Semi-Coercive Imperialist

I found a studio apartment in Prozen.

It was only a place to stay for about one to two weeks starting today.

“…It’s cramped.”

Is this a prison cell?

Setting aside my days as a fugitive, when the streets were my home, this was exactly the size of the underground prison.

The monthly rent for a room this small was 1,300 Livres. Roughly 1,000 dollars in Imperial currency.

University students must have it rough.

I unpacked my things for now. A terminal. A wiretap. A communicator. A pistol. A dagger. Some Prozen currency. I hadn’t brought the Ebenholtz longsword. Too conspicuous a weapon risked giving away my identity.

Swish──

I drew back the curtain by the window. The campus of Prozen National University spread out right before me.

“……”

I gazed at the view and sank into thought.

Before the Regression, a turning point in history. The most famous among the failed assassinations.

Around this time in Prozen, an attempted assassination had occurred targeting two powerful figures: Minister of Defense Louis Marceau and Yursled’s Prime Minister Bernard.

But the bomb thrown by the assassin turned out to be a dud, and the assailant was shot dead on the spot.

“There will be no failure.”

This time would be different. I would make the assassination succeed.

The targets were anti-Imperialists. The key figures who would later unite two nations, Prozen and Yursled, into an alliance.

Weakening the enemy’s fighting strength ahead of war was something that obviously needed to be done, and above all──

No matter how I thought about it, I could not shake the suspicion that the Ezenheim had been involved in this incident.

* * *

Prozen National University. Among the posters plastered haphazardly along one side of a corridor, I spotted one that stood out.

[For the True Reconstruction of Our Nation – Recruiting new members for the「Crystal Society」]

[Prozen’s ‘Republic’ Is Clearly a Mistake!]

[Location: Estrizier Hall, Basement Room 112]

“Hm.”

Prozen’s republic is a mistake… That piqued my interest.

I headed over.

Estrizier Hall was an old-fashioned building on the Prozen campus, and Room 112 was tucked away at the far end of the basement.

Knock, knock.

I rapped on the door.

Creeeeak. The moment it opened halfway, the stale reek of cigarettes hit me, and a gaunt man poked his head out.

“Who’re you?”

“I came after seeing the poster.”

The man gave me a once-over, raised an eyebrow, and asked.

“Name?”

“Felix.”

“…Come in.”

I stepped inside. The interior was extremely cramped. Leaflets were strewn about in a space thick with cigarette smoke, and three men and two women sat around. All of them had sharp, hard-edged expressions.

“If you wanna join the Crystal Society, you gotta have a private interview with the Chief.”

The man jerked his chin toward a separate office door at the back.

“Before that, hand over your student ID.”

“Here.”

I handed over the student ID.

“Felix. Military Science, third year… Three years of leave of absence?”

“Yes.”

Third year, three years on leave. A perfect setup for someone who knew absolutely nobody at the university. The Military Science department didn’t even have a graduate program.

The man knocked on the inner door without much suspicion.

“Chief. Got a new applicant here.”

“…Send them in.”

The man opened the door. I stepped inside and flinched in surprise.

Honestly, I’d expected some grimy-looking thug, but instead it was a woman with curly hair, fair skin, a youthful face, and cute features.

“You want to join the Crystal Society?”

Yet unlike her baby-faced appearance, her voice was rough and gravelly, as if her throat were coated with phlegm.

“Yes.”

“Sorry, but.”

She smirk⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌ed and jabbed a finger at me.

“I’ve got a real eye for your type. You’ve got ‘dyed red to the bone’ written all over that face of yours. You’re a Social Party mole, you little shit.”

“…You’re calling me a spy because I’m too good-looking?”

“……”

At that, she couldn’t quite manage a retort and just pursed her lips.

Quite the peculiar character.

I let out a small laugh.

“Everyone’s red on the inside. You can’t judge someone’s ideology by their appearance.”

“Funny.”

The Republic of Prozen naturally had its light and its shadow. No perfect system of governance existed in this world, after all.

Prozen had shackled itself with ‘ideology’. The Social Party, the People’s Party, the Liberty Party, and every other faction locked in bitter opposition.

Perhaps ideology was both the greatest strength and the greatest weakness of freedom.

“Let’s just have a chat.”

I sat down across from the Chief.

“Get out. Who said you could sit? Leave!”

“I said I want to join, so why are you trying to throw me out?”

She scrunched her brow fiercely.

“Anyone who’s been on leave for three years is suspicious. Am I obligated to let you in?”

I nodded, then pulled out a small case and set it on the table.

“During those three years of leave, I was studying abroad in the Empire.”

“Studying abroad?”

“Yes. And while I was there, I happened to hit it big on an investment.”

I opened the lid of the case. Inside was a Mana Stone worth at least 300,000 dollars.

The Chief’s expression wavered.

“Now I’ve returned to my homeland, looking for a stage where I can put my beliefs into action.”

Staring at the high-purity Mana Stone as it shimmered with a lustrous glow, the Chief bit down on her lip.

