Semi-Coercive Imperialist

Hailand’s capital.

“I hear Sir Maximilian said something like that.”

Stanley faithfully conveyed Maximilian’s words.

“Maximilian said Prime Minister Gary Beaufort was someone he had gotten along with very well...”

Maintaining the appearance of it being “unofficial,” Stanley quietly spread the word through social circles, sponsor associations, and club smoking rooms, in the way available to someone whose official channels had been closed.

“Well, well. Isn’t that Stanley?”

Stanley ran into an unpleasant fellow at a government building back home.

Faulkner. Originally the ambassador to Prozen, Faulkner had been half a step behind Stanley, Hailand’s ambassador to the Empire. But after Stanley’s recall, Faulkner had taken the post of Vice Minister of Foreign Affairs.

“I’ve heard those utterly obvious things you’ve been going around saying lately.”“Obvious things?”

“Yes. That the Empire will no longer speak with us?”

Faulkner chuckled softly and brushed back a thick head of hair.

“What is the purpose of spreading such claims? The Empire was never someone we could speak with in the first place.”

“That is your view alone, Faulkner.”

Gary Beaufort’s disgraceful resignation, along with the various corruption scandals involving senior lawmakers.

Hailand’s ruling party was nearly certain to suffer a crushing defeat in the coming election.

“No. The Empire deceived the continent by pretending it was willing to talk, then stole Bolska’s territory.”

And far from keeping its promises, it had stationed forces farther north, deeper in from Genson, held nightly fireworks displays or drinking parties to threaten those beyond the border, seized the property of minority groups...

As Faulkner went on, Stanley frowned.

“The Bolska ambassador is closely discussing their next response with the Yursled ambassador. You will likely be invited soon as well, Stanley. As a witness.”

“...From what I hear, it sounds like you want to provoke the Empire into starting a war.”

“It did not seem as though you intended to stop one either.”

Faulkner took out a newspaper and unfolded it.

Stanley and Stanley’s family leaving Lilac Vita. Their faces were flushed as an Imperial official escorted them to a car.

A paragraph directly beneath the headline.

[ ...The average cost of a meal per person at Lilac Vita is 2,032 imperial dollars. That is fully twice the average monthly wage of a Hailand worker. ]

“After receiving the Empire’s hospitality and constantly staying in places like this... it is only natural to grow fond of the Empire. I understand.”

Faulkner folded the newspaper and slipped it into Stanley’s breast pocket.

“However, the Empire will wage war regardless of our wishes. And when that happens, Gary Beaufort’s name and yours will be brought up.”

Stanley glared at Faulkner, then quietly asked in return.

“If I receive the Empire’s favor, do you receive the Izenheim’s favor, Vice Minister?”

“...”

“I hear you are very close with their banks. No, there are even widespread rumors that you are of Izenheim descent.”

Faulkner’s smile froze for the briefest moment, but it soon returned.

“...I hope you continue living that way, Sir Stanley. With the Empire’s very narrow-minded and discriminatory attitude.”

Faulkner left, and Stanley looked at the newspaper again.

The Stanley in the photograph looked truly happy.

* * *

A gray stone building in the capital’s Seventeenth District. The place the Imperial Guard called Headquarters. The Imperial Guard’s key figures had gathered there.

“Ah, everyone is here.”

They called themselves the Empire’s heart, the Imperial family’s shield, and the center of power. They looked upon faces they all knew well.

They were of the same caliber. Simply gathering together made their chests swell with grandeur...

“They say that person is coming today.”

Martin Himler, Alfred, Hagmunt Goring, and several bureau directors.

Each wore a silver star on one shoulder as they took seats in the conference room.

“Sir Hagmunt. I hear you have taken on a new business this time?”

“The Mer business was sound. After taking it over, I found the books remarkably clean.”

“Ha ha. Those bastards certainly know how to make money.”

“I hear Sir Martin received one too. Was it textiles?”

“Well, one cannot refuse what the Empire gives... Ha ha ha!”

Who had received what. Who had received more. Whether they could get a reservation at Lilac Vita.

After exchanging wary glances and conversation, they shook hands and sat around the round table.

Creeeak.

The door opened shortly afterward.

The person entering was Kurt Grossmann, the Emperor’s Chief Secretary.

All the Imperial Guard officers rose and saluted.

To them, Grossmann was “that person.”

They said some people called a mere green youngster “that person,” but at least not in this room.

“Sit.”

