Semi-Coercive Imperialist

Yursled and Bolska now stood beneath the Empire’s flag. Bolska’s president had fled to Hailand and formed a provisional government, while Yursled’s prime minister signed a “protectorate” document.

“So you are the face of the Empire.”

The Imperial Princess spoke in our hideout as she handed me a photograph of myself standing on the balcony of the Bolska Presidential Palace.

I bowed my head.

“You flatter me.”

She gave a small laugh.

She had been smiling more freely lately.

“What next?”

“First, we need to stabilize the east. It is overflowing with heterogeneous bloodlines.”

Yursled and Bolska had unusually high proportions of Izenheim. Their central location on the continent also meant that one could travel in any direction from there, but the political reason was greater.They had shown comparatively little discrimination against heterogeneous bloodlines.

“And your method?”

“I intend to build Camps.”

I placed a finger on the map.

“Here.”

Mielz.

Southern Bolska.

“Here.”

Rubanov.

A railway junction in eastern Yursled.

“Here.”

Karniche.

An abandoned mine between the two countries.

“I plan to operate numerous Camps, including these. Now that Bolska and Yursled have become imperial territory, they too must follow imperial law. The bloodline law applies as well.”

That meant we could confiscate all their property.

“I will leave the distribution to you.”

Resting her chin on her hand, the Imperial Princess watched me.

It meant she intended to measure my heart.

“Yes.”

Of course, I would not covet wealth. I would gladly scatter the Izenheim’s property and the Camps among those Imperial Guard bastards.

The Imperial Guard and I had the same goal. The Imperial Guard was not my enemy. We would do what had to be done together.

As for the regular army, I would take care of them myself.

...Yes, I was the one who looked after the regular army.

Not the Emperor. Not the Imperial Princess.

Maximilian Ebenholtz.

“But those bastards are a problem. I hear the eastern vermin invaded Finnomia, using some bizarre excuse.”

“We have continued watching them, and they seem to be holding out fairly well for now.”

“How long can that little country hold out?”

“I believe they will hold out for quite some time.”

The Imperial Princess glared at me with suspicious eyes, and I briefly thought of that northern land.

The land of snow, Finnomia, must be...

* * *

Finnomia responded swiftly. Having expected a Lobrus invasion for years, its headquarters moved according to protocol from the moment word of the Opening Hostilities arrived.

“Deploy the ski units.”

By order of Head of State Wirse, Commander-in-Chief Hannu dispatched the ski units that had been trained over the years.

The Eastern Union’s divisions moved along roads. Tanks and trucks could not use the forests.

Thus, the ski units targeted their flanks and rear. They cut their roads and burned their supply trucks.

“Abandon the northeastern forests. Move everyone south and establish a front.”

A front required choices and concentration.

That was Hannu’s personal judgment.

Finnomia was a country with far too much useless land, so people mattered more than territory. Small units scattered here and there were drawn together at more vital fronts, where they formed a solid defensive posture.

“Do not stop producing shells.”

Finnomia had a shell factory as well. It was the only facility the Imperial Army had built before withdrawing.

It had now become Finnomia’s key asset. The most precious factory in the country, producing artillery shells.

“...”

On the fourth day of the war, Army Commander and Chief of General Staff Hannu received reports from the front.

The ski units’ achievements were already remarkable. They had slowed the advance of the Eastern Union tank units that had pushed forward so boldly and severed their supply lines.

“Ha! Those damned easterners.”

They must have been bewildered by an army unlike anything they had encountered before.

Yet that was precisely why Hannu remembered the person who had recognized the ski units’ true value years earlier.

In truth, when viewed broadly, it was obvious.

If the enemy invaded, we had to fight in the way we did best.

What the enemy did not have, but we did.

Snow, mountains, ice, and skis.

We had no hope of winning in a head-on clash, so we would use skis’ overwhelming mobility in the snowy mountains. Every Finnomian citizen was a ski expert, so little training was needed. Men, women, even the elderly could fulfill their proper duties for their homeland.

But Hannu’s question began at that very point.

Maximilian was not a Finnomian.

Though not a citizen of Finnomia, he had learned its language, understood every aspect of Finnomia, and anticipated the Eastern Union’s invasion.

Insight as though he had seen the future. A mind unbound by prejudice, and a gift for languages beyond what ordinary people could even imagine.

Sometimes in life, one encountered such utterly strange people.

Whether their capacity was great or small, whether they were good or evil, even Hannu, who had once been called a genius before becoming Finnomia’s commander, could not dare understand such a person.

