Chapter 147: A Visit to Progen Le Parlement—the heart of the Progen Republic in the west.
Within its halls, packed with hundreds of assembly members, Secretary of Defense Louis Marceau stood at the podium, delivering a fiery speech.
"Honorable members of the assembly! Under the pretext of supporting the royal family, the Empire is currently in the process of annexing Zerpa. At the same time, they are undertaking a military buildup more blatant and aggressive than ever before!"
His resolute voice echoed heavily against the parliament's high ceiling.
"The Gigantes explosion, far from crippling the Empire's military might, has given birth to a new munitions complex called Aternum. At this very moment, weapons of murder are pouring out of that place."
Louis Marceau pleaded as if pouring out his very soul.
"The imperialists are lying in wait, seeking an all-out war to shatter the continent's order. To protect the security of our Republic, we are in desperate need of an immediate military buildup and a drastic expansion of the defense budget!"
"Hold on, Secretary. Stop your speech for a moment."
Just then, from the opposition seats, a senior assemblyman named Clément interjected, slouched in his chair with a cynical air.
"I've heard your concerns, Secretary. But where in the world do you propose we procure the funds for such a massive defense budget?"
Louis Marceau scowled, glaring at him.
"...There is no value that can be prioritized over the survival of the nation and the lives of its people. Any shortfall in funds must be covered by establishing a special defense tax—as unavoidable as that may be."
"Hah, I knew it would come to this."
Clément scoffed and shot up from his seat, spreading his arms toward his fellow assemblymen.
"Now you're going to use the threat of the far-off Empire as an excuse to levy yet another tax?!"
"Are you suggesting, then, that we should hand our country over to the Empire because we're afraid of taxes?"
"That is nothing more than your personal paranoia and speculation, Secretary!"
"Can you truly not see the tragedy unfolding in Zerpa right now?!"
Bang! Louis Marceau slammed his hand on the podium. He pulled a thick bundle of documents from his coat and brandished it.
"Look! These are papers analyzed and published by numerous professors from Progen National University. All of these scholars—the greatest minds on the continent—are unanimously warning of the Empire's endless ambition for expansion and the looming threat of war!"
Louis Marceau argued for the necessity of forming a coalition to contain the Empire, presenting the research of renowned professors, including Jean Pierre, as evidence...
*
—...This is what is currently happening in the Progen parliament, I am told.
I received the report from Schatz.
Just like that, the Genen Annex's intelligence network had already spread its roots into Progen.
"Yeah. I know. I'm on it."
Louis Marceau, Progen's Secretary of Defense.
Before my regression, he had been an incredibly vexing presence for the Empire. It was no exaggeration to say that more than half of the western defensive line's success was his doing.
"I'm preparing for a trip."
I was at the airport. A historic event involving Louis Marceau was about to occur.
My disguise for this trip: black hair and blue eyes. In addition, a beauty mark under one eye and a set of dentures that completely altered the contours of my face.
I had chosen my identity with care.
— Yes. Shall I depart as well?
"No."
I boarded the plane bound for Progen.
"For now, just stand by. I'll call you if anything happens."
— Yes, sir.
...
[Hamuse Hugo Airport]
After arriving at the airport, I hailed a taxi. I headed straight for the city center.
My impression of Progen's capital, seen through the car window, was one of immense prosperity. It had a different cultural fabric from the Imperial capital—as if art and freedom permeated the very air of the city.
An emerald river, sparkling in the sunlight, flowed gently through the center, and along its banks stood old-fashioned stone buildings, as stately as statues bearing the weight of hundreds of years.
The terraces overflowed with vibrant flowers, the air in the open-air cafés was a mix of freshly baked bread and rich coffee, and people strolled the streets with a leisurely air.
It was a dazzling color of freedom, one not found in the Empire. So this was why the vain nobles were so obsessed with this place. There was certainly a reason.
"This is Concorde Plaza."
The taxi arrived at our destination: Concorde Plaza, the very heart of the Progen capital.
"There. You see? Symbol of Progen. Progen Tower."
I let out a small laugh at the taxi driver's broken Imperial.
"I'm from Progen, too."
"Ah, I see. I saw you coming from the airport and thought you were a tourist."
"Haha. Here's a tip."
I added 100 livres to the 70-livre fare.
"...Thank you!"
I got out of the taxi and stood in the middle of the plaza.
A painter capturing the scenery from under a bridge, a musician playing an accordion on the street, a couple dancing lightly to the melody. I found myself slowing my pace, appreciating this peace.
For a world on the brink of ruin, it was far too cozy.
In truth, I had been to Progen before. With my mother, when I was young. I could recall those old memories with perfect clarity through the Virus. But they were memories and pain in equal measure, and I had no desire to resurrect them.
To me, my mother was my weakness, the past I had left behind, and perhaps, the true form of my soul that I would never be allowed to reclaim.
Thump—
As I was lost in thought, my heart reacted to a group passing by me. Two men. One woman.
Thump—
An old woman sitting on a nearby bench, feeding pigeons.
