"It was all very queer and moving. There was much I did not understand, and in some ways I did not even like it, but I recognized it immediately as a state of affairs worth fighting for."
— George Orwell (Eric Arthur Blair), from Homage to Catalonia
*****************************
Yes, she was beautiful.
Even after decades in this world, having weathered countless storms and seen many women praised as beauties, she was something else entirely.
I don't care for ranking such things, but in terms of pure aesthetics, she would easily pierce the top ten of everyone I had ever met.
The fairest Sarkaz in history? That was the impression she gave.
Of course, that absolutely, positively, categorically does not mean I fell in love with her on the spot.
"...."
Think of how many advances I've brushed off, how many requests for 'reception' I've declined. How could I succumb so easily?
I'm the type of man who believes that those who cannot keep their lower halves in check should retire from politics immediately.
Take, for instance, Bill Clinton... or Bill Clinton... or perhaps Bill Clinton...
It seems only one name comes to mind, but the point stands: I am not the sort of man to compromise my ideals just because of a pretty face.
Furthermore, in this century-long life—though Terra isn't exactly prone to the 'Hundred-Year Era'—my mental age is well past a hundred. To act like a smitten teenager would be both insidious and pathetic.
So, no matter how exquisite that face may be!
I will never fall for it.
It was then.
"Stop staring."
Kal'tsit poked me in the back.
When I turned to look at her, she wore a look of utter pity, as if she were witnessing something wretched.
What? What kind of face was I even making for her to look at me like that?
I shifted my gaze to a nearby mirror.
...
Who is this idiot?
Why are the corners of his mouth practically touching his ears?
"Ahem!"
Quiet now. Whatever just happened... nothing happened at all.
I adjusted my expression into one of stern gravity and looked at Kal'tsit.
"It seems Comrade Theresia's prognosis is still uncertain, making proper diplomatic activities difficult. It is a great pity, but I suppose I must continue our dialogue with you until the Comrade wakes. What do you think?"
Whew. Even I thought that was a masterclass in redirection.
It wasn't just changing the subject... it was a precise, clear solution required for legitimate diplomacy.
Kal'tsit undoubtedly wanted to get to the main point anyway, so she would agree.
This response was a masterstroke—one that should earn me praise for striking at the heart of the matter. I was doing brilliantly.
But... why were Kal'tsit's eyes getting wider?
Did my mouth twitch again?
I checked the mirror once more.
No, my face was as strict, solemn, and serious as a stone monolith.
What was it, then?
I looked in the mirror again and noticed Kal'tsit wasn't looking at me. She was looking behind me—toward the curtains.
Only then did I realize.
Aha.
She's awake.
I turned my head.
And there she was, the Lord of Fiends, her eyes open.
She spoke.
"Haha... Hello. It seems our first meeting has become quite awkward."
Her smile was reflected in my pupils.
Of course, that didn't mean that I, Park Si-hun—a man of iron, a man who knew neither blood nor tears—would fall for her...
.
.
.
Oh, to hell with it.
My mouth curled up of its own accord.
My brain seemed to be screaming at my body to stop, but it was useless.
My heart was thumping wildly according to its own whim; what was I supposed to do?
Fine, I was smitten at first sight.
Let's just admit what needs to be admitted.
***********************
"That wrapped up quickly, Comrade Chairman. When might the next summit be?"
"Pardon? Ah... perhaps in three months? Three months... yes, let's say three months. Haha."
The negotiations concluded with surprising speed.
Since Theresia and I had both collapsed, it wasn't the right time for a formal, finalized treaty, so we settled for a temporary pact.
The contract was signed with Theresia, and the terms were simple.
"Supplies and personnel from the International Communist Party may move freely within Kazdel, and the International Brigade will be limited to its current scale. Furthermore, Theresia shall hold command over the International Brigade. This should suffice."
"Hmm, you think so?"
"Yes, yes! Absolutely, Comrade Chairman. We've secured the maximum level of cooperation from Babel."
We hadn't really given up much.
At most, the command of the International Brigade? That was about it.
And the gains were significant.
"Human and material control in the areas governed by the People's Commissariat will be held by the local People's Soviets. This is essentially granting autonomy, which is excellent. Since this is an agreement with the Kazdel government, not just a personal contract with the Lord of Fiends, we can maintain these rights even if she falls into danger."
Um, but wouldn't it be better just to rely on a promise with Theresia?
Promising autonomy through negotiations with a government... even if this isn't Earth, the example of Hong Kong proves how that usually ends. It would be better to frame it as the Lord of Fiends' personal promise to avoid shifting responsibilities later.
It's not like Theresia is going to die suddenly anyway.
Judging by the Arts she used on me, she could likely manipulate memories or psyche if she wanted.
And two hundred years ago, she allegedly slaughtered the anti-Sarkaz coalition led by Kal'tsit.
"Could something actually happen to the Lord of Fiends' safety?"
"Mmm... well, if a weakness is exploited, anything is possible. Even the most legendary Wyvern warrior becomes helpless when their child is held at knifepoint, do they not?"
