WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

Chapter 270: One Step (2)

──────

The Empire was enraged.

At least, that was how it appeared.

Bolska had dared to deploy troops at the border. It had also dared to persecute the Aran.

Naturally, the demands escalated. A document close to an ultimatum was delivered to the Bolska embassy, demanding not only Genson but every region where people of Imperial descent made up more than fifty percent of the population.

The newspaper headlines grew larger by the day, while the radio repeated the phrase "our Aran compatriots" hundreds of times each day.

At the same time, Yursled, the country bordering the Empire to the east, hastily formed a security pact with Prozen, Hailand, and Balkania. Its prime minister had died in the Prozen terrorist attack before. No, it was precisely because of that death that they hurried.

"Yursled has apparently signed some sort of defense agreement with Hailand, Prozen, and Balkania. Put simply, they've decided to become pets."

Edmund received that report at the barracks in the east.

"But Colonel, isn't the discrimination against the Aran in Genson outrageous? Who do those bastards think they are...?"

Lieutenant Colonel Bjorn frowned as they folded the newspaper.

Edmund silently looked down at his teacup.

"How dare they insult pure Aran!"

Bjorn's reflection rippled across the surface of the black tea. A regular army officer of noble birth, Bjorn was famous for connections to Georgen and several members of the Imperial family.

Nobles had always looked down on the regular army. But as conditions for regular soldiers improved, noble recruits like Bjorn began entering its ranks.

"As a pure Aran, I feel like marching on them right this moment. Don't you agree, Colonel?!"

Bjorn emphasized pure Aran. It was a provocation aimed at Edmund, whose mixed Prozen heritage was common knowledge.

"......"

Edmund picked up his coat and rose. The lieutenant colonel quietly followed his movement with their eyes.

"Uh, Colonel. Where are you going?"

"I have somewhere to be. Thanks for the tea."

Edmund glanced at the tea set Bjorn had brought, then left without another word. Bjorn watched Edmund's retreating back.

Hmm.

Bjorn silently scratched their cheek, then raised an eyebrow.

"Edmund has been leaving his post often lately..."

A faint smile spread over their suspicious expression.

......

A prominent figure from Hailand named Tristan visited Bolska at Prime Minister Gary Beaufort's request.

Tristan was a shipping magnate guaranteed by the Hailand government and a social figure in the Royal Class. Yet Tristan was not directly involved in politics, making them a useful figure who could be labeled a private citizen with no connection to the government.

An uninvited mediator. A civilian diplomat, in other words. Yet refusing such a guest would make Bolska appear to be the country rejecting negotiations.

Tristan met with Bolska's president, Lobsky, first.

"Those demands are absurd."

Bolska refused. They were ready to fight.

Genson's mountain fortress line was formidable, and several divisions were stationed nearby. It was not territory they would hand over just because someone threatened them.

"It is true that many people of Imperial descent live in Genson. However, it is a fortress on Bolska's border. What country in the world would accept a demand to hand over an entire border fortress?"

The president and ministers spoke firmly.

Tristan looked quietly at their tea for a moment.

"......I believe the Empire's position has some reasonable basis as well."

That was Hailand's opinion.

When the interpreter translated those words, the president's brow twisted. The attending minister's face reddened as well.

"......What do you mean by that?"

"If we examine Genson's history, it is certainly a strategic location, but settlers of Imperial descent were the ones who developed it. Furthermore, did this incident not begin with Bolska's policies? The school closures, the orders to replace signs, the dismissals at the mines... You have, in effect, given the Empire justification."

Propaganda and incitement sometimes prevented even those subjected to it from realizing they had been targeted.

The broadcasts transmitted to both the Empire and Bolska had seeped into the Bolska government as well, making it difficult to distinguish truth from lies.

It was propaganda that twisted events which had actually happened. Even knowing the facts made it difficult to defend against it.

"Mr. President. What judgment led you to deploy troops along the border?"

The president was briefly speechless.

They had mobilized troops because they had heard rumors that the Empire was moving forces toward the border. It was a natural defensive measure.

