WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

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◈ The Reluctant Imperialist

Chapter 211

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Before the regression, there were those who had stopped the Empire's blade with their bare bodies.

There were those who gave their lives for what they believed was right.

The continent's history was the trail carved out by people like that.

But they were never flawless human beings. Not noble saints, either.

They were simply full of contradictions, sometimes cruel, and perfectly willing to trample others, even themselves, for the sake of their cause.

Hailand's future prime minister, Arthur Winston.

He was one of those people.

A towering figure who, with a fiery temperament and bold resilience, had united a crumbling nation, stood against the Empire, and won.

If I ended his life here and now, would the Empire's future be better for it?

Or would it set off something stranger and more unpredictable?

History is like a living organism. A vacancy never stays vacant. Someone else would fill the space he left, giving rise to entirely new variables I couldn't anticipate.

[......The survival of a nation springs not from bloodline, but from iron and blood, and an unyielding will.]

I recalled that line from 『Iron's Might』, the political treatise Arthur Winston had written before the regression.

He was a man who did not know the meaning of compromise. A man who understood the Empire more deeply than anyone, and despised it more than anyone too.

And yet......

"Sir knight!"

The western Imperial Guard headquarters.

All of the Imperial Guard members had lined up before me. I smiled at them as they saluted with rigid formality.

"I happened to have business nearby, and I heard you'd detained a person from Hailand on suspicion of espionage."

Most of them looked plainly flustered, but not one dared to block my path.

"Yes, yes. We are very grateful for your visit."

I stepped inside the headquarters.

"This way, please."

Guided by the Imperial Guard member, I pushed open the door to one of the interrogation rooms myself.

Arthur Winston himself was not there.

Only his wife and daughter, both pale with fear, along with a Hailand military officer who had accompanied him, were being held inside.

* * *

At that same moment, in the interrogation room.

Arthur Winston glared across the table at the two Imperial Guard members sitting with arrogant ease. One was handling interpretation in the Hail language; the other was shouting at Winston as though he were a common criminal.

"So. This right here is the evidence!"

Arthur was less bothered by the rudeness than he was worried about his wife and daughter. They had been separated from him and were locked up somewhere else.

"......Look here."

He opened his mouth, holding down his seething anger.

"You look at it!"

The Imperial Guard member snapped back in Hail language.

"What are these photographs! A foreigner, snooping around the Empire like this?"

They shoved the photographs his daughter had taken across the table as supposed evidence and shouted.

But he could not lose his composure. This was the Empire, and his family was locked up.

"If you have questions, go through the proper channels with the Hailand government."

The interpreter relayed this, and the other Imperial Guard member's brow crumpled. The man then leveled his pistol and barked something fierce, words that barely registered.

"He says do you want to die together with your family."

At those words, Arthur's eyes went wide.

"If a single hair on my family's heads is touched, the Empire will face the wrath of all of Hailand."

The Imperial Guard member snorted.

"......What's that old man on about?"

"He says if you touch his family, he won't let it go."

"Ha! He still hasn't read the situation. Does he know where he is?"

The Imperial Guard member slammed the desk and stood.

"With this much evidence, a summary judgment on espionage charges is possible right now. If you just confess, then--"

Knock, knock.

A knock sounded and the door opened. Another Imperial Guard member rushed in and whispered something in the superior's ear.

"......What?"

In an instant, their faces crumpled like paper, bewilderment and alarm tangled together. Arthur, too, sensed the atmosphere shift sharply.

"Wh, why would that knight come here?"

The Imperial Guard members exchanged a few hushed words, then poured out of the room in a group, leaving Arthur Winston alone in the interrogation room.

Clack.

A firmly locked door.

A sudden silence.

"Hey!"

Arthur stood from his seat, gripped by an unease he couldn't quite name.

Bang, bang! Bang, bang!

"Open this door!"

He hammered the door and shouted, but no answer came from outside.

Bang, bang! Thud!