Right, I'm sure it'll be fine.
If they break this promise, devastating economic sanctions will crush Kazdel.
It's not like we're dealing with Theresis's Military Council, who were hostile from the start; Babel is striving for international legitimacy as a normal state. It stands to reason they wouldn't pull something like that just because they took Kazdel.
Unless they're willing to crawl back to us.
Our promising diplomatic talents, Litvinov and Nott, said it was correct, so it likely was.
Then, the time came to depart.
"Safe travels, Comrade!"
"Long live the International Party! Long live Socialism!"
"Haha, stay well, Comrades."
I boarded the armored personnel carrier once again.
The doors of the landship Rhodes Island opened, and the vehicles descended one by one down the ramp.
As the final vehicle touched the ground, the Captain shouted.
"Move out!"
The sound of tires crushing the grass echoed through the air.
We gradually moved further away from the landship.
In the distance, I could see people waving. Some faces were familiar.
"Why are you grinning like a fool, Comrade Chairman?"
"It's nothing."
That tactless Litvinov smirked as he looked at my face.
"Now, let's head back. We have a lot of work to do."
"Indeed. Things in Ursus have been getting rather urgent lately."
Honestly, these past ten years have been far too busy. I want to go on a trip again.
Anyway...
I'll be able to see Theresia again, won't I?
*************************
Naturally, when the Sorbonne faction played the Ursus card as their gambit, they weren't merely targeting the international revolutionary spirit of the Federation's citizens.
They had a different aim in mind.
"Welcome to the Federal Generals' Club, Comrade Edward!"
"Haha, thank you, thank you, Comrades."
The Federal Generals' Club.
This club, founded by retired generals, was not at all the sort of 'club' a modern civilian might imagine.
It wasn't some den of inequity where gangsters laundered money and men and women desperate for attention flaunted wealth and charisma while drowning in booze and drugs.
In this context, it was something else entirely.
A 'Gentlemen's Club'.
Inherited directly from the traditions of Old Victoria, this culture was deeply rooted in the Federation's economic and military echelons.
These clubs allowed members to freely share and enjoy views on politics, literature, sports, art, automobiles, travel, or specific foreign nations according to their interests.
Consequently, people joined local clubs, professional clubs, or university clubs, and these memberships translated directly into votes.
It might manifest as an independent student candidate winning a People's Commissar seat through a landslide of university votes, or a former general being elected with high margins in districts densely packed with military housing.
Of course, this culture didn't pervade the entirety of Federation society.
The power of the massive labor unions, cooperatives, and professional organizations far outstripped that of the clubs.
With rare exceptions, the candidate endorsed by the local union was the one who generally won.
However, that did not mean the clubs were useless.
"We've heard you've been expressing rather hawkish views toward Ursus lately. Is there truth to that? Is a bloody war imminent?"
"Haha, wouldn't that be a tad barbaric? As civilized men, we should respond with words of 'urging' and 'condemnation' to pressure them into self-correction. While the deaths of Imperial subjects might not weigh heavily, the loss of Federation citizens would be a truly horrific tragedy."
The military brass.
A gargantuan organization maintaining four million active personnel.
Counting the reserves, they held a strength of nearly eighty million. They were the Federation's mightiest sword and shield, yet due to their sheer bulk, they had inevitably become a political entity.
While those eighty million reservists likely belonged to their own unions and voted according to their union's decisions...
Even with a conservative estimate, this massive collective could project a political force of nearly ten million votes.
So, what did the military want?
Was it war? Or was it peace?
"Indeed, a wise sentiment. However... in that process, wouldn't we need a means to project our strength?"
The military wanted neither war nor peace.
They wanted the middle ground.
They desired a state of constant, threatening tension.
And the reason was simple.
"Precisely. We currently plan to commission 600,000 new troops. Though the economic situation may worsen compared to before... what choice do we have? The Ursus reactionaries are threatening us."
"Haha! Well said. Since we don't know the full strength of the Imperial army, we must be fully prepared."
What they wanted were higher ranks and bigger pensions.
Why wage war?
In this land overflowing with irregular, superhuman threats, a general could easily lose his life. Moreover, except for a few anomalies, most Federation generals were desk-bound bureaucrats who relied on sidearms because their personal combat ability was abysmal (they received sabers, but those were purely for aesthetics).
Slightly off-topic, but the bottom line was that the generals wanted promotions.
The previous cabinet under the Social Revolutionary Workers' League had carried out disarmament. They were hostile toward the Ursus Empire but stayed mindful of international optics and reduced the military.
How many 'stars' were cut back then?
But now, the generals saw a new cabinet—one that avoided open war while manufacturing a crisis to fill the military's bowls.
If they missed this opportunity, it would mean the military was no longer a political group. And naturally, the military was very much a political group.
The sound of a toast rang out, clear and vibrant.
""A toast! To Revolution and Democracy!""
The military had joined hands with the Sorbonne faction.