When the red flag bearing the sickles and hammers was raised atop the Twin Towers, Trullinczentyr split into two entirely different worlds.
In the workers' district, inside a tavern called "The Wild Boar and Horn," the atmosphere was hotter than the strongest malt liquor.
The scents of sawdust and sweat mingled, creating a heady aroma unique to the working man.
A young fitter named Karl stood on a table, waving his arms, his cheeks flushed red with excitement and alcohol.
"I'm telling you!"
"My cousin! He's at the steel mill in Wasser Fief!"
"They got assigned houses! The kind with running water!" he roared, his voice nearly drowned out by the surrounding cheers.
"No more squeezing the whole family into a moldy basement! Long live His Majesty, Lacey!"
"This is great! Our good days are coming! We won't have to put up with those noble lords anymore!"
The tavern keeper brought out a large tray of ale, grinning. "It's on the house today!"
"To His Majesty, Lacey! To the Workers' Party! Cheers!"
"To the people's emperor!" an old miner with a missing finger raised his bottle, a glint in his murky eyes.
"Cheers!"
"Cheers!"
Everyone in the tavern raised their mugs. Cheap beer foam flew through the air, merging into a sea of joy.
Many of them didn't even fully understand complex terms like "Workers' Party" or "Economic Community," but they held a simple belief:
An emperor who had climbed his way up from the bottom, just like them, would surely understand their suffering better than the noble lords born with silver spoons in their mouths.
Freshly printed copies of The Workers' Daily were passed around the tavern, the ink still not fully dry.
The front-page headline, in the largest possible font, read—A New Era: Our Emperor, Our Time!
The paper published the full text of Lacey's speech to the parliament, and every word was being discussed and debated.
"'Where does my power come from, and whom should I serve!'... Gods, just listen to that! Well said!"
A literate apprentice read from the paper.
"The old emperors would only say, 'I am the state'!"
"Our children will be able to go to school now!"
"I heard the factories in Wasser Fief only have eight-hour workdays! And holidays!"
Hope was spreading through the city's lower class.
The dream of a better future was the most intoxicating vintage of the moment.
...
Meanwhile, in the noble district, surrounded by high walls and gardens, the scene was entirely different.
Inside the residence of Count Will Alarand, all the curtains were drawn tight.
Burning in the fireplace was not fine oak wood, but stacks of deeds, ledgers, and certain letters that could not see the light of day.
The firelight reflected on the Count's fat, pale face, as beads of sweat slid continuously from his temples.
"Quickly! Find the diamond necklace Mother left! And those few chests of gold coins in the cellar! Pack them all!"
The Countess shrieked, directing servants who were in an equal state of panic.
Her voice, sharp with fear, had lost all of its former elegance.
"Father, are we really leaving?" the Count's young son asked, standing aside in a daze.
"To Victoria? Columbia? We'll have nothing!"
"Shut up, you fool!"
The Count spun around and slapped his son across the face.
"Have nothing? If we stay here, we won't even have our lives!"
"Do you think that mud-legged emperor will spare us? He dared to put Lord Abraham and the others under house arrest today; tomorrow, he'll dare to hang us all in the square!"
An old man who looked like a butler rushed in from outside, his face even paler than the Count's.
"My lord, it's terrible! The streets... the streets are full of people from the Workers' Party!"
"They've blocked all the city gates and stations, and they're going door-to-door registering property!"
"What?!" The Count collapsed onto the sofa, his eyes vacant.
The path of escape was cut off.
Fear spread rapidly among these nobles who had once lived in the lap of luxury.
They exchanged news through secret channels, each message driving them deeper into despair.
"The commander of the Golden Law Guard, General Valentin, refused to swear the oath. He was dismissed on the spot and has now been thrown into the black cells!"
"All the old hands at the Ministry of Taxation have been kicked out, replaced by a bunch of people from Wasser Fief!"
"The Imperial Chronicle has been shut down! The editor-in-chief was arrested! They said it was a 'mouthpiece of the old era'!"
...
Baron Viktor Krupp, one of Leithanien's largest arms contractors.
During the period of the 'Edict of Deprivation,' he had actively answered the imperial family's call to halt steel supplies to Wasser Fief.
In the evening, the baron was flirting with his mistress in his luxurious mansion.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
When the butler opened the door, he was met with an arrest warrant bearing the imperial seal.
"Viktor Krupp, you are under arrest for economic treason," said the agent from the intelligence department, presenting the warrant.
"Do you know who I am?! I'm a Krupp!" the baron roared.
"We know. Take him away."