A man who had gained martial strength worthy of being called a superhuman, yet constantly drove himself beyond his limits.

Truly, someone deserving to be called a philosopher...

“...Hm.”

So Hannu picked up a blank sheet of paper.

They intended to seek advice from that man.

Conveniently, there was no need to use a foreign language to communicate with him.

If Hannu wrote in the language of their homeland, that man would send a reply in the same language.

* * *

The Eastern Union had invaded Finnomia. Its justification was a staged incident.

According to the eastern announcement: A firefight had broken out at a border post, and Eastern Union soldiers had been killed by Finnomian troops.

Among the dead was Major Nikolai Orlov, whom Lobrus mourned as a promising officer.

In my view: They had probably dressed the corpses of purged officers and political prisoners in uniforms and placed them there.

In any case, Lobrus advanced upon Finnomia from all directions. Through the southern isthmus, along the eastern lakeside road, and across the coniferous forests at its waist.

The entire Finnomian border was ablaze.

Before my return, Finnomia could not withstand the eastern offensive. It simply lacked supplies.

Its anti-tank guns and communications network were inadequate, so despite the ski units’ later efforts, it lost more than half its territory.

Now, things were different.

The anti-tank guns supported by the Empire stopped Lobrus’s tanks at the isthmus, while the communications network I had put in place tightly linked the border and headquarters.

Eastern Union divisions attempting to cross the mountain range were cut to pieces by snow troops. Having encountered ski soldiers for the first time in their lives, their advance slowed drastically.

Finnomia was holding out.

Its autonomy, independence, and national defense would benefit the Empire.

No, they would greatly benefit all humanity.

“A letter has arrived from Finnomia.”

Around then, a letter arrived from Chief of General Staff Hannu.

It was not a request for aid. It merely sought advice.

“...”

After considering it briefly, I placed paper on my desk and picked up a pen.

...Perhaps I should write a paper.

The continental war was a common subject in countless books of the future. It had been such a great war, such immense history, that everyone repeated, “If only they had done this.”

If they had done this, the Empire would have won.

If they had done this, the Allied forces would have won faster.

If they had done this, the massacre of minority races could have been prevented.

Naturally, there had also been a hypothesis that Finnomia might have held out longer if it had done things differently.

I remembered a book called The Subjunctive of History.

I had read it standing in a secondhand bookstore during my homeless days. Its author was Loker, a Finnomian military scholar.

Chapter Four was about Finnomia.

[ Burn the villages before the enemy arrives. The houses, warehouses, wells, bridges, all of it. ]

[ Once they have nowhere to stay, the colder the weather becomes, the more the enemy’s numbers will quietly dwindle... ]

Borrowing his words, I wrote in my own hand.

[ Furthermore, the Finnomian people are extremely pure and upright. ]

In truth, Finnomia had an exceptionally low proportion of Izenheim. It was probably no coincidence.

[ Therefore, you must gather the full strength of the people. Issue a general mobilization order and call upon the people’s will in every field that can aid the front, including cooking, nursing, communications, air defense, and surveillance. ]

Of course, it was easy to give advice after a war ended.

All hidden, or deliberately concealed, information had already been revealed. All one had to do was look from afar and make simple judgments.

[ The key to the Eastern Union’s supply lines is the railways. ]

But these were facts difficult to know in the present. Even if one knew them, it was hard to make a hasty judgment.

Knowing the future was convenient in this way.

[ Endure for two or three months until the harsher winter arrives, then select the ski unit veterans who can travel the farthest and cut the northern railway... ]

For quite some time, I scribbled with conviction.

Before my return, the Finnomian scholar had recorded Finnomia’s defeat.

But wishing for their victory, I sent several “recommendations.”

...

Yursled’s capital fell. An independent brigade led by Colonel Kai Han of the Frontline Imperial Guard made the first breakthrough, and Bresla Fortress surrendered after half its garrison was killed.

“...”

I stood silently atop Bresla Fortress.

Below the ridge stretched the ruins of anti-tank gun positions. Mounds of sand and traces of collapsed trenches.

I slowly swept my gaze across the bleak scene.

My eyes sharp, my gaze straight.

Whoooosh.

Just then, the wind blew in. The hem of my uniform fluttered like a flag, and my blond hair drifted softly. The setting sun traced my silhouette from behind...

Click.

A shutter sounded.

A photograph had been taken.

I turned toward it.

Photographer Kowalski stood there. The reporter who had photographed me on the balcony of the Bolska Presidential Palace. They had done fairly well, so I had brought them along.