Grossmann spoke as he took his own seat.

“...His Majesty.”

The first words from his mouth pulled the air in the conference room taut.

“His Majesty is concerned about order on the continent.”

“Yes, that is right!”

Martin Himler was the first to spread newspapers across the table.

“While that brat drags things out, the Empire’s prestige is in shambles.”

Papers from Hailand, Prozen, Kanilan, and Balkania. Things like letters sent to the Empire.

[ Empire Seizes Citizens’ Property Over Bloodline. ]

[ We Ask in the Name of Civilization: How Can This Be Continental Law? ]

[ Where Does the Empire’s New Stairway Lead? ]

[ Who Comes After Bolska? A Shout to the Silent Continent. ]

“Balkania is particularly bad. It was probably that brat who made Balkania our enemy by volunteering to support a weak country called Mekerel, was it not?”

Having suffered greatly at Maximilian’s hands, Martin Himler poured out rather extreme remarks. The other executives quietly exchanged looks.

“Even after seeing all this, that brat is merely shuffling papers.”

At Himler’s words, Grossmann turned through the newspapers one by one.

“Chief Secretary. The operation is already fully prepared.”

Maximilian would be excluded from this operation. Rumors were already widespread that His Majesty the Emperor wanted war.

“There is a friend under my command named Rainer Wolf. He is tall, with looks no less striking than Maximilian’s, blond hair and golden eyes. A man of quiet diligence and passion.”

“...What is the operation?”

Grossmann asked. Himler approached and bent toward him, whispering the operation into his ear. His voice reached Grossmann alone, and he gave only the conclusion.

Grossmann’s brows rose slightly, then lowered.

“It is not bad.”

“...Thank you.”

A smile spread across Himler’s lips.

“Have it prepared. So it can be carried out at any time once His Majesty gives the order.”

* * *

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The conveyor belts and overhead cranes moved without rest. When the rolling mills spat out red-hot steel plates, the presses stamped them into tank armor.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

In the adjacent building, countless workers stood side by side before long workbenches, assembling rifles. Barrels, bolts, stocks. Each person handled only one part before passing it to the next.

It was an assembly line where the “uniform specification and standardization” Maximilian had championed, now taught at Imperial universities, truly shone.

Bzzzzing.

When the bell rang, it was break time. At noon, everyone stopped working and went down to the first-floor cafeteria. There were a great many workers, but order was maintained with absolute strictness.

Soldiers moving through the building kept strict control with rifles slung over their shoulders. The workers ate meat, potatoes, bread, and soup. Their meals were nutritious and delicious. They could also choose fish, meat, and other dishes according to their tastes.

For the remaining thirty to forty minutes after eating, everyone enjoyed a hobby. Cards, board games, naps, anything at all. They simply made sure not to say or do anything “suspicious.”

Aternum was the finest workplace in the south, a job that allowed workers to feed their families well.

A report would cost them everything, so they could only devote themselves to the Empire.

In this way, Aternum had become the continent’s largest military-industrial zone. The population of the south increased by the day, and the factories operated through the night.

“We have secured the materials needed to wage war.”

At the top floor of Aternum, in the penthouse prepared for me alone, Dieter spoke.

“The room-temperature liquid mana stone was extremely effective.”

Food production had increased through Zerpha’s liquid mana stone. We had turned the harvest into canned goods and dried rations, then stored it away.

“Even now, we have enough to endure for five or six years.”

Even if the war stretched to its greatest and worst extent.

“However, the optimal time, the perfect opportunity, is one year from now. A year from now, we will be able to wage war abundantly.”

One year.

I trusted Dieter’s words. It would not be Dieter’s calculation alone. It would be the numbers pored over through sleepless nights by the hundreds of accountants and engineers in the group Dieter led.

Which was why I was suspicious.

“Dieter. What do you think about the possibility of an information leak?”

Why had the Izenheim hurriedly brought down Gary Beaufort, then publicized the Empire’s danger through continent-wide manipulation of public opinion?

Could the reason they were trying to induce the Empire into war far more quickly than before my return be because they knew these numbers too?

“It is not impossible.”

Dieter could not handle work this vast alone. Of course, there were no Izenheim among those working with Dieter, but there could still be intellectuals with “proper” beliefs.

We appeared to be trying to do something wrong, after all. It was an unavoidable risk for the Empire.

There was neither enough time nor enough manpower to track down every one of those rats.

“It will not even make it through the summer.”

