Chapter 4 - A Terrorist Attack Always Strikes the Train to the Academy (2)

When the orphans asked Ivan why the United Kingdoms were “united,” he generally told them to look at a railway map.

The vast rail network that had carried military supplies during the war against the Demon King served as arteries connecting not merely cities, but nations.

These metal beasts covered in just three or four days distances that would have taken a carriage more than ten days of nonstop travel. They were the true stars of the last war.

“Who did you say was arriving first?”

“Einar of Droan, sir. Princess Esidisi is scheduled to depart first!”

“But it’s still January.”

“Exactly. Who travels to a distant foreign country two whole months early just to wait for enrollment day? Royalty, no less! What a nuisance.”

He gave a cheeky grin.

“It seems Princess Esidisi had a rough time back home! Those Droan bumpkins tend to look down on playing musical instruments.”

“... Instruments...?”

“Oh, didn’t I mention that? Princess Esidisi applied to the College of Music. Orchestral Music Department, majoring in violin, it says? Isn’t that something? A child of that Great King Einar, becoming a violinist.”

Ivan paused at that.

The Einar he remembered—before he became Great King, back when he was a member of the Hero’s Party—was a Madman who wielded a pair of axes, collecting orc heads in the morning and taurus heads in the evening.

[“Bwahahaha! Look here, ‘Little’ Ivan! This is how you swing an axe!!”]

Didn’t daughters usually take after their fathers...?

No, no.

It had already been years, but the Esidisi he dimly remembered was a delicate little girl who adored her father.

In truth, they had very little in common. Fortunately for everyone.

In any case, this would produce the strongest music student in history. That was Ivan’s brief assessment.

Esidisi might not resemble her father in looks or temperament, but the way she swung an axe was identical.

“Anyway, sir, are you sure about that intel? Someone’s really going to attack the train?”

“Yes.”

“Who? Well, I mean... there are far too many suspects to answer that question... But this is Great King Einar’s daughter we’re talking about. They’ll get the blood eagle if they’re caught.”

The blood eagle was the people of Droan’s favorite folk pastime. It held roughly the same place as playing yut during the holidays or riding swings at the Dano festival. (At least they were alike in drawing plenty of spectators.)

The details were too horrifying to describe to the civilized citizens of the Kingdom of Krasilof.

“The shortest direct route from Droan to Jansk University goes here.”

Ignoring his remarks, Ivan drew a solid line along the railway map.

Transport Route No. 12.

One of the trade routes connecting the Kingdom of Krasilof to the Kingdom of Droan.

“And my prediction is here. Igorevich Station. Somewhere nearby is most likely.”

“How can you be so sure...? Terrorists don’t announce the location of their attacks in advance. Have you planted someone, sir?”

“Because they’ll strike at the border.”

He didn’t know who would carry out the attack. He couldn’t even begin to predict it.

He had retired from active service and had no ties to the intelligence services.

But he could still deduce a few things.

Assume the attack itself was a given, and all that remained was to work out the “why,” “who,” and “how,” one by one.

“Princess Esidisi would be the target.”

“Well, uh... if there really is an attack, I suppose so?”

“Why?”

“... Sir?”

To create a source of conflict between Krasilof and Droan, of course.

That much was obvious.

“Then there won’t be an attack south of Droan’s border. To pin the blame on the Kingdom of Krasilof, they’ll have to do it inside our borders.”

“Uh... yes. I suppose so?”

“But past Igorevich Station, this route crosses three separate military zones.”

However vulnerable trains might be to terrorist attacks, that did not hold true inside a military zone.

The route wasn’t surrounded by military territory along its entire length, but it did run through at least three military camps.

That was a legacy of the railway’s original design for military logistics.

“And naturally, security grows tighter the closer you get to the capital. That makes Igorevich Station the most vulnerable point.”

“Oh... yes, it would?”

“When is Princess Esidisi scheduled to depart?”

“The noon train, two days from now.”

“Then she’ll arrive around ten in the morning four days from now. If I leave now, the timing will be just right.”

Ivan folded the railway map and nodded.

His junior stared blankly at him for a moment, then gave a small chuckle.

“Do you actually have something to go on? I doubt you received a divine revelation, and I never heard anything about you being able to prophesy, even when we were on active duty. I can get agents dispatched to stop an attack, but I need evidence if I’m going to try persuading the higher-ups.”

“Then care to make a wager?”

“... A wager?”

“No support in the field. Let’s just see what happens.”

Ivan turned to his junior with a faint chuckle.

Of course he had no evidence. He couldn’t possibly have an informant, either. But the attack would happen. It was “common sense.”

He had neither the time nor the inclination to persuade anyone about this. There would be more instances of this “common sense” in the future. How was he supposed to convince them every time?

So he decided to settle the matter right at the start. Besides, he was confident.

If no attack happened, he would have little to answer for, since he hadn’t requested support in the first place.

If an attack did happen, his words would carry real weight from then on. He would, after all, have rescued the High King’s daughter.

Moreover, High King Einar wouldn’t have sent his most beloved daughter off alone. She would naturally have an escort.

‘But if the attack is a given, that means they must be confident they can take on every member of Esidisi’s escort.’

He had nothing to lose and much to gain.

It was even a chance to test whether his “academy formulas” held true. If several tests, including this one, failed, then, well, perhaps this wasn’t an academy story after all.

