Chapter 543

“Atropos?”

The French Imperial Family used its pro-imperial press to announce that Pleroma’s new drug had been used in attempted assassinations and murders of leaders and nobles across Europe, and that the German Empire, having failed to control the criminal organization for more than a decade, should therefore be held responsible for compensating the affected nations.

The old woman¹ twitched an eyebrow in displeasure and pursed her lips.

“What a mess.”

She entered the enormous tavern in front of the station and ordered drinks and something to eat. The tavern was abuzz with talk of Pleroma’s breaking news. If newspapers were the sheets of paper that raised a subject for discussion in the squares, taverns like this were just as important as the press when it came to shaping public opinion. There had never been a moment in human history when squares and taverns were unimportant, and today was no different.

Lukas Askanien. Askanien again. The Imperial Family. Pleroma.

She could hear the prayers of those hoping that Adrian Askanien would return home as quickly as possible.

The Imperial Dailies had strategically placed on page two a photograph of Adrian Askanien with determination and firmness in his sharp eyes, one hand raised toward the sky. It had been taken during a speech to the people about a year before Adrian Askanien left the country, back when Pleroma’s influence was still weak, when he had propelled the German economy to greater heights almost overnight through his characteristic agility, strategic nature, and aggressive methods.

His policies had yet to produce even the slightest negative external effects, and Germany’s wealth had continued to grow. The photograph taken that day was therefore a record of a moment in which nothing but victory had existed.

He had been gentle with the German people without ever hesitating, yet mercilessly struck down anyone who stood in the way of his goals. By repeating conciliation and firmness at precisely the right moments, he had been the driving force behind Germany’s rise. Thus, people firmly believed that he could do the same with the Pleroma problem.

Even if the person at the heart of that problem was his own younger brother.

“Deputy Minister Askanien needs to come back to our country. That’s where the Hohenzollerns started going wrong.”

The people tearing into their meat shout passionately, pointing fingers as they do. They don’t seem particularly afraid of the secret police. Many people are calling for Askanien to take the place of the current Chancellor of the German Empire.

The old woman took a swig of beer and dipped some bread into the cheese. But after a while, she lost her appetite and stopped eating. With her homeland on the verge of falling into turmoil once again before she died, solid food was proving difficult to swallow.

There was another reason the old woman had put down her bread.

The majority of the people who blindly supported Adrian Askanien had spent all this time seeing a politician with the same surname reflected in his younger brother, Lukas Askanien. Lukas Askanien was just as hardline as his brother, and while his dealings with the outside world had hardly been what one would call gentle, he had led everything entrusted to him to success, making him more than worthy of being called a second Adrian Askanien.

Back when they saw those successes, they had loudly proclaimed that of course he would turn out that way—he was Adrian Askanien’s younger brother, after all. Now, however, they were flipping their attitudes as easily as turning over their palms. It was hardly surprising, but it certainly left a bad taste in the old woman’s mouth.

The old woman opened her ears, catching snippets of each conversation as she began piecing together the public sentiment.

“Can we really do anything with His Majesty standing in the way? That’s why Sir Ernst is all we have. Sir Ernst alone is Germany’s hope.”

“That Bavarian!”

“Wasn’t he said to be a foreigner? How can a foreigner be this loyal to Germany, treating it as though it were his homeland? And even if he isn’t a foreigner, we can’t possibly disregard everything he’s done for us.”

Some in the tavern were also insisting that, since the Imperial Family was concerned about Adrian Askanien’s growing influence, they now had to place their hopes in Nikolaus Ernst, a Bavarian.

The old woman let out a deep sigh, drained her drink, and read the latest edition once more. International affairs churned in complicated currents through her mind.

The person sitting beside her took an interest in the single-sheet supplement the old woman was holding.

“What is it? What’s been published now?”

“The Imperial Family of France has issued breaking news in response to Pleroma’s major announcement.”

Their eyes widened. Even their companions craned their necks to listen.

“France? Is there any reason for them to suddenly get involved?”

France had never had good relations with Germany since its defeat at Germany’s hands, but why would they go out of their way to involve themselves in the Pleroma affair? If they had, then surely this, too, had to be shocking news.

