WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

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◈ The Reluctant Imperialist

Chapter 149

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Exploring Prozen (3)

A cramped rented room. Clara Magal listened to Felix's story.

"At first, it was the hospital bills. We urgently needed 5,000 livres for my mother's surgery... Last week, was it Lorraine? That Socialist politician who got caught in illegal gambling, I heard one chip there was worth 5,000 livres, so... yeah, anyway."

He kept speaking about his deep wounds in a voice worn almost to nothing.

"The bank bastards completely turned their backs on my family. They said we had no collateral and no stable income. In the end, my father went to a loan shark."

It was an all too common story, and that made it even more hopeless.

5,000 livres. It started with an amount that seemed like nothing, then the interest grew 10% every week. Any unpaid interest was folded back into the principal and returned as vicious compound interest.

In just a few months, the debt became 50,000 livres. A year later, it had ballooned into an astronomical sum, choking the life out of the family.

In the end, his mother killed herself out of guilt, convinced her treatment had ruined the household. His father, crushed by despair that he could not protect his family, chose the same path only a week later.

"...That is everything. Exactly ten years ago. Nothing special."

A heavy silence settled over the room. Clara studied Felix for a long moment. Felix met her gaze head-on.

Rage and murderous intent filled his eyes.

"Nothing special, but more than enough for me to hate this country. I think Prozen is broken."

Clara raised an eyebrow. A gesture telling him to continue.

"A useless government hiding behind the nice name of a republic while letting foreign races and parasites suck its own citizens dry."

A pleasant voice carrying precise words.

Clara quietly closed her eyes.

Was his anger the same kind as hers? She still could not trust him yet.

"I despise them. Especially those cockroaches called Izenheim."

He had a clear reason.

......

The next day, late evening.

Clara Magal visited a jewelry shop in Prozen's [Male District]. She came to exchange the mana stone Felix had offered as an entry fee, but.

"...50,000 livres?"

She asked in disbelief.

"Yeah."

The owner set down his monocle, the wrinkles on his face twitching. Clara frowned.

"That thing clearly looks worth over 200,000. Are you messing with me?"

"Then go sell it somewhere that'll give you 200,000."

The owner sneered and shoved the mana stone back toward her.

"If you want full price, start by telling me where it came from."

"..."

"Or go ask somewhere else. You should be grateful if they do not report you to the police."

Inside her pocket, Clara clenched both fists.

"...60,000."

"40,000."

"You crazy son of a, you just said 50,000."

"You could not answer my question properly."

He grinned. A gold tooth showed through his crooked lips.

"It's an item with unknown origins. That means I take on risk, so I knock off 10,000."

Should I kill this fucking bastard? Should I smash my fist into his face?

The thoughts flashed through her mind, but she barely forced her breathing back down.

"...Give it."

She held out her hand instead. In the end, she took 40,000 livres in cash.

"Filthy Izenheim bastard."

She muttered it under her breath as she left the shop.

Skin so pale it looked sickly, a hooked nose. Most of all, there was an Izenheim enclave near these back alleys. The way they gathered and lived among themselves really did look like cockroaches.

"What? Hey, punk! What did you just say!"

The owner twisted his face and tried to come out from behind the counter, but Clara ran off and returned to the university.

"..."

In front of the Revision Society club room at Prozen National University.

[You fucking idiots]

[Get out of this school right now]

[You fucking imperial lapdog vermin]

[Scum like you do not even deserve to breathe]

[Spy bastards, just disappear already please]

The door was covered in graffiti filled with curses. Clara gritted her teeth.

"You only believe in freedom when it is for what you want."

She opened the door and went in. Members were lying around on bedding inside.

To them, this cramped room was their home, their room, their hometown.

"...Ah, Chief. You are back?"

One member rubbed his eyes and pushed himself up.

"What is that mess on the door? Why did you leave it like that?"

She jerked her chin toward the wrecked entrance.

