The Hero of Mississippi, Savior of the South!

As a few more days passed, the incident began to be splashed across headlines not just in the South, but throughout the entire North.

It wasn't just anyone; it was the incumbent Speaker of the Mississippi State Legislature.

At a gathering of lawmakers and Northern railroad executives, no less.

He had mobilized fake mobs to incite a riot, tried to pin the blame on the innocent North, and then ended up being arrested by Black men. The story was so explosive, so utterly ruinous in every sentence, that no matter how much they tried to suppress the reporting, it was impossible to stop.

The North, in particular, having nearly been framed for a crime they didn't commit—from the fake John Brown incident to this capitol riot—was determined to blow this story wide open.

In response, the South desperately tried to cover up the incident, emphasizing that they had resolved the matter entirely on their own.

"They claimed slavery was so righteous, yet the one who caused this massive disaster was a Southern Speaker, and the ones who caught him were Black soldiers. This is the strongest evidence of the South's contradictions!"

"The Black men were merely conscripted as temporary auxiliary forces for the night; they are not some private armed organization. This entire matter was resolved from start to finish solely by the heroic command of James Sett, and everything else was merely secondary! If anything, it has proven once again how excellent a Southern planter must be to utilize Black men in such a way..."

As with all things in this world, politically sensitive issues depend entirely on how you spin them.

The Governor of Mississippi and the legislature officially drew a line, stating that the mobilization of Black men was nothing more than an auxiliary act.

After all, the idea of using Black men as primary combatants was an impossibility.

And now that the situation had been officially settled, naturally, no one could hold me responsible.

The fact that Black men had taken up arms, stormed the capitol, and captured the incumbent Speaker had been officially concluded as "assisting white men."

And the play to put a legal period at the end of this official conclusion was held at the temporary session of the Jackson Circuit Court.

"Defendant, James Sett."

"Woooo! Sett is innocent!"

"Everyone, quiet! ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Please, be quiet! If you cause a disturbance in the courtroom, I will have you forcibly removed."

Unlike usual, the inside of the courtroom was as loud as a marketplace.

The gallery was packed with a glittering array of faces.

In the very front row sat Jefferson Davis, Governor Macrae, Quitman, and Parer, all watching the trial with solemnity. They were the most important audience members who couldn't be missing from this play.

The prosecutor stood up with an awkward smile.

"Uh... well, you see, the state's common law and statutes... strictly prohibit the arming of slaves. This is..."

He read the indictment in a way that was clearly clumsy, providing only the bare minimum of sincerity, and those who understood the situation desperately tried to hold back their laughter, struggling to maintain a solemn atmosphere.

Ahem. I need to manage my expression properly, too. If I laugh here, I'm really in trouble.

As I distracted myself by thinking about what to have for dinner, my lawyer began his statement.

"Your Honor! I would like to emphasize three things!"

It goes without saying, but this lawyer was also someone the state legislature had assigned to me.

"First, necessity! The incumbent Speaker was caught in the act of committing assassination and arson in the capital! Is this not an emergency situation that threatens the very existence of the state?"

The gallery buzzed.

"Second, authority! The defendant is a Captain in the State Militia! Under the official request for cooperation from Sheriff Nick Parker, he had the authority to deploy 'auxiliary forces' at the scene to suppress a rebellion!"

No sooner had he finished speaking than the chronological report written by Sheriff Nick Parker was submitted as evidence. As the wax-sealed handwritten statement was read aloud, Peters's treasonous acts were laid bare, and the gallery surged with fury.

"Third, supervision! The defendant, as a white officer, directly commanded these 'temporary resources,' and immediately upon the conclusion of the incident, he recovered the weapons and disbanded them! How can this be called a standing Black militia prohibited by law!"

Hmm, hmm. That's right, that's right.

In truth, all the recovered weapons went into my plantation's armory, and the elite guard training is continuing today just as it did yesterday, but regardless, it is not a standing Black militia. They are, after all, merely guards for the protection of my private property.

As the lawyer's shout echoed through the courtroom, the judge pretended to review all the documents and then read the pre-prepared verdict.

"This court recognizes that the defendant, James Sett, in the process of restraining those who were committing ongoing major crimes, temporarily conscripted auxiliary personnel as a Captain of the Militia and deployed them under his direct supervision."

Good. I pretended to be overwhelmed with emotion, let out a sigh of relief, and patted my chest.

"This conforms to the principle of necessity to preserve the House of Justice (the Capitol). Therefore, I find the defendant not guilty."

Bang! Bang! Bang!

With the sound of the play ending, countless cheers and applause rained down on my head from the gallery.

"Sett! Sett! Sett!"

"Thank you, thank you everyone! I, James Sett, will continue to burn myself out without sparing this body to protect the South and Natchez!"

Immediately after leaving the courtroom, breaking through the cheers, Jefferson Davis was the first to approach and grab my hand tightly.

"Congratulations. As of today, no one will be able to pick a fight with you anymore."

"Thank you for your concern, Senator."

It's always good to look before you leap, and this whole affair was a play designed entirely to give me an indulgence. But shouldn't someone who has achieved such a feat be given not just an indulgence, but a medal as well?

The real reward came the very next day after the trial, in the temporary governor's office in the burned-out capitol.

"Sett!"

Governor Macrae welcomed me. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠In his hands, he held a scroll and a sword gorgeously decorated with silver.

"This is a resolution of thanks passed unanimously by the state legislature. I'm not sure how many times I've given you a resolution of thanks lately, but this time I've shown a bit more sincerity."

