Semi-Coercive Imperialist

Balkania’s fleet, naval port, and coastal batteries had been neutralized.

Ravaged by the Imperial knights’ “ultraprecise drops,” Balkanian ships drifted in flames. The remaining warships had been defeated by the Imperial Navy.

The Balkanian troops left on land had destroyed part of the port themselves before fleeing.

With Balkania’s main force in the north, the southern naval port had fallen into Imperial hands.

Now that we had it, I wouldn’t let it go.

“The landing is complete.”

Major General Stegen delivered the report.

I stood on Balkanian soil and looked down over the area.

The Imperial troops had landed through the civilian port and seized the mountain pass behind it.

“We’re establishing defensive lines now.”

Most countries would send troops south to retake the port.

That was common sense.

But I couldn’t presume to predict the Balkanian army’s moves. Before my regression, they had gone charging off in every possible direction.

Whatever reforms or improvements they made to their military structure, corruption and incompetence already reached into every corner of Balkania.

The entire system was the problem. It wouldn’t change easily just because someone wanted it to.

Even I had only achieved my reforms through years of paying countless bribes, killing many people, and using knowledge of the future.

“What should we do with the prisoners?”

My treatment of troops who surrendered willingly and became prisoners was consistent.

I took their oath never to oppose the Empire again, then sent them home.

Massacring them would actually do the Empire more harm.

“Follow the manual.”

I had distributed that manual to every member of the regular army.

“Yes. We’ll set up barracks.”

“From now on, we’ll make use of the port and the civilian population. I have someone in mind for the assignment.”

Balkania would probably lash out.

Just as before my regression, they would throw every kind of fucking fit, begging other countries to help them. They might do everything possible to draw Allied resources, manpower, and attention here to the south.

So I would place someone skilled at defense and self-sufficiency here.

War was ultimately a contest of putting the right talents in the right places.

“Brigadier General Graf will be coming.”

A former combat engineer with degrees in botany, agriculture, and architecture. The soldier best suited to establishing military farms here.

“And...”

I looked around at the regular army officers. Meeting my gaze, they straightened their backs.

“...”

I fell silent for a moment, drawing everyone’s attention.

Johann’s lessons had become second nature to me.

“Everyone.”

There was something I wanted to tell them.

“You’ve done well.”

Respect and courtesy, offered with a smile.

“This operation was only possible because you all acted as promised.”

Some people, no, most people were satisfied when their achievements were praised and recognized.

Yet the Empire used to have many strange superiors who instead doubted and belittled their subordinates, pushing them away and disappointing them. Perhaps it still did.

Was that the limit of officers who played politics?

Or was it because they had so little?

Had they grown up with so little that their minds were impoverished, or their confidence in themselves was weak?

“Major General Schupen.”

I wasn’t like that.

I was different from them.

“Brigadier General Lindemann.”

I had grown up in a wealthy family. Great authority had protected me. The “wall” called Sebastian. His power had quietly made me a person of higher standing.

A mansion, servants, education, influence, wealth.

And a name.

“Colonel Kessler.”

A name.

Money could be taken away, but a name could not.

The family history carried within the name Ebenholtz, my very existence, could never be taken from me.

Someone with nothing that could be taken away could give others a great deal.

“Colonel Oberg.”

They nodded as I called their names.

One by one, a fire lit in their eyes.

“Lieutenant Colonel Kruger.”

My former self had been weak.

That was why I understood the joy and passion praise could bring.

“Lieutenant Colonel Rosen.”

My former self had been oversensitive to others’ opinions.

That was why I understood the effect a single word from me could have on them.

“Lieutenant Colonel Waldner.”

All that aside, I was not Sebastian now.

“Lieutenant Colonel Sedden.”

Sebastian had controlled the military through fear alone, but I wanted to inspire a faith beyond that.

“Lieutenant Colonel Casey.”

With me, you would win.

I would face the surest path and be the first to advance.

I would lead you from the highest place.

“Lieutenant Colonel Bernhardt.”

As Julian had once said, the Big Dipper was merely a set of seven tools.

There was only one “true” guide that showed the way.

“Lieutenant Colonel Adel.”

I wanted to give them that feeling.

A “faith” that would make them follow me into any inferno, even if it meant daring to overturn the heavens...

“This is all thanks to you.”

Looking at every officer whose name I had called, I raised my hand to my brow.

A soldier’s courtesy.

A knight’s salute to the regular army.

Snap.

They returned my salute.

With even greater resolve and deeper respect than I had shown.

Their hands rose in crisp, immaculate salutes.

* * *

Entrusted by Maximilian with the occupied territory in southern Balkania, Brigadier General Graf moved swiftly from the day of the landing.

