Chapter 78 - Common Sense for Academy Festivals (8)

The purpose of the terrorist attack was simple: to discredit the royal house here, where foreign envoys and nobles of the United Kingdoms had gathered.

But that very objective necessarily tempered the attack’s violence. Once the casualties exceeded a certain threshold, the United Kingdoms would direct their anger at the terrorists before condemning Krasilof.

The key was to hold that precarious line.

This was a righteous uprising. A struggle to honor the souls of the Great King, the Royal Guard, and the soldiers sacrificed during the last war.

It was therefore a meticulously organized attack, restrained as far as possible and aimed exclusively at Krasilof’s military, so that the United Kingdoms might ridicule and condemn Krasilof without directing their anger at the terrorists themselves.

“... Is that your excuse?”

Elizaveta spoke as she looked down at the square engulfed in chaos. Pavel knelt before her, with Ivan’s pistol pressed to the back of his neck. Both men watched her in silence.

“And Vanka. No... Sir Ivan Petrovich. Why, exactly, have you not apprehended the remaining perpetrators?”

Well.

Hmm.

Ivan searched for words, feeling the familiar discomfiture that always accompanied explaining common sense to the people of this other world.

A terrorist attack at an academy festival was common sense. And according to that common sense, the academy’s students were supposed to suppress the attack, gaining combat experience and a modest reward.

Pavel, probably intended as this stage’s boss, had clearly been designed well above the appropriate difficulty level, so Ivan had preemptively prevented that encounter.

Events in which the “protagonists” surpassed their limits were certainly necessary, but they had to take place within a quantitatively calibrated difficulty curve.

Ivan was a modern man who had lived in the science-above-all twenty-first century. He already knew that people did not grow through sheer grit. Sustainable growth came from pushing limits within tolerable bounds.

There was no way to explain any of this, so Ivan simply gazed at Elizaveta in silence.

And his gaze stoked her unease.

‘My father, Kirill, deliberately withheld intelligence from the former King, Ivan, and when the former King fell in battle, almost the entire Royal Guard perished in that campaign...’

Elizaveta strove to hide her trembling hand, picking up her cup as though nothing were wrong. Ripples stirred the clear black tea. She bit her lip as she watched her reflection distort on its surface.

‘From the Royal Guard’s perspective, that was...’

Abandonment. No, to be more precise, betrayal. Under the pretext of strengthening royal authority, a prince mad with lust for power had fed his own father and the troops into the grinder.

It could be defended, if one chose to defend it. The royal house had been in such a precarious position that even a disastrous move like that had to be considered the lesser evil. Crumble slowly, or make a ruthless decision. Now that she was grown, Elizaveta could understand Kirill’s thinking at the time.

The nobles had wanted no more of the war of attrition. Yet without those losses among their troops, Krasilof would have joined the list of kingdoms destroyed during the war.

They had needed a compelling justification and the authority to bring everyone to heel. Cutting away the former King and the entire Royal Guard had probably been a decision made in that pursuit.

It was unforgivable. A past that filled even her with revulsion.

Yet without that past, she would not be standing here now. As one who carried the royal blood, she could not face these men’s anger with a clear conscience.

Anger? Of course she, too, was angry. She remembered her grandfather. She knew what sort of people the Royal Guard had been.

But apart from that, she was a political animal. She had to be. And yet...

‘Vanka. Are you the same?’

You, who had been cast aside once as a member of the Royal Guard, then forced to die again as a member of the Extermination Unit.

Could you, too, consider political necessity without emotion?

And could you accept that fine-sounding word, necessity? Could you set aside your anger at this country and devote yourself solely to duty?

Even if no one in the world ever acknowledged that devotion?

No one could do that.

And so, at that moment, Elizaveta could only gaze at Ivan with the empty eyes of someone who had lost her world, wearing the expression of a cold, clearheaded ruler as she struggled to conceal her grief.

By any common-sense reckoning, Ivan had no reason not to betray her.

‘So that is why you neglected to suppress the attack and brought its ringleader before me.’

Standing armed before a woman of royal blood. Watching her without a word.

Elizaveta prepared herself for death. If this was the price, then so be it. She smiled sadly.

“Pavel Sergeyevich Orlov. Raise your head.”

Pavel looked up at her, anger and grief in his eyes.

Whatever the circumstances or his intentions, he was a traitor. He had no intention of denying it. He stood here on behalf of the departed Great King and his men. His goal had been the downfall of the royal house; he had merely lacked the ability to achieve it.

That had not changed.

Yet Elizaveta was looking down at him with sorrow in her eyes.

“I shall set this country’s wrongs against your own. You may leave freely whenever you wish. This country will detain you no longer.”

“... Do you believe showing mercy to me alone can atone for all the royal house’s sins?”

“Of course not.”

Elizaveta smiled and shook her head.

“The right to atone for the royal house’s wrongs belongs to me alone. So, Vanka, do what you must.”

“What... I must, Your Highness?”

“My elder brother has lost his right of succession, and my father is now old and infirm. I am the last remaining foundation of this nation’s sovereignty. Accomplish what you wish. If you would pass judgment on Krasilof, then do so.”

Elizaveta’s eyes did not waver. Holding down the hand that trembled with grief, she smiled with a brilliance that seemed on the verge of shattering.