“Come to think of it, I haven’t had the pleasure of hearing your name yet, Chief.”

“……”

She pulled her gaze from the Mana Stone and stared straight at me.

Then, as if spitting it out, she gave her name.

“Clara Magal.”

I repeated the name to myself.

Clara Magal.

I didn’t know anyone named Clara, but I knew the name Magal. It existed in my memories from before my Regression. The leader of an armed organization that would later carry out terrorist attacks in Prozen in sympathy with the Empire went by the name Kura Magal…

Coincidentally, that leader had also been a woman.

“…I see.”

Indeed, Prozen National University was a high-caliber institution, and the quality of talent it produced was equally remarkable.

“A pleasure to meet you. I’m Felix Renoir.”

It seemed I had come to the right person after all.

…….

“We’re being persecuted.”

On a secluded walkway at Prozen National University, strolling through a stretch of forest with few passersby, Clara Magal spoke with veins bulging in her neck.

“The Republic is garbage.”

An extremely radical statement, but I listened with satisfaction.

“Just look at what the Empire’s doing beyond those borders. The Empire is the one taking on the true form of a nation.”

A strange feeling washed over me, the⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌n.

The Empire, as seen from this distant place called Prozen.

Prozen, as seen from that distant place called the Empire.

They were each gazing at only one side of the other, admiring and despising in equal measure.

“Hey, do you even know who Maximilian is?”

“……”

My name came out of her mouth.

I cleared my throat for no particular reason.

“Of course you don’t. Military Science guys just think and act exactly as those incompetent Social Party lapdog professors tell you to.”

Clara fished a cheap cigarette from her pocket and stuck it between her lips.

“Prozen is rotten to the core from the inside out. Fuck, those old fox bastards in the Social Party are passing on the massive losses they took from the Canilan speculation to innocent citizens under the guise of taxes, lining their own damn pockets.”

The fallout from Canilan had reached Prozen too.

“But what about the Empire right now? Tax rates on the lower classes have actually been slashed. The money those filthy parasite races like the Merin, Ezenheim, and Edlem rake in? The state’s stepping up and confiscating it to redistribute to its own citizens!”

The Chief kicked a stone on the path.

“Especially the Merin and Ezenheim. Those cockroach bastards are the real problem on this continent.”

At that moment, I suddenly found myself warming to her.

“The Ezenheim…?”

“Yeah. Merin and Ezenheim. They’ve both got one truly revolting thing in common. They’re filthy vermin bastards who lend out money they don’t even have and leech off the interest!”

In reality, many among the Ezenheim did work in finance. ‘Capital’ was the most powerful weapon for controlling this continent, and at the same time, the most powerful weapon for building cartels.

The Ezenheim had surely understood the power of money early on.

“…Why did you bring up Maximilian, though?”

“Ha! This is why Military Science guys are hopeless.”

She shot me a withering look.

“Those bills proposed in the Empire, the ones that legally confiscate the assets of those subhuman creatures and expel them? Maximilian spearheaded every single one. I read those declarations and was honestly in awe.”

“Ah. I see.”

A curious thought struck me, then.

So there were willing heroes outside the Empire as well, contributing to humanity’s survival without even knowing it.

“Chief. Then how many members support the Crystal Society?”

If that was the case, then I ought to help this organization flourish.

“There are quite a few people who support our cause. It’s not just university students. Hospital directors, doctors, nurses, business owners, small shopkeepers, the self-employed… The real citizens who sweat and bleed for a living. The real citizens getting their money unjustly stolen by those Social Party sons of bitches.”

They were clearly furious with the current system.

“But the number of official members who actually take action is small. The ‘real ones’, willing to sacrifice themselves, willing to get blood on their hands and devote themselves like we do, are rare.”

“I see.”

“…So.”

Abruptly, she stopped walking. Click. A familiar shape of steel emerged from her pocket.

A pistol.

“Let me ask you again, Felix Renoir. That Mana Stone you gave me earlier, where did it come from?”

“……”

Sure enough, Clara Magal was a serious sort of person. She was earnest about building her organization, and her convictions ran deep and firm.

“Hmm…”

I mulled over my answer for a moment.

But really, was there any need to spin something complicated?

“Didn’t I tell you that I studied abroad in the Empire?”

“And?”

“While I was there, I met numerous prominent figures of the Empire. As you know, Imperial nobles are quite fond of our Prozen intellect and artistry. Furthermore, those individuals are fervently hoping that here in Prozen, too, a leader with a ‘great ideology’ similar to the Empire’s, will emerge. I received their patronage.”

A smile touched her eyes. But it wasn’t a positive one. It was mockery.

“Is that so? Then how do you prove it? You could be a spy sent by the Social Party to take us down. I mean, a Mana Stone of that grade isn’t beyond what those bastards could get their hands on.”

──Everything she had just said was in the Imperial Aran Language. Her pronunciation, moreover, was fluent enough to rival a native speaker.

