With just 40 minutes left until the Polish Sejm's constitutional vote,
Archbishop Ignacy Maślarski, a future core member of the Targowica Confederation, peered out the carriage window and saw the crossroads ahead blocked by dozens of cavalrymen, checking each passing carriage one by one.
Unease surged in his heart, and he immediately directed the coachman to take a detour through a side alley.
Soon after, he changed into a servant's clothes, put on a felt hat, and proceeded alone toward the Parliament Hall while instructing the carriage to keep circling around Warsaw City.
Indeed, along the way, he saw political allies such as Count Blanicki, Archbishop Gosicki, and others stopped by soldiers.
However, relying on his inconspicuous disguise, he succeeded in blending in near the Parliament Hall.
Seeing the members of Parliament passing in front of the Parliament Hall's doors, he regained confidence, removed his hat, and strode toward Parliament, muttering to himself, "Damn that Poniatowski, thinking to stop me with such tactics. This foolish constitution will never be passed!"
He did not believe that Prince Poniatowski would dare let soldiers harass him here, in front of the members.
Suddenly, from the crowd on both sides, a young noble pointed at him and declared loudly, "Isn't that the Archbishop loyal to the Russians?"
Someone immediately echoed the sentiment, "Yes, that's him!"
"Why is someone allowed to participate in the great Sejm?"
"He should be casting his vote at the Tsar's feet, not in Poland!"
King Stanisław II's speech at the Winter Palace, which had been published by Russian newspapers and circulated back to Poland, caused widespread outrage due to its obsequiousness, significantly tarnishing the King's reputation.
And the Polish nobility mentioned in the speech as "loyal to Russia" had their reputations sullied tenfold. People were always ready to forgive the King subconsciously, believing that it was these nobles who misled him into groveling before Russia.
Two young men plucked up the courage to confront Archbishop Maślarski, questioning him as to why he chose to be a servant of the Russians.
He rebuked them sharply but this only attracted more onlookers to encircle him.
Soon, the bell signaling the start of voting rang from the Sejm. Archbishop Maślarski, only about 50 meters from the Parliament Hall, found himself separated by a "high wall" of people, as distant as if it were on the horizon.
In this manner, over seventy percent of the pro-Russian delegates, as well as the majority of the extreme conservative leaders, failed to participate in the vote.
Meanwhile, the royalists, liberals, centrists, and moderate conservatives had already reached a compromise.
At three in the afternoon, the Sejm finally announced the news that Poland's new constitution had been successfully passed with 268 votes in favor and 31 votes against.
The surrounding thousands of citizens immediately erupted in boundless excitement, hopping madly, hugging each other tightly, and letting out thunderous cheers, "Long live the constitution!"
"Thank Jesus, it really passed..."
"This is a victory for the Sejm, a victory for freedom!"
King Stanisław II had not shown himself much during the vote but hurried to sign the constitution afterward and swore to Archbishop Felix Turksi that he would forever be loyal to the constitution.
He then left the Sejm very discreetly, without a moment's delay, heading towards Saint Petersburg.
The people saw the King's convoy and scoffed disdainfully, whispering among themselves, "This pitiful creature who only knows how to please the Russians!"
"Ha, his kingship was obtained by f*cking a Russian woman."
"Thank goodness Prince Poniatowski is in charge of the government; otherwise, Poland would have fallen into the hands of the Tsar long ago."
"Indeed, without His Highness the Prince's initiative, our Constitution could never have come into being!"
"Long live His Highness the Prince!"
"I hear the Prince is recruiting troops, who will come with me to enlist?"
As the crowd began to surge toward Łazienki Palace Square to celebrate, Count Blanicki, Bishop Massalski, and others finally regained their freedom.
However, the voting had ended, and nothing could change the outcome. If they wanted to overturn the Constitution, they would need the support of more than two-thirds of the Sejm members, that is 260 members.
Clearly, this was impossible.
These men gritted their teeth, cursing Prince Poniatowski and the despicable commoners who dared to besiege them, and simultaneously made for Count Stanislaw Pototsky's house as if by an unspoken agreement.
That evening, the Polish ultra-conservative nobility, headed by Count Pototsky, gathered together, all with rage on their faces, clamoring loudly.
"The King and his lackeys have deceived us, deceived all of Poland. Today's vote is invalid!"
"Right! We must absolutely not accept such a result!"
"We must find a way to reverse the current situation."
Standing in the center of the crowd, Count Pototsky raised his hand and shouted loudly, "All Poles should not be blinded by the Prussians and those minor royalist factions, rest assured that only Russia can save our homeland!"
In order to "balance" their pro-Russian stance, the ultra-conservatives slandered the Patriotic Party and the Royalist Party as being controlled by Prussia—a country with which Poland happened to be allied at the moment.
Interestingly, in the eyes of the Patriotic Party and the minor nobility, the King was seen as siding with the pro-Russian forces.
Deep into the night, Count Pototsky announced that he would convene all conservative Polish nobility for a secret meeting half a month later in Targowica Town to discuss the future of Poland.
However, what Count Pototsky and the others did not know was that after Prince Poniatowski received a hint from Joseph, he instructed the Freedom and Security Committee to closely surveil these ultra-conservatives.
At that moment, in the house of Count Pototsky, there were two servants who were members of the Bar Confederation. Outside, another five people were present. The recent clandestine plot had been clearly overheard by them.
In the province of Slavonia in southern Austria.
More than two thousand Serbian insurgents and several hundred Bulgarian troops, braving intense fire, had suffered three to four hundred casualties but finally pushed to the frontlines of the Austrian and Polish Allied Forces.
The Serbian Commander, observing this through his binoculars, was overjoyed. His brave warriors needed only one charge to send the cowardly Austrians scattering—this was the experience he had gained from over a dozen skirmishes with the Austrian Army.
However, just as he anticipated a great victory, a troop of red and white cavalry surged from behind the hills to the east.
To be precise, these men were clad in red military uniforms, with two towering white wings attached to their backs.
As a deep horn sounded, the cavalry unit swiftly formed ranks and charged toward the right flank of the Serbian forces at great speed.
The insurgent commander urgently ordered his own cavalry to reinforce, but clearly, his poorly trained cavalrymen were daunted by the sight of the red "Double-winged Angels" and their overwhelming presence, hesitantly moving toward the infantry flank after a considerable delay.