WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Hydrogen B

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Chapter 78: 12. Academy Festival Common Sense (8)

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The objective of the terrorist attack was simple. To undermine the royal family's authority before the foreign envoys and nobles of the Allied Kingdoms gathered here.

Precisely because of that, though, the attack's violence had to remain somewhat restrained. Once the casualties exceeded a certain point, the Allied Kingdoms would prioritize their outrage at the terrorist group over blaming Krasilov.

What mattered was holding that precarious line.

This was a righteous uprising. A struggle to honor the souls of the Great King, the Royal Guard, and the soldiers who had fallen during the last war.

The Allied Kingdoms could ridicule and condemn Krasilov, but it could not be allowed to turn its anger on the terrorists themselves.

It was a restrained attack, carefully organized to target only Krasilov's military.

"...Is that your excuse?"

Elizaveta spoke as she looked down at the chaotic square.

Pavel knelt before her, while Ivan held the muzzle of his gun to the back of Pavel's neck. Neither man said a word as they looked at her.

"And Vanka. No... Sir Ivan Petrovich. Why did you not carry out the arrest of the remaining insurgents?"

Well.

Hmm.

Ivan carefully chose his words, with the same bewilderment he always felt whenever he had to explain common sense to people from another world.

It was common sense that a terrorist attack would happen during an academy festival.

And according to that common sense, the attack should be suppressed by academy students, giving them combat experience and a modest reward.

Pavel, who was likely supposed to be this stage's boss, had clearly been designed beyond the appropriate difficulty level, so Ivan had prevented the fight before it began.

Events where the "protagonists" surpassed their limits were certainly necessary, but they had to take place within a measurable difficulty curve.

Ivan was a modern man who had lived through the science-first twenty-first century. He already knew that people did not grow stronger through sheer grit. Sustainable growth came from continuous, manageable stimulation.

Since there was no way to explain that, Ivan simply stood there and looked at Elizaveta.

That gaze only deepened Elizaveta's unease.

'My father, Kiril, deliberately withheld information from the former king, and nearly the entire Royal Guard perished on the battlefield with him...'

Elizaveta hid her trembling hand and calmly held her cup. Ripples spread across the clear black tea.

She bit her lip as she watched her distorted reflection on its surface.

'From the Royal Guard's perspective, that was...'

They had been abandoned. No, more precisely, betrayed. In the name of strengthening royal authority, a prince drunk on power had fed his father and his soldiers into the grinder.

There was an excuse to be made. The royal family had been in such a precarious position that they had needed to consider such a terrible move as the lesser evil. Slowly collapse, or make a heartless decision. Now that Elizaveta had grown up, she could understand Kiril's feelings at the time.

The nobles had not wanted any more costly battles. Yet without the loss of their forces, Krasilov would have joined the list of nations destroyed during the war.

They needed powerful justification and authority to bring everyone under control. Sacrificing the former king and the entire Royal Guard had likely been a decision born from that process.

It was unforgivable, a past that filled even her with revulsion.

Yet without that past, she would not be standing here now. As one who carried royal blood, she could not stand proudly before their anger.

Anger? Of course she was angry too. She remembered her grandfather. She also knew what kind of people the Royal Guard had been.

But she was also a political animal. She had to be. Still...

'Vanka. Are you the same?'

You were abandoned once as a member of the Royal Guard.

Then, as a member of the Annihilation Unit, you were forced to die once again.

Could you set aside your feelings and consider political necessity?

Could you understand that fine-sounding word, necessity? Could you let go of your anger toward this country and devote yourself solely to duty?

Even if no one in the world ever recognized that devotion?

No one could do that.

At that moment, Elizaveta could only look at Ivan with empty eyes, as though she had lost the world. Her expression was that of a cold ruler forcing herself to hide her grief.

By all reason, Ivan had no cause not to betray her.

'So you neglected to suppress the attack and brought its leader before me.'

Armed before one who bore royal blood, silently looking at her.

Elizaveta prepared herself for death. If this was the price, then so be it. She smiled sadly.

"Pavel Sergeyevich Olov. Raise your head."

Pavel looked up at Elizaveta, his eyes full of rage and sorrow.

Whatever his reasons and intentions, he was a traitor. Nor did he intend to deny it. He stood here in place of the departed Great King and his subordinates, and though he had lacked the ability to succeed, his goal had been the royal family's downfall.

That had not changed.

Yet Elizaveta looked down at him with sad eyes.

"I will have this nation bear the burden of your transgressions. You may leave freely whenever you wish. This country will no longer detain you."

"Do you believe showing mercy to one man can atone for all the royal family's sins?"

"Of course not."

Elizaveta shook her head with a smile.

"Atoning for the royal family's sins is my prerogative alone. So, Vanka, do what you must."

"What I must do...?"

"My brother has lost his right of succession, and my father is old and frail. I am this country's last remaining heir to the throne, so achieve what you desire. If you wish to judge Krasilov, then do so."

There was no hesitation in Elizaveta's eyes. Pressing down on her trembling hands, she smiled with splendor that seemed ready to shatter.

At least her final appearance had to be beautiful. It had to be solemn and tragic. That was the royal family's duty.

