Reincarnated as the Crown Prince
Chapter 51: Eyes of Britannia

Chapter 51: Eyes of Britannia

The morning sun filtered through the iron-trimmed glass of the Palacio Real’s west atrium, casting a pale glow on the polished tiles as the heavy bronze doors swung open.

Prince Lancelot stood at the top of the stairway in full regent attire—dark navy coat trimmed with silver embroidery, his gloves tucked neatly beneath one arm. At his side, Alicia adjusted the folds of her overcoat, scanning the courtyard below as the carriage of the Britannian delegation rolled to a halt.

"Three carriages," she murmured. "Not just diplomats. They’ve brought experts."

"Good," Lancelot said calmly. "Let them see what progress looks like."

The lead envoy stepped out first—a tall, balding man with a face sculpted in stern lines. Lord Halworth, Lord Chancellor of the Britannian Isles, dressed in a gray coat with understated brass buttons. Behind him, engineers, scribes, and what appeared to be a sanitation scholar followed, blinking at the unfamiliar heat.

A herald stepped forward and announced in both Castilian and Britannian tongues, "His Grace, Prince-Regent Lancelot of Aragon, welcomes the honored delegation of the Isles."

Polite applause followed.

Lancelot descended the steps and offered a firm handshake. "Lord Halworth, welcome to Madrid."

The man’s grip was equally firm. "An honor, Your Highness. We’ve read many reports—none quite prepared us for the smell."

Lancelot chuckled. "Then let me show you what causes it—and what cures it."

Within the hour, the delegation had been escorted to the southern ward of Lavapiés, where the first of the permanent filtration stations was nearing completion. The site, once a muddy depression between overcrowded tenements, had been transformed. Stonework platforms, covered pits, gravel layers, and iron-handled sluice gates were all being monitored by local workers and engineering students alike.

"This is our first stage," Bellido explained as he approached the delegation. "Gravel and sand for bulk sediment. Charcoal for basic filtration. It’s primitive by your standards, perhaps—but effective."

Lord Halworth knelt slightly to inspect the layered basin, lifting a small amount of sand between his gloved fingers.

"Primitive? On the contrary," he muttered. "This is far more pragmatic than what some of our cities manage."

Lancelot stood nearby, arms folded as the delegation moved from one installation to another. Their reactions ranged from curiosity to surprise—even veiled concern.

At one point, a Britannian scholar leaned toward Halworth. "They’re years ahead of us in municipal planning."

The Chancellor did not reply—but his furrowed brow spoke volumes.

By midday, the tour moved deeper underground.

At the newest section of the second-tier sewer system—a brick-lined tunnel wide enough for three men to walk shoulder to shoulder—lanterns flickered as steam rose from freshly poured lime. Bellido pointed to a central shaft running overhead.

"Ventilation chimney. Each block gets one every sixty paces. We’re also laying emergency ladders and side tunnels."

The Britannians took notes. Several engineers whispered rapidly among themselves.

"Who designed this layout?" one asked.

"I did," Bellido replied flatly. "With help from half the masons in Madrid and a few sleepless nights."

"You’ll forgive my bluntness, sir," Halworth said to Lancelot. "But how is all of this being funded? And how do you plan to maintain it?"

Lancelot answered without hesitation. "We created a publicly regulated company. Funded by a mix of state capital and industrial buy-ins. Dividends are paid through municipal contracts—factory owners who rely on clean infrastructure are now stakeholders in it."

Halworth raised an eyebrow. "A government selling shares to industrialists. That’s... bold."

"It’s survival," Lancelot said. "We no longer have the luxury of building slowly. Cholera doesn’t wait for parliamentary procedure."

Alicia added quietly, "We’ve already seen a 30% drop in waterborne illnesses. It’s not perfect—but it’s proof."

As the group emerged from the tunnel into daylight again, their boots muddy and coats dusty, the contrast of modern reform and old aristocracy hung thick in the air.

Halworth turned to Lancelot. "You realize this model won’t stay confined to Madrid. Once your rivals see this—"

"They’ll try to copy it?" Lancelot finished for him. "I hope they do."

Halworth narrowed his eyes. "Or they’ll try to stop it."

Lancelot met his gaze steadily. "Then let them try. My people are already living in a cleaner city. The old order can wring its hands behind closed doors if they wish—but we’re not turning back."

They returned to the palace for a state dinner that evening. The grand hall had been stripped of excessive ornament—Lancelot preferred function to ostentation. Local musicians played softly as dishes were served: roasted lamb, saffron rice, fresh loaves from a bakery that now received clean water.

Halworth sat beside Lancelot, sipping from his glass.

"I must admit," he said after the third course, "I expected a brash young reformer. Not someone with such... precision."

Lancelot smiled slightly. "I was raised in courts that smelled of perfume and disease. I’ve learned where both can lead."

Halworth chuckled. "And where will this take you, I wonder?"

"To a country that doesn’t fear its future," Lancelot said. "And maybe—if we’re lucky—others will follow."

A silence lingered between them before Halworth finally set his glass down.

"You’ll have our cooperation," he said. "In principle. But understand—we’ll be watching closely. Some in Britannia see your model as a threat to their own grip on infrastructure."

"I expect no less," Lancelot said. "You’ll also find that watching alone won’t be enough."

That night, as the delegation retired to their guest quarters, Alicia joined Lancelot in the observatory overlooking Madrid. Gaslights glowed from some streets. Others now pulsed with electric lamps.

"He respects you," Alicia said quietly.

"He fears the consequences of inaction," Lancelot replied. "As he should."

She turned toward him. "What’s next?"

"We send our engineers to Britannia. A delegation of our own. Let them learn how far behind they are. And we continue the sewers. Expand north. And once Madrid is clean..."

He looked toward the stars above.

"We bring light to the rest of Iberia."

Not just light. Order. Cleanliness. Dignity. One tunnel at a time.

As the bells of midnight rang, Madrid’s rebirth marched forward, silent beneath the streets—but echoing across Europe.

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