The old woman shrugged. The person sitting beside her pressed her for an answer.

“What did they say?”

“They say Pleroma has developed a lethal substance that kills only New Humans and is spreading it across the European continent. There are already people dead in various countries.”

At those words, the people sitting around the old woman fell silent. Most of the tavern remained loud and boisterous, but the three or four people around her sat there with their eyes wide open.

There was no way they could fail to understand what those words meant.

The old woman spoke to those who had gone rigid and were waiting for her explanation.

“They say the unfortunate death of the Austro-Hungarian prime minister the other day was Pleroma’s doing. As if that weren’t enough, they also tried to kill the Austro-Hungarian Emperor, and apparently did the same to nobles in Italy. So France is demanding that the German Empire take responsibility before all of Europe.”

“Could I take a look?”

At the request, the old woman nodded and held out the latest edition. The people sitting nearby crowded around it and began reading the newspaper. Everyone sensed, however faintly, even if only through the chill in the air against their skin, that this was a sign of the continent beginning to fracture.

The person beside her muttered, “This is serious. And now France has announced this on top of that Pleroma Christ business? There’s clearly some malice behind it.”

“The timing of the announcement is certainly questionable, but if this is true, the German Empire won’t be able to avoid turmoil.”

Someone asked at the old woman’s words, “If trouble does break out, couldn’t we just fight with this drug called Atropos? With technology this powerful, what is there to fear?”

“Are you suggesting the country should join hands with Pleroma? Pleroma already tried and failed to swallow the Austro-Hungarian Imperial Palace. Do you really think people with ambitions like that would willingly cooperate with the German Empire? Prussia would be the only one to pay the price.”

The old woman shook her head.

Those drinking with their judgment clouded found the previous argument convincing when they heard it, then found this one convincing when they heard it. The fact that no one had any further rebuttal made them begin to think that perhaps the old woman possessed considerable learning and could offer them a useful perspective.

Whenever someone like one of the speakers occasionally seen in the square stopped by a tavern, the dilettantes of that particular field—and those who preferred to adopt polished, impressive-sounding arguments rather than think for themselves—were quick to take an interest. So were those who rushed straight to a tavern whenever some new topic arose, eager to hear what everyone had to say.

Among them were also those who narrowed their eyes with crooked smiles and sharpened their tongues, looking for something to argue against simply because the old woman was a white-haired, liver-spotted grandmother who would soon be dead.

The old woman knew this, but the stifling reality of it made her speak.

“If Nikolaus Ernst has distinguished himself by using Bavaria as his base to eradicate and suppress Pleroma across the country, then this Lukas Askanien has, for his part, been based in Prussia and made considerable contributions to defeating Pleroma. It’s a shame. Whether Pleroma’s claims are true or not, if the people do not want this student, the state will no longer be able to make use of the second Askanien. Despite the fact that this young Christ has done everything in his power to eradicate Pleroma all this time, the people’s blind willingness to follow the crowd is stripping Germany of any justification it can present to the outside world. No matter how much authority His Majesty the Emperor has, he can never ignore the voice of the people. If we act rashly now, we will only be cutting off our own flesh.”

Ah, finally, a familiar subject was beginning to emerge. At the mention of something they knew, the people’s eyes quietly lit up. Pretending to be concerned, they asked the old woman, “What do you think of the claim that Lukas Askanien is the Christ of our age?”

Hearing that, the old woman realized that they had not understood a single thing she had said. She had not expected them to. Without an image drawn through appearances, hearing something was hardly any different from not hearing it at all.

They worried about the future of their country, yet they also hoped to hear something about Lukas Askanien that suited their tastes. The old woman realized that the emotion lingering in their eyes was not so much despair as excitement. What kind of excitement? It was an expectation born of fear, the terror of the unknown, and at the same time, the thrill of the unknown.

The adrenaline of standing on the brink of ruin energized them. Unbelievably, they even shallowly believed that pointing out Lukas Askanien’s wrongdoing—that is, the wrongness of his very existence—was a way of securing their future. Some of them had privately realized that it truly had no effect, but insulting someone gave them a cheap sense of belonging and efficacy with nothing more than a few words. Just as gossip had contributed to human civilization, they thought it would unite the German people, and so they half-heartedly and almost surreptitiously joined in the condemnation.

