WeTried Translations
Translator: Coughing Baby
Editor: Coughing Baby
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Chapter 311: A Day Off
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"...Thank you."
After the performance ended, I returned the baton to its owner, the elderly conductor who would lead the Yursled orchestra.
"Ah... Yes."
Wojciech, once the maestro of a famous orchestra, swallowed, looking rather dazed.
I said to the conductor,
"I've always wanted to try conducting."
"I think... you could keep doing it."
"No. I'm only imitating the real thing."
As a knight, I had very sharp hearing, but I wasn't capable of creating art.
I had only waved my hands, relying on the little I had learned before my regression.
"...Everyone."
With a small smile, I looked around the room.
The performance had ended without incident, but they still hadn't quite shaken off their fear.
I told them,
"You've all passed."
Yursled was the Empire's eastern foothold. Its musicians would play a fairly important role in maintaining the land's dignity and offering comfort.
They would provide a refined setting for diplomacy in Yursled.
Of course, some might dismiss or laugh at the importance of that role...
"I'll write your certificates myself."
Certificates. At that word, everyone's expression changed.
"That includes your families, of course."
Someone almost dropped their instrument.
"The continent is at war, but I believe that makes it all the more important to hold on to certain things."
Before my regression, there had been a book written by a critic from Hailand.
Talents Cut Short by War. It had only come out several years after the war ended.
"So please keep practicing, and strive to create better music, a better sound."
Composers, painters, mathematicians, poets, scientists... So many names had been listed to stress the harm caused by war and the Empire.
By pure chance, I had read that book while living on the streets.
"Let's finish here."
Perhaps the future would change greatly simply because I knew their names.
* * *
The musicians of Yursled gathered at a mansion not far from the governor's residence. Their lodgings had been prepared in a five-story house said to have been seized from Izenheim.
"Welcome."
Soldiers from Yursled greeted them, now dressed in Imperial uniforms.
"You'll be staying here. Three meals will be provided each day, and you can practice in the hall here on the ground floor."
First, they gathered in the living room, still holding their instruments.
"..."
"..."
"..."
Everyone felt rather awkward. They knew one another's faces and names, but they had belonged to different orchestras or worked in different regions.
"I should write this in my diary."
Someone took out a pen and paper, fiddling with them as they gave a hollow laugh.
"Today's been so... dramatic."
They really had experienced things that no one would believe.
Who did the people of Yursled fear most at that moment?
If asked, they wouldn't have named Acting Governor Rainer Wolf. He was actually kind to the people of Yursled.
Nor was it the Emperor. For some reason, he had often been portrayed as rather ridiculous.
But Maximilian.
He had ground Yursled's proud fortress to dust in an instant and executed all its generals. That image was probably the very embodiment of fear.
"Maximilian..."
Yet the man the musicians had met that day had been so gentle and warm.
He loved music, understood it, and spoke in a way that showed respect.
"Indeed."
"I never imagined he'd know Korberg's Winter Overture, either."
Maximilian wasn't merely pretending to enjoy it. He had a wealth of knowledge and a discerning ear, enough to hold a deep conversation even with experts.
"He conducted without a score."
"...He must have studied music very deeply."
"Is that why we survived?"
Had they been lucky enough to suit Maximilian's tastes? Even the worst imperialist could enjoy music and art.
"...If we can make Yursled known by playing our music, whether here or anywhere else..."
It was the pianist Jakub who suddenly spoke.
Their country had been taken, but their fingertips were still their own.
"Even if our music, too, becomes the Empire's property."
They hadn't surrendered their lives, their dreams, or their culture.
"That would surely mean something..."
"Shh. We might be bugged."
They had to avoid saying anything that touched on Yursled's national identity.
"..."
"..."
They hurriedly fell silent. Yet they could still read the same feelings on one another's faces.
They exchanged warm smiles.
...
Clink. Clink.
In the train's cargo car, beneath a swaying lamp, Lehmann Hart opened their eyes.
"You're awake."
A voice reached them from somewhere.
"There's nothing to worry about."
A man spoke from his seat on a wooden crate.
"The train arrived intact."
"..."
Lehmann Hart knew his face.