Thump—
An office worker in a suit, clutching a briefcase and hurrying along.
Vermin not even worthy of being called human.
Thump—
Progen was a land of freedom. With lax control over thought and ideology and low border security, there could be no more perfect breeding ground for otherworldly parasites like Izenheim to hide and operate in the shadows.
"This country has too many cockroaches."
Walking while silently counting their numbers, I soon arrived at my destination.
[Progen National University]
A university on par with the Empire's Central University... no, in terms of genuine academic achievement and the depth of free debate, it was the best university in the west, having long since surpassed the Empire.
I passed through its arched main gate and entered. The campus was like a vast arboretum. Along a promenade shaded by the green canopy of towering trees stood picturesque buildings.
Students lay freely on the lawns, engaged in debate, while the faces of young minds, clutching thick textbooks as they walked briskly, were full of life and passion.
I soon reached the main building in the center of the campus.
[Festier Hall]
Security at the entrance to the hall, named after a national hero of Progen, was quite strict.
"Please present your student ID."
A security guard asked for my identification. I took out the student ID I had prepared in my bag.
[Progen National University, Department of Military Studies, 3rd Year]
[Félix Renoir]
The cover story was that I had taken a three-year leave of absence due to family circumstances.
"Félix Renoir. The semester for returning students is long past, isn't it?" the guard asked, looking back and forth between the ID and my face.
For my part, there was no risk of being caught.
"I thought I'd audit a few classes before I officially return. I've been working to pay for tuition all this time, so I figured I'd warm up and clear my head."
My Progen accent was perfect. The Progen language, imprinted on my mind with the help of the Virus, was perhaps even more authentic and fluent than a native's.
"Right. You've had it rough. Go on in."
The guard chuckled and handed back my ID.
I entered the building. I was about to check the directory on the wall to get my bearings when...
Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud—
Suddenly, students began rushing somewhere. I naturally blended into the crowd and followed them. The place we arrived at was a large auditorium, far too big to be a simple classroom.
The front seats were already packed tight with hundreds of students, with only a few empty seats left in the back corner. I chose the most inconspicuous seat among them.
— Tick, tock, tick, tock.
"...Ah, damn it."
A curse escaped my lips.
A silence filled with hundreds of people. The sound of the second hands on their wristwatches, ticking in unison, felt like it was scraping the inside of my ears.
As I forced myself to endure it, a professor appeared on the stage at the front of the auditorium.
"Hm?"
I rested my chin on my hand and smiled faintly. It was a familiar face.
"Jean Pierre."
He, however, had also seen my face before, so I pulled my newsboy cap down low.
*
"Zerpa. Oh, my Zerpa."
Before beginning his lecture, Jean Pierre let out a deep sigh.
"A beautiful country, whose language has the rhythm of a song and whose produce is so rich in flavor that it has been praised by countless musicians and chefs of the continent since ancient times."
He paced slowly across the stage as he continued.
"But now, its fertile lands are engulfed in the clouds of war and the stench of blood."
He raised a hand and pointed to the screen in the auditorium.
"The Zerpa Royal Family."
A map of Zerpa appeared, with the Royalist faction's territory colored red around the capital.
"The current king has long been bedridden with a chronic illness, hovering between life and death. But during his long reign, the accumulated corruption, misconduct, and the extravagant behavior of the nobles have left the people of Zerpa steeped in anger and despair."
The monarchy had been established by force 200 years ago. But Zerpa had originally been a republic that revered freedom.
"Eventually, the Republican faction rose up under the banner of revolution. The military split, and a civil war erupted."
The map on the screen changed rapidly. The Republican faction, marked in blue, spread like wildfire, pressuring the red Royalist faction.
"Immediately after the civil war began, the Republicans pushed back the Royalists with unstoppable momentum. Even the regular army, having grown deeply skeptical and suspicious of the rotten monarchy, collapsed or surrendered without putting up a proper fight."
The Republican blue completely encircled the capital.
"They laid siege to the capital, and the monarchy was on the verge of being suffocated, but..."
Just then, at a certain point on the map, a black arrow shot down like a lightning bolt through a gap in the Alberon Mountains on the western border.
"The Empire's support arrived."
Jean Pierre's voice grew heavy.
"The Bertun Unit's traverse of the Alberon Canyon, followed by the Durkon Legion's single-point breakthrough."
The blue encirclement on the map was brutally torn apart by the black arrow.
"The Republican siege was broken in an instant."
The students listened to his lecture, holding their breath. It was, admittedly, captivating.
"Revitalized by the Empire's aid, the Royalist faction was brought back from the brink of death."
The expressions on the Progen students' faces were mostly grim, filled with unconcealed disgust and hostility toward the Empire's intervention. It couldn't be helped. They didn't know the future.
"The day the Durkon Legion began its advance against the Republicans, a coup d'état by the Royalist regular army occurred within the Zerpa capital. The ostensible reason was the military's anger and backlash against Crown Prince Alonso for bringing in foreign powers, but..."