“Winter will be here soon. Restore the barracks first.”

There were garrison barracks and warehouses here that the bastards had used.

Anything burned or destroyed would be restored. Anything intact would be improved.

“Assemble the interpreters.”

Communication was essential in occupied territory. Soldiers who spoke Balkanian and Balkanians who spoke the Imperial language were gathered to serve as interpreters.

“Go to the villages and talk to the people. Bring back information.”

There were villages in the occupied territory. Civilians, too. They needed the knowledge of locals who knew every aspect of the area.

“If you need something, trade for it or pay for it. Most of these people don’t even know what an army is, anyway.”

After receiving reports on Balkania’s climate, soil, ocean currents, and crops unique to the area, Brigadier General Graf recorded everything in a notebook.

Then the Imperial troops helped local residents finish harvesting their olive groves.

The army did not mistreat them. Requisitioning was also strictly forbidden.

The reason was simple.

Maximilian’s manual.

The official justification was that Balkanians, too, deserved respect under the Bloodline Act. Balkanians were a branch of the Aran.

“Salt and dry the winter fish, and sow the wheat now. That’s how we’ll have a harvest next year.”

The soldiers worked on land.

“Leave the fishing boats to the civilians. Provide them with fuel.”

Naval personnel weren’t fishermen. Neither were army personnel. Huge lumps of steel were useless for fishing, so it was better to give fuel to the experts and take half the catch.

Afterward, Brigadier General Graf connected their communications network to the Empire, requested supplies, and established a relay station to send reports.

The Empire did have talent.

It simply hadn’t been put to proper use until now.

...

Scrape, scrape.

Ruin opened his eyes.

Scrape, scrape.

The sound of an apple being peeled.

Scrape, scrape.

He was in a spotless white hospital bed. Though he was lying still, a dull ache lingered in his leg.

“How are you feeling?”

A familiar voice asked. Ruin turned his gaze to the side. It was Mia, a knight senior to him.

“I’m all right.”

“They said it was serious. They might’ve had to amputate, but apparently the new medicine cleared up the infection?”

“...What? New medicine?”

“Yeah. They say we’ll all be supplied with it soon.”

She placed the peeled apple on a plate and set it down.

“And that enemy superhuman you fought. Apparently, they were Izenheim.”

Ruin recalled his opponent.

The hands and body that had seemed to “eat” mana.

“...Izenheim.”

Izenheim could be identified.

No, only Izenheim could be identified.

It was a fact published in the knights’ journal.

“Ma’am. What happened to the operation...?”

“It succeeded.”

Mia handed him a newspaper.

[ Empire’s Sword Reaches Southern Balkania ]

[ Come Out, Agento! Show Yourself to the Empire! ]

[ Where Is Agento, and What Is Agento Doing? ]

[ Balkanian Radio Falls Silent... The Rooster Stops Crowing ]

A faint smile spread across Ruin’s lips.

“Happy?”

Mia propped her chin on her hand, looking incredulous.

“I heard about what happened that day.”

“...”

Ruin recalled that moment. The battle itself was hazy, but his mistake was clear.

He had misjudged the enemy’s malice.

“Yes. I never imagined they’d strap bombs to themselves and blow themselves up...”

But an even clearer memory remained. A tiny fishing boat.

Moonlight more brilliant than the sun.

Someone sitting as though leaning against the waves that tapped the boat’s side.

Maximilian’s rescue.

“I know. The story’s already all over the order. Including who rescued you.”

Ruin felt embarrassed. His classmates’ faces suddenly came to mind, and he pulled his blanket up a little.

“There’s no need for that. We’re all Sentinel.”

With that, Mia stood.

“Just recover and get completely well.”

She took a helmet from her bag and set it on Ruin’s stomach.

It was new.

“Then go kill the Empire’s enemies again.”

“...Yes.”

“Get some rest.”

Mia reached the door, then turned around with a mischievous smile.

“Oh, right. Your broken helmet. Apparently, they’re going to display it in the Sentinel Museum.”

“...Huh?”

Ruin’s face turned bright red.

“Wh-why?”

“Because it’s the first helmet to break.”

“...”

Ruin was speechless.

“There’s meaning in all of that. The commander says you should consider a battle wound an honor. Now get some rest for real!”

Mia left in a flash.

Alone, Ruin stared blankly at the ceiling.

“Ah... Ah...”

He squeezed his eyes shut.

“Aaaaargh!”

He kicked beneath the blanket, then stopped because his leg hurt.

...

Southern Balkania had been occupied. With their port taken, their coastline was now open to the Empire.

“...Prime Minister Agento keeps requesting aid.”

Arthur Winston received the report.

“Has the army moved out?”

“No.”