Zendo of the Gennen branch office. He was quite notorious among those who spoke of revolution.
"The question is who leaked this train's schedule."
He continued as he wiped a pistol with a cloth.
"Since you aren't Izenheim, Lehmann Hart, you're low on our list of suspects."
Lehmann gave a hollow laugh. So even an investigation like this came down to race.
"...Can you tell who's Izenheim?"
"Yes. Of course. Look."
He glanced to the side. Lehmann's eyes widened.
Klaus lay dead, a bullet hole between their eyebrows.
"An Izenheim. If we dissect the heart and measure it, we'll probably find a high moisture content."
"That's absurd!"
Lehmann hurriedly got to their feet.
"Klaus actually killed Izenheim!"
Zendo smiled and nodded, as though he had expected that response.
"...The Izenheim, you see, will do anything for their beliefs. They're like fanatics who've gone completely mad."
Zendo placed a hand on Lehmann's shoulder.
"Something happened in Gennen a while ago."
An Izenheim reactionary had actually attacked and tried to kill a former comrade, Elias, the current governor of Gennen.
"Because his death would set Gennen ablaze. Because his death would throw the Empire into chaos."
"..."
Pure hatred filled Zendo's eyes. His gaze fell on Klaus's body.
"They did it because they didn't care whether thousands or tens of thousands of people in Gennen died."
Zendo slowly took his hand off Lehmann's shoulder.
"The Izenheim only stick together with their own kind. They don't care what happens to anyone around them, so long as they achieve their goals."
One corner of Zendo's mouth twisted upward.
Clink...
The lamp swayed, casting a pale light.
"I believe in 'numbers' now. Though you could also say my beliefs have simply been confirmed by the 'number' we call moisture content."
Zendo put his pistol into its holster.
"You're in the Imperial Guard too, so you must know. Those bastards with that rotten, fishy stink... Don't trust the Izenheim."
Just then, the cargo car's door rattled open. Someone else stepped inside. Zendo hurried to his feet and saluted. With the light behind the newcomer, their features were hidden.
There was no telling whether they were a woman or a man.
The newcomer said something to Zendo.
"...Ah. Is that so?"
He nodded in understanding, then returned to Lehmann.
"Lehmann Hart."
He looked almost disappointed.
"So you were the Revolutionary Faction's mole?"
"What..."
"See? You're dying because of the Izenheim too."
Before Lehmann could say anything, he drew the pistol from his holster.
Bang!
The bullet struck their body.
...
One day, as winter was fading, a meeting was held in the Imperial capital. Those present were Rainer Wolf, Kaido Hoess, and the adjutants representing Martin Himler and Hagmunt Goring.
"This is a matter we must settle before winter ends."
Rainer spoke first. In truth, the decisions had already been made.
That was why the Emperor, the Imperial Princess, and Grossmann were absent. Only their representatives had gathered to work out the details.
"Yes. First, these are the results of the disposals at Kebanov Camp in Bolska."
Imperial Guard Colonel Brandt gave the report.
The disposal was complete. Thousands of Izenheim shipped in from Yursled and Bolska.
They read the results only as numbers.
"The system is sound."
Rainer raised his eyebrows.
"Yes. I believe we can continue in this manner."
His Majesty the Emperor wanted purification and cleaning, so the Imperial Guard would simply obey.
Colonel Brandt said,
"The question is priority. Whether we should dispose of the Izenheim first..."
"The Mer are no less vile."
Kaido Hoess raised the subject. The other guards eagerly began speaking, as though they had been waiting for the chance.
The Mer, Izenheim, Yedreum, Dromon, Kenshi, and so on. They discussed cleaning while condemning the habits of every kind of subspecies.
The meeting went on for a long time. They drank coffee and turned pages...
"The Izenheim."
Rainer Wolf set down his cup.
"We start with them."
He settled the matter himself.
"Is it because of Sir Maximilian?"
Kaido asked. Rainer nodded.
"His insistence is part of it, of course, but ultimately, it's logical. If we arrest and dispose of only one group, the others will try to turn a blind eye, even if they have some idea of what's happening."
Even as they watched the Izenheim being taken away, the Mer would keep their mouths shut.
