WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

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◈ The Reluctant Imperialist

Chapter 147

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Exploring Prozen

The parliament of the Western Prozen Republic, 「Le Parlement」.

In that chamber, packed with hundreds of lawmakers, Defense Minister Louis Marceau stood at the podium and spoke with fierce intensity.

“Honorable members. Under the pretext of supporting the royal family, the Empire is effectively swallowing Zerpa, and carrying out military expansion more openly and aggressively than ever before!”

His resolute voice echoed heavily against the ceiling.

“The Gigantes explosion did not weaken imperial military power at all. Instead, it gave birth to a new military-industrial complex called Aternum. Even at this very moment, weapons of murder are pouring out of that place.”

Louis Marceau, Prozen’s defense minister, appealed as if he were pouring out his soul.

“The imperialists are constantly seeking a full-scale war that will shatter order across the continent. To protect the Republic’s security, we urgently need immediate military expansion and a massive increase in defense spending!”

“No, Minister. Stop speaking for a moment.”

At that, veteran lawmaker Clemang, lounging crookedly in his seat across the chamber, cut in.

“I heard your concerns well enough. But where exactly do you plan to get the money for this enormous defense budget?”

Louis Marceau frowned and glared at him.

“There is no value higher than the survival of the state and the lives of our people. If funds are short, then we must close the gap by creating and collecting a special defense tax, unavoidable as that may be.”

“I knew this was coming.”

Clemang snorted and sprang to his feet. He spread both arms toward the other members.

“So now you are using a distant imperial threat as an excuse to squeeze us for more taxes again?!”

“Then what, are you saying we should hand over the country to the Empire because taxes scare you?”

“That is nothing but your personal delusion and speculation!”

“Can you truly not see the catastrophe unfolding in Zerpa right now?!”

Bang! Louis Marceau slammed the podium. He pulled a thick stack of documents from his coat and waved them.

“Look! These are papers analyzed and published by multiple professors from the national university. Every one of these leading scholars is warning, in one voice, about imperial expansionism and the coming threat of war!”

Marceau argued for what he called the necessity of building a “Grand Anti-Empire Encirclement,” citing papers by famous professors, including Jean Pierre...

* * *

...I was told things like this were happening in parliament right now.

I got the report from Schatz.

By now, intelligence personnel from the Gennen branch office had spread through Prozen as well.

“Yeah. I know. I already heard.”

Louis Marceau, Prozen’s defense minister.

Before my regression, he had been a major nuisance to the Empire. It would not be an exaggeration to say that more than half of the western defense line was his achievement.

“I’m getting ready for a business trip.”

I was at the airport now. A historical incident tied to Louis Marceau was about to happen.

This time, my disguise was black hair and blue eyes. On top of that, fake teeth designed to completely alter my facial contour, plus a tear mole.

I had also chosen a solid identity.

“Yes. Should I depart too?”

“No.”

I boarded the flight to Prozen.

“Stand by for now. I’ll call you if something comes up.”

“Yes.”

......

[Hamuze Hugo Airport]

After landing, I grabbed a taxi.

I headed straight into the city.

The capital, seen through the car window, was thriving. Its cultural texture felt different from the Empire’s capital. It was as if culture and art had seeped into every corner of the city. As if art and freedom had seeped into every corner of the city.

An emerald river, glittering in sunlight, ran gently through the city. Old stone buildings lining the banks stood with the dignity of sculptures carved by centuries.

Terraces overflowing with vivid flowers. Open-air cafes where the scent of fresh bread and dark coffee mixed together. People moving through the streets at an easy pace.

Brilliant colors of freedom, colors impossible to find in the Empire, seemed to fill the entire city.

So there really was a reason those vain nobles were obsessed with this place.

“Concorde Square.”

The taxi reached my destination: Concorde Square, right in the center of the capital.

“There, look. Symbol of Prozen. Prozen Tower.”

At the taxi driver’s clumsy Imperial language, I smiled faintly.

“I’m Prozen too.”

“Ah, I see. You came from the airport, so I thought you were a tourist.”

“Haha. Here’s a tip.”

The fare was 70 livres. I added 100 more.

“...Thank you!”

I got out and stood in the middle of the square.

A painter under the bridge working on landscapes, a street musician playing accordion, lovers dancing lightly to the melody.

Without noticing it, I slowed my steps and took in the peace.

For a world on the edge of ruin, this was too cozy.

In truth, I had been to Prozen before. Long ago, with my mother.

Through the virus, I could recall those old memories vividly. But those memories were both nostalgia and pain, so I had no desire to revive them.

To me, Mother was my weakness, the past I left behind, and perhaps the truest shape of my soul, forever forbidden to me.

Thump.

As I drifted in thought, my heart reacted to a group brushing past me.

Two men. One woman.

Thump.

An old woman on a nearby bench, feeding pigeons.

Thump.

