Chapter 77: A Friend of a Friend The Direct Agencies of the Imperial Palace sat above both the Imperial Intelligence Agency and the Imperial Secret Police, operating on an entirely different tier.
If the Intelligence Agency was the hand that detected external enemies and the Secret Police were the feet that struck at internal threats, the Direct Agencies were the head—the part that coordinated and controlled both.
"…I see."
Lutz Rosen. As the head of the Special Inspection Department within the Direct Agency, tasked with tracking down subversive elements harmful to the Empire, he had indeed captured a suspicious flow of capital.
"Clever. Very clever. But…"
Lutz scanned the fund-tracking report brought by his subordinate.
"Yes, sir. These are funds diverted from the munitions factory Maximilian established in Hermes."
It was embezzlement and money laundering. A portion of the funds ostensibly spent on factory equipment was split and wired to shell companies established in the Western Kingdoms.
From there, the money passed through several countries, laundered into bearer bonds, and eventually flowed into untraceable accounts.
It was a meticulous route, siphoning off private capital to create a slush fund.
"Keep watching. Do not miss the movement of a single dollar."
Lutz suppressed a smirk.
As expected, Maximilian was ultimately nothing more than a greedy noble. One of the many aristocrats who spouted hypocritical nonsense about serving the Empire while sucking its lifeblood to line their own pockets behind the scenes.
"Will it be alright? He is an Ebenholtz, after all…"
"The industrial complex is a national industry. The order came directly from His Majesty."
When Maximilian had said, 'No taxpayer support is needed,' the Emperor had been so moved that he provided a certain amount of funding anyway. The Emperor was impressed by the sheer loyalty of a man willing to spend his own fortune to fill the void left by Gigantes.
But what if it was all a lie? What if it was revealed that he used the factory for embezzlement and money laundering?
"Keep a steady eye on him."
The sin of betraying the Emperor is grave. Not even Zebestian's influence would be enough to cover it up.
"Once the laundered amount has piled up sufficiently…"
A smile played on Lutz's lips.
"I'll go for the throat."
* * *
In the dining hall of my mansion, Chef Mefunji's artistic creations were being served one after another.
For the appetizer, a tartare of scallops sourced from the northern glacial seas, topped with caviar. For the main course, a steak of premium veal tenderloin braised in red wine, and steamed black abalone submerged in a saffron cream sauce.
This was my daily respite.
"Basically, even if people rest, the factory doesn't."
I spoke about my factory while slicing into the tender abalone.
"It was all a matter of efficiency. Gigantes certainly handled a large portion of the Empire's munitions, but their methods were inefficient. They ground people down to make up for their lack of productivity."
The problem with Gigantes wasn't just exploitation.
"Because of that, even young children were consumed, but we have no need for that."
My factory never stops, operating on a three-shift system twenty-four hours a day. It runs on a sophisticated algorithm designed by Dieter—one I can't even begin to understand. Security and censorship are tighter there than anywhere else.
"But wouldn't labor costs eat into your profits?"
Editor-in-Chief Celine Dubois expressed concern over the bottom line. I simply smiled.
"It wasn't a business intended to turn a profit in the first place."
"Then what is it for?"
"It is for the Empire."
Just as I brought a piece of abalone to my mouth—
"…Guaaaaah!"
Suddenly, Alphonse stood up with a crash.
"Guilt! No, a rage beyond that is boiling up inside me! I can't sit here any longer! Not with this kind of luxury food prepared with the blood and sweat of the lower classes! Dammit!"
He had been fiddling with his fork with a sour expression without touching his food for a while now. He threw down his napkin and stormed out.
"...."
"...."
Celine and I stared blankly at his retreating back.
In the silence, Celine let out a sigh.
"I'm sorry. He's a bit of an eccentric friend. I've recommended psychiatric evaluation several times, but he never listens."
I twitched an eyebrow and shook my head.
"No. I actually quite like him."
"…Pardon?"
"At least Reporter Alphonse is consistent. He's far from being two-faced…"
He is the same on the inside as he is on the outside.