But most decisively, this tradition continued because there were genuinely people who believed they could pursue justice by tearing someone else down. And in equal numbers, there were those who did it simply because pointing out other people’s faults was instinctively enjoyable.

Because doing so could make them feel as though they were far better beings than the person being criticized.

The old woman calmly opened her mouth.

“It will need to be verified, but there must certainly be a reason behind Pleroma’s claim that he is their Christ.”

“What reason?”

“Pleroma believes that if they put Lukas Askanien on the continental stage, people will hang him on the cross and kill him of their own accord. That is what has to happen. Only when Lukas Askanien is driven into a corner where it becomes difficult for him to stay alive will things unfold the way they want.”

The people began to raise their guard again, their brows faintly furrowing.

To them, the old woman had begun speaking as though she were taking neither side. This was not the answer they wanted.

She believes people will take it upon themselves to crucify him and kill him? Wasn’t she, rather than criticizing Pleroma or Lukas Askanien, pointing a finger at the people themselves, saying that they would commit the same mistake as the citizens who had urged Jesus to be crucified?

That was why they wanted to know whose side the old woman was on. They wanted to be certain whether she was on their side or the other side, on someone else’s side or their own, on the side of evil or good, whether she was a dangerous person or someone they could trust.

The old woman closed her eyes and continued.

“Then what kind of situation do they want? First, perhaps Lukas Askanien will gain some unknown ability only after being crucified like that, and then act as Pleroma wishes. They are mages, are they not? Second, perhaps there is no such magical event at all, and they simply succeed in having the people kill Lukas Askanien, who is causing them great harm, by announcing that he is an enemy of the people.”

As the old woman’s position became firmer in her determination to think critically about Pleroma’s actions rather than Lukas Askanien, the drunken middle-aged man clicked his tongue and shouted.

“You’re making this far too complicated! No matter what anyone says, he’s someone on Pleroma’s side, recognized by Pleroma itself. How can you be so lenient even after reading that aggressive, malicious article from France?”

“Then tell me. What makes you think I’m being lenient?”

“If France is trying to turn Europe against Germany like this, then obviously our first priority should be to execute that red-eyed one, the representative face of Pleroma, even now, so we don’t provoke Europe. We Germans can survive only if we cut off Pleroma’s head without exception! First, we have to show Prussia that we’re sincere.”

As soon as he finished shouting, cheers rose from around them.

“He’s right. We have to think realistically!”

“To kill him just to show our sincerity? How superficial, short-sighted, and narrow-minded…”

The old woman began to speak, but the emboldened drunk put on a self-assured expression, deliberately furrowing his brow as he lectured her.

“Really, you still don’t understand what I’m saying? You were acting so wise, but you’re hopelessly dense. If old age has dulled your mind, then don’t meddle in politics. Go find yourself a grave instead.”

At the excessive insult, some snickered while others looked uncomfortable. The old woman stared at the middle-aged drunk with the same expressionless face as before. The person who had been sitting beside her waved a hand at the drunk from the other table, whom they had never even met before, telling him to stop, then tried to persuade the old woman.

“Ma’am, the student is simply Pleroma. He’s Pleroma, and he’s been pretending not to be all this time while killing his own kind. That’s all there is to it. Do you really have to make such a long-winded argument out of it?”

The old woman cut him off immediately.

“They wouldn’t have worshipped a fellow member as Christ without reason. This is part of a larger plan to kill Lukas Askanien. Why do they want him dead? As I said before, it must be for one of two reasons: either they want Lukas Askanien’s abilities to fully manifest, or Lukas Askanien stands in the way of what they want. And if that is the case, we cannot dismiss the possibility that this is a frame-up. To declare Lukas Askanien an enemy now is no different from playing into Pleroma’s hands.”

There was still a sharpness in the old woman’s eyes. If anything, they were clearer than those of the middle-aged men whose eyes had gone glassy with drink. A sigh came from somewhere.

Despite the old woman’s paradoxical argument, or perhaps because it was far more rational than anyone had expected, it had spoiled the taste of the alcohol for them. One by one, they turned away and began focusing on their own drinks.