A suited office worker running with a briefcase.

Vermin not even worth granting the pronoun “person.”

Thump.

Prozen was a country of freedom. Control over thought and ideology was loose, and the borders were easy to cross. There could be no better breeding ground for parasites from another world like Izenheim to hide and operate.

“This country has too many cockroaches.”

Counting their numbers in my head as I walked, I eventually reached my destination.

[Prozen National University]

Comparable to Imperial Central University... no, to be honest, in terms of academic achievement and the depth of free debate, this was already the finest university in the west, far beyond the Empire.

I passed through its arched main gate and entered.

The campus felt like a vast arboretum. Massive trees cast deep shade over the walkways, and buildings like paintings on a canvas stood tall.

Students sprawled across the lawns debating freely, young minds hurrying past with thick major texts in their arms, faces full of vitality and passion.

Soon I reached the central main building.

[Festier Hall]

Named after Prozen’s national hero, its entrance was under fairly tight security.

“Show your student ID.”

A guard asked for identification.

I took out the student ID I had prepared in advance.

[Prozen National University, Department of Military Studies, Year 3]

[Felix Renoir]

The setup was that he had taken a three-year leave due to family finances.

“Felix Renoir. Readmission season passed a long time ago, didn’t it?”

The guard looked between my ID and my face.

I had no concern about getting caught.

“I’m planning to audit a few classes before readmitting. I’ve only been working to earn tuition, so I wanted to loosen my head up and warm up first.”

My accent was perfect. The Prozenian language imprinted into my brain through the virus might have sounded even more local and fluent than a native’s.

“Yeah. Rough life, huh. Go on in.”

The guard smirked and handed back the ID.

I entered the building. I was about to check the hallway map and figure out my route when--

Patter patter patter.

Students suddenly rushed somewhere. I blended into the crowd and followed naturally.

We arrived at a huge auditorium, unusually large for an ordinary lecture room.

The front rows were already packed with hundreds of students, and only a few seats remained in a back corner.

I picked the least noticeable one and sat down.

Tick, tick, tick.

“...Ah, damn.”

A curse slipped out before I could stop it.

In that silence, the second hands of all those wristwatches seemed to scrape at my ears in unison.

As I forced myself to endure it, a professor appeared at the front.

“Hmm?”

Resting my chin on my hand, I gave a faint smile.

It was a familiar face.

“Jean Pierre.”

But he had seen my face before, so I pulled my baker boy cap low.

* * *

“Zerpa. Oh, my Zerpa.”

Before starting class, Jean Pierre let out a deep sigh.

“A beautiful country praised for ages by countless musicians and chefs across the continent, where the rhythm of its language sounds like song and the flavor of what grows from its soil runs deep.”

He continued, walking slowly across the platform.

“But that fertile land is now wrapped in war clouds and the smell of blood.”

He raised a hand and pointed at the silver screen.

“The Zerpa royal house.”

A map of Zerpa’s territory appeared, with the royalist sphere around the capital marked in red.

“The current king has long been bedridden with illness, drifting between life and death. During his long reign, corruption and abuse piled up, and the nobles’ extravagance drowned the people of Zerpa in rage and despair.”

A monarchy established by force two hundred years ago. But Zerpa had originally been a republic that prized freedom.

“In the end, the Republican faction rose under the banner of revolution. The military split, and civil war broke out.”

The map on the screen shifted rapidly. Blue Republican influence spread like wildfire, pressing hard against the red royalists.

“Right after the war began, the Republicans drove the royalists back with unstoppable momentum. Even the regular army had already fallen into deep doubt and disillusionment with the rotten monarchy, so they collapsed or surrendered without real resistance.”

Republican blue formed a complete ring around the capital.

“They surrounded the capital. The monarchy was on the verge of suffocation, but then.”

At that moment.

A point on the map.

Through a gap in the Alberon Mountains on the western border, a black arrow dropped like lightning.

“Imperial support arrived.”

Jean Pierre’s voice sank.

“The Berton Imperial Guard Battalion’s breakthrough through Alberon Gorge, followed by the Durkon Legion’s single-point penetration.”

The black arrow ripped through the blue encirclement on the map.

“The Republican siege was broken in an instant.”

The students listened in complete silence.

It was certainly immersive.

“The royalists revived after receiving an imperial blood transfusion.”

Most students looked grim. Their faces were full of open hatred and hostility toward the Empire’s intervention.

It could not be helped. They did not know the future.

“On the day Durkon began advancing against the Republicans, a coup by the royalist regular army erupted inside Zerpa’s capital. The surface cause was anger and backlash in the military over Crown Prince Alonso bringing in foreign forces, but...”

Jean Pierre pushed up his glasses and added with a cold smile.

“The Zerpa royal house announced that military leadership attempted the coup because their long-standing corruption and supply embezzlement were about to be exposed. Of course, none of it is easy to believe. History is written by the victors.”