“You really do sound confident. Well, all right. I’ll stay out of it for now.”

Ivan didn’t bother answering. It was only natural that he didn’t believe him.

As a rule, no anti-government organization in its right mind attacked civilian railways.

A train attack inevitably consumed a vast amount of human resources. The moment it happened, they would lose everyone involved—the entire human intelligence network they had spent years, even decades painstakingly building.

The losses far outweighed anything they could gain from merely blowing up a civilian railway.

That held true even if it meant assassinating Great King Einar’s cherished eldest daughter.

Unlike shooting her during her stay in the country, an incident aboard a train left responsibility somewhat unclear. In other words, diplomatic relations might cool, but matters were unlikely to escalate beyond a dispute.

Staging an attack for such a modest goal, pointlessly putting everyone on their guard, was poor strategy. Accordingly, the Krasilof royal family invested in no more than minimal security.

That was “common sense” to the people of this other world. Rational deduction and judgment.

But Ivan’s “common sense” was different. This was a formula.

For four peaceful years, grim events such as terrorist attacks and conflicts had vanished along with the Demon King.

It was hardly strange that Ivan was the only one who could anticipate something like a train attack.

Even for the arrival of a foreign princess, all they would do was prepare a ceremonial welcome at the capital’s station.

“I’ll have to do this at least three more times.”

Ivan heaved a deep sigh and went down to the train platform. Excluding the Saint, there were no fewer than four members of the Hero’s Party coming from abroad.

If terrorist attacks struck the “trains to enrollment” at the academy, he would have to protect all five of their train routes.

This godforsaken other world.

He pressed hard between his brows as he boarded the train.

* * *

As Ivan departed by train for the border region, his junior dutifully headed to the palace to report to his superior.

“Your Highness. Your servant Dmitry Cherkatov presents himself.”

“Within the palace, I am the Palace Minister.”

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

Ornate walls of carved, gilded wood.

An office absurdly large for a single occupant.

In the office belonging to Princess Elizaveta Kirillovna Krasilof—Iron-blooded Liza—stood a massive ebony desk adorned with marble and ivory reliefs.

Behind that desk, strewn chaotically with countless documents, a woman moved her pen with an air of indifference.

“Report.”

“Sir Petrovich has departed.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“He suspects a terrorist attack on a train. He was quite specific about the time and place.”

At that, Elizaveta’s quill stopped.

“Does Vanka have an informant?”

“No. There has been no sign of anything of the sort over the past four years.”

An intelligence organization was ultimately a collection of human assets. And every human asset was a component that required constant maintenance and proper lubrication.

In short, without any support or upkeep, it was impossible to suddenly pinpoint an “unidentified anti-government organization” in a newly assigned mission.

That meant his actions were based entirely on conjecture, yet there was a certain “conviction” about him.

Just as there had been four years ago, when he left on his final mission.

As though he were insisting, without a shred of evidence, that an attack was common sense.

Had anyone but Ivan made such a claim, Elizaveta would have dismissed them as a “lunatic” without a second thought.

“We’ll have to wait and see about this particular piece of intelligence, but Sir Petrovich is at least still fit for active service, Your Excellency. He hasn’t lost any of his edge.”

The reliability of his intelligence was a secondary issue. Ivan had gone alone without requesting support, so even if the information proved wrong, there would be no loss.

Dmitry shuddered slightly as he recalled something more important: his first visit to Ivan.

Moving naturally and unconsciously without betraying one’s presence was, well, a basic skill in the Extermination Unit.

But precisely determining an unseen opponent’s position and height through a closed door, then deliberately revealing his own presence while ducking out of the line of fire and preparing to counterattack—that showed a level of training rarely found even among active agents.

That clinging premonition and dry killing intent he had felt the instant he turned the doorknob.

Raising his voice then to let Ivan know where he was had been almost instinctive. Had he kept his mouth shut, an axe blade might have come flying at him in the next instant.

“Heh. Hehehe.”

A quiet laugh came from across the desk.

As far as Dmitry could recall, it was the first happy laugh he had heard from her in three years.

“Your Excellency...?”

“Put someone on him. Have them record Vanka’s every move, down to the most trivial action, and bring it to me. Mark the reports ‘Immediate’ (extremely urgent), so I can review them at any time.”

“Umm... if you want to see him that badly, perhaps you should simply visit him yourself...?”

“If I intended to do that, I wouldn’t have spent four years merely watching.”

Elizaveta chuckled and set her quill moving again.

“It’s only right that we reunite at a better moment. At the perfect time.”

“Ah, yes...”

“Enough nonsense. Go and do more to protect the country. Have you nothing to do?”

“... Yes, Your Excellency. Your humble servant Dmitry Cherkatov begs leave to withdraw.”

Dmitry stepped back and left with a dubious expression.

Really, how was receiving reports on someone’s every last move either respectable or romantic?

Hoping that his own lover, at least, never entertained such ideas, he hurried out of the eastern palace.

* * *

When the agents Dmitry dispatched arrived at Igorevich Station, they were handed three neatly wrapped body bags.

There was no sign of Ivan Petrovich at the scene, which had been meticulously scrubbed of even the bloodstains.

By then, Ivan was running through the forest with an axe in his hand.