"...There were too many of them."

The member scratched the back of his neck and watched her reaction.

Damn it. Clara sighed. She dropped onto the sofa and sank into thought.

"But Chief, can we trust that guy?"

"Still not sure. For now... let's watch him a little longer."

Clara pulled a bundle of bills from inside her coat. The member's eyes lit up.

"And with this, let's get a new office first. This club room is way too small for the size of our cause."

* * *

Exploring Prozen, Day 4.

1. Bernard, Prime Minister of Yursled, arrives at the First Port by warship.

2. Minister Marceau receives him, and they board the same car and head toward the center of the capital.

3. On 'Comere Boulevard,' packed with escort formations and cheering crowds, an assassin attempts a bomb attack.

4. But the explosion fails, and the culprit pulls a pistol to fire wildly before being shot dead on the spot.

Because of that, I went to Comere Boulevard every single day.

People often say criminals always return to the scene. The reverse is true as well.

Before carrying out the act, the criminal has no choice but to visit the site and account for variables in order to build a perfect scenario.

"At least come tomorrow."

I had no time.

No, it was not just me. Every human breathing on this continent was in the same situation.

Izenheim were not human, and the timer to destruction had already started ticking.

......

Exploring Prozen, Day 5.

Like always, I wandered the boulevard near the site again today.

I ate a sandwich, had Prozen-style food at a restaurant, fed pigeons, gave a little charity, and then.

Thump.

My heart gave an unpleasant beat.

Thump.

I turned my gaze and stared somewhere.

Thump.

A man sat on a bench in the park. He wore a gray coat, scanned the surroundings while pretending not to, and, suspiciously enough, read yesterday's newspaper. I guessed he was waiting for instructions...

Thump.

My heart reacted to him.

Old memories surfaced in my head.

[ Attempted assassination of Prozen's defense minister and Yursled's prime minister ]

[ The culprit shot dead at the scene was identified as Thomas, a radical from the Empire... ]

[ ...Prozen's prime minister formally demanded an explanation from the Imperial Palace. ]

Thomas.

A photo preserved in black and white ink.

That face overlapped with the Izenheim man sitting there now.

"...Ha."

A dry laugh escaped me. The gaps in that failed assassination from before regression snapped into place. Perfectly assembled.

From the very start, they had never intended for the assassination to succeed.

"..."

It was never an assassination in the first place. It was an operation designed to fail.

I reviewed what came next.

The assassin threw a bomb at the car carrying the minister and the Yursled prime minister. The assassination failed. The culprit was shot dead at the scene. The body was mangled so badly an autopsy was impossible. And yet, circumstantial evidence pointing to the Empire kept surfacing one after another.

As a result, Yursled and the leadership of both states accelerated a military alliance aimed at the Empire.

"Now I understand."

Right then, the assassin stood up.

I tailed him. With the sun hanging high overhead, he moved through crowded boulevards and reached a certain neighborhood.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

My heart twisted in a complicated rhythm. It was not one. Not two. Not three.

Many Izenheim had coiled themselves here.

I looked at the signpost.

[Male District]

I had heard of it. An Izenheim enclave.

"..."

I stared at it in silence, then quietly turned away.

The plan changed.

From 'help make the assassination succeed,'
to
'I will carry out the assassination myself.'

* * *

Late at night, a laboratory at Prozen National University.

Professor Jean Pierre was grading quiz sheets one by one.

Among professors, it was a rare habit, maybe close to an eccentric one, but true insight ultimately came from the raw thoughts of everyone living through the age.

From students' writing, he often read the flow of a generation.

"...Hm."

Right now, one answer sheet had remained in his hand for quite a while.

[ ...The foundation of imperialism is philosopher-king doctrine. The belief that only the most superior and perfect philosopher can properly rule the many... ]

It was an unnamed sheet. The claim itself was interesting.