A man who has established his own firm convictions—perhaps a much better person than someone like me.
"He is truly noble."
Celine let out a hollow laugh.
"Noble? Even after shouting profanities and storming out of a dinner?"
"Manners are ultimately just a shell. At least, that's what I think. Haven't you, Editor-in-Chief, smelled the rot wafting from many a polished aristocrat?"
"…I'll offer no comment on that."
I gazed steadily at Celine.
Suddenly, a question occurred to me.
"Editor-in-Chief. What do I smell like to you?"
I was gauging her.
I had willingly spared her life at the request of Tiger Mask—Thomas Wagner—but if she were to become a detriment to me…
"I'm not particularly good at smelling people. For now, I can only smell the scent of the incense."
I gave a small laugh.
"Editor-in-Chief. I heard you took a week of sick leave after the Gigantes destruction incident."
"Yes. I had a severe case of the flu. My bronchial tubes were damaged, so my voice is still a bit raspy."
Celine countered with feigned composure.
Snikt, snikt.
I sliced the remaining abalone. Smoothly, as if severing someone's neck.
"…I see."
The meal concluded with dessert.
We stood up and shook hands.
At that moment, I saw the raw marks on her hand. Scars that hadn't fully healed yet—likely traces of using a wire.
"Well then, Sir Knight. The meal was wonderful."
In this Empire, there are certainly capable investigators who would suspect Celine based on that alone.
"…Editor-in-Chief Celine."
I briefly caught her as she was about to leave.
After the Gigantes terror attack, Rabbit Mask had been identified as the perpetrator. The weapons and equipment used had all been made public.
This meant the investigation into her was already proceeding quite aggressively.
"Until those wounds are fully healed."
Therefore, I decided to point out the carelessness remaining on her hand.
"I think it would be best if you wore gloves."
For a split second, Celine's eyes wavered.
I added with a smile, "We wouldn't want them to get infected."
"…Yes. Thank you."
She gave a slight bow and left the mansion.
I watched coldly as she hurried away, shoving her hands into her pockets.
* * *
Winter, just before the New Year. Events are held around this time every year. They seem to go on almost infinitely.
The trend and extravagance remained the same this year, but most people wanted to hold them as close to the capital as possible. This was due to safety concerns stemming from the Gigantes terror attack and the recent atmosphere in the Empire.
Of course, it was still a safe zone for now. According to my memories from before the regression, there would be no major disasters immediately.
However, that didn't mean I could let my guard down. Beneath the surface, many things were already slowly but surely twisting.
...Then, one evening.
Unexpected guests arrived at my mansion.
"Lieutenant General Litruman?"
Standing there was Lieutenant General Litruman, the headmaster of Empire Point, and beside him stood an unfamiliar general.
"Brigadier General Hagen is here as well."
"Ah. You know my name? Well, I suppose we did introduce ourselves at the Ebenholtz main estate."
So we had met before.
To be honest, I only knew because I saw his name tag.
"What brings you two here…?"
"Ah, well. Knight Maximilian."
Lieutenant General Litruman cleared his throat awkwardly and gave a bitter smile.
"Please, come inside first."
I guided them to the drawing room. As soon as they sat down, Litruman and Hagen wore deeply hurt expressions.
"It's embarrassing to even say, but we were planning this year's 'Imperial Regimental Banquet'…"
The 'Regimental Banquet' is, simply put, a dinner ceremony where various generals and officer-level personnel of the regular army gather. It's an event with over a hundred years of tradition, where regular army commanders gather to foster camaraderie and confirm their solidarity.
"We received a sudden notice. They said they have to schedule a New Year's banquet for noble entrepreneurs in that slot. Even though we made the reservation long ago."
Litruman's face flushed red with humiliation.
"Is that so?"
This was the current state of the regular army. Nobles and businessmen looked down on them. Even if rumors of war circulated, they didn't think the regular army would become the dominant power. Their only concern was staying in the good graces of the Emperor's Imperial Guard.