Clara Magal was a smart woman indeed.

“Well? Surprised? If you couldn’t follow that, then get lost.”

Apparently she hadn’t intended to kill me, as the Chief tucked the pistol back inside her coat.

I shook my head.

“No. The people in the Empire told me something.”

My answer, likewise, was in the Imperial language.

“The Empire only grants opportunity to those who prove themselves.”

The Chief’s gaze wavered for an instant.

“In the three years I was away in the Empire, an organization with such a splendid ideology has sprung up here in Prozen.”

“……”

Her expression, which had been full of wariness, softened slightly.

“The Empire’s patrons are looking for someone like you, Chief. So please, accept me. I believe I can travel back and forth to the Empire and secure even more support.”

“…Smooth talker, aren’t you.”

She scoffed. She had set aside her suspicion to a degree, but she clearly wasn’t about to trust me all at once.

“That’s enough for today. I’ll let you know the result of your application next week.”

Clara Magal walked out past the university’s main gate.

I watched her retreating figure and let out a quiet laugh.

“…Interesting.”

She was an extremely peculiar character, but I saw no reason she wouldn’t be useful to me.

* * *

──Exploring Prozen, Day 2.

I sat at an outdoor table in front of a sandwich stand and scribbled on a napkin.

[ Felix, parents background needed ]

[ Parents exploited by an Ezenheim-controlled loan-sharking operation, drove them to suicide. ]

I left the finished note on the table. A moment later, a worker in an apron came to deliver my sandwich and collected the note.

They were intelligence operatives attached to the Genen Branch Office. My unofficial agents now numbered in the hundreds. But they didn’t know who they were working for, and I didn’t know who was working under me.

They would now fabricate a flawless background for the identity of Felix.

I chewed my sandwich as I walked through the streets.

Step. Step.

Right away, a tail fell in behind me. The Crystal Society’s people. Far too systematic for a university organization. They were still students and a bit clumsy, of course, but if they were this thorough, they were well worth supporting.

“…This sandwich is actually good.”

I peered at the neatly folded sandwich and marv⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌eled.

I should grab a few later and have the chef analyze them.

──Exploring Prozen, Day 3.

Early morning on a weekend. Comer Boulevard, the route Minister Louis Marceau and Prime Minister Bernard would pass through on their way to the summit.

I visited the site of the failed assassination.

“…Why did it fail?”

I muttered, tracing the route.

Amid the welcoming crowds that had gathered here, the assassin had hurled a bomb. But it was a dud, and the moment he drew his pistol, he was gunned down by the security detail.

“More than the failure itself…”

The security had been far too lax. The fact that the assassin had even been given the time to throw a bomb was suspicious in the first place.

“Hmm…”

I surveyed the area for a while, and by the time I was done, night had fallen. I returned to my studio.

“──Hey.”

There, a cold voice greeted me. The interior had already been ransacked.

“Welcome back.”

It was the Crystal Society’s Chief, Clara.

I’d expected as much. That was why I had already cleared out any classified documents and equipment, leaving only various decoy papers, a self-defense dagger, a communicator, a wiretap, and such to be rummaged through.

“What the hell are you really here for? And what’s all this stuff?”

Clara asked, fingering my dagger. Behind her, a Crystal Society member glared at me menacingly.

“H⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌mm…”

I gazed steadily at the Chie⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌f, then brushed back my hair.

“Chief. Would you ask your people to step out for a moment?”

Clara Magal frowned, but soon gave a nod to her subordinates. The members obediently followed her order.

I perched on the edge of the bed.

“So you were a Social Party lackey after all? Son of a bitch.”

To her, brandishing my dagger, I offered the exact opposite answer, with a degree of honesty.

“No. Let me tell you. I’m preparing a Grand Undertaking.”

“…What? A Grand Undertaking?”

“Yes.”

In an organization like this, a ‘Grand Undertaking’ meant assassination or terrorism.

“I can’t share the details, but.”

“What kind of bullsh-“

Clara Magal’s complexion changed. Her eyes regarded me as though she were looking at a lunatic, but in the very next instant.

I moved in a flash, slipping behind Clara.

I pressed down on her wrist to make her drop the dagger, then placed my thumb against her throat.

“One finger, and you’re dead.”

“……”

Gulp. Clara’s eyes trembled.

I gave a small smile and released her.

“Well. With skills like these, you can see why I’d be planning a Grand Undertaking.”

I sat back down on the bed. Clara rubbed at her throat, then said, as if making excuses.

“I, I know how to use Mana too, you know.”

“Yes. So it seems.”

“……”

The way she looked at me shifted slightly.

“…You’re planning a Grand Undertaking?”

“Yes.”

I fiddled with my fingernails.

“Two days ago, was it? What you said, Chief, I felt it in my very bones.”

I let out a natural sigh and lowered the tone of my voice.

“Chief. Would you hear my story?”

The narrative of a fabricated human being named Felix, a backstory designed so that she would have no choice but to be drawn in.

I recited that story.