Chapter 142: The World Thinks of Us as It Pleases (4) Julius Valentin von Arensburg's detached villa.
The place, usually bustling with the flattery of aides and extravagant banquets, was now submerged in a silence so heavy it was difficult to breathe.
"...It is irreversible."
This incident. The bombing of Reutern II.
Julius and his numerous confidants had stayed up for days and nights, meticulously analyzing the evidence and circumstances of the scene. The conclusion they reached was singular.
'It was a self-staged act by Reutern II to manipulate his father.'
Julius knew the temperament of Reutern I, his long-time political rival, better than anyone. Reutern I was not a man who would recklessly shed blood without justification or a clear gain.
He was an old fox who knew how to compromise at the right moment to secure practical interests.
Because Julius believed that, he had intended to keep to the lines as well. He only needed to live as quietly as a mouse for a few years.
However, he never imagined a madman would emerge and flip the entire board like this.
Thanks to that, the notion of 'elegant political strife between royals' had become a laughingstock.
"Has he been hiding such venom all this time?"
There was no reason for them to push Julius to the edge of a cliff. As fellow royals of the same bloodline, there was no reason to risk everything to push for his dismissal.
It was a fatal miscalculation.
The vulnerability of a fallen royal family acting as parasites within the Imperial Palace.
In the past, the royalty of fallen nations had been manipulated like chess pieces by the Emperor's cold calculations.
Sometimes they were used as a sword to keep the overgrown founding contributors in check; sometimes as a shield to suppress the discontent of the rising nobility; and sometimes merely as ornaments to flaunt the generosity of the Imperial Family.
Each time, the royals had survived by servilely adapting their conduct. After hundreds of years, they had finally managed to build their own solid factions and ecosystems within the palace.
However, in the end, all of this was nothing more than 'sharing the pie.'
Every night, a delicious pie was delivered from the Imperial Family. Today's royal nobles had reached a tacit agreement to share that pie peacefully in appropriate proportions.
But among them, a demonic figure had been hiding.
A viper who was never satisfied with the single slice he was given. A man who had perfectly concealed his black greed and his intent to steal from others by playing the part of a pathetic fool for over a decade while sharpening his blade.
Reutern II.
That bastard had decided to slit his competitor's throat to monopolize the pie.
"He wants war," Julius whispered.
His rage had reached its peak, but his mind grew unnervingly calm.
To survive—we might have no choice but to bite their throats first.
*
The Imperial Hospital, operated by the Bertem family, where Reutern II was hospitalized.
"I am glad to see you are safe."
I visited his private suite under the guise of a get-well visit. Instead of a trivial flower basket or health drinks, I brought a gift of rare gems suited to his tastes.
"Woah, woah, what is this?"
"It is a token of my wish for your speedy recovery."
Reutern's face lit up, entranced by the brilliance of the gems. He looked up, his eyes sparkling.
"Seriously... Max, the more time passes, the more I regret the days I misunderstood you!"
I decided not to ask what kind of misunderstanding he had.
It would only sour my mood.
"But what on earth happened? I think I lost my memory for a bit right after the explosion. You said a bomb went off under my car?"
"Yes. Please be careful with your person. The Imperial Palace is not what it used to be," I advised him with a feigned tone of concern.
"Right. Oh, and they said I survived thanks to that cube you gave me. Max, I'm really grateful."
Reutern was strangely cheerful despite having just crossed the threshold of death.
A psychopath with a dangerously low sense of fear. This was the side of Reutern that had driven hundreds of thousands of soldiers to their deaths on the battlefield before the regression, only to return to the front as a commander once again.
Only now did his past actions make sense.
"But which ballsy son of a bitch targeted me? Do you have anyone in mind? It hurts like hell. It still hurts!"
He was more angry than afraid.
"If I catch that bastard, I'm going to kill him."
A murderous glint appeared in Reutern's eyes.
"I won't let him die normally, either. I'll tear his limbs apart! I'll peel off every inch of his skin and flesh!"
"Private retaliation is illegal, Lord Reutern."
"What... is it? Then, how is the investigation going?"
"As it is an ongoing investigation, I cannot provide details."
"I'm the victim, aren't I?" Reutern furrowed his brows. "You can't even tell the victim?"
His tone turned quite cold.
"..."
I quietly scanned the interior of the hospital room. Shocked by the terror attack on his son, Reutern I had fallen into extreme paranoia. There were likely wiretapping devices hidden here.