Yet no one was there.

No matter how long they waited, no one came.

A country that had parked tanks before an empty border. That was how Bolska looked to the continent, and the Empire photographed it every day and spread those photographs around.

"......This is no longer a matter of Genson."

The president began calmly.

"They want every piece of land where people of Imperial descent make up more than fifty percent of the population. If we give them Genson today, what will they demand tomorrow? It will spread across the east, then to the west. How can you be certain your country will not be next?"

After hearing the interpreter, Tristan simply smiled.

"As I said, the Empire's original demand was limited to Genson. At least, until Bolska moved its troops."

While saying that, Tristan thought to themself, What kind of pride are those Volkas bastards, who live off smuggling and brokering, making such a fuss over? They do not know a damned thing about the world.

"If Bolska takes one step back, I believe the Empire will accept that as the limit. That is the opinion I can convey to you..."

Even so, the president and ministers still could not accept it.

After the meeting with the Bolska government ended, Tristan traveled next to Genson.

"Are you the leader of the Genson Vigilante Corps?"

"Yes. I am Renhardt."

The people of Imperial descent living in Genson welcomed Tristan. They still used the Imperial language as their common tongue and maintained Imperial customs despite living beyond the border.

They escorted Tristan to the vigilante corps headquarters. A dinner had been prepared there, along with testimony.

"Our children must learn the language that forms our roots. The language of the Aran."

The vigilante commander had already received a great deal of money from the Empire. The vigilante warehouse was already packed with Imperial rifles.

"Dozens of shops were closed over nothing more than a sign. Twenty-three supervisors were thrown onto the streets overnight..."

Each person brought forward a prepared story.

There was a script, so the testimonies matched. And because they matched, they were believed.

"Sir Tristan, it is late. Why not rest for today and go hunting tomorrow morning?"

"......If I have time."

At the invitation, Tristan stroked their mustache and agreed.

Hailand's civilian diplomat spent two days in Genson.

......

The continent was changing.

It was changing according to the logic of power that each country believed in, or mistook for truth.

Prozen and Hailand pressured Bolska. They jointly proposed that it surrender territory.

If Bolska simply accepted the Empire's demands, there would be no war. The Empire knew the scars left by the previous Western War, so it would surely not wish to repeat such a terrible thing...

That mistaken belief.

"......If the Empire receives territory, will it truly stop?"

Jean Pierre stepped onto the lectern.

"If Bolska surrenders land before long, Yursled, the final buffer state along the eastern border, will be next."

Once regarded as Prozen's leading scholar and a towering authority, Jean Pierre asked:

"Has anyone considered this?"

Even after that question, there was no answer.

Clatter.

The sound of a dropped pencil rolling across the floor was loud.

"......"

Jean Pierre looked at the patchy rows of seats, full of empty gaps.

Fewer than thirty students sat in this vast space now. In a situation like this, Jean Pierre was reminded that he, too, was human.

Jean Pierre had been determined to continue lecturing even if only one student remained. But facing this reality was terribly lonely.

Anti-Izenheim, anti-Mer, anti-Sled. Racism and ideological conflict had reached their peak even in Prozen.

Calling for vigilance against the Empire was immediately translated as defending Izenheim or supporting Lobrus. That damaged Pierre's reputation, though he had written many papers on such subjects.

"Well then. You have all worked hard attending the final lecture of this semester. Always hold fast to your own convictions and beliefs, and continue forward with determination..."

It sounded somehow like words repeated to himself as Jean Pierre concluded the last lecture of the summer.

"Haah..."

Jean Pierre sat at the desk in his office.

The private room that had once felt like a library was gone. Research funding had been cut off.

Pierre had endlessly emphasized the Empire's ambitions, but that position apparently did not align with the ideology of the current faction.

The moment Jean Pierre sat down, he picked up a pen. As a mere scholar who studied people, he prepared an article while thinking of one person.

At some point, Jean Pierre had become obsessed with a man named Maximilian. A person like a tidal wave, toward whom every insight and instinct pointed.