If the old woman had shouted that Lukas Askanien should be crucified and killed, whistles and applause would have poured out instead. She could already imagine the flush that would rise to the faces of the young and middle-aged men laughing at such inflammatory claims. She could also picture that energy soon spilling over into billiard halls and bowling alleys.

And beyond that, she could see the future in which, before their light and careless tongues, the living would cease to be among the living.

The middle-aged drunk, who had been staggering around in his drunkenness, snorted and pointed a finger at her.

“Say that again, you foolish old woman. No matter which bar you go to, people will talk just like I do.”

The middle-aged man staggered a few steps, then spoke with a self-satisfied face and one corner of his mouth curled into a sneer.

“It’s because your shallow little theory is too difficult for the minds of us sensible people to understand. And frankly, it isn’t exactly an appealing story, either.”

At that, several people sitting in front of the old woman, who had been watching their words after hearing the drunkard’s sarcasm and blunt remarks, hurried to explain on his behalf.

“It’s not like that. We’re reacting negatively to what the lady says because Lukas Askanien really is in the wrong.”

They were desperately trying to make it clear that they were not rejecting the old woman’s words for some petty reason, but were instead pointing out that she was wrong based on clear, rational grounds.

The old woman had no choice but to nod and take another drink.

She continued drinking for quite some time.

Everyone who had been arguing with her eventually disappeared, and the bar filled with new customers. Some said they had always suspected Lukas Askanien was Christ. Others said that, judging by the fact that Lukas Askanien had been taken into the Imperial Family’s service, there must have been a spy within the Imperial Family. Still others wanted to know what Pleroma had been holding its breath for all this time, and what exactly it intended to do to the Empire.

Whether they pitied Lukas Askanien or condemned him, the prevailing view was that he was, fundamentally, Pleroma.

The more the old woman listened, the more her expectations of these people faded.

Yet it was hardly surprising. Whenever something happened to someone, this was what public opinion usually looked like: without even trying to learn the facts, secondary remarks were copied and spread until all that remained was a condemnation increasingly detached from the original. It was difficult to say that Lukas Askanien’s case was becoming uniquely worse. He was simply following the same course as those who had come before him.

“Listen up! The Kingdom of Bavaria and His Excellency Nikolaus Ernst have joined forces and destroyed eighteen of Pleroma’s dioceses―!”

Someone shouted at the top of his lungs while waving a newspaper.

The bar fell silent for a moment.

The eyes of those who had suddenly widened in shock darted toward their newspapers. Realizing that the headline had changed, they frantically searched through the pages, then cried out in astonishment before gradually breaking into cheers.

A bewildered voice could be heard from somewhere in the distance.

“I can hardly believe His Excellency Ernst alone annihilated eleven dioceses…”

“Surely they wouldn’t print a lie! If this is true, then this is wonderful news. Let those French bastards shout all they want about demanding reparations for every Tom, Dick, and Harry who died. Haven’t we done more than enough?”

Cheers began to rise from the square as well, a little later.

Everyone in Berlin was rejoicing at the victory of the Bavarian mages.

It was truly a sight to behold.

Just then, someone approached from the side and sat down in the empty seat.

The old woman turned her head and looked at the face of the young adult sitting beside her.

Young, perhaps, but he had only just entered the beginning of middle age.

The young adult spoke with a deeply troubled expression.

“You were right, ma’am. There must have been a frame-up.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m a professor at the school just ahead.”

The old woman realized once again that the schools in front of her were the Imperial First Academy and the Imperial Second Academy. Even if a New Human looked young, they were in fact older than their face suggested. But to an old woman who still needed a cane to walk, he was still young.

The old woman spoke.

“If you mean the school here… then you must be a noble. If you came here hoping to have some learned conversation, I’m sorry to disappoint you, my lord, but I’m just a commoner who reads the newspaper whenever life wears me down. Unlike you people who had the chance to study for years, I didn’t even finish basic school.”

“That’s all right. If my presence is making you uncomfortable, I’ll leave.”

“No. If you have something to say, then say it.”

He lowered his eyes and opened his mouth, letting out a deep sigh before downing his drink in one gulp. He ordered another glass and spoke.