"It is for your safety, Lord Reutern."
"Come on, just tell me in secret. You look like you've made some progress."
My expression.
Of course, I had made it that way on purpose.
"...Then, I shall tell only you, Lord Reutern."
I cleared my throat softly.
"The source of the bomb is a ghost."
"A ghost?"
"Yes. A ghost bomb."
I lowered my voice as I sat in the chair next to his bed.
"The material of the metal, the alloy ratio, the purity of the detonating mana stone, the structure of the fuse. It was an extremely sophisticated bomb. It was clearly the work of a highly skilled technician, but when we trace the source of the parts... every trail is cut off, as if a ghost made it."
"Hoo... how mysterious. The reason?"
"Well. They might have used items from a decommissioned factory, or parts that don't exist on paper. There are many reasons. It is difficult to specify."
The first condition: a decommissioned factory.
The second condition: parts that don't exist on paper.
The answer was Gigantes.
If Reutern I, who was likely listening, heard this, he wouldn't be able to think of anyone other than 'Julius.'
"...Wow. I'm really grateful, Max. If it weren't for the cube you gave me, I'd be nothing but bone ash by now. I don't care who that motherfucker is, just wait until I catch him."
Reutern trembled with rage.
I lowered my voice further.
"However, Lord Reutern. I will focus only on the case. I have no interest in the internal affairs or politics of the Imperial Palace."
Now, I would leave them to engage in their own power struggles.
"Huh?"
"Catching the traitors who embezzled weapons from Gigantes was a duty I had to perform as a knight, regardless of your request."
"...What are you talking about?"
"What you mentioned at the restaurant that day."
Conscious of the father, Reutern I, listening somewhere, I intentionally twisted my words.
"Ah~ that. Right. Of course, that had to be done. Absolutely. We can't let the rats who disturb the order of the Empire be."
The son, Reutern II, still seemed to have no idea what had happened because of his signature.
I stared intently at him.
"Lord Reutern."
"Yeah?"
I wanted to punch that face, tilting in feigned innocence, but...
"How high do you want to climb in this Empire?"
"...How high?"
Reutern's expression stiffened for a moment.
"Yes."
Reutern still had plenty of utility.
Thanks to his stupidity and the royal power lurking behind him.
"...I guess Max noticed?"
Based on his future, I knew he had ambition.
"I, you see... I want to be a commander."
As expected, Reutern was dreaming of pushing hundreds of thousands of regular Imperial soldiers into the abyss.
"How did you know?"
Reutern's face became strangely serious.
I gave a small smile.
"Such an aura always flows from you, Lord Reutern."
I didn't want to say such things to him, but I suppressed my disgust. I considered it a form of mental tempering.
In the near future, Reutern could become my weapon to set the Imperial Palace ablaze.
"It is a unique brilliance... one that only comes from a person who looks toward the distant future, building their inner strength while perfectly concealing their own intentions."
Reutern paused at my exaggerated flattery. Was it too much? I felt a slight tension.
"Heh. You're quick. I'm a bit surprised. I suppose I am that way."
He soon tilted his chin up arrogantly.
I forced down the bile rising in my throat.
"Yes. That is correct, Lord Reutern."
From now on, the Imperial Palace—no.
The world will think of you as it pleases.
But for you, who desires fame and authority, it won't be a bad thing.
* * *
A lounge at the national university of the Progen Republic, a powerful nation in the west.
Professor Jean Pierre received news from Zerpa.
The Zeronica Mine had fallen. The regular army's coup had been suppressed, and the tide of the war had turned for the Republican Faction due to the intense counterattack by the Empire's Durkon Legion.
However, in the process, Zeronica had been reduced to rubble and ash. The traditional mana ore vein, responsible for a significant portion of Zerpa's national mana stone production, had been crushed.
But this was only the first piece of news.
The second piece of news was the reconstruction of the Zeronica Mine. By mobilizing a large number of Durkon Legion personnel and Republican prisoners, the debris was cleared in an instant, and with the injection of Imperial capital, facilities more modern than before were installed.
Since Zeronica was a place that couldn't be abandoned even if it were completely destroyed like Gigantes, the Empire's actions were somewhat expected.
However...
In Jean Pierre's view, the sovereignty and lifespan of the nation of Zerpa had ended here.
"The full-scale exploitation is about to begin."
