Roars in Geneva: Germany and Japan Walk Out"

"The Lion of Spain Speaks for the World"

Back at his hotel, Moreau sat with a cup of coffee.

Renaud, reading the paper, chuckled.

"You know," he said, "you might have just started the next war."

Moreau looked up.

"Then let it begin with a sentence."

And he took another sip.