Chapter 78
Chapter 78
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>Translator: Lord First
>Chapter: 78
>Chapter Title: The Commonsense of Academy Festivals (8)
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*
The purpose of the terror attack was simple: to tarnish the Royal Family's authority in a place where foreign envoys and the United Kingdom's nobility had gathered.
However, for that very reason, the attack's ferocity had to be somewhat blunted. The moment casualties crossed a certain line, the United Kingdom would prioritize its anger toward the terrorist group over its condemnation of Krasilov.
The key was to maintain that delicate balance.
This was an act of righteous protest. A struggle to honor the spirits of the Great King, the Royal Guard, and the soldiers who had been sacrificed during the last war.
Therefore, it was a precisely organized terror attack, restrained to the greatest extent possible and aimed solely at Krasilov's military, ensuring that while the United Kingdom might mock and denounce Krasilov, it would not direct its fury at the terrorists themselves.
“…Is that your excuse?”
Elizaveta spoke as she looked down upon the chaotic square.
Pavel, on his knees, and Ivan, with the muzzle of his gun pressed against the back of Pavel's neck, watched her in silence.
“And Vanka. No… Sir Ivan Petrovich. Why on earth did you not carry out the arrest of the remaining insurgents?”
Well.
Hmm.
Ivan chose his words carefully, filled with the same bewilderment he always felt when explaining common sense to people from this world.
It was common sense for a terrorist attack to occur during the academy festival.
And according to that common sense, the attack was meant to be suppressed by the academy students, providing them with combat experience and a modest reward.
In this case, Pavel, who was likely the boss of this stage, was a clear deviation from the appropriate difficulty level, so Ivan had prevented a confrontation beforehand.
While an event where the ‘protagonists’ overcome their own limits was essential, it had to be designed within a quantifiable difficulty range.
Ivan was a modern man who had lived in the 21st century, an age of scientific supremacy. He knew that people didn't grow through sheer grit alone. Sustainable growth was fostered by manageable, threshold-level stimuli.
Having no way to explain all this, Ivan simply stared at Elizaveta in silence.
And his gaze only fueled her anxiety.
‘My father (Kirill) intentionally withheld information from the previous king (Ivan), and with the former king's death in battle, almost the entire Royal Guard was annihilated on the front lines….’
Elizaveta tried to hide her trembling hands as she nonchalantly picked up her teacup. Ripples formed on the surface of the clear black tea.
She bit her lip, watching her own distorted reflection in the liquid.
‘From the Royal Guard's perspective, that was….’
They were abandoned. Or to be more precise, they were betrayed. Under the pretext of strengthening royal authority, a prince mad with ambition had sacrificed his own father and his troops.
It was possible to make excuses. The Royal Family at the time had been in such a precarious position that they had to consider such a terrible move the lesser of two evils. A slow collapse, or a ruthless decision. Elizaveta, now grown, could understand Kirill's mindset at the time.
Back then, the nobles had not wanted any more war of attrition. But without the sacrifice of those forces, Krasilov would have been added to the list of fallen kingdoms that perished during the war.
A powerful justification and authority were needed to bring everyone to heel. Eliminating the former king and the entire Royal Guard was likely a decision made in that process.
It was an unforgivable act, a past that made even her own stomach churn with disgust.
But without that past, she would not be here now. Therefore, as one who carried the royal blood, she could not stand tall against their rage.
Anger? Of course, she was angry too. She remembered her grandfather. She knew what kind of men the Royal Guard had been.
But separate from that, she was a political animal. She had to be. But…
‘Vanka. Is it the same for you?’
You, who were once abandoned as a member of the Royal Guard,
>and then forced to face death once more as a member of the Annihilation Squad.
Can you consider political necessity without emotion?
And can you understand the hollow word that is ‘necessity’? Can you set aside your anger for this country and devote yourself solely to duty?
Even if that devotion went unrecognized by anyone in the world?
No one could do such a thing.
Thus, at this moment, Elizaveta could only look at Ivan with empty eyes that had lost the world. With the expression of a cold monarch, desperately concealing her sorrow.
Common sense dictated there was no reason for Ivan not to betray her.
‘So that’s why you neglected to suppress the attack and brought its leader before my very eyes.’
Armed in the presence of royalty. Staring at her without a word.
Elizaveta prepared for death. If this was the price, then so be it. She smiled sadly.
“Pavel Sergeyevich Olov. Raise your head.”
Pavel looked up at Elizaveta, his eyes filled with anger and sorrow.
Regardless of the circumstances or his intentions, he was a traitor. And he had no intention of denying it. He was here on behalf of the departed Great King and his men, and though his abilities had been insufficient, his goal had been the downfall of the Royal Family.
That would not change.
However, Elizaveta was looking down at him with sad eyes.
“Your transgression will be covered by the transgression of this nation. You are free to leave whenever you wish. This country will no longer hold you.”
“Do you believe showing mercy to one man like me can atone for all the sins of the Royal Family?”
“Of course not.”
Elizaveta smiled and shook her head.
“Atoning for the Royal Family's sins is entirely my prerogative. Therefore, Vanka, Sir, do what you must.”
“What I… must do, you say?”
“My brother has lost his right of succession, and my father is now old and frail. I am the last scion of this nation, so fulfill your desire. If you wish to condemn Krasilov, then do so.”
There was no wavering in Elizaveta’s eyes. Pressing down on her hands, which trembled with sorrow, she smiled, a smile so brilliant it seemed on the verge of shattering.