I gestured toward a letter that had arrived yesterday, lying on the desk.

[ ...Sir Knight. The movements within the Imperial Guard are highly unsettling. ]

I had people in the Imperial Guard as well. Not only Colonel Kai Han, but quite a few others had advanced into key Imperial Guard posts and reported internal developments to me.

[ There was an unofficial gathering at Headquarters last week, and rumors say Grossmann attended. Himler has moved a young Imperial Guard officer named Rainer toward Gennen... ]

The name Rainer alone was enough for me to roughly understand what was moving and how.

Before my return, he had overseen the core of the Imperial counterintelligence system and carried out several impactful covert operations, but he had been assassinated because of his excessively arrogant personality. One of the worst war criminals.

“What will you do from here on?”

Dieter asked.

“...We will have to adapt.”

The greatest treasure I had gained as one who returned was information.

I had become who I was now by making moves, laying groundwork, and accumulating capital based on knowledge of the future. But from now on, it would likely be a puzzle.

Imagining the completed form of a puzzle whose shape I did not even know, then fitting it together, piece by piece, as though sewing it up.

Cutting away the pieces that did not fit to make them fit. Discarding even the pieces that fit if they differed from what I thought.

“I cannot control it.”

That was the nature of war.

“I can only adjust its direction and cut down humanity’s enemies, along with those worse than enemies.”

The Imperial Guard could be handled in different ways, but there would surely be many beyond saving.

So I would keep those worth keeping and discard those worth discarding.

“...The time has come, Dieter.”

I looked at Dieter. Dieter looked at me.

“You only need to trust me.”

I still did not know whether Dieter believed everything I said.

I could not be certain of people, nor should I be.

But.

“Because I am the chosen one.”

The fate of humanity. The weight my soul bore as one who returned.

I had killed countless people for that one purpose alone. Now only a single pull of the trigger remained.

“I...”

Dieter stood beside me.

“I trust Maximilian, not the Empire.”

A voice that meant faith. I held Dieter’s words in my hand for a moment.

“...Dieter.”

Then I offered Dieter something I had never once considered in two lifetimes.

Something I should not dare say aloud.

“What do you think would happen if I became the Empire?”

I conveyed the meaning of treason.

“...”

What answer would Dieter give me?

A brief silence.

“I believe it would be inevitable.”

Somewhere, Aternum’s hammers rang out.

Dieter’s words shook my heart.

...

The Imperial Guard moved. The military cooperated with them. I had many people in the military, but I had already informed them.

Follow as the Imperial Guard wished, but report the information.

From my estate, I heard of the movements at the Empire’s highest levels.

A diplomat I did not know flew to Lobrus and exchanged certain “opinions.”

The Emperor declared that regions with fifty percent or more people of Imperial descent belonged to the Empire. Immediately afterward, the Empire demanded the relevant territory from Yursled, which bordered the Empire’s southeast. Yursled firmly refused. Newspapers across the continent carried the news.

What had I been doing around this time before my return?

Drinking wine while claiming I was searching for future sources of growth, new industries, and the like...

Now, as spring rain fell, I was quietly lost in thought.

“It is about time to wage war.”

At the Imperial Princess’s hideout, she spoke while facing me.

“Thanks to you, we gained Genson and its surrounding regions without shedding a drop of blood.”

She raised a glass of sloshing wine and took a sip.

“And as you said, Lobrus has also responded positively to mutual nonaggression. They were angry that they had been excluded during Genson.”

Justine had grown close enough to drink wine before me now.

“However, our purpose is not merely that.”

Had her characteristic paranoia, suspicion, and incoherent fickleness risen again?

Fortunately, the answer was quite clear this time.

“His Majesty is angry.”

Instead of answering, Justine handed me several newspapers.

[ Emperor Calls the Continent “His”: What Does Fifty Percent Mean? ]

[ Yursled: “Not a Subject for Bargaining.” Rejects Imperial Demand ]

[ Cartoon of Two Men. A Man Wearing a False Crown, and a Man Beneath His Feet Eating Flakes of Skin ]

“Such filthy words have reached His Majesty, and above all else.”

It was called a caricature.

The Emperor looked like a rat baring its teeth. Not blond, nor golden-eyed, yet somehow it bore an uncanny resemblance to the Emperor’s actual face.

The Izenheim knew how to provoke the Emperor.

If their objective was to push me from the front lines for a while, they had succeeded.

“You are in here too.”

Justine pointed to part of the image.

