So This Is Propaganda

So this is what propaganda looks like.

Once again, the world sank into stillness.

Three additional seconds granted to me. In other words, thirty seconds of subjective time.

Lieutenant Julien was already subdued, sprawled across the floor. What remained were five stragglers at the back, staring blankly down their gun barrels.

I wove my way through them like a dancer.

The first one clutched an aged bolt-action rifle. I seized the bolt assembly and wrenched it free with a violent twist. The hunk of steel came apart in my hands like a toy.

The second was reaching for a grenade. I undid his entire ammunition belt in one motion and let it clatter to the floor.

The third. The fourth. The fifth.

I stripped every one of them of their primary weapons. I thought about gathering the extracted bolts and magazines and hurling them out the window, but for a more dramatic flourish, I dumped the whole heap onto Lieutenant Julien's official desk instead.

Phew.

My breath climbed all the way to the back of my throat. The price of sixty seconds of unbroken movement.

For my final act, I seized Lieutenant Julien by the collar, hauled him to his feet, and brought my face close to his.

3… 2… 1….

"Hrk!"

The frozen time crashed back in all at once.

CRASH! CLATTER!

The bolts and magazines spilled across the desk with a deafening racket. At the same moment, Lieutenant Julien realized that the man who'd been flattened on the floor an instant ago was now hoisted in my grip, and swallowed a ragged gasp of air.

"Wha—what the—?!"

The soldiers behind him belatedly squeezed their triggers.

CLICK. CLICK.

But all that answered them was the hollow metallic snap of firing pins striking nothing. Unaware that vital components had vanished from their own weapons, they stupidly stared down at their barrels.

"Wh-what…?"

"The—the bolt… it's gone…!"

Fear. The primal emotion that seizes a man when confronted with something he cannot understand. To their eyes, I must have looked like I'd teleported.

I leaned in close to the dazed Lieutenant Julien's ear and whispered, low and quiet.

"This is how the Empire does things, Lieutenant. I've collected your fine toys for that honorable suicide of yours—over there, on the desk."

"Ah… aaah…."

Julien's gaze drifted toward the mountain of scrap metal piled on the desk. His eyes trembled as if an earthquake had torn through them.

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"Just kill me… kill me, you bastard!"

He screamed in desperate defiance, but I snorted, flung him onto the floor, and let him tumble.

"Death? No, no. You're going to live. You're going to live and testify about how the Imperial Army subdued you. And about the mercy we showed your civilians."

I raised my voice toward the window.

"Erika! Situation resolved. Get in here and clean up."

CRASH!

Barely had my shout ended when the door to the second-floor office burst apart and Erika came storming in with the company.

"Don't move! One twitch and we shoot!"

"Hands up! Hands on your heads!"

The situation ended on a strangely anticlimactic note.

"Jäger… how did you manage that all by yourself…? Don't tell me you got hurt—"

"So the day's finally come when the great Erika worries about me."

"What?! Th-this isn't worry, it's…!"

Ignoring Erika's protest, I gave the company direct orders myself.

"Hand the prisoners over to the military police. Check the hostages' condition."

"Yes, sir! Medic team!"

That was when it happened.

Amid all the commotion, a sound of sobbing drifted out from beneath a desk shoved into the corner.

I approached slowly. Under the dust-caked desk, a girl in a school uniform was curled into a ball. No—girl might be underselling it. Closer to a young lady.

Status Analysis.

I lowered myself onto one knee, bringing my eyes level with hers.

"Hey there, miss."

She flinched and looked up. Her face was a wreck of tears, and the moment she saw me in my Imperial officer's uniform, terror made her shoulders quake. The Republic's propaganda had probably taught them that Imperial soldiers were devils with horns.

Charming Speechcraft.

I extended my right hand and activated the skill.

"It's over. The bad men are all caught. It's time to go home now."

The girl stared blankly at the hand I offered. Thanks to the skill's correction, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the wariness in her eyes slowly began to dissolve.

"You're… the one who saved me?"

"That's right. The Imperial Army won't hurt you."

I said it with a soft smile. Marie carefully placed her pale white hand on my open palm. I tried to help her up, but she swayed, lost her balance, and sank right back down.

"Ow…!"

"Did you hurt your ankle?"

"I-I was so scared… my legs won't hold me…."

Her voice trembled with fear.

"Pardon me, then."

Without hesitation, I slipped one arm behind her back and hooked the other under her knees, lifting her clean off the ground. A princess carry, in other words.

"Kyaa! U-um, excuse me—!"

"Hold on tight. If you fall, it really will hurt."

"Y-yes, sir…!"