Jean Pierre spoke with near certainty. The faces of the professors representing various fields—humanities, sociology, economics, and war studies—gathered in the lounge were similarly grim.
They exhaled thick tobacco smoke, agonizing over the future of the continent.
"Mine reconstruction. It's a very plausible justification. The best excuse to legally swallow the core of another country has fallen into the hands of those Imperial bastards."
The economics professor, Laurent, said with a click of his tongue.
"The picture is obvious from here. The Empire will bill the Zerpa royalty for debts incurred under the guise of mine reconstruction costs and military support—inflated by hundreds of times over. And they will exclusively exploit Zeronica's mana stones under the pretext of repaying that debt."
Zerpa would remain a mere shell, reduced to an economic colony of the Empire forever.
"Are there no variables?"
At the question from the sociology professor, William, everyone's gaze suddenly focused on Jean Pierre.
Lately, he was treated as a special intellect of Progen, a rising superstar in the academic world.
In fact, his books, History Stemming from Individuals and Coincidence of Trajectories, had accurately predicted various situations on the continent. Most recently, his essay The Form of Aran, which detailed his experience of meeting Maximilian in person in the Empire, had caused a great stir not only in Progen's academic circles but also among the general public.
'An Imperial noble who speaks Progen more elegantly than the locals. A neat and fastidious appearance that either stands in direct opposition to, or aligns perfectly with, everything he has done.'
—Excerpt from Jean Pierre's essay, The Form of Aran.
"What variables could there be?" Jean Pierre gave a bitter smile.
"Say something, Jean. You're a scholar of prophecy, aren't you?"
"It's the prophecy of people who read my books and interpret them as they please, not mine."
"Even so."
Just as the name Maximilian was crossing the continent, the name Jean Pierre was gradually spreading through Progen.
"Well. There is a very low probability, but..."
Jean Pierre rested his chin on his hand and gripped his pen.
"Things could change if Crown Prince Alonso miraculously leads 'proper' negotiations against the Empire. However, the probability of a weak Crown Prince seizing the initiative against those wolves of the Empire is extremely slim."
If Crown Prince Alonso had any backbone to begin with, he would never have agreed to the Imperial Army's plan to turn the Zeronica Mine, the heart of the royal family, into ash.
"Do you all know who is in charge of this operation?"
At that, Laurent, the economics professor, chuckled.
"Anyone who has taken Professor Jean Pierre's class would know. A person's actions always leave a trace, like a fingerprint."
As he said, a person's methods leave fingerprints. And there was likely no one whose fingerprints were as distinct as this man's.
"Right. Alonso won't be able to seize the initiative against him even if he died and came back to life."
"Is it that monster again?"
The Beautiful Devil.
The Idol of Aran.
The Monster of Ebenholtz.
He had many epithets. They were continuing to emerge lately.
Perhaps it was because of his exceptionally unique personality.
"There are always individuals who receive more attention even when performing the same actions."
If one possessed the appearance most loved by humanity while committing acts most harmful to humanity, that would be the result.
William, the sociology professor, bit down on his cigarette.
"You're the one who gave us the fantasy. Because of your essay, I've become curious too. About that knight's face."
"That's why I regret it as well."
Jean Pierre had never written a false word in his life, but he had recently realized that there are times when the truth must be hidden.
"Maximilian completely swallowed Zerpa through this civil war. He must have judged that it would be far more beneficial for the Empire to keep the incompetent and dependent Royalist Faction on the throne rather than the difficult-to-control Republican Faction. And in fact, his judgment was exactly right."
Zerpa was a sort of war corridor. By occupying it, it became easy to project military force by freely using Zerpa's rugged mountain ranges and roads leading to the west as if they were their own backyard.
"Which means, a single individual—"
Jean Pierre picked up his fountain pen to organize his lecture materials.
"Prolonged a civil war that should have originally ended with a victory for the Republican Faction."
Scratch, scratch.
The surrounding professors watched him as his pen nib flew across the paper.
"And now, he seems poised to even swap the winner and the loser of that civil war."
Jean Pierre suddenly raised his head and stared into the air.
"However."
A deep sorrow was laced in his voice.
"If the monarchy wins the civil war... Zerpa will instead be unable to escape an even more harsh and miserable cycle of exploitation."
That was the essence of imperialism,
And the dynamics between nations that the Empire advocated.
"Because even the dignity of the knight named Maximilian ultimately stems from the machinery of imperialism."
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