Perhaps feeling that a resolution alone wasn't enough, Macrae handed me the heavy decorative sword. I could see the jewels embedded in the scabbard flashing in the light.

Honestly, I can't do anything about our Dixie friends' obsession with flashy things.

"A promotion is naturally necessary for someone like you who has achieved such a great feat, isn't it? A hero of the state needs a position befitting him."

He took an official appointment letter out of his drawer.

"I appoint you as a Major in the Mississippi State Militia."

That's a much more practical reward than a decorative sword. Yes, yes, this is what you should have brought out first.

I accepted the appointment letter, suppressing the urge to let my lips curl upward. The title of Brigade Inspector was the first thing that caught my eye.

I liked the fact that it wasn't just a simple combat commander role, but a position that handled training, maintenance, regulations, and ammunition management. It meant that from now on, I could use not just troop movements or conscription, but the militia system itself to promote my own private interests.

"It is an undeserved position, but I will do my best to protect the safety of my homeland."

Not even a few months had passed, but so much had changed. And countless more changes would occur in the future.

First, as a start, the traitors' properties began to be put up for auction at bargain prices. Naturally, the young planter residing in Natchez who swept up the farms and slaves was me.

Two farms. And 82 slaves. That was the detailed list of what I had bid on in this auction of the traitors' assets.

"82 of our brethren have managed to escape from hell," Leo muttered nonchalantly as he scanned the ledger.

"It's not exactly heaven just because they've come here, is it?"

"I didn't say it was heaven, did I?"

"Ah, I suppose not. Anyway, since a large number of slaves are coming in at once this time, please pay special attention to them. We're already getting more and more attention, so things are getting a bit precarious."

"Didn't you say it was dangerous if it was exposed?"

"It was dangerous. But now, it's a situation where we can't hide it even if we try. In that case, it might be better to just show them up to a certain point."

They say that even when lying, the most effective lie is to mix in some truth. This is the same.

At the point where I had already led dozens, not one or two, armed Black men to capture Peters, the time for playing dumb was over. In that case, rather than timidly trying to hide like someone with a guilty conscience, it's better to just hold your head high with confidence.

I raised Black men as troops, so what? I got permission, and because crazy bastards like Peters were running wild, I used my authority as a militia officer to handle some weapons. If someone asks if that's a problem, who would dare say anything?

Now that I've captured a traitor and had the legitimacy of my actions certified by the court, I truly have nothing to be ashamed of.

"Of course, it shouldn't leak out that you who live here are living better than most Northern laborers. I'll handle that side of things, so don't worry and keep managing the people like you have been."

"Understood. That is my specialty, after all."

"Right. And what about Mark's work crew... should we reorganize it?"

"Will is taking good care of them. I think we could just appoint Will as the field foreman in Mark's place; what do you think?"

"Do that. He'll work even harder to make up for Mark's share."

I stopped talking for a moment and watched my "kids" down below, working in perfect sync like machines, finishing their tasks in a flash. And then I asked.

"Leo, now that you've experienced real combat this time, what did you think?"

"I was nervous at first, but I thought it was more manageable than I expected."

"You've got nerves of steel. But that's only because you were better trained and had better weapons than the pathetic bastards you fought this time. If you actually fight people with similar combat capabilities, you won't be thinking it's 'manageable'."

"I suppose that's true. But such a big incident has broken out this time, won't everyone be living like mice for a while?"

Leo offered a somewhat optimistic opinion while analyzing the situation very rationally. But I know better.

If rational thinking were possible in the first place, why would a Civil War happen?

Didn't even that guy Miles, Peters's right-hand man, act the same way? A man who couldn't believe he had been toyed with by a Black man even more than he couldn't believe his unit had been wiped out in an ambush.

Because the world is crawling with primitive creatures who move through such astonishing ways of thinking, war cannot be prevented.

Just try to judge the situation as well as the Black people you ignore, you Dixies. Even so, you won't be able to avoid the flames of war that are flying toward you as steadily as an unstoppable meteorite.

"Leo, if slavery were to disappear from this world, what would you want to do with your life?"

"Me?"

I felt I needed to know in advance what kind of lives these guys wanted to live after everything was over.

"I would naturally have to stay by the Master's side."

"But it might not be ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠'Master' anymore when that time comes."

"...Then, what should I call you... Ah, wouldn't I become a 'President' or something? Don't Mr. Rockefeller and Mr. Carnegie call you that? The words are different, but it didn't look like there was much difference in reality..."

"Hahaha, never say that in front of Rockefeller or Carnegie."

"Of course. I'm a man who's lived by reading the room, too. Ah, but Master. Since you asked, this is just a 'what if' story... if slavery is abolished, wouldn't I become something like your Chief of Staff?"

What an ambitious guy. He wants to build a Chief of Staff office as soon as he's liberated?

"Keep going."

"Then could I have a few subordinates under me? Hehehe."

"That depends on how you do."

"Am I not always your loyal right-hand man? Hahaha! And if we are truly liberated, there will be liberated Black people overflowing all over Mississippi, so we should look for ways to attract them, right? I'll be sure to talk them into it."

Attract them, huh? Is ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠such a process even necessary?

Perhaps because I had let it slip a few times, Leo seemed convinced that slavery might truly disappear someday. But he was overlooking one most important reality.

My proud homeland, the United States—and the South, at that—would never treat them as human beings even if slavery were abolished, would it?

It doesn't matter much for the Black people under the shade of the Sett Plantation, but the countless slaves spread across this land will have no choice but to face it, whether they like it or not.

The cruel truth that even if a massive war ends, the war surrounding their own lives will never end.