Semi-Coercive Imperialist - Chapter 165: Probing (2)
After finishing the meal, on the way back to the Robrus hotel.
The air inside the car had settled even heavier than it had been in the restaurant.
“Did you mean it when you spoke of cooperation?”
Suddenly, Yelena withdrew her gaze from the window and asked.
I answered briefly.
“Yes. I did.”
She struggled to suppress a hollow laugh threatening to spread across her lips.
“So you’ve come to conduct diplomacy.”
I smiled without a word.
She seemed to think cooperation itself was impossible. That was how oblivious even the upper echelons were to the signs of the Great Purge.
Yet quietly, and surely, the bloodbath was approaching.
“What sort of person is Commissar Zerov?”
I changed the subject. In eastern Robrus, there were about fifteen people who held the title of “Commissar”. Yelena was one of them, and all of them were core powers involved in every aspect of national governance.
“He is the Commissar who heads the Police Force. Beyond that, he is exactly what you just saw with your own two eyes.”
Yelena let slip a peculiar distaste toward Zerov.
Well, Zerov was a man with no background. From her perspective, a stone that rolled in from nowhere. A rat who’d clawed his way into becoming the General Secretary’s right-hand-man through flattery and politicking.
The sight of such a man wielding real power and parading around must have been utterly insufferable for someone of established lineage.
“Tomorrow, it will likely be Commissar Zerov who receives you.”
In fact, before my Regression, Zerov had been treated as no less than an imperial war criminal. He was even featured in the post-collapse Republic’s specialized column,「Genealogy of Evil」.
The sentence scholars used to describe his life was as follows：a villain who clung to the strong with extreme dependence, endlessly craving the recognition and need to flaunt born of his own deprivation.
“He didn’t leave a very good impression.”
At my words, Yelena let out a small laugh as if in agreement.
In the meantime, the car arrived at the hotel lobby.
“Then please rest well, Sir Maximilian.”
“Yes.”
I parted ways with Yelena. Guided by the manager, I went up to the top floor. The entire penthouse floor was a single suite.
“…A state guest suite.”
It did give the feeling of being treated with some respect, but surely not.
As I took off my coat, I first thoroughly scanned the internal flow of Mana. Surprisingly, I sensed no sign of eavesdropping. Nor did Ebenholtz’s Mana catch any impure wave or trace.
But rather than there being no surveillance, it would be more accurate to assume it was simply very cleverly concealed.
I set down a small Mana Plate from my inner pocket.
It operated on a principle similar to a recorder, playing back voices that had been pre-recorded.
─Haah. I’m exhausted. I should wash up and go straight to bed.
This was to fill the room with mundane sounds, organized by time of day.
Shhhhhhh──.
I showered in the bathroom and changed clothes.
I disguised my identity with black hair and blue-green eyes, then wrapped my entire body in Ebenholtz’s unique mana to erase all traces of my presence.
Then I climbed onto the window frame and jumped out without a sound.
Whoooosh───!
Leaping from the hotel’s penthouse floor was, in its own way, a ‘descent’.
Wind cold enough to freeze the body. I moved silently through it and landed in some back alley of the Robrus capital.
Thud.
The moment I landed, my heart lurched. As expected, there were quite a lot of Ezenheim here.
Far more of them than in the Empire, infesting every vein of this nation like parasites.
“…”
For a moment, a feeling of helplessness crept in.
I had to kill this many of them. Exterminate them from this continent, from the entire world.
Killing on a nearly infinite scale. That was the purpose of my Regression, and the great cause of humanity’s survival…
“Sir.”
From the dark corner of the alley, Schatz stepped out.
“Have you secured a safehouse?”
“Yes.”
The route was overland. If we wanted to escape the capital of Robrus, there was no choice but to go on foot.
“Then. Let’s go.”
The Great Purge was among the most dangerous things I had ever experienced, so I intended to run a few rehearsals.
* * *
Robrus, the Premier’s private chamber.
Beyond a desk draped in thick shadow, Zerov reported in detail on the conversation he had exchanged with Maximilian.
─…I see.
The voice of Premier Varmil Makstun that flowed from the darkness was heavy as iron.
“Yes, Your Excellency.”
Zerov nodded solemnly.
“A knight of the Empire came all the way here for cooperation. It must mean they desire it as well. If we could exploit their eagerness and extract something of value, nothing could be better, however…”
The Empire intended to wage war. To strike the west and expand its territory. The reason and justification… honestly, it was difficult to rationalize. It was the mad emperor’s mad doing.
“This is my personal opinion, but I believe they’ve come crawling in at a truly opportune and excellent time.”
