WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

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◈ The Reluctant Imperialist

Chapter 152

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Turning Point (2)

Drip drip-- drip drip--

Heavy rain was still falling over Prozen.

Some called it Prozen's sorrow, while others sang of it as joy.

Minister Louis Marceau was dead. Assassinated by a bomb. It was violence that could never be justified.

But the deeper you thought about it,

the tax hikes carried out by Louis Marceau and the Socialist Party might also have been a form of violence.

When taxes take away the bread poor citizens need for tomorrow, that is robbery.

"Minister Louis Marceau was the steadfast shield of our homeland, Prozen, and a great fighter."

Professor Jean Pierre attended the memorial mass in a black suit.

Because the deceased had been a cabinet minister, the funeral was packed with mourners.

Military police security was suffocatingly tight as well.

"The noble blood he shed will become the foundation that protects our homeland's freedom......"

Before anyone noticed, Prozen's ideology and factions had become a religion, and both sides had reached the point where neither could acknowledge the other. Now his death too would be used as a party weapon.

"......Louis Marceau will now rest forever in the embrace of his homeland."

After a brief moment of silence, Jean Pierre quietly left the funeral hall.

There were already many conspiracy theories about who was behind the bombing. The investigation was still ongoing, but the authorities had almost concluded it was an inside job by people within Prozen.

Jean Pierre thought so too. Posters condemning Marceau's death had been found all over the city......

He returned to his lab and picked up newspapers from several countries.

[ Crown Prince Alonso Leads Zerpa's Miracle! ]

[Reconstruction of Zeronica Mine. The result of Crown Prince Alonso's relentless negotiations and devotion to his people]

The least likely scenario in Jean Pierre's forecast had come true.

It was almost a miracle.

This year, that event would likely be printed in Zerpa's textbooks as the "Zeronica Accord," and students would memorize the year, date, and details.

"The real incompetence was the reputation that had dismissed him as incompetent......"

Crown Prince Alonso. A frail prince who had hidden in the shadow of an ailing king and fled from reality. But when the country was pushed to the edge of a cliff, had he discovered a new side of himself? Had he awakened for the sake of the monarchy?

"......"

Rattle.

Jean Pierre pulled out a sheet of paper from the back of a drawer. The nameless answer sheet that Louis Marceau had angrily demanded he tear up while he was still alive.

[ A leader swollen with pride and ego may instead be the one who breaks...... ]

He pressed his brow. He read that line again, the one that seemed to evoke Louis Marceau, that leader swollen with pride and ego.

A strange intuition coiled in one corner of his mind.

"One person......"

No one had failed to write their name on his quiz. Four hundred out of four hundred had submitted answers, so this one sheet was an extra.

Was it an outsider? Or......

"One person."

Why, of all times,

did that one person suddenly appear,

at a moment like this.

Pierre replayed that entire day in his head, then rose from his chair.

* * *

......I sank into my deepest place. A distant darkness, a bottom where nothing could be seen. I groped for myself inside it. I yearned for only one existence.

My sword.

Freya's voice flowed in, low and quiet.

I needed strength. Because I could not die.

Because my death meant humanity's extinction.

So I had to bear responsibility. I had to train myself so that no bomb, no dagger aimed at my back, could take my life.

- When you truly desire the sword, the sword will answer your call as well.

I slowly opened my eyes. My hand held nothing. Empty air slipped between my fingers.

- The truth is, if you think about it, nobles said carrying weapons was cumbersome and beneath their dignity......

A faint moonlight gathered in my grip.

"-- Nobles do not carry weapons."

The moment I murmured that and opened my palm, a haze-like ripple resonated.

Whoooosh--

In an instant, my longsword, which had not been here, sliced through space on its own. Silver mana scattered as it landed exactly in my hand. A noble current of air bloomed for a moment.

-- Shiiiiik.

I lowered the sword to my side.

"Good."

Clap. Freya, standing at one side of the training ground, clapped in satisfaction.

"Looks like you've finally formed some communion with your weapon."

Ebenholtz mana valued the accumulation of years. It did not fight nature. It was natural, and endlessly quiet in its resonance.

"If you spend a long time with one weapon, the sword naturally learns your energy, and you also learn the sword's weight."

Leo sat neatly nearby, ears perked up, listening to Freya's lesson with full seriousness. Leo had no sword, but the silver armor Lorenzo made for him was his weapon.

"Ebenholtz does not throw things away easily. We place great value on the accumulation of time and the resonance of the soul dwelling within it."

Lick. Leo licked his own armor. I quietly repeated her words.

"......The accumulation of time."

"Right."