"Damn Empire bastards."

Arthur Winston ground his teeth and turned away.

"......Carrying on like this and they call it diplomacy."

The Empire's true danger lay precisely in this kind of unrestrained aggression and arrogance.

"Filthy dogs......"

Then again, this might actually work in their favor. The Empire was dangerously overconfident in itself, but if the great western powers united in alliance, it would be a worthy opponent.

"......"

Arthur folded his arms in silence and closed his eyes.

"......Hah."

He waited for the Imperial Guard members to return. Hours passed in that ice-cold interrogation room.

"Hey! How long do you intend to keep me in here!"

Just as Arthur, patience worn through, jumped to his feet and shouted again ,

Creeeak.

The iron door swung open.

"What exactly do you think you're --"

"Please follow me, Councilman Winston."

"......What?"

The tone was entirely changed from before: polite, respectful.

The man even gave a small bow of the head.

"We apologize for treating you discourteously before your identity was confirmed."

"......"

"This way."

Arthur Winston followed with a suspicious look, if nothing else.

Step. Step.

Down the cold corridor of the Imperial Guard headquarters, they arrived before a door with elaborate decorations.

A nameplate that read [Commander's Office].

"Please come in."

The moment the door opened, warm air washed over him, along with the pleasant scent of tea and a soft ripple of laughter.

"......?"

Arthur Winston blinked at the scene inside the room, not quite trusting his eyes.

His wife and his daughter Sara, both of whom had been taken with him, were there. Far from anxious, they were sitting across from a man, talking and smiling brightly.

A handsome man with neat blond hair, dressed in clean civilian clothes.

Sara's gaze was fixed on him as though she were entranced, and every time he smiled, Sara flushed and smiled back.

"Is that so? A number of misunderstandings piled up on one another. I'm glad I wasn't too late."

The man's Hail language was even fluent. His accent was elegant.

A man who was plainly imperial, speaking with a more aristocratic inflection than any native Hailand noble.

"Sir knight. I've brought him."

At the Imperial Guard member's words, everyone turned to look.

"Dad!"

Sara's face lit up as she rose.

"Dear."

His wife, too, greeted him with a noticeably calmer expression.

"Ah. You've arrived."

The blond man across the room stood and smiled gently.

"A pleasure to meet you, Councilman Arthur Winston."

He walked over and extended his hand.

"I'm Maximilian von Ebenholtz."

"......"

Ebenholtz.

Maximilian von Ebenholtz.

A brief throb of pain ran through Arthur's temple. He could hardly not know the weight packed into that name.

What had his wife and daughter been talking about with this man?

A sudden worry rose in him, but he could not afford to look cowed.

Even as an ordinary councilman, he represented his nation. He could not bow himself low.

"......A pleasure. Arthur Winston."

He took Maximilian's hand. His heart lurched with a rush of tension he fought to keep from his face.

Such a young man, he thought. So this is the monster of Ebenholtz.

"What were you discussing with my family?"

"Ah, nothing of particular consequence."

Maximilian glanced toward Sara. She ducked her face, a little embarrassed.

"Your daughter mentioned she absolutely wanted to visit the Arte Museum and the Royal Opera House while she was in the Empire. I was just telling her that I could easily arrange it."

Arthur's expression went blank for a moment.

"Now then, Ma'am, Miss Sara, please head out and get some rest."

Maximilian spoke to the two women with polite ease.

"My people outside will see to your safety."

His wife and daughter rose from their seats. The fact that they had been dragged into an Imperial Guard interrogation room seemed already utterly forgotten, their faces wiped clean of every worry.

"Dad! Let's go to the museum together later!"

At that bright farewell, Arthur Winston managed a wry smile and nodded.

Thud.

The door closed.

And so Arthur Winston found himself alone with Maximilian.

"......"

Maximilian watched him in silence for a moment. His smile was already gone. The gentle atmosphere had cooled and gone flat.

