WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

Chapter 242: Expo (3)

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World Expo Operations Conference Room.

"The economic impact and tangible and intangible value this Expo will bring will be tremendous."

Members of Prozen's ruling party were engaged in a heated discussion about the rosy future the upcoming Expo would bring.

"All the continent's attention and capital will flow toward Prozen."

Prozen had long been famous as a tourist destination and center of culture and art. There was even a saying that successful wealthy people from other countries always ended up in Prozen.

"Quite right. Didn't Professor Tydur publish a similar paper recently?"

The lawmakers believed the Expo's boost to consumption and solution to unemployment would wash away every ill plaguing the Republic.

Or perhaps they simply wanted to believe it would.

"Even those perpetual complainers will have to shut up this time."

Jean Pierre found their behavior disappointing.

Because they were wrong.

Prozen's internal problems could not be solved simply by creating jobs. Its chronic factional conflicts, ideological disputes, and widening gap between rich and poor had already reached a breaking point. Yet the lawmakers ignored those festering wounds and raised nothing but grand slogans.

「Modern Peace and Freedom, Art and Technology」

Professor Jean Pierre, invited as an Expo adviser, listened to their conversation in silence.

There was little else he could do.

"Ha ha ha! Prozen's prestige truly is something else."

Before long, the lawmakers turned their attention to the Empire, the Eastern Union, and Lobrus.

"Those Lobrus bastards haven't leaked a single piece of information about what they're doing inside. They've even left their national pavilion site completely empty."

"They must be busy cutting off the heads of reactionaries. How should I put it... inferior, perhaps? Barbaric?"

Prozen's politicians did not know the exact scale of the Eastern purges, but they still made light of the bloodshed taking place there.

"......I heard Maximilian Ebenholtz came as the Empire's person in charge."

At Maximilian's name came laughter laced with mockery.

"Ah, yes, I know. The Empire's young knight is standing among laborers hauling bricks."

"The heir of House Ebenholtz is playing foreman at a construction site? The Empire must really be short on talent these days."

"They lost their edge ages ago. Look at an entire nation being tossed around by a brat like him."

"Isn't he just a grown child wearing a knight's uniform thanks to his father's influence? What has he ever achieved with his own hands......?"

Jean Pierre wondered what truly lay in their hearts. Why did they feel compelled to say such things aloud?

"I see Maximilian himself as a sign of the Empire's coming downfall."

"Ha ha, exactly. That autobiography of his, or whatever it is, is drenched in narcissism. A work plastered with nothing but hatred, without a single proper argument..."

"Exaggeration. It contains exaggeration as well as hatred. Have you read the first chapter? He seems to think he's one of the Iron Men representing this continent, a knight of justice. Hah, honestly. I don't know how many times I laughed while reading it."

Most of these people had probably never even met Maximilian in person.

Was it fear?

Were they unconsciously trying to diminish him because they feared him?

If so, there was still hope. Fear at least meant they saw their opponent clearly.

"In the end, he's just a man imitating his father. The Emperor's puppet."

But if they truly thought he was no more than that, it was the worst possible outcome.

A war begun with a false assessment of one's opponent might as well have its ending decided already.

"Well, I hadn't intended to bring this up."

Someone paused for effect, then spread a thick stack of documents across the table.

"I hear Maximilian has taken over dozens of bad debts for the Emperor, dozens of them. Research institutes, companies drowning in losses... There are all sorts of rumors about his immense wealth, but it's really a sandcastle, plugging one debt with another."

"Oh, is that so?"

"Yes. It's nothing but a glossy shell. He's effectively the Emperor's wallet."

"Ho. As expected, our financial adviser truly has an exceptional eye."

Arrogant, haughty, and consumed by vanity, an aristocrat who hardly deserved to be called one.

That was how they defined Maximilian.

"That bastard says he'll build the Imperial Pavilion taller than our Prozen Tower? Ha ha ha ha!"

"Perhaps he plans to stretch one skinny pillar upward like a toothpick."

"Do you think Imperial bastards have ever imagined architectural aesthetics like Prozen Tower? They're obsessed with height, like vulgar nouveaux riches. It's exactly what one would expect of Ebenholtz."

Prozen's rulers looked down on the Empire and the East.

They treated them as oversized beasts without refinement, basking in their own superiority.

"What elegance or future could those insane imperialists possibly have? Ha ha ha ha!"

Jean Pierre found their frivolous laughter exhausting.

...Monkeys too busy grooming themselves at the mouth of a lion.

"I believe I should take my leave now. I need to prepare for class."

He rose from his seat.

They would not listen, whatever he said.

"Ah, Professor. Of course. Thank you for your work."

Jean Pierre fled the conference room as though escaping.

As he walked through Prozen's capital, he looked up toward the city center. Prozen Tower, the city's symbol, rose into the sky.

A structure that could stretch higher than that.

What could the "greatest height" that the Empire's knight would create in the heart of the Republic possibly be?