Freya swung the tree branch in her hand and continued.

"Everything follows natural order. Ebenholtz does not force itself against that order. It only sets that order in motion."

So far, I had internalized the essence of Ebenholtz from her in stages.

First, the trajectory of Link, connecting movements like flowing water without forcing power into each cut.

Second, erasing blind spots in sight and hearing, and assimilating mana.

Third, communion, fully matching my weapon's mana wavelength with mine so I could wield or retrieve the sword regardless of distance.

At the base of all these secret arts lay endless self-refinement.

An Ebenholtz body steeped in elixirs since childhood was like an ultra-precise mana factory. It endlessly repeated the process of filtering mana within the body, tempering it, and purifying it.

"Maximilian. Build your own natural order."

"The time layering inside your body. The experiences you'll go through on future battlefields. All of that will sharpen your mana through refinement, and in the end it will forge you into Ebenholtz."

Without a word, I threw the longsword in my hand into the air.

It twisted direction in midair and returned to my grip.

Not even a tearing-air sound rose during the whole process. If you closed your eyes and listened, it was only a soft night wind.

"Now I don't need to wear it on my back all the time."

That was what pleased me most. Freya smirked.

"Then give me that Lilac Vita reservation ticket so I can go eat."

I handed Freya the reservation ticket. It seemed I should prepare a separate private room just for her.

"Good work."

"......But, Master."

I called out to her as she turned away. Freya scratched inside her ear with her pinky, as if embarrassed.

"What."

"What do you think about racial distinctions?"

The "Imperial Civil Law for the Protection of Aran Bloodline." That evil law was not far off now, and when it was proposed, my name would likely be recorded beside countless war criminals.

Freya stared at me quietly, then smirked.

"Maximilian. I do not make value judgments about you. The one who must judge you is yourself. I do not deny any side of you, and I do not affirm it either."

I only stay by your side for a while, then leave, so think of me as passing wind......

The woman who might have been my aunt left me with those words.

......

Rustle- Rustle-

In winter, with heavy snow piling up like crushing weight, I visited the Kaiser Society again. Society President Wilhelm had personally asked me to serve as an advisor on the "Imperial Civil Law," an imperial secret.

"First, Aran are the top [dominant bloodline] that leads the continent."

Wilhelm, seated at the head of the round table, opened first, and the scholars and bureaucrats seated around him listened in silence.

"Then as the lower [affiliated bloodline], we can bind the Prozen Republic, Zerpa Kingdom, and the autonomous territories into one-"

"No."

I lightly waved a hand and cut Wilhelm off.

"We need a more detailed and strategic classification. Even among bloodlines affiliated with Aran."

I looked around the table and continued.

"Depending on the situation, there are always those who can provide distinctly greater help to the Empire."

Bloodlines that could become "friends" willing to shed blood for the Empire.

"'Friend bloodline'...... sounds too sentimental. Johann?"

I gave a glance to Johann, seated with us.

"What about [quasi-applicable bloodline]? It would mean they can receive treatment equivalent to Aran according to their loyalty and contribution to the Empire."

Johann pushed up his glasses and made the proposal.

"The key is that phrase, 'according to their contribution.' For example, citizens of the autonomous territories and Zerpa's royal family are currently our firm allies, so they should naturally be included as [quasi-applicable bloodline] and enjoy Aran-equivalent benefits."

Wilhelm and the surrounding scholars nodded.

Aran, quasi-applicable bloodline, and the other affiliated bloodlines. The class ladder split into an even more precise structure.

"Hm. It's certainly an excellent concept for making imperial rule more flexible. Worth adopting. Then we have the [heterogeneous bloodline] that threatens imperial purity."

Vulgar seeds that polluted Aran blood and, beyond that, the whole continent.

Dark-skinned groups. Minorities including Mer and Kenshi. Subspecies. The uncivilized Sled tribe forming the Eastern Alliance.

This time, I spoke first.

"But among them, the Yaken tribe must be sorted with a clearly different standard."

The Yaken tribe carried the possibility of distinguishing Izenheim, and they would be absolutely necessary in the coming war.

"Sir Knight, but why the Yaken tribe......"

Several scholars seemed doubtful, but there was more than enough supporting material.

"Because I am a knight. As a knight, I can clearly feel their utility. Do you know the suspect capture rate of the Yaken tribe members hired by my knight branch office?"

I glanced at Johann, and he distributed the statistics he had prepared in advance.

"Their sharp five senses are extremely useful for identifying ideological criminals, that is, for imperial Aran. So they deserve special treatment even among subspecies."