“Good work.”

“Y-yes, thank you.”

This, too, was propaganda. The photograph would be released through the Empire’s Ministry of Propaganda, spread across the continent, and become an icon.

The Empire’s sword standing tall atop Bresla.

The final image of Yursled, which had defied the Empire.

“Perhaps next time.”

Smiling faintly, I placed a hand on the photographer’s shoulder.

“You will photograph me before Prozen Tower.”

Prozen Tower.

Kowalski’s expression stiffened at once.

The surrounding soldiers did not understand Bolska’s language and merely exchanged looks.

“Sir Knight.”

Suddenly, an administrative officer whispered something to me.

“...Yes. Understood.”

There had been a slight problem in Yursled.

Kai Han had disobeyed the Imperial Guard’s high command and conquered Yursled too quickly.

But that much could easily be resolved.

All I had to do was toss them what I had intended to give them from the beginning, as if doing them a favor.

* * *

Martin Himler, Security Chief of the Imperial Guard, was furious enough to explode.

Should he blow up Yursled’s palace? Or shoot several dozen Izenheim? He desperately needed something to take his anger out on.

His rage was not directed at Maximilian.

It was directed at Kai Han, the unknown commoner bastard who had stolen their credit.

Han had ignored orders, babbled nonsense about poor reception, and taken the capital on his own.

Martin Himler immediately gave the order.

“It is insubordination. Court-martial him.”

Martin Himler said exactly that.

He definitely said it.

He even drafted a document saying the same thing.

He conveyed the same order to Commander Alfred.

Yet the very next day, a message arrived from Imperial Guard headquarters.

“Would you reconsider...?”

It was Brigadier General Berger, director of the Imperial Guard Personnel Bureau.

“What?”

“There is no issue with referring him to a court-martial, but the timing... If we punish the hero of Yursled’s occupation immediately after its conclusion...”

“What?”

“I fear how the Imperial Palace may view us. I worry the Imperial Guard may gain a reputation as an organization that punishes those who earn merit. Rather than punishment, perhaps we should reward him, but...”

“A reward? Who are you?”

After all that circling around, Berger was simply telling him not to punish Kai Han.

“I will not reconsider.”

Himmler gave Berger the same answer, but suddenly calls came from all manner of people.

Foreign Minister Steller. Imperial Guard faction members such as Hagmunt Goring. Even Lieutenant General Jens of the Imperial Guard, who had never asked for a favor before.

“...Who the hell is backing that bastard?”

Their words were all the same.

“There is no one backing him, exactly, but he is quite a good fellow...”

And after saying he was a good fellow:

“Knight Maximilian seems impressed by his achievements.”

By the time they all invoked Maximilian and asked Himmler to reconsider:

“Chief Himmler! It is him!”

Him.

A call had come from Maximilian.

Grit.

Clenching his teeth, Himler picked up the receiver.

“I received your call.”

“Good to speak with you, Sir Himmler.”

“...Yes. Sir Maximilian.”

Himmler answered listlessly as he picked at his ear, listening to that irritating voice.

“There will be decorations soon.”

Decorations.

Had Maximilian called to mock him?

No, that had to be Himmler’s intention.

Martin Himler’s brow twisted deeply.

“I submitted a report on the merits earned in Yursled’s occupation to Her Imperial Highness. The destruction of Bresla Fortress and the breakthrough into the capital are all listed as achievements of the Frontline Imperial Guard.”

Maximilian’s polite voice took a form different from what Himler had expected.

“Of course, Sir Martin Himler’s name will be on the first page.”

My name on the first page.

The first page.

Martin blankly asked again.

“...Do you mean that?”

“Of course. We are looking toward the same place, are we not?”

Looking toward the same place.

At first, Martin wondered if that could truly be so.

“I also read your paper, A Study of the Hierarchy of Bloodlines and the Inferiority of Heterogeneous Bloodlines. You possess truly exceptional insight.”

It was a paper Martin himself had written after discussing it with numerous professors, then submitted to Imperial Central University. It argued “scientifically” why Izenheim and minority races were inferior.

Martin’s shoulders twitched slightly.

“Also, there is something I should tell you in advance. It concerns the assignment of jurisdiction over Camps in the eastern occupied territories...”

Maximilian continued speaking.

Clear words entered his half-open ears.

Izenheim and Camps. The bloodline law and property confiscation.

“...”

Himmler listened without saying anything. His expression slowly relaxed.

Then it opened into a bright smile.

It was a smile Himmler himself had not noticed.