WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Hydrogen B

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Chapter 52: 10. Stalker vs Stalker (7)

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From Ivan's perspective, this society might have looked like a horribly primitive premodern age, but that was a baseless slander. Naturally, the people of this world were capable. The incapable simply could not survive.

Capability could not always be directed toward good, so most competent elites and members of the upper class built their corruption with remarkable care. This was why the Counterintelligence Command believed people were inherently evil.

As everyone knew, the corruption of capable people was more deadly than that of fools. Even more so when it developed from personal enrichment into a challenge against the social system itself.

That described the ambitious people who had decided to side with the demonfolk and play in deeper waters.

"What should we do with these ones?"

"Why are you asking something like that? Don't act like an amateur. Handle it like professionals."

Dmitry shrugged and turned away. The tails of his long coat billowed behind him. The moment he turned his back, crack, crack, two dry gunshots rang out.

With the gunshots as accompaniment, Dmitry lit his cigarette. He inhaled, then exhaled. The burning tip glowed red in the dark room.

"God, I'm sick of these bastards."

The more sophisticated a social system became, the deeper ambitious people buried their ambitions in the shadows.

In this world, all the ambitious people who had survived were exceptionally capable. As stated before, the incompetent ones who revealed their ambitions during the war had all been weeded out.

It was practically a world-scale eugenic experiment.

By the traditional rules of syllogism, it went like this.

1. Every rebel, terrorist, or anti-establishment figure active today was skilled at something.

2. Yet the Allied Kingdoms's social system remained firm.

3. Therefore, every Counterintelligence operative who caught those "capable rebels" was even more capable.

Only four years had passed since the war ended. The political foundations of every kingdom had been damaged to the point where they could not withstand another war.

On top of that, most of the working population had been lost. They had mainly disappeared into the bellies of demonfolk.

The situation was almost like how the common people's rights rose after the Black Death. The difference was that the nobles exploiting them were overwhelmingly powerful, literally powerful enough to wield magic.

Conflict between the people and their exploiters was inevitable. All it would take was someone fanning the flames for it to blaze out of control.

When a major event occurred within society, the culprit was usually the one who stood to gain the most from it.

If one were to narrow down the people who would benefit most if a country went up in flames, the list would include demonfolk under the Colonial Administration, neighboring countries, domestic rebels, royals pushed out of the line of succession, and ideologues obsessed with the people.

"Ha..."

Dmitry breathed out with a sigh mixed into the cigarette smoke. There were so many of them. Their schemes extended across every field, at home and abroad, and Krasilov was already on the verge of civil war.

The Krasilov Counterintelligence Command would have to stay up all night again.

It was another tiresome summer night, no different from any other year.

At least, it was until Pritchenkaya began to burn.

* * *

Ivan was a man who loved peace, so he preferred to solve most problems through conversation.

The minor issue was that most people in this primitive era locked their hearts away and refused to talk.

Still, Ivan was a resourceful modern man, and he solved that problem with ease.

Locks were made of wood, and all wood broke beneath an axe.

Therefore, among his axe's many uses, including bottle opener, can opener, head opener, and so on, Ivan was currently using it as a door opener to throw open the lock on the other person's heart.

"I'll... cough!! I'll tell you everything! S-stop! Stop!!"

"Shh. We haven't even started yet."

"I said I'll talk!!"

Ivan shook his head at the amateur political activist.

Information given before someone's heart had been fully opened was highly likely to contain lies.

To improve the reliability of the information, a more open heart was needed. If one physically opened the place where the heart was located, the psychological heart usually opened as well.

"Guh...!"

"I'll treat you now."

"Just... kill me..."

"Don't say something so sad."

Ivan gently whispered as he took out a healing potion and stitched the wide-open heart back together.

Simple repeated torture was a bad move that reduced the quality of information. Information was easily distorted, and depending on the circumstances, people often came to believe entirely different memories were the truth and spoke accordingly.

To thoroughly break down psychological barriers, Ivan had to briefly abandon his modern intellect and equip himself with the savagery appropriate to this era.

After a short counseling session involving warm consideration, meaning he avoided cutting vital organs, and delicate treatment, meaning he spared no healing potions, the fifth spy Ivan had met finally began to spill the truth through unfocused eyes.

"Lord Dionar... guh... has already arrived... in Pritchenkaya... The signal for the operation... won't come from us... Lord Dionar himself will..."

"That bastard's already active?"

"Y-yes... The contact intermediary is just a front... We too are waiting for the lord's operation..."

"What is Dionar after? Is kidnapping Aesidis the end goal?"

"No..."