The writing seemed to pierce the Empire's essence, yet the sentences carried too much certainty, as if relying too heavily on one imperial figure.

That was probably why the student had left off their name.

Knock knock.

The sound broke the lab's silence.

"Who is it?"

"Jean!"

The one who entered was Defense Minister Louis Marceau. Jean Pierre's eyes widened.

"Minister. What brings you here?"

"I have something important coming up... But it looks like you are quite busy, no?"

Minister Marceau nodded toward Jean Pierre's desk. Quiz sheets were piled like a mountain.

"Tsk, tsk. Are you still handling these little things yourself? You should make your assistants do this."

"I learn from students through these papers too."

Jean Pierre answered calmly. Louis Marceau strode over and peered at the desk.

"Hm."

He glanced over the unsigned sheet in Jean Pierre's hand and snorted.

"What a trash answer sheet. Why did you not tear up this seditious imperial-sympathizing nonsense immediately?"

"Prozen is a free republic. The word seditious does not suit it, Minister."

"...There you go again. This is a serious social problem now, a real problem. More and more young people are following the Empire these days. Fools. We were not like that in our time."

Jean Pierre looked at Louis Marceau in silence.

He was a handsome politician. His convictions were firm, and he had the ability to back them up.

His weakness was that he was too fixated on a single objective.

"How are talks with Yursled progressing?"

"We are on the verge of a very important result."

Marceau's eyes shone with resolve.

"The Grand Anti-Empire Encirclement will move forward soon. I would like you to come to parliament and give a keynote speech."

That was why he had come to see Jean Pierre. The military alliance with the eastern state of Yursled had been his planned mission from the day he became minister.

"Have you resolved the defense tax issue?"

"...You too with the taxes?"

"It is essential."

Even Louis Marceau was bound by party ideology.

Blindly collecting more taxes was not the right method. It might be better to reduce taxes in specific areas and allocate that amount to defense instead.

But that would go against the party line, so he could not do it.

He could only keep adding new taxes.

"To be honest, Minister, I am worried about your course."

Jean Pierre voiced his concern in a heavy tone.

"There is nothing to worry about."

Louis Marceau laughed loudly and shook his head.

"I have already prepared the perfect picture."

Jean Pierre's brow twitched slightly.

"Picture?"

"Yes. This weekend, stay away from Comere Boulevard if you can. It might be dangerous."

He added with a meaningful smile.

"To write history, to pursue the right purpose, sometimes you need a great narrative."

Jean Pierre silently mulled over that dangerous statement. Louis Marceau placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Jean. I will stop those imperial bastards with my own hands, no matter what."

"..."

In Jean Pierre's eyes, Marceau was a man who carried responsibility. A man worthy of that responsibility, and a man capable of bearing it through.

He pointed at the test paper on the desk and added,

"And tear up that answer sheet full of nonsense right now. It is not even worth giving zero points."

He really was a straightforward man.

A racehorse of a man, with rough wildness and powerful drive at once.

"...Travel safely."

"Right. See you again. Ah, I hope next time we meet, it is in parliament. Hahaha."

If he survived long enough, he was a man who could change the world. A vessel strong enough to stand against imperial power.

But...

Jean Pierre watched his back as he strode out of the lab, then picked up the answer sheet Marceau had told him to tear up.

[ I think it is fortunate for Zerpa that someone soft like Alonso is the heir, from Zerpa's point of view. ]

If Crown Prince Alonso was someone who bent and adapted to imperial power, Minister Louis Marceau would break before he bent.

A hard spine standing at Alonso's opposite pole.

[ A leader with swollen pride and ego would instead be broken by the Empire, but... ]

A politician who fit exactly into that paragraph.

A vague but ominous premonition crawled up Jean Pierre's spine, but he shook his head and forced the anxiety away.

"...This is Prozen."

The Empire was still far away, and in Prozen, freedom and reason were alive and breathing.

He muttered quietly, as if comforting himself.

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