The politicians dismissed Maximilian's words as ordinary bravado, but Jean Pierre could not do the same.

The Maximilian he had seen was not a man who made empty promises.

"......"

Walking through the winter wind, he suddenly found himself somewhere else.

「Izenheim Exhibition Hall」

The pavilion built by the Izenheim. Across from it stood a small pavilion built by the Mer.

Since the Expo presented itself as a "stage of peace," participation by weak nations, and even space for stateless ethnic minorities, had been allowed to some extent.

"......"

Jean Pierre gazed quietly at the Izenheim Exhibition Hall, still under construction.

"Interesting, isn't it?"

A voice came from behind him.

Someone slowly approached Jean Pierre's side.

"It's been a long time, Professor Jean Pierre."

The hairs on Jean Pierre's neck rose slightly, but he forced a smile.

"......It's good to see you, Sir Maximilian."

Maximilian gave a low laugh as he looked toward the Izenheim pavilion.

There was no smile in his eyes. They were clear, cold, and sharp.

A racist who hated the Izenheim more than anyone else and demanded their separation.

"Since the theme of this Expo is a stage of peace..."

Pierre tried to change the subject.

"Balkania protested Mekerel's participation as well, but there was nothing to be done."

Maximilian smiled.

"That's fine. It's a good thing, if anything."

A good thing.

The sentence that followed was somehow chilling.

"Won't their names be written in the guestbook?"

"......"

Jean Pierre looked at him from the corner of his eye.

At sunset, Maximilian's profile, colored by the red glow, was little different from a sculpture.

He possessed the "Aran appearance" the Empire praised so highly.

It was unfair, and unfortunate.

The man who held the most dangerous ideology in the Empire had happened to be born with one of its finest bloodlines and greatest status. As if immeasurable wealth and authority were not enough, he lacked nothing in the bearing, dignity, and cultivation expected of an aristocrat. He also possessed the carefully refined, elegant aura and striking appearance of a perfect idol...

Perhaps it could even be called a comedy.

Jean Pierre had heard countless stories of Maximilian's massacres in the Empire, and he had cited them as examples in his lectures.

Yet at the College of Liberal Arts and Sciences at Prozen National University, the subject still sparking the most heated debate was his book, 「Moonlight Below」.

Whether people criticized it, praised it, condemned it, or analyzed it, they ended up talking about him all the same.

Even Jean Pierre, standing right beside him and watching him now, sometimes found himself caught by a thought.

Could this man truly be someone chosen by the age itself, or by the devil?

"......I heard you're personally overseeing the Imperial Pavilion."

Pierre shook away his thoughts.

He did not want to become someone who defended a mass murderer and imperialist, or stood spellbound before one. Above all, his scholarship had to exclude personal bias.

"Yes. I'm in overall charge. I designed it myself as well."

"Could it... truly become taller than Prozen Tower?"

It was pure curiosity.

Maximilian gave a bitter smile.

"Yes. It will, in one form or another."

In one form or another...

Pierre mulled over that answer, then slowly nodded.

"I look forward to your art, Sir Knight."

Then he turned away.

Step. Step.

Perhaps the regret that accompanied every step came from the fact that the discipline I had pursued all my life was the study of people.

Their first meeting at the Imperial Museum of Art. The days afterward, when he only heard surface-level portrayals of Maximilian from across the border. Then this chance reunion with the man standing right before him.

Jean Pierre had an intuition.

Maximilian was becoming history.

No, perhaps Maximilian himself was the Empire's national pavilion.

Perhaps he was the one subject at the Expo truly worth seeing.

Pierre drew in a deep breath and thought.

The figure known as Maximilian might be recorded as a man without comparison, even in the long history of the thousand-year Empire.

...For better or worse.

* * *

The World Expo, called the continent's greatest festival and event, also moved according to the logic of power.

The fact that the continent itself was returning to an age of power was fortunate for both me and humanity.

I quietly observed the hidden side of the lively construction site.

「Mekerel National Pavilion」

They had come as representatives of a weak nation engulfed in the smoke of war, bearing an immense responsibility on their shoulders.

Mekerel had arrived in Prozen a full year ago to prepare for the Expo, determined to promote its homeland and appeal for international support against Balkanian aggression.

"Ha. Look at them huddled together like livestock. They almost look cute from a distance, don't they?"

The Imperial officials seemed to find them amusing.

Why did these people keep running their mouths near me?

It was probably part of the Princess's surveillance system.

"It's here!"

"Over here, over here!"

Then a truck carrying construction materials arrived in front of the Mekerel National Pavilion.

"The materials have arrived!"

The people of Mekerel rushed forward, as though construction had been halted for quite some time while they waited.

"Um... these materials are a little different from what we requested..."

"So what do you expect us to do about it?"

"The specifications are slightly..."

"Take what you're given. And speak properly."

Prozen officials barked at them, clearly annoyed.

"Y-yes. Thank you."