The agent waved his hand, and men immediately moved to restrain the baron. Then, a group of personnel stormed the mansion.
That night, Krupp's assets were seized, and he himself was immediately sent to a labor re-education camp in Wasser Fief.
Similar scenes were playing out across the country.
Those nobles and wealthy merchants who had made their fortunes through monopolies and exploitation, those generals in the army who paid only lip service to their duties...
On Gertrude's list, not a single name was missed.
...
Anton, a spice merchant, nervously watched a squad of Guards march down the street in perfect formation through his shop window.
They were well-equipped, their gazes sharp, completely different from the lazy City Defense Force of the past.
"They... they won't storm in, will they?" Anton's wife trembled, hiding behind him.
"Don't scare yourself," Anton comforted his wife, but his own palms were slick with sweat.
He wasn't a noble, but he was a man of some means.
He had heard of the commercial prosperity in Wasser Fief and held a sliver of hope that Lacey could break the monopoly of the old nobility.
But at the same time, rumors of "collectivization" and "purges" kept him awake at night.
He didn't know if he would be classified as one of the people, or one of the people's enemies.
"Boss, someone's handing out flyers outside," a shop boy ran in with a sheet of paper.
Anton took it and saw it was printed with "A Proclamation to All Citizens of Trullinczentyr," signed by the "Imperial Central Cabinet."
The content was simple: guaranteeing all legal private property, encouraging free trade, severely cracking down on speculation and market disruption, and announcing the new tax rates.
The new tax rate was... a full twenty percent lower than it was during the time of the Twin Empresses.
Anton was stunned. He read it over and over, making sure his eyes weren't deceiving him.
"Is... is this real?" he muttered.
A commotion arose from the distant square.
Anton stood on his toes and saw a crowd gathered around a makeshift notice board.
Several propagandists in the green uniforms of the Workers' Party were explaining the new policies to the public.
"Citizens!"
"The new government promises that all legitimate income will be protected!"
"We are only cracking down on the parasites who feast on the blood and sweat of the people!"
"Starting tomorrow, with proof of identity, every household can collect a free portion of bread and milk from the community service stations!"
"This is a gift from His Majesty, Lacey!"
"Woohoo~"
A cheer erupted from the crowd.
Watching all this, the scales in Anton's heart began to swing wildly.
He felt relieved, yet also a sense of indescribable strangeness.
The world, it seemed, was changing at a dizzying pace, in a way he couldn't comprehend.
...
While scenes of joy and sorrow played out in every corner of the city,
Meklen Neum was in his temporary mansion in the capital, taking an unconventional crash course on "integrating into the new era."
He had summoned Trullinczentyr's best tailor to custom-make a green, high-collared, worker-style uniform.
Then, he had his subordinates find a loud-voiced worker to teach him the most popular revolutionary song—'We Workers Have Strength.'
"Hey! We workers have strength! Hey! Busy working every day... building up tall buildings... uh... what's the next line again?"
Meklen's face turned red as his tone-deaf singing startled the pet bird next to him into a flutter.
His aide, stifling a laugh, reminded him, "Boss, it's 'laying the pipes underground.'"
"Right, right! Laying pipes!" Meklen slapped his thigh.
"These lyrics are so realistic! I love it!"
As he was getting into it, an intelligence officer hurried in and handed him a document.
Meklen opened it, and the smile on his face gradually vanished.
"A few little whelps in the Golden Law Guard who don't know their place are plotting a rebellion?" He raised an eyebrow.
"Trying to assassinate Taylor?"
"Heh. These kids... have they ever had a harsh lesson from the real world?"
He casually tossed the document on the table, his shrewd merchant's expression returning.
"Go, get the vehicle ready for me. I'm going to see our His Majesty, Lacey."
He adjusted his ill-fitting uniform and muttered to himself.
"It's time... to talk about the post-war reconstruction contracts."
...
At dusk, Lacey stood alone on the highest balcony of the Twin Towers.
The fading light of the sunset bathed the entire city in a magnificent golden hue.
Serafina came silently to his side and draped a greatcoat over his shoulders.
"Some key facilities are under control. The reorganization of the military is also preliminarily complete."
"Thirteen officers refused to swear the oath. They've been detained by Taylor's people," she reported softly.
"The public's mood is stable, one might even say... exuberant."
"Our policies are very popular."
"A surge of emotion comes quickly, and it goes just as fast," Lacey said softly, gazing down at the teeming masses below.
"Only when they truly feel their lives improving will this support become solid."
"What about the officers who refused the oath?"
"Strip them of their ranks and honors, and send them to a special tribunal." Lacey's reply was simple.
________________________________________
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