“Everyone is saying the same thing, yet you were the only one who didn’t point out that student’s wrongdoing first. Why did you do that?”

“You must have been sitting in this bar for quite some time. It’s not that I have any great evidence. There simply needs to be someone who keeps things balanced.”

The old woman felt the person looking at her with sad eyes, his brows drawn slightly downward, and answered again.

“There really isn’t any special reason. If you set aside that amusing human tendency to decide on an answer that suits your taste beforehand and then search for evidence to support it, and simply think about this calmly, you can see that the blame for what happened lies more with Pleroma than with Askanien—and that it looks far more like a strategic choice than a coincidence.”

“So the answer was decided beforehand. Perhaps that’s true. Bias often creates lies.”

“Calling it a lie is a refined and convenient way of putting it. At its core, it’s closer to a child stubbornly insisting that what he hopes for must be true. To a child, it may look like the purest and most radiant thing in the world, but to an adult, it reeks of nothing but folly. The problem is that everyone has that tendency. Unless you constantly keep yourself in check, you and I could end up looking just like them.”

“Haha.”

When the old woman pointed toward the doorway and said ‘just like them,’ he gave a weak laugh. The old woman savored the rather poor-quality grain liquor in her mouth for a long while before speaking bluntly.

“Then why would anyone hope for evil people to exist? Because it’s stimulating, enjoyable, easy, and above all, it’s the cheapest way to get the most expensive feeling of efficacy.”

He did not argue with the old woman’s conviction. The old woman had not particularly wanted anyone’s agreement either, but he seemed to be sympathizing with her deeply. His face darkened with concern as he nodded.

“If that’s the case, ma’am, where is the way out? The matter has already fallen into the hands of the public, and they won’t hesitate to write Askanien’s name on the ostraka.”

The young person could only let out heavy sighs as he continued in a dull, weary voice.

“On top of that, with Sir Nikolaus Ernst rising so completely as the one who brought Pleroma to justice, the student is in an even more difficult position… If there is a hero to be worshiped in an era, then isn’t there bound to be a villain on the other side? Some people have already begun to see him as that villain and even want Sir Nikolaus Ernst to execute the student. There really is no way out. The world isn’t some comedy being performed on a theater stage…”

The old woman stared at him for a moment before asking with a nod of her chin, “What are the nobles saying about all this?”

“No different from this bar. Strangely enough, that’s how it is.”

“There’s nothing strange about it. We are all human, after all. Tell me, have the New Humans of that republic in the New World always acted wisely?”

“Heh… I can’t say I believe Americans would see this situation any differently. Which only makes it all the more hopeless.”

He answered reluctantly, then gave a bitter smile. The old woman looked at him intently before asking, “You believe Askanien is innocent, and you’re worried that an innocent life is about to be lost. Am I right?”

“That’s exactly it, ma’am. The student…”

He hesitated for a moment, then stopped himself before continuing with his next words.

“I may be biased, but that student is not someone who deserves to be treated so recklessly. Of course, what I’ve seen may be nothing more than the surface… So I wouldn’t say the student is entirely in the right, but at the very least, there is no reason for him to be suffering like this today. I don’t understand why no one is willing to wait and see, and instead seems desperate for the fire to spread. When you sit back and watch, it almost seems as though they enjoy making the claim that someone has done something wrong.”

“By rationally satisfying their desire to condemn someone, they believe they are becoming wise and conscientious German citizens. They genuinely believe their arguments are logical, so they have even less reason to stop and realize that something is wrong. If you think about the source of that condemnation, you will understand. They are giving free rein to a human nature that is almost primordial, yet they do not believe they have been swayed by such primitive impulses. Instead, they transform those impulses into criticism of injustice. Humans have no qualms about deceiving themselves. The ability to act while believing oneself to be right even when one knows one is wrong—that is what it means to be human…”

The old woman realized that this was what she wanted to believe.

Those people could condemn anyone, call for war, drive Jews out by throwing stones at them, and defend expansionist policies while believing, all the while, that they were simply in the right. Seen from a distance, the world seemed to run on the voices of people like that. Good things and bad things alike came to pass that way.

She paused for a moment before continuing.