To wage war, internal cohesion was paramount above all else. The Empire was clearly gauging the Eastern Alliance’s mood, trying to avoid a full-scale war with them while striking the west.
But in Zerov’s estimation, the west’s fighting strength was not so weak that the Empire could afford to take it lightly.
─What are your thoughts?
“I would suggest we first proceed with negotiations in the form of a ‘Secret Pact’.”
A Secret Pact.
The ideal diplomatic instrument for mutual deception and betrayal.
“Once a Secret Pact is established, the imperials will be confident their rear is secure, and they will pour every last soldier into the western front, sinking deeper and deeper into the quagmire of war.”
Wait for the war between the Empire and the Western Alliance to drag on, for both sides to be ground down.
“Meanwhile, we thoroughly purge internal dissenters, build up our military strength, and when they are at their most exhausted and weakened…”
A cold gleam flashed in Zerov’s eyes.
“We bite into the back of their necks.”
─…
The Premier said nothing for a long while. The silence pressed heavily on the space, but Zerov took it as affirmation.
─You said this Maximilian was behind the「Imperial Citizenship Law」.
The Premier quietly broached the subject.
─I hear rumors have been circulating lately that I am a Subspecies.
A deeply unsettling rumor had been making the rounds in Eastern Alliance political circles. The horrifying whisper that Varmil himself, the General Secretary of Robrus, was an Ezenheim.
“It is nothing more than a pathetic rumor spread by reactionary elements who envy and seek to check Your Excellency’s power.”
Zerov dismissed it firmly, letting killing intent show.
“That is precisely why the timing is so fitting. This is our chance to root out and purge every last person who dares utter such blasphemous rumors…”
* * *
Maximilian arrived at the heart of Robrus, the Winter Palace, which still retained the splendor of the former imperial era.
This majestic fortress, haunted everywhere by the remnants of the emperor, had now become General Secretary Varmil’s residence and the governing headquarters of the Eastern Alliance.
“…Show him the utmost courtesy.”
Zerov straightened his attire. Just as he had heard in the rumors, all wristwatches had been removed. Minor races such as Ezenheim and Merin had also been cleared out of the palace. It was to avoid any possible friction.
“No matter how blood-crazed a madman of the Empire he may be, he is still a state guest for the moment.”
──Clack. Clack.
Right on cue, the rhythmic sound of footsteps striking marble made everyone turn to look.
“…He’s coming. Why does he look like that?”
An appearance utterly different from the extremely violent conduct and statements he had made both within and beyond the Empire. A noble bearing that some hailed as the idol of Aran and others gnashed their teeth over in seething envy and jealousy.
Maximilian von Ebenholtz.
The way he walked in was undeniably lofty and flawless. Such impeccable formality it was almost unreal.
“Welcome.”
Zerov, along with his attendants, received him.
“It is a pleasure to see you again, Knight Maximilian.”
“Yes. It is an honor to see you again, Commissar Zerov.”
Maximilian gave a courteous nod and took the seat across from Zerov. The two smiled with teacups set before them.
“Now then.”
Zerov signaled the attendants with a glance. They vacated the room in an instant.
This kind of seamless coordination born from a single look of his was a considerable thrill for Zerov.
“I was hoping we might discuss in somewhat greater depth… the meaning of the ‘cooperation’ between the Empire and the Eastern Alliance that you spoke of yesterday.”
Zerov began with deliberate gravitas.
Maximilian nodded composedly.
“Please, go ahead.”
Zerov did not particularly like his composure, but he did not let it show.
“I have given it a great deal of thought. However, uh, however. If you think about it realistically. Don’t you think cooperation is quite difficult given the current state of hostility between our two nations?”
His imperial language stumbled mid-sentence. Zerov furrowed his brow in irritation.
It was a needlessly complicated and difficult language, but there was no helping it. He could hardly bring an interpreter along to discuss a Secret Pact.
“…Well.”
Then, at the words that flowed from Maximilian’s mouth, Zerov’s eyes went wide.
“I don’t think it’s difficult at all.”
That sentence was not in the imperial language.
“…You can speak Ro?”
The language of Robrus. Shortened to Ro, the unofficial common language of the Eastern Alliance.
“Yes. I made a point of learning it in advance, but more importantly than that, right now.”
Maximilian set down his teacup and continued in a low voice.
“Cooperation.”
His gaze pierced straight through Zerov.
“The essence of what the Empire wishes to convey to Robrus through this proposal is, first and foremost, that we should deal with a common enemy.”
“A common enemy…. Have you not gone out into the streets of Robrus? Every citizen of Robrus criticizes the「Imperial Citizenship Law」.”
Maximilian smiled.