The man beneath the Emperor’s feet. A knight holding a sword, grinning and bowing servilely. He had buck teeth, jutting cheekbones, and eyes so narrow they could not even be seen.

“...”

Now I appeared in place of Sebastian.

The way to tell us apart was simple. I did not have a beard.

“...A fine sight, is it not?”

At the anger in the Imperial Princess’s voice, I swallowed my smile.

It was good for me.

If the people who had built their image of “Maximilian” from this caricature someday saw the real me, the gap would become admiration. The more ridiculous they made me look, the more magnificent the real thing would appear.

“...I see.”

I was very handsome.

A striking appearance the Emperor lacked. It had been my only advantage before my return, and it remained one of my greatest talents.

I knew how people looked at Maximilian Ebenholtz.

“Yes. His Majesty saw these as well.”

Justine looked at me.

After quietly drinking a glass of wine, she spoke again.

“War is not a knight’s role.”

Her words could be read in two ways.

Either I should relinquish being a knight and become a soldier like Sebastian, or I should take a step back now.

“Yes. I will withdraw. From the Sentinel, I will await the Empire’s call at any time.”

Justine’s brow twitched slightly.

“...I believe there is a law stating that a knight may hold any role in the Empire.”

She had said war was not a knight’s role, yet when I tried to withdraw, she held me back.

I answered calmly.

“A knight is originally the Empire’s sword. The Empire is His Majesty the Emperor, so the law is also His Majesty’s word.”

It meant that from now on, I would move only as the Emperor wished.

Words completely unlike my true thoughts.

Justine gazed steadily at me, then nodded.

“There is a new face the Imperial Guard is promoting. I intend to see that face here today.”

Here, at the hideout no one but me had visited yet.

After a moment of silence, I asked.

“Is the name Rainer, by any chance?”

“Yes. You already know. Through his operation, one of Lobrus’s key figures was purged.”

At that moment, I suddenly understood.

“He is called the heart of Imperial counterintelligence within the Imperial Guard, and he shares the Empire’s bloodline law with the same fervor as the Imperial family.”

Perhaps Justine wanted jealousy.

Jealousy was another name for loyalty.

“Unlike you, whose loyalty is selective to a degree.”

However, saying something like, “I am jealous,” was an amateur’s move.

Conveying my feelings directly through my own words?

It was unconvincing. Suspicious. Not dramatic at all. If anything, it was cheap.

Therefore.

“...”

I swallowed once. I shifted my gaze from her eyes to the caricature on the table, then from the caricature to the rain outside the window.

I ran a fingertip around the rim of my wineglass once, then withdrew my hand.

With the gestures of a man filled with complicated feelings, I merely rose to my feet.

“I will not have occasion to meet Your Highness Justine here anymore.”

At the deliberately displeased tone in my words, Justine looked up at me.

For the briefest moment, something crossed her lips.

...A smile.

“That may be so.”

Still, I was not worried that I would be pushed aside completely.

Because I knew the Imperial Princess well.

She was a person with an extreme obsession with cleanliness. She had killed a servant because a speck of dirt had gotten on her hem, dismissed a minister because the minister’s nails were dirty at the dining table, and expelled a soldier because a nose hair had stuck out.

What was the greatest reason someone so mad would meet with me alone?

I believed it was my flawless appearance.

I had a face, voice, and build that did not offend her sensibilities. Above all, I possessed dignity and refinement.

The gestures and manner of speaking built up over the course of being born and raised could not be learned.

The angle at which one raised a glass, one’s stride when leaving through a door, the way one’s fingertips treated another person, where one directed one’s gaze in conversation, courteous consideration and restraint of emotion, the middle ground between confidence and humility.

Such manners were like an art accumulated over a very long time, beginning at the age when they were hardest to hide.

Habits formed in childhood remained at one’s fingertips even after becoming an adult.

I had known Gary Beaufort’s dignity and background from his gestures and bearing. From the sentences in a mere letter, I had read his old-fashioned character.

Those who had grown up as aristocrats among aristocrats possessed a unique scent.

But Rainer was not that sort of person at all.

Merely a diligent man who had grown up in the Empire’s middle class.

He possessed exceptional ability and decisiveness, but that was all.

He did not possess my aristocratic bearing and bloodline, my entirely natural refinement, or my looks.

He never would.

“Then, if you will excuse me.”

Therefore, what I wished to ask in the end was this.

“I will withdraw.”

Could you truly endure a man who was not me?