At least her final moments must be beautiful. They ought to be noble and tragic. That was the duty of the royal house.

While Ivan searched for something to say, Pavel spoke in a low voice, his eyes burning.

“That is hypocrisy, Princess. You say you will atone for the royal house’s sins with your life, but to me, it looks like nothing more than running away.”

“Then tell me what you want.”

“What I want...”

Pavel looked at Elizaveta’s face and swallowed his words.

What did he want?

To drag the royal house’s honor into the dirt, punish Kirill’s outrageous sins, and end the royal bloodline with his own hands.

Revenge. Nothing else.

That alone was what he had wanted most.

This country had no right to dare trade on the Great King’s name or extol the heroes of a bygone age.

Yet as Pavel looked up at Elizaveta’s face, he thought: was she not the Great King’s own flesh and blood, too?

Was she not perhaps this country’s last hope, embodying all that the Great King had so dearly wished for?

He wanted revenge. He most certainly did. But that could not dim his loyalty to the Great King.

For the Royal Guard of those days had been men brought together by their admiration for that radiant king.

“You call it hypocrisy? You are right. I am a hypocrite. I hold all this country’s power in my hands and can sweep aside every royal prerogative with a gesture, yet the people praise me as the first monarch to accept a constitution. What greater hypocrisy could there be?”

Elizaveta looked out the window.

The square was still engulfed in chaos, but Counterintelligence Command’s active intervention was bringing the attack under control.

“All intelligence in this country flows to me. Every gun in this country moves at my will. Thus, everything I say and do is inevitably hypocrisy. Is power not the most insidious vice the Lord has permitted mankind?”

“...”

“Then I shall take pride in being a hypocrite and shall not deny my hypocrisy. If my hypocrisy brings this country prosperity, I shall gladly pay its price.”

Elizaveta reached out and took Pavel’s arm. Ivan started and tried to stop her, but she pushed him back with a gentle gesture.

She helped Pavel to his feet and led him to the window.

Prizhenkaya’s squares and parks lay before them, its avenues and city streets stretching into the distance.

Troops had converged on the university because of the chaos, but beyond their cordon, the streets remained peaceful.

The chaos here was localized. Prizhenkaya was one of the largest cities in the United Kingdoms.

Countless people walked its streets, though a mere four years had passed since the war ended.

This city was rising again. It would rise. It had to rise.

Human beings were never made to crumble.

“Look. This is the sight the former King wished to see, the peace made complete by his death. This city was built upon his virtue. Lay the royal house’s wrongs upon me, and live in this city that you and your comrades built. That is my hypocrisy.”

An ivory-colored pistol was kept in a drawer of her office desk.

Elizaveta took it from the drawer, placed it in Pavel’s hand, and turned her back. She wanted to take in the city one last time.

“Do what you wish. I have ordered countless people to die. I will not hide behind another when death comes for me.”

Pavel twitched, holding the pistol in a trembling hand, then dropped his head and let out a deep sigh.

CLATTER

The pistol fell limply to the floor.

Pavel silently bowed his head and slowly sank to his knees.

* * *

[“I ask only one thing of you. Die on your feet! Do not flee before death. Stand and accept it!”]

[“I am not a king who will preserve your lives and keep you safe. Call me a tyrant if you wish. You would be right!”]

[“It is all I can do merely to preserve your families, your homes, and the subjects of this country. Such an incompetent king am I. So die on your feet!”]

[“But remember this. I shall never die behind you. I demand your lives. In return, I shall give you mine. For this country, offer your lives to me!”]

[“You and I shall fall here today, but Krasilof shall never crumble. Will you follow me? Will you march willingly toward death?”]

What had he said in reply?

Pavel drifted into a daze of recollection.

[“Yes, let us go. Today I die beside the greatest men in this country!”]

Ah, yes. That was what they had said.

Long live Ivan the Great. May Krasilof endure forever.

Lord, protect our king!

Astride his enormous warhorse, Ivan the Great had shaken his head and laughed heartily.

[“Lord, protect mankind!”]

If there was power to spare for protecting an old man who would soon be dead, let it be used instead so that the children yet to be born might live beneath the skies of their own country.

With those words, the king charged. He charged straight toward the Seven Dragon Generals.

He charged toward concepts made manifest. Toward monsters called gods.

If this front collapsed, there would be no troops left to stand in the enemy’s path before they reached Prizhenkaya.

He charged, declaring that he would have no regrets if he could delay this country’s death by even a few days.

Even as the men advancing beside him fell away one by one, he charged with his battle standard raised, shouting his name for all the world to hear.

Look here. Look at me. Your king is here.

As though promising the soldiers collapsing in exhaustion that they would not die alone.

As though to prove that his hollow-sounding promise not to die behind them had been no lie.

* * *

Yes, the hero was dead. But the royal bloodline lived on.

“Lord, protect Krasilof.”

Pavel spoke with his head bowed low.

Elizaveta turned her question to Ivan.

“Where does your loyalty lie?”

“Only with the foundation of this nation’s sovereignty.”

“Even if your devotion receives no reward?”

“We were taught to regard loyalty itself as our sole reward.”

Ivan calmly sank to one knee and bowed his head.

Elizaveta gazed down at the men for a long time, then out at the distant vista of Prizhenkaya.

She smiled through her tears.

“How heavy the weight upon my shoulders.”