“Yes. On the surface, they’ll make all the noise they want. But Commissar Zerov, don’t you yourself passionately agree with at least a certain part of it, deep down?”
Zerov’s brow creased. Maximilian leaned forward.
“Ezenheim, a fraudulent cult drunk on money, leeching the lifeblood of the continent like parasites. Beyond them, the Subspecies and minorities who utterly refuse to cooperate with society. Our ‘oppression’ has a very long and storied history.”
“The international community calls that racial discrimination.”
Zerov attempted a measured rebuttal, but,
“I’d rather turn the question back to you, Commissar.”
Maximilian shot back coldly.
“If, among Commissar Zerov’s colleagues or direct superiors, there were one of those Ezenheim. Could you keep them at your side and tolerate it?”
Maximilian’s words were loaded. But Zerov already knew the reason behind them.
He smiled at ease.
“…It seems Commissar Yelena relayed ‘that rumor’ to you.”
Among the Adversaries under Yelena’s command, several were already Zerov’s spys.
Therefore, every word of the conversation between Maximilian and Yelena that day was already in Zerov’s hands.
“…”
Maximilian seemed to grasp the implication behind Zerov’s words. He fell silent for a moment, then murmured with a nod.
“As expected, you truly are exactly the great man I heard of.”
A great man.
Just those few words. And yet the voice held not a shred of pretense; it was genuine surprise.
The most elite, proudest of great nobles the Empire had to offer, a knight this perfect with the House of Ebenholtz at his back, was acknowledging him, a man who had grown up in the gutter, as a “great man”.
“Well…”
Zerov’s heart raced for a moment. An indescribable sense of accomplishment seemed to envelop his body. The days when he had been a bottom-rung grunt working the field like a dog flashed briefly through his mind, but there was no time for this.
He suppressed the swelling sense of superiority and elation, forcing out a cough.
“Ahem. That’s not quite right. There is only one great man in the east.”
He composed his expression again, but.
“However, ‘I heard’… does even the Empire know of me?”
The phrase “I heard” nagged at Zerov slightly.
He was curious whether his reputation had perhaps reached the Empire, and if so, in what form.
“Of course. Rumors from the east spread quite readily even in the Empire. Robrus is a great nation, after all.”
Zerov took a nonchalant sip of his tea.
“And yet, now that I’ve sat across from you in person and spoken with you, you seem far beyond those rumors.”
“Hm. Is that so. Far beyond the rumors…”
“Yes. If I had to sum it up in a single phrase.”
Maximilian regarded him with interest.
Even that gaze felt rather pleasant.
No, more than pleasant.
“‘The sharpest blade.'”
The sharpest blade.
Zerov set down his teacup. He inhaled sharply and leaned back in his chair.
“…”
…Maximilian watched Zerov steadily.
One hundred percent, he was eating it up.
Diplomacy was the grand business of nations, but in the end, it was people dealing with people.
And so, what mattered most was always the person.
“The sharpest blade…”
According to the「Genealogy of Evil」, Zerov was a man of extreme craving for recognition and ostentation.
That was why, when killing one thousand would have sufficed, he killed ten thousand; when killing ten thousand would have sufficed, he killed one hundred thousand; and in the end, he became the kind of man who slaughtered millions of people.
“What do you mean by that?”
Zerov asked Maximilian back, feigning displeasure.
“There is a saying in the Empire. If you’ve drawn your sword, you must cut something with it.”
Maximilian’s gaze settled on Zerov once more.
“And the General Secretary of Robrus holds you, the sharpest blade of all. Surely it must be to cut something.”
“…”
Zerov leaned deep into his chair. The man was undeniably sharp.
‘If the Premier held me, that is, the famed sword ‘Zerov’, and yet did not swing it at external enemies, then the place that blade would turn was, naturally enough, the inside.’
“…Ha.”
‘Since when had he noticed? From the moment ‘I’ rose to this key position? Or from the moment Yelena passed on that bullshit rumor?’
‘Had he recognized the possibility of a Secret Pact coming to fruition and come in person to conduct diplomacy?’
Zerov gave a faint smile and produced an expensive pipe, placing it between his lips.
“Then, let me ask just one more thing.”
He could no longer contain his boiling curiosity.
“To you, no, to the Empire, what sort of man do I appear to be? Specifically.”
Maximilian watched Zerov steadily as the man licked his lips with excitement and exhaled smoke.
“Have I perhaps been featured in any books or newspaper articles?”
Diplomacy was politics, and politics was the act of swallowing your revulsion again and again.
Swallowing his revulsion and gilding a man like this, he could do it as many times as needed.
All for the great cause of humanity…
Maximilian curled the corner of his mouth upward.