It was a classic symptom of a falling nation: political soldiers thriving while field soldiers were marginalized.
I pretended to be lost in thought for a moment before speaking.
"I assume you aren't looking for revenge, but rather a space for the banquet?"
"You could say that."
"Very well. I will provide a suitable space for you."
I owned several buildings. I had even built a few myself. Lately, as quick-witted foreigners and lower-ranking races were leaving the Empire, I was buying up all the properties they were putting on the market at low prices.
"R-really?"
Lieutenant General Litruman's face lit up instantly. It was an expression rarely seen on a man well past middle age.
"Yes. In exchange, please leave the organization of the Regimental Banquet to me. As you know, I have a bit of a reputation for gourmet food and banquets. I will create a setting far more beautiful than their party, and one perfectly suited to the dignity of a soldier."
This was for the future. It was a good opportunity to plant seeds of goodwill within the regular army.
"Can we trust you? Our budget isn't exactly generous…"
"Lieutenant General."
I stood up and opened a display cabinet in my study. Inside was Litruman's command sword, which I had won for two million dollars at a charity auction, carefully preserved.
I had kept it just in case something like this happened, rather than throwing it away.
I took it out and presented it respectfully.
"The Battle of Rostallon Highlands on the Western Front. I heard that both you and Brigadier General Hagen protected the Empire in that hellish place."
Litruman's eyes widened. He took his old sword with trembling hands. Hagen, beside him, looked as if he had returned to his youth.
In this way, I had to make these men, who were treated with contempt in the Empire, feel that they were respected more than anyone else by 'me.'
Because, in the end, we would have to face all the terrible things together.
"Compared to the glory of that day, mere venue fees and food costs are trivial. I will cover everything."
If you have a lot of money and aren't afraid to spend it, you can easily win people's favor.
"…Thank you. Truly, thank you."
Litruman thumped the medals on his chest.
"Yes. You can look forward to it."
At the very least, soldiers do not forget the grace of a single meal received when they were at their lowest. That is the nature of soldiers.
"Then, I shall see you on that day."
After seeing the two of them to the front door personally, I returned to my office.
"The budget should be around a few million…"
If I didn't hold back, it would come to about that much. A few million for a single party. It was practically throwing money away, but if it could make a big impact on the 'heads' of the regular army, it wasn't a bad deal.
Whirring—
My terminal rang. It was Zendo from the Genen Annex.
—Sir Knight.
"What is it?"
—The atmosphere lately is unusual.
The situation in Genen was becoming increasingly serious. The sparks from the Gigantes incident were flying toward an unintended target.
"How bad is it?"
—We are even being monitored. The Secret Police bastards are pouring in right now.
The Imperial Secret Police. They were more insidious than the Intelligence Agency and more vicious than the Imperial Guard. Mad dogs that would bite anyone who was even slightly bothersome, whether they were part of the Revolutionary Group or not.
—They already took away dozens of innocent Genen people last week. I don't know if they think there are Revolutionary Group moles in Genen, or if they're trying to incite a protest on purpose.
Izenheim would likely be mixed in among them. Conversely, Izenheim would also be mixed in among the protesters filling the streets of Genen. Eventually, the history known as the 'Spring of Genen' would arrive.
In that turbulent tide, I was… still just an individual.
"…Zendo."
Izenheim are everywhere. With faces identical to humans, blending into human society, the entire race shares a single, catastrophic cause.
"Even if there is a hierarchy among races."
That was their greatest weapon.
They intended to turn the Empire's blade toward everyone except the Empire itself. They wanted to fix the Empire as the axis of evil.
Their schemes were sinister and, above all, shitty. There was no other word for it but 'shitty.'
"The people of Genen can be friends with the Aran people."
What I had to do as a mere individual—what I could do—was somehow set that blade straight.
To focus all the hatred and destruction of the Empire onto 'you.'
"Trust me and wait."
Zendo replied with a low hum.
—...Yes. Understood.