More imperial than even the Empire's Emperor, he would never stop. Jean Pierre wrote of that conviction.

* * *

"Continental Review: The Empire's Ambition and Expansion"

[Jean Pierre, Prozen National University]

......The Empire's demands this time concern a principle that transcends territory. The moment the continent accepts the principle that land where people of Imperial descent are the majority belongs to the Empire, that principle will cross borders. Beyond Genson lies the land to its west, and farther west there will surely be villages where the Imperial language is spoken...

For the past several years, the Empire has prepared roads and railways, standards and logistics, food and medicine for war. Behind it stood the House of Ebenholtz and the name Maximilian.

Maximilian Ebenholtz. He thoroughly oppressed Gennen with his own hands, then revived it as an arsenal. After executing hundreds of corrupt soldiers without trial along the eastern border, he restored discipline to the Imperial Army. In the Zerpha Civil War, he brought victory to the monarchy through all manner of unofficial work. As a result, the Empire became refined and precise.

......The war they have prepared is now only a matter of timing. The more the nations of the continent grant the Empire's demands, the more freedom the Empire gains to choose that moment for itself.

Appeasement cannot achieve peace...

──────

Jean Pierre's article was published in the newspaper.

I was one of Pierre's avid readers. One had to know an enemy to face them, and Pierre's insights were always admirable.

Though not a regressor, this scholar had reached me. Though not a regressor, this scholar had predicted the future.

Yet predictions could change nothing. From here on, it was a matter between nations.

The greatest and most irreversible matter.

The end of the previous generation that the continent would soon face.

"......Sir Knight. It is here."

I arrived at a fishing spot in a harbor village on the Empire's western outskirts.

I got out of the car and trudged along.

Old men mending nets. The scent of the sea, mixed with the smell of tidal flats and salt. Waves breaking white against the breakwater. Sunlight glittering over the water.

A few seagulls circled above fish crates. It felt as if the whole village breathed slowly at the pace of the sea.

It truly was suitable as a place of exile.

As I walked along the road and reached the dock, I spotted a familiar back.

"It looks like the fishing is good."

I stood beside him.

Anton Jefren did not turn his head.

"Jack mackerel bite well in the summer."

Fresh fish flopped in the basket beside him.

"It seems so."

For a while, neither of us spoke.

Kree. Kree.

A seagull lingered as if eyeing Anton's basket of fish, and a hot, damp wind rolled in.

Whoosh.

Droplets occasionally sprayed over the breakwater and glittered in the sun.

Suddenly, Anton asked without taking his eyes from the sea.

"......Maximilian. How is the Empire?"

At his question, my own voice from some distant time overlapped with it.

A place that no longer existed. In a timeline where humanity had been defeated, I had asked how things were outside.

Then was Anton Jefren trapped in this harbor?

"It is heading somewhere no one can know, and no one can trust."

I looked at Anton's profile. Deep, gentle wrinkles still marked the face shadowed by his hat.

"I heard you invented a medicine that saves people."

"......You mean penicillin."

Leutern I had ultimately survived.

Thanks to that, rich people had nearly gone mad over penicillin. Efforts to find mold by any means necessary had nearly borne fruit, and production lines were now being established.

Mass production was certainly not far away.

"Cliff told me."

Anton gave a hollow laugh as he lightly pulled his fishing rod.

"It seems Cliff has switched from me to you."

I watched him quietly, then asked,

"......Are you all right with that?"

This change in the Sentinel Order could not have been what you wanted.

"......"

Anton Jefren fell silent for a moment.

Until now, countless members of the Revolutionary Faction had probably, no, certainly, tried to establish connections with him. There was no better banner than a fallen giant.

"You already know, do you not? The owner of the tavern I frequent is actually a Georgen chief of staff."

Anton pointed toward the hill with his chin.

"The owner of a boarding house nearby is the wife of a Georgen executive."

Anton continued.

"They can submit false reports at any time. Anton Jefren is a prized catch, the sort that can get someone promoted anywhere if they land him."