He couldn’t understand what they were thinking. They should be planning to send their army to retake it.

“Then what’s Agento doing?”

“Only asking us for support...”

Arthur Winston looked down at the telegram on his desk.

Send Hailand’s fleet. Send Hailand’s army. Hailand must intervene.

The same document had probably been sent to Prozen.

“Has fear driven Agento mad?”

Maximilian had spoken Agento’s name. Over a radio broadcast heard across the entire continent, he had said, “I’ll come to meet you.”

The Maximilian Arthur knew always kept his word.

“Ignore it.”

Arthur made the right decision. The enemy’s main force had not yet moved.

“An incompetent ally is more dangerous than a capable enemy.”

There was no reason to scramble around because of Balkania.

The enemy’s main attack would surely come in the west. They would hold that front and wait for winter.

Letting a mere southern port dictate their actions would be exactly what Maximilian wanted.

...

At the lectern of Imperial Central University.

“...Numbers do not lie.”

Leutern was in the middle of a lecture.

“This is the water content of the heart.”

It was a lecture using scientific evidence to argue why Izenheim were especially inferior among heterogeneous bloodlines.

“For all other humans, it’s between 74 and 79 percent! Even the hearts of Mer, Kenshi, and Dromon who died of illness!”

Only Izenheim had hearts with a water content above 82 percent.

“And...”

Leutern brought out something. A box wrapped in velvet.

“Take a look.”

When the velvet was opened, a helmet in a transparent glass case was revealed. A knight’s helmet, horribly shattered.

“This is a Sentinel knight’s helmet.”

A quiet sigh settled over the room.

“Oh, of course, the knight is fine. The knight survived. However, when we performed an autopsy on the Balkanian soldier who went so far as to launch a suicide bombing against our knights... we found this figure.”

Leutern held up a sheet bearing that figure, the actual number.

“Astonishing. A water content of 85 percent.”

...Listening to those words,

Tap. Tap.

“What a load of bullshit.”

A low mutter.

Imperial scholarship became propaganda, and propaganda took scholarship’s place. Liars stood at lecterns and received applause.

“You’re more Izenheim than the Izenheim, you fuckers...”

The anti-imperial, antiwar figure glared at Leutern without saying a word aloud.

Tap. Tap.

They merely pressed a pen against the desk.

Clap, clap, clap, clap, clap!

Yet applause soon filled the lecture hall. In its midst, Leutern spread both arms and smiled.

How many people here agreed with that bastard’s absurd nonsense?

Dozens? Hundreds?

If it was more than half, there was no hope for the Empire.

The figure left the lecture hall.

* * *

I hurried to the underground laboratory. I had received some very important news.

“We believe mass production will be possible soon.”

The penicillin research conducted in absolute secrecy. Its mass-production process was almost complete.

“The strain isolated from a melon has a yield dozens of times higher than the existing one.”

They had finally found a new mold and successfully grown it.

“If we transfer it to a deep fermentation tank... factory-scale production may be possible.”

I clenched my fist. With my money and ideas, we had achieved something the Allies would only accomplish far in the future.

It had cost an enormous amount of money, but it was worth it.

“You’ve all worked very hard.”

I shook hands with the researchers one by one.

The researcher responsible for growing the mold. The researcher responsible for purification.

And Lorenzo, the director in charge of this academy.

“...”

Lorenzo’s eyes wavered faintly while looking at me.

Was it because of the news from the war? The racial discrimination, oppression, and persecution, and beyond those, the fear of “massacre”?

“...Thank you.”

Lorenzo forced a smile and took my hand.

“Sir.”

Beside Lorenzo, Armand also held out his hand.

“You’ve worked hard too, sir.”

“What have I even-”

“Without your ideas, penicillin could never have been created.”

Armand’s eyes were full of passion.

“The invention of penicillin will be credited to Maximilian Ebenholtz.”

His expression was completely different from Lorenzo’s.

“It’ll go down in history under your name, sir.”

Perhaps it was the expression of an imperialist.

“Sir. I’m following events on the battlefield too.”

He seemed to admire the battlefield. He supported the war. I smiled at him and nodded.

“You’re as much a part of the battlefield as anyone. As a pure Aran.”

Armand’s identity was flawless. Now even Armand himself believed in the family register I had prepared years ago.

“Thank you.”

Armand stepped back. He still had plenty of work to do.

“...”

I looked around the laboratory for a moment.

War advanced technology. It gathered money and people, and compressed time.

Technologies for killing people would eventually become technologies that helped them, remaining in the world after the war ended.

So, if humanity won one day, if there was no longer any need to continue the war, we would be able to reach a better world.

...Either way, it would be better than destruction.

That was what I believed.