Marie was light as a feather. Her nutrition didn't seem poor, so it was probably just that her frame was naturally delicate. Cradled in my arms, she buried her flushed face against my chest—whether because being held felt unfamiliar but not unwelcome, or simply because she was embarrassed, I couldn't tell.

"Um, excuse me… a-am I not heavy?"

"Light as a feather. I'll have to feed you more, miss."

I affected a hearty laugh as I began to walk. By the shattered doorway, Erika stood waiting with her arms crossed.

"Hah!"

Her gaze locked onto Marie's pale white arm wrapped around my neck.

"Some of us are still slaving away at the cleanup, and it seems the commander's been busy on a date this whole time?"

"A date? It's a rescue operation. Can't you tell by looking?"

"Very romantic posture for a rescue operation. Grinning from ear to ear, are we?"

Status Analysis.

Cute.

I deliberately pulled Marie a little closer against my chest ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠as I tossed out the tease.

"Jealousy's an ugly look, Captain Erika. Tell me if your legs ever give out too—I'll carry you later."

"C-carry me…?! A-are you insane?! Why would I ever do something so mortifying!"

Erika's face turned the color of a boiled beet in an instant. She jerked her head away, huffing and puffing.

"Besides, I'm perfectly fine! Just get out here already! People are waiting outside."

"Right. Let's go."

The moment I stepped through the post office's front doors, hundreds of eyes locked onto us along with the cold outdoor air.

"He's out!"

"Good heavens, he really resolved it all by himself?"

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"Look! He's carrying Marie!"

The citizens of Soissons murmured and churned. They'd expected a river of blood from the Imperial Army's brutal suppression—but the scene unfolding before their eyes was something out of a film: a spotless officer walking out with a woman cradled in his arms.

What a picture.

I cheered inwardly.

Occupation at bayonet point is the work of thugs. Real occupation begins with stealing hearts like this. If this wasn't a textbook specimen of propaganda, what was?

"Marie! Oh, thank God! Marie!"

A middle-aged man came sprinting out like a madman. I held back the soldiers who'd moved to stop him with a flick of my eyes.

"Papa!"

Marie leapt from my arms into his, bursting into tears. Father and daughter clung to each other and wailed.

Status Analysis.

The postmaster? So she'd been trapped inside because she was the director's daughter.

"Thank you! Thank you so much, Officer…!"

Before long, Jean Bernard was bowing so low he seemed about to seize me by the trouser leg. Clutching his dust-covered daughter to his chest, his hands shook like aspen leaves.

I respectfully took him by the shoulder and raised him upright.

"Lift your head, Director. I only did what any man was obliged to do."

"But… the Republican Army said you were all murderers…."

"War is a matter between soldiers."

I put force into my voice so that every citizen around us could hear.

Charming Speechcraft.

"The Imperial Army takes no pleasure in senseless slaughter. We point our rifles only at enemies who point theirs at us first. The good citizens of this city will come under the Empire's protection."

At my declaration, the murmuring died down.

"They're really not going to kill us?"

"Look at that officer. He's a gentleman, isn't he?"

And with that, the first button of my governance of Soissons had been fastened—quite beautifully, if I said so myself.

"Hannah."

"Yes, Lieutenant Colonel!"

"Have the wounded hostages transported to our medical unit for treatment. And escort the Director and his daughter safely back to their residence."

"Understood! Third squad, prepare for escort!"

Several hours later, the square in front of Soissons City Hall once again.

The venue announced for the Imperial occupation commander's first address was, predictably, a sheet of thin ice.

"Imperial scum, get out!"

"Death to the invaders!"

"Long live the Republic!"

Thousands of people packed the square to bursting. The military police had thrown up barricades and leveled their rifles, but the fury of the crowd showed no sign of breaking.

The moment I appeared on the platform, the jeers erupted into an explosive roar.

"That's him! That's the one who blew our corps apart!"

"Murderer!"

"BOOOOOO!!"

A few rotten eggs and stones whistled through the air and smacked—thud, thunk—against the military police's shields.

Figures. No romantic welcome committee for me.

I brushed the dust off the microphone and looked down at the crowd, face by face. Hundreds of information windows cascaded across my vision.

Status Analysis.

Hostility and pride, mixed with the most primal hunger of all—a regular madhouse.

With livelihoods on the line, of course they'd be on edge. The post office incident had bought me a sliver of goodwill, but that was only a fraction. To the overwhelming majority of citizens, I was still the horned invader.

Hannah, standing beside me, shot me a worried look.

"Lieutenant Colonel, the mood is far too hostile. Perhaps you should step back for now—"

"No. If I retreat here, I'll just be the dog that runs when the hounds bark."

I took hold of the microphone.

Charming Speechcraft.

"Shut up."

The low first word, amplified through the microphone, rolled across the square.

"You cowards."