Chapter 39
Chapter 39
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 39
Chapter Title: Turning Point (1)
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"Urgh... hngh!"
"Kyaah!"
A long corridor lit only by a lantern hanging from the ceiling, barren of anything else.
Horrific screams ricocheted off the stark concrete walls. Even the thick iron doors on each room failed to fully muffle the cries.
Captain Johann Werner, impeccably dressed in his Ossel uniform, passed through the hallway, tallying in his mind how many "reactionaries" had been hauled out as corpses by the Colonel's hand so far today.
And how many more like the Colonel were operating across Schupaven.
The diminutive man who had ignited this atrocity was, by sheer luck, reveling away at his tavern.
'Foolishly poked the Leader and blew it all up. How much more blood needs to be spilled before Krüger's satisfied? The kind of bastard who'd sacrifice dozens, hundreds of lives to save his own skin. Entertaining, really.'
No, not just one.
Johann twisted his lips.
'Right, he's not the type to save just his own neck. The White Crow Unit...'
Lucas Redan was trying to shelter only those closest to him within his fold. Fewer than ten people.
To protect them, innocents were suffering raw agony.
'Or maybe, to be precise, that's not quite accurate.'
Johann pictured Lucas Redan.
The complete image pieced together from relentless surveillance, observation, and background checks.
If he'd heard Johann's thoughts, he'd be furious.
Denying it was just about saving himself or those around him.
"Even if hundreds or thousands suffer, we must stop the mad war that's coming! To save millions, tens of millions!"
Yet no one could fully embrace that conviction.
Lucas knew it too.
That preaching it would only draw vague reactions.
What the hell was he studying, what delusions was he harboring? Where in history had mad dictators like that ever existed?
Their ambitions, madness, the horrors of war.
No matter how wildly Krüger acted, would he declare war on the entire continent? Far from brainless—he was profoundly rational and cold-blooded.
Yet Lucas believed he would amplify that madness.
And sought to save those who would suffer in the flames of war.
'Survival comes first, of course.'
Even he would abandon grand ideals in a true life-or-death crisis.
But he seemed to believe that saving himself was the path to saving countless others.
Johann found that unbearably amusing.
The road to good intentions is paved with evil.
At least in this moment, as innocents writhed in torment.
Every step Lucas took toward Krüger dragged in unrelated youths to the police, to Ossel.
Normally, even innocents or ordinary folk would get a light interrogation and release, deemed no real threat.
But things had changed. Ever since the Great Leader ordered the uprooting of subversives.
True or fabricated, they had to fill quotas to catch His eye. Light questioning turned to brutal interrogations, then savage torture.
'And the Colonel actually believes this method roots out traitors.'
By mercilessly seizing and crushing anyone remotely suspicious.
Idiotically.
Crossing the corridor and ascending the spiraling iron stairs led to the top floor—the building's only bright space touched by sunlight.
Instead of concrete, polished wooden floors guided to an elegant door.
Johann straightened his uniform, knocked twice, and entered.
"Long live the Great Leader! You summoned me, Colonel?"
"Long live the Great Leader. Sit."
A thick, fishy stench hit him upon entry. It emanated from the graying man behind the finest ebony desk—a bloody tang.
The burly Colonel, with his bulging face and glasses, had a fearsome presence that would terrify ordinary folk on sight.
He enjoyed whipping people.
Not because he craved violence or vented urges through abuse.
Simply, he couldn't contain his boiling rage, and believed the whip the most effective tool to pry open traitorous mouths.
To Johann, he was the epitome of a glossy, dim-witted Ossel man.
Though over forty years of daily whipping and shouting had weathered his looks considerably.
"Compile the statements from this week's detainees and submit them. How's your progress?"
"No solid leads yet. They seem quite cautious."
Johann lied without flinching.
He'd arrested, tortured, and extracted confessions from anyone with even a hint of suspicion. To deceive the Colonel.
Bang!
The Colonel slammed his fist on the desk with a thunderous crash.
"Police HQ thinks those bastards are holed up in the 13th District! Our district! They had a base right under our noses, and we noticed nothing! What a humiliation!"
And that humiliation was piling up in real time.
Johann muttered inwardly.
"Catch them by any means. Even a tiny clue! If I can kill those traitors myself, I'd sell my soul to the devil!"
The Colonel was getting worked up again. Veins bulged on his whip-gripping right hand, and Johann knew to shift focus.
"I'll reanalyze seditious propaganda found across Lüdelheim these past years. No reports since the Braithner kidnapping. Might be connected."
"Good. Report any results directly to me."
The Colonel stroked his whip like a cat's back.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Another hectic day drew to a close.
At two a.m., I closed the tavern and sorted the day's intel with Erika, Daniel, and Oscar.
Not the weekend, so Richard and Georg skipped.