He then explained how the coup unfolded.

The regular army’s rush into the capital, an imperial ambush, then a counterattack by forces supporting the crown prince.

I was mildly surprised. The account was precise enough to make me wonder if he had been there in person.

“...And so the coup was crushed quickly, and the Durkon Legion occupied Zeronica Mine.”

Jean Pierre pointed to Zeronica at the center of the map, the Republican core.

“They practically reduced it to ashes. So why would the Empire destroy such a valuable mine?”

His question turned to the students.

In the silence, someone carefully raised a hand.

“To shift reconstruction costs and debt onto the monarchy.”

Prozen’s academic culture was freedom. Anyone could present and voice an opinion.

“Correct. Exactly.”

Jean Pierre nodded.

“That is the Empire’s method.”

Blue letters appeared on the screen. It was Jean Pierre’s mana. Even his mana was devoted to scholarship.

“Destroy another nation’s core infrastructure, then force massive loans under the name of restoration, inflate those costs, and turn them into your slaves...”

Snap. Jean Pierre flicked his fingers and spoke.

“But in this class, we will look at the ‘person’ hidden behind this massive movement.”

His eyes flashed like a hunting bird.

“The Berton Imperial Guard Battalion. The Durkon Legion. Who was the person that controlled and moved them like chess pieces? Let us predict.”

My brow tightened.

“Durkon had a notorious reputation as an extremely violent legion. Its commander Schweitzer, known as a ‘speed specialist,’ was no different. Wherever they went, they killed civilians. They shot prisoners. They requisitioned villages and left them in ruins. But in this Zerpa campaign, the number of civilian killings by the Durkon Legion was?”

None.

Civilian killings, no, even acts that harmed civilians, I had punished personally. Every punishment I carried out was summary execution.

“Zero.”

The students’ eyes jolted.

“Also, after Durkon entered Zerpa’s capital, only one requisition occurred. Even that one was compensated later.”

Jean Pierre placed his hand on the lectern.

“A noble who despises civilian killing and requisition, in other words murder and robbery, to an extreme degree. Yet for his goal, a person who can trample anything.”

“Maximilian Ebenholtz.”

The man beside me muttered quietly. I glanced at his face.

“A scion of a great house capable of moving a powerful legion like Durkon, and the owner of authority broad enough to intervene across the Empire and keep watch over it all... For those of you who attended my class, this should be easy.”

A bitter smile touched Jean Pierre’s lips.

“Then, as announced, today we will hold a pop quiz on this Zerpa issue. The time now is--”

He checked his wristwatch.

“About forty-five minutes left, including break.”

Teaching assistants appeared and quickly passed out blank test sheets. A paper was placed in front of me too.

“Write, using your judgment and all your imagination, how Zerpa, its monarchy, and the Empire will change from this point onward.”

I stared at the blank page.

I had no reason to take this test.

Still, giving them a little hint might be fine.

“One pen.”

I asked the man next to me for a pen, the one who had just whispered my name.

“Here.”

“Thanks.”

Scratch. Scratch.

I immediately began writing in Prozenian, almost scribbling.

[Contrary to everyone’s concerns, I believe one-sided exploitation of Zerpa will not occur.

The forces that have driven the Empire so far are already old and worn out, and now a much younger, newer figure has emerged.

So instead of trampling Zerpa, the Empire will seek coexistence with it. Plunder and annexation themselves are, in truth, a great waste.

Squeezing Zerpa dry, provoking nationwide backlash, and then spending military costs and administrative power to suppress endless resistance forces, that is imperialism from a very old age....

Just as states develop and time moves forward, ideology evolves too.

The same is true of imperialism. It never stays fixed in the past.

It is precisely the ‘person’ who pushes the past away....

The foundation of imperialism is philosopher-king doctrine, the belief that only the most superior and perfect philosopher can govern the many correctly.

That leads into aristocratism, and strangely enough, the most famous novel in today’s Empire is 「Baltaras」, which argues for nobles’ duty through ‘Noblesse Oblige.’

Therefore, if they are part of the Empire’s rising nobility, they will leave Zeronica Mine as an asset of the Zerpa royal house. They will share profits, make a later promise about technology, and do their utmost to set Zerpa’s monarchy on the right path....

From Zerpa’s perspective, having a weak leader like Alonso is also a stroke of luck. A leader bloated with pride and ego would be broken by the Empire, but Alonso can bend without collapsing and handle affairs capably....

In the end, the Empire will not exploit Zerpa, and Zerpa will simply develop under the Empire....]

Perfect dependence on the Empire, becoming unable to do anything on its own.

That was Zerpa’s future, soon to come.

I would lead it there.

“All right. Time is up.”

Before I knew it, forty-five minutes had passed.

I returned the pen to the guy next to me, and the teaching assistant collected my answer sheet.

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