"What are you thinking?" Arthur asked.

The silence stretched a little longer before Maximilian finally spoke, quietly.

"I'm deliberating, Councilman Winston."

A deliberation, and a fairly serious one, about what to do with Arthur Winston, one Arthur himself had no way of knowing.

"May I ask first, then?"

"Please. Go ahead."

Arthur exhaled a long breath, like tobacco smoke.

"Why does the Empire despise and persecute minorities so much?"

A faint, strange curve touched Maximilian's lips.

"To say we despise all minorities would be somewhat inaccurate."

"......You only despise Izenheim?"

"Yes. If you're limiting my feelings to 'despise,' then it is only Izenheim. They are, from the very start, a kind that should not be trusted. Is there not similar sentiment in Hailand?"

Arthur Winston pressed his mouth shut. Maximilian did the same.

There was no need to say more on a subject like this.

It would only ever be parallel lines that could never cross.

"Councilman Winston. I understand the purpose of your visit to the Empire is to write a book."

"That's correct."

Maximilian's voice dropped a register.

"You took quite a dangerous risk. You could have faced a summary judgment by the Imperial Guard on charges of leaking imperial secrets."

"Summary judgment? Taking a few photographs and walking around on a bit of ground counts as leaking secrets?"

"Yes."

Maximilian answered without the slightest hesitation.

"If the Empire says something is a secret, it becomes a secret. If there is intent to make something a problem, it becomes a problem."

"......"

"Sir Winston. Had I not happened to come across this news, you might never have left this place."

The way the Imperial Guard members had behaved just moments ago had made that threat feel entirely real.

Then was Maximilian truly bringing me out of here because he knew who I was?

He reached inside his coat and withdrew a piece of paper. Arthur tensed for a moment, but Maximilian simply scrawled a few lines and his signature on it.

"You should have obtained prior approval, from the imperial government or the knighthood, either would do."

He held the paper out.

"......What is this?"

"An entry pass for the Arte Museum and a ticket for the Royal Opera House."

Not actual tickets, but something Maximilian had written out in his own hand and signed. Still, it would earn far better treatment than any mere ticket ever could.

"Since you've made the trip to the Empire, I hope you and your family enjoy it before you leave."

Maximilian rose with a knight's propriety.

"Let's get you out of here. The western Imperial Guard headquarters is not a pleasant place to be."

He smiled and gestured toward the door, and Arthur stood there for a moment, a little dazed.

He had tried not to let his guard down, but Maximilian offered no threat or harm at all, right up until Arthur and his family climbed into their car and drove away.

He even stood there waving them off.

Only then did Arthur finally understand the description of Maximilian that Jean Pierre had once written.

[A composure, clean and fastidious, that stands in complete opposition to, or strangely in step with, everything he has done. The most aristocratic quality an aristocrat within the Empire could possess.]

, Excerpt from Jean Pierre's essay "The Form of Aran."

A sentence riddled with contradictions that Arthur had simply scoffed at once.

But it was true.

Professor Jean Pierre of Prozen was, when it came to reading a person, a genuine scholar of the age.

* * *

......A matter of necessity.

Winston would become a figure of considerable influence in the Western Alliance someday.

But if he were removed here, who would fill that void?

A dangerous variable. In the worst case, killing him could produce an outcome worse than leaving him alive.

Varmil Makstun, the General Secretary of the Eastern Alliance, was Izenheim. I was now certain of that.

And if, with Arthur dead, the Western Alliance also fell under Izenheim's grip?

So for now, keeping Arthur Winston alive was the better choice. Even if he was not anti-Izenheim, he was at least not the kind of man to be swayed by them. He was, if anything, strong and steadfast.

"Wow......"

The Arte Museum.

Surrounded by guards, Arthur Winston, his daughter Sara, and his wife Maria moved through the galleries, exclamations of wonder tumbling out of them one after another. Arthur himself was fully absorbed in the paintings.