* * *
Text engraved in silver foil on premium parchment, and a high-quality seal closing the envelope.
The generals and field-grade commanders of the regular army, including Lieutenant General Litruman, received invitations to the 'Imperial Regimental Banquet.'
* * *
I express my deepest respect to you, the shields and spear-tips of the Empire.
It is because of your devotion that the Empire's present remains secure.
Please attend this gathering and take the rest befitting your honor.
* * *
"Is it here?"
The promised location was a classic stone building located in the heart of the capital. However, there was no butler guarding the entrance. No security guards checking invitations were visible either.
Litruman and the generals pushed open the heavy doors, feeling skeptical.
Creeeeeak—
Beyond the door was nothing but darkness.
"...."
Some generals stopped in their tracks, flustered, while others' faces hardened.
"Lieutenant General Litruman."
"Are you sure this is the right place?"
"...No."
"Ahem."
Had they been tricked? Was this another one of the nobility's cruel jokes? Were they not only ignored by businessmen but now also made a mockery of by a young knight?
Just as shame and anger were about to boil over—
Snap— Snap— Snap!
With a rhythmic sound, the darkness vanished. From all four sides of the space, soft lights turned on one by one like dominoes, illuminating the interior.
The soldiers gasped at the sight revealed.
There was no excessive decoration or nouveau riche gaudiness. Instead, on tablecovers so white they made the eyes sting, exquisitely crafted silver utensils sparkled as if they had captured the moonlight. Photos from the generals' pasts were painted on the walls like classical artworks, and restrained classical melodies filled the room.
"Welcome."
In the center stood a butler in an Ebenholtz uniform.
"We have been waiting for you, Generals."
As he gestured, servants walked out in perfect formation. They were the Empire's finest veterans, trained at the Ebenholtz main estate. With efficient movements, they took the generals' coats and guided them to their seats.
Everyone sat down, looking dazed. Soon after, waiters brought out the first course.
"The appetizer is a scallop carpaccio pulled from the cold waters of the North Sea. Topped with caviar infused with herbs that grow only in the high altitudes of the Western Empire."
The plates were set down with a low explanation. The plating was like a work of art.
The generals, who had recently only experienced banquet food that was barely adequate due to budget issues, cautiously picked up their forks.
And the moment it entered their mouths—
"...!"
"Mmph!"
"Hah!"
Exclamations that abandoned dignity leaked out from everywhere. Everyone's eyes widened. The concentration and level of pure 'taste' were far beyond their imagination.
A flavor that melted on the tip of the tongue. An exquisite texture that pierced the brainstem. A beautiful feast of aesthetics that seemed to wash away all their past sorrows.
"Lieutenant General Litruman!"
Brigadier General Hagen called out to Litruman in a voice thick with emotion. Many other generals also looked toward Litruman.
Litruman wiped the sauce from his mouth with a napkin and gave a faint smile.
"It wasn't me. This is the respect that Maximilian, that young and bold knight, is sending to us."
Right on cue, sommelieres appeared this time to present the wine.
"This is 'Chateau de Luna, 1988.' It is a premier vintage, befitting of you all."
Pop! Pop! The corks sounded like a fanfare. Soon, the red liquid filled the glass.
"Chateau de Luna '88? 1988?"
"Hoo… You mean 988, right?"
"Yes, that is correct."
It was a wine even the soldiers had heard of. That precious liquor, which cost hundreds of dollars not per bottle but per glass, was poured generously into the glasses of all hundred-plus soldiers in attendance.
"Lieutenant General Litruman. How about a toast?"
Brigadier General Hagen suggested. The other generals also sent him expectant looks. Litruman stood up and raised his glass high.
"For the future of the Empire, the eternal health of His Majesty, and the honor of our military. And..."
He slowly looked around the perfect space.
A banquet that was luxurious without being extravagant, and one that even held a sense of awe toward soldiers.
"For Knight Maximilian, who prepared this place."
—For him!
The generals maintained the dignity befitting their rank, responding with voices more solemn than ever before.
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