There had indeed been several reports of suspicious circumstances. I had read many of them myself.

Before my regression, Anton had become entangled in countless such accusations even after his fall from the Sentinel Order.

But...

"I also know that you, Maximilian, have been stopping them."

"......"

Anton slowly reeled in the fishing line while looking out at the sea.

"To answer your question of whether I am all right... yes. I think it is at least better."

Anton Jefren, who did not throw himself into revolution, condemn the Empire, or plot anything.

I quietly listened to him.

"The distinction between good and evil differs depending on the person making it."

Something tugged at Anton's float.

"But one can certainly know which side is worse, and which is less so."

A thought suddenly came to me.

"I want to ask you something."

Could he be waiting for some day yet to come?

"Where are you looking?"

His question somehow felt like a fishing hook waiting for something to bite.

Anton did not rush me for an answer. Instead, he quietly reeled in the fish. A jack mackerel came up on the line, but his hands did not hurry.

A fish already caught could not escape.

Its destination had already been decided.

"......"

Or perhaps this was all my overinterpretation.

Perhaps I alone had fallen into deep thought over words he had spoken without much consideration.

"......The place I am looking toward."

The place I was looking toward.

The place I was looking toward...

* * *

The ambassadors from Hailand and Prozen met Steller at the Foreign Ministry. Steller silently listened to their words, then said,

"Bolska is being hardline..."

Repeating those words, Steller rose from the seat.

"What are you doing? Are you not coming?"

The two ambassadors climbed into the car after Steller without understanding what was happening.

The car left the government district and drove along the road. Outside the window lay the Empire's wealthy neighborhoods.

Before long, it seemed to glide into some place, then abruptly stopped.

"Get out."

Whew.

Unusually for the foreign minister, Steller seemed tense as they adjusted their tie for a moment.

Soon, at the entrance where they were shown in, Steller said,

"Take off your watches."

Only then did they realize where they had come.

They hurriedly removed their wristwatches and handed them to the aides beside them.

"......"

"......"

Without speaking, they walked while doing nothing but breathing.

White walls and straight lines. A corridor without a single thing that could be called decoration.

Escorted by a servant, they arrived at a room.

"......Huh."

Beyond a full wall of glass lay a garden, and sunlight rested like furniture.

Its aesthetic had already been revealed in several magazines, but it was even more beautiful in person.

In that study, a figure whose outline alone gleamed against the sunlight spoke.

"Welcome."

Maximilian Ebenholtz.

Still seated, he gestured before him.

"Please, sit."

Steller sat first and began.

"Sir Maximilian. These people say Bolska is being hardline."

Steller jerked their chin in displeasure. The ambassadors from Hailand and Prozen flinched, then opened their mouths as if to defend themselves.

"W-well, there is little choice but for them to take a hard line. From Bolska's perspective, Genson has immense strategic value... Perhaps this could be resolved by granting Genson autonomy instead..."

Maximilian's face could not be read because of the backlight.

Only his voice filled the study.

"The country of Bolska, to the Empire..."

Maximilian paused.

A powerful figure called the power behind the Empire. His eyes occasionally flashed gold. They were the sort of eyes one could hardly bear to meet.

"Three to four days would be enough. Or its president could disappear without anyone knowing."

It was an extremely sensitive and chilling statement, casually added. But surely the words spoken here would never circulate outside.

"Taking a hard line is something only the strong can do."

The ambassadors interpreted his words as they wished.

From his ambiguity, they desperately extracted the meaning that the Empire did not wish to go to war.

They read "we can finish this in three days" as "therefore, we need not do it," and the president's death as "quietly, instead of war."

That suited the ideology of their faction better.

"......Yes. I understand."

And it was far more bearable for them to believe that the Empire wanted peace.

"I will report it to my superiors that way."

Foreign Minister Steller smiled. Steller seemed to be expecting a larger bonus after this meeting, but what did it matter.

Someone suitably greedy was useful to Maximilian.

Footnotes:

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