Her final moments had to be beautiful. They had to be magnificent. That was the duty of royalty.
As Ivan was choosing his words for this situation, Pavel asked in a low, burning voice.
“That is hypocrisy, Princess. You claim to atone for the Royal Family’s sins with your life, but to me, it just looks like you’re running away.”
“Then you shall state what it is you desire.”
“What I desire is…”
Pavel looked at Elizaveta’s face, then swallowed his words.
What did he desire?
To drag the Royal Family’s honor through the mud, to punish the outrageous sins Kirill had committed, to end the royal bloodline with his own hands.
Only revenge.
That was all he had ever wanted.
This country had no right to invoke the Great King’s name, no right to praise the heroes of a bygone era.
However, looking up at Elizaveta’s face, Pavel thought. Was she not also the Great King’s flesh and blood?
Was she not, perhaps, the last hope of this nation, one who fully embodied the image the Great King had so desperately wished for?
He wanted revenge. He certainly did. But that could not tarnish the loyalty he held for the Great King.
For the Royal Guard of that era had been men who gathered in admiration of the Great King’s radiant image.
“You called it hypocrisy. You are right, Sir. I am a hypocrite. I hold all the power of this nation in my grasp and can dismiss all the rights of the Royal Family with a wave of my hand, yet I am praised by the people as the first monarch to accept a constitution. Could there be a greater hypocrisy?”
Elizaveta gazed out the window.
The square was still in chaos, but with the active intervention of the Counter-Intelligence Command, the terror attack was being suppressed.
“All the information of this country flows to me. Every gun barrel in this country moves by my will. Therefore, everything I say and do is inevitably hypocrisy. Is power not the most wicked vice the Lord has permitted unto man?”
“…”
“Therefore, I pride myself on being a hypocrite, and I will not deny my hypocrisy. If my hypocrisy enriches this nation, then I shall willingly pay the price for it.”
Elizaveta reached out and took Pavel’s arm.
When Ivan flinched and tried to stop her, Elizaveta pushed him back with a gentle gesture.
She helped Pavel to his feet. She led him to the window.
The square of Fritzenkaya, the park, and in the distance, the avenues and the city came into view.
Apart from the army that had gathered due to the chaos at the university, beyond the cordon they had created, a peaceful city still stretched out.
The chaos here was localized. Fritzenkaya was one of the largest cities in the United Kingdom.
Countless people were strolling the streets, though it had only been four years since the war ended.
This city was rising. It will rise. It must rise.
Man was never made for defeat.
“Look. This is the sight the former king wished for, the peace completed by his death. It is a city built upon his virtue. Pass the Royal Family’s sins onto me, and you, live in this city that you and your comrades built. That is my hypocrisy.”
In the drawer of her office desk was an ivory-colored pistol.
Elizaveta took the pistol from the drawer, placed it in Pavel’s hand, and turned her back. She wanted to burn the cityscape into her memory one last time.
“Do what you must, Sir. I have ordered countless people to ‘die’ until now, so I will never hide behind others in the face of death.”
Pavel, holding the pistol with a trembling hand, flinched, then let his head fall as he let out a deep sigh.
*Clank.* The pistol fell limply to the floor.
Pavel silently bowed his head and slowly knelt.
*
-There is only one thing I ask of you all. Die on your feet! Do not flee from death. Stand and accept your death!
-I am not a king who preserves your lives and safety. Call me a tyrant if you wish. You would be right!
-I am sufficiently overwhelmed merely preserving your families, your homes, and the people of this nation. That is how incompetent a king I am. So you must stand and die!
-But know this. I will never die behind you. I want your lives. In return, I will give you my own. For this nation, offer your lives to me!
-You and I will fall here today, but Krasilov will never fall. Will you follow me? Will you march willingly toward death?
What had he answered to those words?
Pavel was lost in a daze.
-Yes, let us go. Today, I die with the greatest men of this nation!
Ah, yes, that's what he had said.
Long live Great King Ivan. May Krasilov be eternal.
Lord, protect our king!
Atop his great warhorse, Great King Ivan had shaken his head and laughed heartily.
-Lord, protect humanity!
If you have the power to protect an old man about to die, then instead…
Let the children yet to be born live in their own country, looking up at the sky.
Saying so, the king charged. He charged toward the faces of the Seven Dragon Generals.
He charged toward an idea made manifest. He charged toward the beasts that were called gods.
Because if this front collapsed, there would be no forces left to stop the enemy from reaching Fritzenkaya.
He charged, saying he would have no regrets if he could buy even a few more days, a reprieve from this nation’s death.
Even as the men marching with him vanished one by one, he held the standard high and shouted his name to the world as he charged.
Look here. Look at me, your king is here.
As if promising the soldiers who fell from exhaustion that they would not die alone.
As if to say that those empty words, *I will not die behind you*, were not a lie.
*
Yes, the hero was dead. But the royal bloodline continued.
“Lord, protect Krasilov.”
Pavel said, bowing his head low.
Elizaveta turned to Ivan and asked.
“To whom is your loyalty directed?”
“It is directed solely to the scion of this nation.”
“Even if your devotion receives no reward?”
“We were taught to consider loyalty itself our only reward.”
Ivan calmly dropped to one knee and bowed his head.
Elizaveta looked down at these men for a long moment, then gazed out at the distant lights of Fritzenkaya.
She cried, and she smiled.
“How heavy this burden on my shoulders is.”
*