Rather than thinking they would be next, they would feel relief that it wasn't them.
"But if we arrest them at random, they'll only band together and resist."
As he spoke, Rainer thought of Maximilian.
"Classification is important."
Maximilian certainly had the potential to become a symbol of the Empire.
Yet there was a certain difference in the way they hated the subspecies, and it made Rainer think that he might be able to defeat him.
"If His Majesty or Her Highness should take issue with the order..."
Rather than the Mer, Dromon, or Kenshi, Maximilian hated only the Izenheim. Little by little, that was taking him away from the Emperor's will.
"Then we'll have no choice but to mention Maximilian's name."
If that gap grew wider someday, wouldn't the Emperor abandon him?
* * *
Pitter-patter... Pitter-patter...
Rain was falling now.
Winter was fading, and the season was turning to spring.
A decision had been reached at the Imperial Guard meeting in the capital.
"They say it worked well."
Armand spoke. There was no need to explain at length what "well" meant.
"How well?"
Armand opened his notebook.
"Within five minutes of release, it spreads throughout the room. Depending on the dose, it can process up to 3,000 people at once. As long as the concentration is right, there's almost no difference in timing between the corners and the center."
"What about pain?"
"None. They simply vanish as if falling asleep. No traces remain either."
Armand sounded excited as he described the system.
"The cleanup isn't troublesome, either."
A system far better prepared, far more thorough, and far quieter than before my regression.
"In effect, disposal and incineration happen at the same time."
That soft, sweet mind that had built the mana stone waterwheel,
that young child's smile as he happily talked about his inventions...
"We burn mana stones on the floor of the same room, so they vanish right where they're lying. We only use the lowest-grade mana stones, too, so it's very economical..."
He had changed so much.
No, I had made him this way.
"With this system, every week we can..."
Armand proudly counted out how many tens of thousands we could kill each week.
What sort of grudge did he hold against them?
It was the right path for humanity, but I hoped his hatred would apply only to the Izenheim.
"...Good work, Armand."
I placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Thank you."
Armand bowed, looking deeply moved. Then, as though he had only just remembered, he opened his bag.
"Oh, right. This is the penicillin prototype. For now, its name is Penicillin-Max..."
The first prototype had a name that was a little much: a syringe filled with an antibiotic.
I examined it closely.
"Can you prepare for mass production?"
"Yes. We can do that now."
Thanks to Armand's hard work and talent, the production process had been completed several years earlier than I had expected.
"The war will resume when the weather warms."
"Yes. I'll make sure everything is ready by then."
"You don't have time to have dinner together, do you?"
"No. I'd really like to, but..."
"It's fine. Go on. You must be busy."
"Yessir!"
For the first time in a while, a little of his old way of speaking showed through. Then Armand turned and ran off.
Step.
Schatz appeared, as though she had been waiting for him to leave.
Her appearances meant one of two things: something very serious, or something very personal.
"What is it?"
"Ezel Runselot has put in an application for the Camp project."
Ezel wanted a Camp of her own.
I thought she must have realized a certain fact.
Only by holding power could she save more of them and hide more of them.
There wasn't much she could do as a mere traveler with the Runcelot family name.
In that case, Ezel had her uses.
She would be able to protect the other ethnic minorities, those who weren't Izenheim.
"And... about that account."
That account. Money had been steadily leaving [Master]'s account lately. The Revolutionary Faction had begun to trust their source of funding.
"Are you sure this is all right? Those bastards are spending heaps and heaps of our money."
I couldn't help laughing.
Heaps and heaps. It was a cute phrase, but to me, this wasn't heaps and heaps at all. Not even scraps or peanuts... More like crumbs. Tiny little crumbs.
"It's fine. That's not even a fingernail's worth to me. Besides, we need to get deep inside their organization to reach the Veil."
And if that could save even a few more people from the other minorities who would otherwise die unjustly...
"So from now on, work as though we're [Master]."
"Yes."
Schatz nodded.
She was about to leave, but...
"...Schatz."
I stepped up to her and placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Let's have dinner together tonight."
I would probably have very few days off from now on.
I always had to make time for the people I could trust, and the people who trusted me.
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