The Mekerel people hurriedly moved the materials. They were desperate to continue construction somehow.

I moved to another location for a moment.

「Izenheim Exhibition Hall」

The Izenheim pavilion.

There were no particular problems with their construction. Those bastards had money in the first place.

The Prozen authorities could not officially provide materials because they were watching the Empire and public opinion at home, but the Izenheim bought supplies with their own money and built whatever they wanted with ease.

If I had my way, I would set off a bomb immediately and kill every last one of them.

...Such extreme measures would only turn them into pitiful martyrs.

There would be a time to exterminate them, and that day would not be far off.

For now, I had to endure.

"Just look at those bastards. It's outrageous."

The ministers who had followed me grumbled as they looked at the Izenheim pavilion, but I turned back toward the Mekerel pavilion.

"W-wait! Why are you doing this?"

Chaos had already broken out on the Mekerel side.

"Ah, we made a mistake! A delivery mistake!"

The Prozen officials were loading the materials they had just delivered back onto the truck.

They had given them only to take them away.

"I told you these weren't originally yours. You said so yourselves earlier. They were different from what you requested."

"Then... then! I'm sorry, but may I ask just this? When can we resume construction..."

"Ah, I don't know. Just wait your turn! Hey! Load it all up!"

Prozen even brought in the police to confiscate the materials by force. The people of Mekerel were left huddled together again within their empty frame, stunned and helpless.

"......"

At times, things happened that stirred the emotions inside me.

There were many kinds of painful sights, but if this was proof that my humanity remained, I was willing to bear it.

I called over the official standing beside me.

"Get the materials Mekerel wants and deliver them."

"Yes. I'll see to it immediately."

Of course, they were unlikely to be much help to me in the future.

Still, if I wanted to uproot the Izenheim, spread like weeds across every corner of the continent, it would be beneficial in the long run to build even this small sense of indebtedness.

* * *

Two months before the World Expo opened.

Yulian, a knight of the Sentinel Order, received a report that "subversive flyers had been found."

"Ah. You've arrived, Sir Knight."

Georgen officers had already arrived in Zestpol, the area Yulian had been dispatched to.

The person in charge approached first and saluted.

"I'm Inspector Gewin."

"Yulian."

"Yes. I've heard much about you. First, this is the flyer."

Yulian read the flyer posted on the wall.

[ ......What is the difference between citizens and those who are not citizens? What is the difference between the Aran and those who are not Aran? We of the Blue Rose Society ask you to consider these questions deeply.

Though darkness covers us now, one day the sun will shine upon us.

Our crimes will be exposed one by one beneath the bright sunlight.

How deeply will that wound us and our children then...... ]

Yulian turned to Gewin.

"Gewin, was it?"

"Yes."

"I believe I heard your name during the Nico Beber case."

"......Yes, that's right. That was me."

Gewin flicked a finger toward his own chest.

"I was the Georgen inspector who took the letter Sir Nico Beber wrote while in Georgen custody and brought it out to the Sentinel Order."

"......"

Yulian stared blankly at him for a moment.

"You mean you're an internal whistleblower."

"No, no. Please call me a conscientious man of action. I was recognized for my contribution and promoted from senior officer to inspector."

Quite the funny fellow.

Yulian looked over the flyer again.

[ What we must protect is the value that distinguishes humans from other animals. Freedom, equality, and will...... ]

"I hear they call themselves the Blue Rose Society."

"This is exactly the kind of case Max would love."

Cough!

Gewin choked on his coffee.

"Ah, is that so? Ha ha, ha ha ha..."

"Have they been identified?"

"Yes. We happened to have a witness... Would you like to hear their testimony?"

Gewin pointed somewhere. A Zestpol cleaner seemed to be giving a statement while surrounded by Georgen officers.

"Go ahead."

"Hey! Bring them over! The Sentinel knight is here!"

At Gewin's word, they all hurried over. Before listening to the witness, Yulian took a notebook and pen from his inner pocket.

Sketching composite portraits was one of Yulian's specialties, since art was his hobby.

"Start by describing the shape of the face."

"......Yes."

The cleaner swallowed at the sight of Yulian's uniform, then began describing the figure they had seen.

"The jaw was rather narrow... I couldn't even tell whether it was a man or woman... Though I believe it was a man."

Scratch. Scratch.

Yulian drew the outline of a face according to the description.

"He was clean-cut. Didn't seem like someone poor. He had a prominent, very straight nose."

Scratch. Scratch.

"His eyebrows were thick and golden. His eyes were golden too. And, well, I suppose you could call him handsome. His features were delicate overall."

Scratch. Scratch...

Yulian's hand paused as he worked on the composite portrait.

A familiar face had begun to emerge.

Joshua von Alvensleben, the son of the head of Zestpol University, whom Yulian himself had met once.

Joshua was something of a big shot.

"......"

Yulian tilted his head as he stared at the cleaner, the sole witness.

"Is this the man?"

Footnotes:

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