The spy, who had been known to act as Dionar's contact intermediary, stared blankly at the sky with vacant eyes before suddenly tapping the floor.

As though that alone was an answer.

When Ivan raised an eyebrow, the man coughed up blood and barely continued.

"Here."

"...Here?"

"Pritchenkaya... Long live the revolution... Return the sword of the people to the people... In the Kingdom of Heaven... only God stands above the people... Cough! Ah, ah..."

He was broken.

Ivan clicked his tongue and stood.

If Dionar, who was supposedly arriving tomorrow or the day after, had already infiltrated the city, would he delay his operation after Ivan had cut down his attendants?

No. Once exposed, the bastard had nowhere left to go. If he returned to Droan, he would be greeted by Einar's angry axe blade.

Pritchenkaya was a vast metropolis. Finding a foreign spy who had entered the country illegally, one Ivan had never even seen before, was harder than finding Mr. Kim in Seoul.

But if you wanted to find a snake, you had to beat the bushes.

Once Dionar noticed that his base had been exposed and several of his attendants and agents had been left alive after clearly being tortured, he would be extremely anxious.

"Aesidis should be home by now."

Considering what it meant for Pritchenkaya itself to be the target, Ivan set off.

He intended to secure Aesidis's safety first, then, if possible, stop Dionar before he ambushed her and question him.

Ivan was very curious about the psychological foundation behind Dionar's delusion that attacking the child of a Hero Party member could somehow become a way to conquer Pritchenkaya.

* * *

Aesidis and Mord walked quietly through the nighttime streets.

"Wow, I really can't get used to this. You too, right, Uncle? How can there be so few people on the streets?"

"This is what happens when a country is incompetent, Esi. Do you understand now what a great ruler your father is?"

"Ah, yes, well. I suppose he is..."

Krasilov had endured the previous war as a unified monarchy. Naturally, it had declared nationwide martial law and maintained a wartime posture for more than a decade.

Even though peace had returned, a militaristic nation like that would not change in only four years. Droan was different.

During the war, Droan had maintained a loose confederation, with more than a dozen Jarls each governing their own state.

These tribal states had no centralized authority. Naturally, individual citizens' rights were much more developed than in other countries.

Even one warrior sprawled on the street could, if you followed connections seven times over, turn out to be the cousin-in-law of someone who called a Jarl brother. That was what a clan society meant.

The part that ought to frighten people was the fact that warriors were sprawled all over the streets. Still, that was why public safety could develop in a more modern direction.

Unlike civilized societies, in tribal societies, rude people's heads got split open with axes. Everyone had manners, so why would the streets at night be frightening?

Good heavens, the man next door got robbed? Surprisingly, the robber was likely the man two doors down. It was a closed society. The next day, that robber-neighbor would lose his head or wrist.

After living in a society like that, Pritchenkaya's streets at night felt bleak and harsh.

Even after nearly three months in the city, Aesidis still found it difficult to adjust to this environment.

"Ah, Uncle. Have you been to that shop? Their waffles are really good."

Ordinarily, a waffle shop near a university was not somewhere one went alone. It was the merciless realm of the popular crowd.

As a result, Aesidis had never tried the waffles there. She had often stared blankly at the people eating them before going home, though.

As they passed the closed waffle shop, Aesidis introduced nearby restaurants, by which she meant places that looked tasty, to her uncle in a voice full of regret.

"Ah, right. The waffles with strawberries on top are good there."

"...?!"

What Aesidis had overlooked was that Mord was incredibly popular.

The Knight Department was fundamentally a department for men who followed the law of the strong.

No one could dislike a brawny Droan man who called himself a man among men. On top of that, Mord was broad-minded, rich, since he was spending Great King Einar's activity funds, and generally kind.

Aesidis, who had been looked down on for exactly the opposite reasons, finally looked at Mord with a deeply wounded expression.

Traitor.

The world was full of traitors.

Having realized that cruel truth, the twenty-year-old university student lowered her head and muttered quietly.

"Let's just go home. This isn't fun anymore."

"Should we pick up something to eat on the way?"

"No!"

They had only just turned back toward home when an unexpected but welcome person appeared before them.

"It's been a while, brother."

"...How did you get here?"

"Other than His Majesty's secret orders, would I have any reason to come here?"

"Uncle!!"

"Oh, Esi. Have you been well? You've only been gone three months, but it already feels like ten years. It really makes a difference whether our little niece is at the palace or not."

"Hehe, Uncle. You've been well too, right?"

The person standing beneath the mana lamps was a huge man with wild, unruly hair swept back from his face.

Einar's Huscarl, Dionar Erikson.

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Footnotes:

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