“Life is closer to a tragedy, if anything. It’s a tragedy because, when you look closely, nothing goes the way it ought to, and nothing goes according to your wishes. And because the people who create evil do not realize that they themselves are doing wrong. They believe they are in the right, so they think that Lukas Askanien’s disappearance is the only truly just outcome, and that seeing him gone would finally set things right. And then what? That is not a question they ask themselves. If Lukas Askanien does not disappear, then this whole affair will become the very embodiment of injustice, a symbol of the decline of the times. And so people like me, or like you, are nothing less than the villains of our age.”

The young person nodded, sorrow showing on his face.

“You’re right, ma’am. But from where I stand, they are committing an injustice. What are we supposed to do now? For every five hundred people who condemn him, there is one person like you. But one person alone cannot turn public opinion around.”

“That is so. If you think it can be done, wake up from that dream.”

“You believe there is nothing we can do but stand by and watch.”

“The books I have read and a lifetime of memories tell me so.”

The young person nodded, looking troubled. The old woman watched him for a moment, then considered his relationship with Lukas Askanien before speaking.

“Professor, if you don’t mind.”

“Yes?”

The young person was slightly taken aback when he noticed that the old woman had changed the way she addressed him.

“We can only pray that the public makes the right choice. We are part of that public ourselves, but we have no authority to enlighten them, nor would such an attempt ever work. We can try to do something similar. For instance, sitting in a bar like this and clarifying my opinion to each person who comes to me with questions, so that each of them is encouraged to reflect for themselves. That is the kind of effort we can make at the root of the problem. But to someone like you, it must seem insignificant.”

“No. It is certainly meaningful… It just doesn’t seem like enough to change reality.”

The old woman merely blinked at his answer before continuing.

“Next, we can only hope that Lukas Askanien and his defense team will make strategic use of the nature of the public. You said there is one person like us among every five hundred. Even that number is enough to make an attempt. So above all, we must not let ourselves become emotional now. When it comes to preserving our lives and winning over the public, the only answer is thorough calculation free of emotion, along with a strategy for shaping public opinion. We can only bring the public to our side for a time by using every means at our disposal. We cannot make the public inherently just. Everything has two sides, because if there were no reverse side, there could be no front side either. At least, that is certainly what I have learned from a lifetime of experience. What do you think of the student you taught? Do you think he can handle a strategic battle that is cunning, swift, and drawn out over a long period?”

At those words, a flash of light crossed the young person’s face. What had been the key? Five hundred? Calculation? Or the strategic battle?

He looked as though he had just been struck over the head, as if the old woman had connected things he had never thought to connect himself. Slowly, determination began to settle into his features.

The old woman did not hear an answer, but she knew what he was saying with his expression. She jerked her chin toward the door.

“Then you should go and see what you can do to help your student, even if only from afar.”

“Our Prussian Protestant Union cannot stand by and let this pass!”

As the sun began to sink, the pastors who had closed their churches gathered together and shouted. Huge crowds were entering Berlin from Brandenburg, chanting things like, “Punish him!”

The person at the very front shouted.

“Execution is the answer! Your Majesty, sentence him to death! God is watching this! And He is angered! While the Papal See, which has always been so slow to act, remains silent, we Protestants will make our position clear today. If this continues, Prussia will be the first to be turned into a sea of flames when the Lord returns. What do you mean, Atropos?! What do you mean, reparations?! Of course, the deaths of politicians from various countries are tragic. But France is ridiculous for demanding reparations over this. Yet if there is anyone more ridiculous than them, it is Germany, which has failed to punish that heretic!”

The pastor took the funnel he had been using as a megaphone away from his mouth, caught his breath, and shouted again.

“Give us some reassurance, at least! You were the one who appointed Lukas Askanien, so take responsibility for him yourself! We cannot live on the same land as that pink-eyed monster—!”

Marian Baum watched the scene and let out a sigh. He had come to Berlin because he had been tasked with observing developments in Prussia and reporting them back to Bavaria. The newspapers had successively reported Pleroma’s declaration, the claims made by the French Imperial Family, and the news of Bavaria and Nikolaus Ernst’s victory. With each new report, the arguments and debates had grown more heated, and now they were raging more passionately than ever.