I watched that peaceful family from the second-floor balcony, then quietly stepped back.

And left the museum entirely.

I had the chance to cut down the man who would someday become an enemy commander. I chose to let him go.

No regrets, though.

Because I already knew Arthur Winston, knew his judgment and his decisions, through the history I had lived before.

By keeping him alive, I could hold the coming war within my control.

If I killed Arthur Winston here and now, the "Mountain Pass Breakthrough Operation" and the "Deon Beach Withdrawal Operation" that would unfold on the western front before long would both be wiped off the board, turned into unknowns I couldn't begin to predict.

For the sake of leading the Empire to victory in the continental war ahead, I kept alive the man who was the most reliable answer I had.

* * *

Clang! Clang!

Northern Lobrus. A labor reeducation camp ringed with forbidding barbed wire.

Even in cold that seemed to flay the skin, the prisoners hacked away at frozen bedrock.

Prison Warden "Maksim", Yelena, wearing a thick overcoat, was supervising the work site inside the mine shaft.

"......What's this?"

Her steps came to a halt.

In one corner of the cramped shaft, a rough-stacked altar held a single scripture.

"Ah, it's said to be an altar to 'Izent,'" the head guard following behind her said, reading her mood cautiously.

"There is a directive from the Central Party not to interfere with religious activities......"

Religious activities. Yelena asked again, her voice curious.

"The Party's order?"

"Yes. They seem to have determined that faith helps improve labor efficiency considerably."

"......"

Yelena stared at the scripture.

Fragments of suspicion scattered like splinters in her mind suddenly fell into place.

"Are you Izenheim, by any chance?" she asked the head guard.

"No, no. I'm pure Sled tribe."

"What proportion of the inmates here are Izenheim?"

"Not that many. Maybe around ten percent, give or take."

A minority small enough to overlook, and yet the Party was deliberately turning a blind eye to their religious activities and keeping them in place?

Of course, scripture from other religions was also mostly permitted inside. Those faiths were the driving force that kept people laboring on in a camp without dreams or hope.

"......"

But this altar was distinctly different.

Yelena ran a gloved hand along the cold altar and turned the thought over inside herself.

It's certain.

The Eastern Alliance's General Secretary, Varmil Makstun, was Izenheim.

Nothing else explained why the supreme authority himself would take a personal hand in preserving something like Izent.

Then was he nothing more than a fanatical believer in a fringe cult? Wiping out the Yumanov family and purging tens of thousands of comrades purely for the sake of Izenheim?

"......Tch."

Yelena barely smothered the anger smoldering up from her gut like embers buried in ash.

Every part of her wanted to smash and burn every one of these loathsome altars on the spot, but she could not draw the Central Party's attention with a rash move.

To keep her identity hidden, she had to show perfect compliance. That was the only way.

"How much of today's quota is left?"

"Still a little remaining. Shall I push them harder, Warden?"

The head guard asked, fiddling with his baton.

"......No. From now on, divide all inmates into teams. Any team that exceeds the quota gets additional rations on the spot."

"Eh, yes? We're, we're short on food ourselves, ma'am."

"I'll cover it out of my own pocket. My salary is enough for that."

"......Wow."

The head guard's face filled with genuine admiration.

"Then what do we do with teams that don't make the quota? A whipping or......"

"A whipping wastes time. And if they get hurt, we lose labor, have the other teams help them instead. Extra rations for whatever help they give."

Yelena had no intention of wringing the workers dry to line her own pockets. The warden's salary, the Party's allotments, and Maximilian's secret support funds were more than enough to carry out her plans.

Her top priority right now was proving her ability and integrity to the Central Party, here in the north.

"Also, have a full census of every inmate taken by ethnicity and put it into a register. Everyone who comes in going forward, too."

"Yes, understood!"

"Let's continue."

Yelena resumed her inspection.

In this labor reeducation camp where blizzards raged even in summer, she was doing her own work, in her own way.

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