As Ivan considered what to say, Pavel asked in a low voice, his eyes blazing.

"That is hypocrisy, Princess. You say you will atone for the royal family's sins with your life, but it looks to me like nothing more than running away."

"Then tell me what you want."

"What I want is..."

Pavel looked at Elizaveta's face, then swallowed the rest of his words.

What did he want?

To drag the royal family's honor through the mud, punish the sacrilegious crimes Kiril had committed, and personally end the royal bloodline.

Nothing but revenge.

That was what he had wanted most.

This country had no right to invoke the Great King's name or praise the heroes of a bygone age.

Yet Pavel looked up at Elizaveta and thought of something. Was she not the Great King's blood relative as well?

Did she not fully carry the image the Great King had desired so dearly? Could she not be this country's last hope?

He had wanted revenge. He certainly had. Yet that could not cloud the loyalty he had held for the Great King.

The Royal Guard of those days had gathered because they admired the Great King's radiant presence.

"Did you call it hypocrisy? You are right. I am a hypocrite. I hold all the power in this country in my hand, and I can erase every right the royal family holds with a gesture, yet the people praise me as the first monarch to accept a constitution. Is there greater hypocrisy than that?"

Elizaveta looked beyond the window.

The square was still in chaos, but the attack was being suppressed through the Counterintelligence Command's active intervention.

"All information in this country flows to me. Every gun in this country moves by my will. Therefore, every word I speak and every action I take is inevitably hypocrisy. Is power not the most wicked vice the Lord has granted humanity?"

"..."

"So I take pride in being a hypocrite, and I will not deny my hypocrisy. If my hypocrisy makes this country prosperous, then I will gladly pay its price."

Elizaveta reached out and gripped Pavel's arm.

Ivan flinched and tried to stop her, but Elizaveta gently pushed him back with a gesture.

She helped Pavel to his feet and led him to the window.

The square, the park, and the distant boulevards and city streets of Pritchenkaya stretched out before them.

Separate from the troops gathered because of the university's turmoil, peaceful streets still spread beyond the military cordon.

The chaos here was local. Pritchenkaya was one of the largest cities in the Allied Kingdoms.

Countless people walked its streets, though only four years had passed since the war ended.

This city was rising. It would rise. It had to rise.

Humanity had not been made to collapse.

"Look. This is the sight the former king wished for, and the peace completed by his death. It is a city built by the former king's virtue. Place the royal family's sins upon me, and live in this city that you and your comrades built. That is my hypocrisy."

An ivory-colored pistol lay in a drawer of the office desk.

Elizaveta took it out, placed it in Pavel's hand, and turned away. She wanted to take in the view of the city one last time.

"Do what you wish to do. I have ordered countless people to die, so I will never hide behind another person in the face of death."

Pavel gripped the pistol in his trembling hand and flinched. Soon, he lowered his head and let out a deep sigh.

-Clatter.

The pistol rolled weakly across the floor.

Pavel lowered his head in silence, then slowly dropped to his knees.

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-I ask only one thing of you. Die standing! Do not run from death. Stand, and accept your deaths!

-I am not a king who preserves your lives and safety. You may call me a tyrant. That would be true!

-I can barely preserve your families, your homes, and the people of this country. That is how incompetent a king I am. So stand and die!

-But remember this. I will never die behind you. I ask for your lives. In return, I will offer my own. For this country, give your lives to me!

-You and I may fall here today, but Krasilov will never collapse. Will you follow me? Will you gladly march toward death?

What had he answered to those words?

Pavel sank into thought.

-Yes, let us go. Today, I die alongside the greatest men in this country!

Ah, yes. That was what he had said.

Long live Ivan the Great. May Krasilov endure forever.

Lord, protect our king!

Atop a massive warhorse, Ivan the Great had shaken his head and laughed heartily.

-Lord, protect humanity!

If the Lord had the strength to protect an old man who was about to die, then instead...

Let the children yet to be born live in their own country, looking up at the sky.

With those words, the king charged. He charged straight at the Seven Dragon Generals.

He charged at concepts made flesh.

He charged at the monsters called gods.

If this front collapsed, there would be no troops left to stand in the enemy's way before they reached Pritchenkaya.

He charged, saying there was nothing to regret if they could delay this country's death by even a few days.

Even as the men marching with him disappeared one by one, he carried the banner, raised his voice, and shouted his name to the entire world as he charged.

Look here. Look at me. Your king is here.

As though he wished to promise the soldiers falling from exhaustion that they would not die alone.

As though he wished to say that he would not die behind them, that those empty words had not been a lie.

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Yes, the hero had died. But the royal bloodline endured.

"Lord, protect Krasilov."

Pavel bowed his head as he spoke.

Elizaveta asked Ivan, "Where does your loyalty lie?"

"Only with this country's heir to the throne."

"Even if your devotion receives no reward?"

"We were taught to regard loyalty itself as the reward."

Ivan calmly knelt on one knee and bowed his head.

Elizaveta looked down at the men for a long time, then gazed at the distant lights of Pritchenkaya.

She wept and smiled.

"My shoulders are so heavy."

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Footnotes:

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