As if that weren’t enough, protests had now broken out as well.

Then someone broke away from the protest march organized by the Prussian Protestant Union and approached Marian Baum and the people standing with him beneath the arcade, asking them to sign a petition.

“Good day, sir. I ask this for the future of our homeland.”

“What is this?”

“It is a petition demanding executions, to be delivered to His Majesty. Those who drink blood have no place in this world. Let us help pass legislation for the merciless execution of every member of Pleroma.”

Marian Baum felt his anger surge at those words.

They knew nothing. That student was the one who had made it possible for Bavaria to wipe out eighteen of Pleroma’s dioceses. And now they were calling for him to be executed?

“No.”

The protester’s expression changed completely. His face twisted sternly as though he had seen Satan himself, and he took a step back.

“Why do you refuse?”

“Because Pleroma has clearly done wrong, but that student hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“This wicked man is defending the devil!”

Marian Baum fell silent. Then he strode forward and blocked the protest march midway through. He shouted at the bewildered crowd, his voice ringing out.

“Even if he drinks blood because of some innate disposition, so what? What has he done to wrong us?”

One of the pastors who had asked him to sign shouted back, “Does that not corrupt society?! And besides, Pleroma themselves have declared that student to be their Messiah. No—they said he was the Messiah of all of us! But he is nothing more than Pleroma’s Messiah!”

“Society is becoming decadent? Did that student ever publicly announce that he wanted people to give him blood? As a noble and a member of the privileged class, he could have shamelessly sat on the terrace of his own castle and made a spectacle of himself drinking blood. If he cared even less about morality, instead of hiding his nature and living as though he were dead, he would have tried to change society’s perception by saying, ‘What’s so wrong with drinking blood?’ Did he open a salon in Berlin and hold parties for blood drinking? If you truly believe that student is corrupting society, then condemn the obscene salons that take place among the bourgeoisie every day! Those are causing real harm precisely because they are so closely intertwined with our lives! Have you forgotten what that student accomplished after he was appointed as an Imperial mage?”

The expressions on the people’s faces gradually turned hostile. Then someone shouted, “Wasn’t he keeping his head down to help Pleroma? How do we know what he’ll do to the German Empire after today?”

“You’re afraid that student will stab us in the back and go over to Pleroma! Then what more does he have to do to prove himself?”

“He must clearly prove that he does not belong to Pleroma, just like Sir Nikolaus Ernst, before we can believe him.”

“And then what?”

Marian Baum shouted at the people trying to push past him, raising his voice.

“Then what comes after that? Will you tell him to walk on water? Will that be enough for you to believe he’s blameless, innocent, and beyond reproach? And after he walks on water, what will you say then? What other proof will you demand? Life, society, the world itself—they do not move as simply or ideally as though they were stamped from a single mold. We have never been absolutely evil, nor have we ever been absolutely good! So why do you believe that we are always righteous? Because we believe we are always right, we cast the one person we point our fingers at as absolute evil. Perhaps by doing so, we elevate ourselves. We are standing in the middle of injustice right now. A single word from us is a road to death.”

Another protester suddenly shouted, “You’re wrong! How can you not realize that you’re allowing far too much freedom to someone with that murderous nature?”

“You may find what I’m saying uncomfortable. It must be unpleasant to hear me tell you that we are in the wrong! But if we refuse to face what is right before us and instead turn away from it, then we are merely reproducing violence and betraying our fellow citizens. How is what you are doing today any different from the masses who, swayed by yellow journalism like das rote, killed countless people, only to shift the blame onto the papers afterward and refuse to acknowledge their own responsibility? How is what happened today any different from what happened with France’s national painter yesterday? Was critic Vernell Guéret alone responsible for forcing him into retirement? No! It was us who forced Eugène Lamour, the painter, into retirement and have driven countless theater actors, opera singers, and politicians to their deaths!”

“Shut up!”

Countless protesters shoved Marian Baum threateningly as they shouted at him. Marian Baum shouted until his throat bled.

“And yet today, you are once again trying to kill a child who doesn’t even know what wrong he has committed. Having learned nothing from the recent retirement announcement—”

“Even so, I believe he deserves the death penalty.”