Finished at three-thirty. Erika headed to bed; Daniel and Oscar to their boarding houses.
I saw them off, lit a small lantern in the hall, and copied notes to my notebook—in mixed Korean, Hanja, and English, undecipherable to this world.
Ting-a-ling!
The deliberately unlocked door opened with a bell chime.
Notebook tucked away, I stretched and checked the clock: four a.m.
A dark shadow stood at the door, faintly lit. I waved; it approached with steady steps and sat opposite me.
I rubbed my eyes and straightened to shake off fatigue.
"What's the talk?"
The lantern's dim glow cast sinister shadows on Johann Werner's impassive face.
He silently extended a hand.
Ah, damn it.
"Ha..."
I sighed deeply and handed over the White Crow Unit intel bundle instead of my notebook.
Contract bound: his hunting dog, informant, subcontractor getting bled dry.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Johann scanned the compiled documents for a long while.
Compared to what his subordinates gathered, nothing much differed.
Of course, whispers from the Leader's residence or elite gatherings were beyond reach—but even accounting for that, it exceeded expectations.
"That enough? Scram."
Lucas Redan sounded stiff, resentful at losing hard-gathered intel.
Johann ignored him, lit a cigarette. In the quiet dark, only the tobacco crackled.
Resigned, Lucas yawned widely and slumped in the plush chair.
Johann gazed at him, lost in thought.
'Lucas Redan. Scion of a fallen royal house. Lived a wretched, sniveling life. Now a big shot drawing media eyes and the Leader's gaze. But still in my grasp.'
That much he was certain.
He'd spared Lucas initially for his royal blood.
If Krüger fell, Ossel would be purged too.
With royals and nobles possibly resurging, even a distant branch couldn't be killed lightly.
But later learned Redan house had only Lucas left—practically extinct. Useless without clan backing.
So he'd planned to offer Lucas Redan and his laughable rebel White Crow Unit to the Colonel for merits.
Then Lucas made an absurd pitch.
"What if I fatten up the White Crow Unit for you to swallow whole?"
Watching out of curiosity, in just six months he'd spread the name nationwide and become a "hero."
Rumors swirled of the Leader awarding him a medal, so Johann decided to kill him.
A pawn grown too big was a threat.
But as he reached out, Lucas said:
He'd really kill the Leader. Or die trying.
Incomprehensible delusion, but dead serious. Amusingly so.
"And now that I'm this big, I'm more useful, right?"
Declaring no bite at Johann's throat. Vowing faithful hound service ahead.
So he shelved the kill.
For now.
Johann stubbed his cigarette and eyed the drowsy Lucas.
"What? Spit it out if you have something to say."
He pulled a paper from his pocket and handed it over. Lucas took it sullenly, read, and tilted his head.
"What's this?"
"From the day the Leader issued the subversive purge order to today. List of those we've arrested in the 13th District and those under watch."
Lucas's breath caught.
His eyes shook scanning the names. Johann added kindly, savoring odd satisfaction.
"Red lines: those who died or were crippled in interrogation."
Hans Meyer, 40, butcher.
Karin Müller, 21, student.
Sven Bauer, 33, janitor.
.
.
.
Obsessively poring over dozens of names, Lucas looked up at Johann.
"So what? Why show me this?"
Eyes rippling with pain. Voice dry.
Johann crossed his legs leisurely, interlaced fingers, and spoke.
"As you see, every Tom, Dick, and Harry's getting swept up. You started this mess—better if you point them out, no?"
"Ha..."
Lucas's eyes twitched. He rubbed them and sighed.
"All my fault? Dragging me in for what? Think guilt'll make me squirm?"
Feeble defiance and bravado.
"Tired of emergency arrests on flimsy evidence. Want easier work. Your word as a 'traitor' lets me nab anyone. Hero's tip-off? Everyone buys it."
Lucas shot him a contemptuous glance, laced with anger.
"Hero, huh..."
But his eyes crinkled in a laugh.
"Hahaha! Just say it straight. Got it, loud and clear!"
He tore the list to shreds, leaned in, and whispered.
"So, who to take out? Name 'em."
Useful after all.
Johann's lips twitched—like a man wanting to smile but forgetting how.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ "Kyaak!"
Bang! Bang! Bang!
"Hey! Boss Redan! Miss Braithner! Come out already!"
A fine spring day.
As dawn broke and light spread, shrieking screams and urgent calls for the owner echoed before "Redan's Tavern."
"What the hell's going on this early?"
Waking from deep sleep in my second-floor bedroom, I combed my bird's-nest hair with my fingers amid rising noise and dashed downstairs.
The shopping street, buzzing as shops opened, had owners and passersby crowding the tavern, murmuring.
On the avenue before the tavern, bold graffiti in red paint:
"Don't forget us"