Because they were especially useful to Aran, we would leave open the possibility of including them in quasi-applicable bloodline.

"Hm. Certainly......"

"Oh ho. So these statistics existed."

The scholars nodded while reading my materials. Real results were included, of course, but the data had also been manipulated in the Yaken tribe's favor for at least a full year beforehand.

"But regarding such subspecies, there is one thing I have always been curious about."

I tapped the round table with my finger and drew everyone's attention.

"The Yaken tribe are descendants of beastfolk. Edellem are collateral descendants of elves. Dromon are descendants of dwarves. Like this, each subspecies on the continent has clear roots and traits passed down since antiquity. But."

One final race.

"Izenheim."

A mysterious race no one had questioned, absorbed into the continent's history at some point hundreds of years ago.

"They are classified as subspecies, yet there is no record of their roots in any ancient text. They are a subspecies that appeared as if they suddenly sprang out of the ground."

Academia explained their existence as a people formed through complex mixed blood among other races and a religion called Izent, but I still had another question I could not accept.

Why did they bother revealing themselves and grouping together?

If they had lived mixed among other subspecies without defining themselves as one distinct "race," hiding their true nature would have been much easier.

"In modern times, Izenheim mostly work in comprador trade and finance."

There were many professionals too, including doctors and lawyers, but most were parasites.

They contributed nothing to labor or value creation, sucked Aran dry, stole commoners' money, and obsessed only over speculation and price manipulation.

My hypothesis was this.

Even Izenheim could not identify each other by appearance alone.

Not until they spoke that bizarre otherworldly "language" out loud.

So before using their "real language" among themselves, they attached the Izenheim label to themselves and strengthened group cohesion for friend-or-foe identification.

"And without regard for inside or outside the Empire, they are a cancer-like subspecies with overwhelmingly high rates of ideological crimes against the Empire."

I gave Johann a look. He quickly handed out more statistics.

"Please refer to these figures."

Wilhelm and the society members read them with grave faces.

Racial ratios of imprisoned ideological criminals. Izenheim was very high, while the Yaken tribe was close to zero.

"Looking at the statistics, this is certainly rational. Then should we place Izenheim at the very bottom of the subspecies list?"

If possible, I wanted to create a separate [disposition] category entirely, but even I could not cross that line too recklessly yet.

"Let's do that."

I smiled and gestured.

If I ran too fast, the whole continent would create a rebound effect, and I still had not fully grasped Princess Justine's fickle inner intentions.

Wilhelm watched my expression and continued the meeting.

* * *

A laboratory at Prozen National University.

"......Felix, Renoir?"

Professor Jean Pierre frowned and asked again.

"Yes. I think that was the name. I'm not sure if the family name was Renoir or Renoal exactly, but he said he had taken a three-year leave from the military studies department and came back this time. It's unusual, so I remember it."

That was from the former mercenary security guard who had handled security at the main building on the day of the quiz.

"Felix Renoir......"

Professor Jean Pierre repeated the name.

Prozen National University was a very important state institution. So all its guards were veterans. They let in faces they had seen before and checked identity only for new faces.

In other words, this guard remembered a face he had seen for the first time that day.

"Professor. Is there a problem with that student?"

"......Come with me."

Jean Pierre walked with the guard to the underground archive where enrollment records were stored.

"Third-year military studies, and a three-year leave."

He searched through dusty files and checked the list of military studies students enrolled three years ago.

The guard did not understand what was happening, but helped him anyway.

Jean Pierre was one of the most prestigious professors even at Prozen National University, where only top national talent gathered.

"......Ah! Here, I think this is it."

The guard found the name. Jean Pierre quickly moved beside him.

"Here. Felix Renoir."

Felix Renoir from Cendia, a rural area on Prozen's outskirts.

He was a real person. Not a fake identity hastily fabricated for an intelligence operation, but a student who had actually enrolled in this university in the past and died in an accident.

"But why would this student......"

The guard asked in confusion. Jean Pierre's face hardened.

"As a scholar, I am not someone who normally believes in groundless intuition."

Too many coincidences overlapped.

A man who appeared right before Minister Louis Marceau's assassination, without any clear purpose like returning to school.

At that same time, the unnamed answer sheet submitted to him.

[ A leader swollen with pride and ego may instead be the one who breaks...... ]

A line that sounded like a metaphor for the Louis Marceau incident.

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

And language that seemed to align with the Empire.

"Do you remember that student's face?"

"......Yes. He was wearing a wide-brimmed flat cap pulled low, but I clearly remember his features."

"Then we need a composite sketch immediately. Come, quickly!"

With a detective's focus, Jean Pierre led the guard out.

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