Someone grabbed Marian Baum by the collar with bloodshot eyes and muttered, “More than anything, all these people think that student is in the wrong. So what on earth are you saying, standing there all by yourself?”

“If many people say something is wrong, does that truly make it wrong? Do you not think that all those people could be mistaken? If you truly believe that something is objectively wrong simply because so many people criticize it, then let me say this: how many talents have there been in this world whose worth was recognized far too late?”

At that moment, the lead pastor, having heard the commotion in the middle of the crowd, came over and mediated between the two in an intelligent voice.

“Stop for a moment. I know why you are being tested, sir. If that pink-eyed Pleroma truly saves us from calamity like Jesus Christ, then I will not stop you. But that is not going to happen! In that case, we will believe nothing except what we have seen with our own eyes. Is that enough?”

Nothing except what we have seen?

Marian Baum’s eyes widened as he wondered whether those words had truly come from the mouth of a religious person.

Another pastor nearby agreed.

“That is right! If we are to be saved from calamity, either we must root out Pleroma, or we must die knowing the answer ourselves. We have never welcomed that student’s existence, nor have we ever considered it right, for more than a decade. We will not change our minds until we prove his innocence with our own two eyes.”

Marian Baum glared at him and asked, “Don’t you know how hard that student has worked within the Imperial Family all this time to bring down Pleroma and keep Prussia safe? Have you heard nothing of it?”

“There is one other person who has achieved such things.”

The pastor at the front shook his head firmly as he spoke.

“Only Nikolaus Ernst is our hope. The self-sacrifice, the agonizing perseverance, the initiative that His Excellency Nikolaus Ernst has shown—none of that exists in that blood-drinking student official!”

The lead pastor raised the megaphone and turned forward again, shouting, “Listen, Prussian government―! Even if he is not a Protestant, His Excellency Nikolaus Ernst is surely a Christian! In cooperation with the Kingdom of Bavaria, he has dealt with eighteen of Pleroma’s dioceses—nearly half of all its dioceses―! We in Prussia cannot afford to lose! Let us follow the Christian spirit of His Excellency Nikolaus Ernst, who is surely blessed―”

Marian Baum’s shoulders drooped.

Lukas Askanien and Nikolaus Ernst were clearly the same person, yet they were calling for one to be executed and the other to be emulated. Without knowing a thing.

“Now get the hell out of here, you Satan!”

Someone shoved him, sending him sprawling to the ground. He stared blankly at the procession of people. Children and adults were beginning to gather one after another, carrying German Imperial flags and Bibles, their faces filled with grim determination.

He couldn’t even begin to imagine how delighted Pleroma must be at the sight unfolding before them.

Marian Baum looked at the countless people, pressed his lips together, then pushed himself up from the ground.

He couldn’t just stand by like this.

Ten minutes earlier, in Charlottenburg, Berlin.

An emergency meeting of the Imperial Family was taking place here.

The dark meeting room was illuminated only by the light filtering in beneath the curtains and the faint glow of candlelight. The Minister of the Interior reported the situation to the Emperor in a trembling voice.

“Your Majesty, the Kingdom of Bavaria has successfully cleared eighteen of Pleroma’s dioceses.”

The Emperor sat with his bloodshot eyes fixed ahead, one hand pressed against his forehead.

He had been like that for five minutes.

BANG—!

The Emperor slammed his hand down on the table and sprang to his feet. He swallowed hard. His eyes were horribly bloodshot as he drew heavy breaths and ran his tongue over his lips.

The Empire was being turned upside down. There seemed to be no way to respond to this bewildering turn of events.

Except for the few ministers and the Chancellor who had gone out to direct matters on the front lines, everyone remaining in the room lowered their heads before the Emperor.

Even his second child, the imperial prince, did the same.

Only the Crown Prince, standing before the Emperor, remained calm. He leaned back against his chair and smoked leisurely.

Translator Note

1. While translating chapters 531 and 532, I used ‘old man’ and ‘he/him’ pronouns as a placeholder for this Old Human until their gender was confirmed. This chapter finally confirms that the character is an old woman. I’ve gone back through the chapters and corrected the pronouns, but if I missed any spots, please let me know in the comments! ↩︎