Jean Pierre pushed up his glasses and added cynically, "The Zerpa Royal Family announced that the military leaders attempted the coup when their accumulated corruption and embezzlement of supplies were in danger of being exposed. Of course, it's hard to believe either version. History is written by the victors."
He then explained the progression of the coup. The regular army's charge into the capital, the Imperial army's ambush, the counterattack by forces loyal to the Crown Prince.
I was slightly surprised. It was so accurate, it was as if he had been there.
"...And so the coup was easily suppressed, and the Durkon Legion occupied the Zeronica Mine."
Jean Pierre pointed to Zeronica, the heart of the Republican faction at the center of the map.
"They effectively reduced it to ashes. So, why would the Empire go out of its way to destroy such a valuable mine?"
Suddenly, his question was directed at the students. In the silence, someone cautiously raised a hand.
"To shift the cost of reconstruction and the debt onto the monarchy."
The academic culture of Progen was one of freedom. Therefore, anyone could present their own opinion.
"Yes. Precisely." Jean Pierre nodded. "That is the Empire's way."
Blue letters appeared on the screen, formed by Jean Pierre's mana. Even his mana was focused on academics.
"To destroy another nation's key infrastructure, then force massive loans upon them in the name of restoration, inflating the costs to turn them into their slaves..."
Snap! Jean Pierre snapped his fingers. "But in this class, we will look at the 'individual' hidden behind this grand movement."
His eyes gleamed like a bird of prey's.
"The Bertun Unit. The Durkon Legion. Who is the person who controlled and moved them with the perfection of a chess master? Let's speculate."
My brow furrowed.
"The Durkon Legion was infamous for being an extremely violent corps. The same was true for its commander, Schweitzer, known as the 'Speed Specialist.' They killed civilians wherever they went. They executed prisoners and requisitioned villages, leaving them in ruins. But this time in Zerpa, how many civilian killings were committed by the Durkon Legion?"
None.
I had personally punished any act of harming civilians—not just killing them—and my punishments were all summary judgments.
"Zero."
The students' eyes widened.
"Furthermore, after the Durkon Legion entered the Zerpa capital, only a single case of requisition occurred. And even that was later compensated."
Jean Pierre placed his hands on the lectern.
"A noble who utterly despises civilian killings and requisitions—in other words, murder and robbery. Yet, a person who, for the sake of his goal, can trample over anything."
— Maximilian Ebenholtz.
The man next to me muttered softly. I glanced at his face.
"A scion of a great house capable of moving the mighty Durkon Legion, and the master of an authority that allows him to interfere in and monitor the entire Empire... I trust it will be easy for those of you who have taken my class."
A bitter smile touched Jean Pierre's lips.
"Well then. As promised, we will now have a pop quiz on this Zerpa matter. The time is now—"
He looked at his wristwatch.
"We have about forty-five minutes left, including the break."
Teaching assistants appeared and quickly distributed blank test papers to the students. A sheet of paper was placed in front of me as well.
"Describe how Zerpa, the monarchy, and the Empire will change in the future, using all your insight and imagination."
I stared down at the blank paper. There was no reason for me to take the test, but... I figured I could give him a hint.
"A pen, please."
I asked the man next to me for a pen. It was the same fellow who had just uttered my name.
"Here."
"Thanks."
Scratch. Scratch.
I immediately began to scribble in Progen.
[Contrary to everyone's concerns, I believe there will be no one-sided exploitation of Zerpa.
The entities that have moved the Empire until now are old and outdated, and a much younger, newer figure has now emerged. Therefore, instead of crushing Zerpa, the Empire will seek a symbiotic relationship with them. This is because exploitation and annexation are, in fact, a great waste.
To bleed Zerpa dry, incur the backlash of the entire nation, and then pour military funds and administrative power into controlling the constantly emerging resistance forces is a very outdated form of imperialism.
Just as nations develop and time flows, ideologies also evolve. Imperialism is no different. They will by no means remain in the past. It is the 'individual' who pushes the past away.
The foundation of imperialism is the Iron Man Ideology: the belief that only the most superior and perfect philosopher-ruler can correctly govern the masses. This leads to aristocracy, and strangely enough, the most famous novel in the Empire today is Baltaras, which argues for the responsibility of the nobility—'noblesse oblige.'
Therefore, a rising aristocrat of the Empire would leave the Zeronica Mine as an asset of the Zerpa Royal Family. They would agree to share the profits and promise to transfer technology later, and they would strive to ensure Zerpa's monarchy is set on the right path.
The fact that Zerpa's leader is a pliant person like Alonso is, in my opinion, a stroke of luck for Zerpa. A leader with immense pride and ego would be broken by the Empire, but Alonso can bend without breaking and navigate the situation adeptly.
In conclusion, the Empire will not exploit Zerpa; Zerpa will simply develop by the Empire's hand...]
To become completely dependent on the Empire, unable to do anything on its own. This was the future that would soon befall Zerpa.
I would lead it to be so.
"Alright. Time's up."
In that time, forty-five minutes had passed. I returned the pen to my neighbor, and the teaching assistant collected my answer sheet.
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