The Speech at Albion City Hall
In the original novel, *Everyone Loves Me*, Kyle Leopold was by no means a likable character. He was the very definition of the corrupt noble: stout, sluggish, and thoroughly incompetent. But I, having maintained rigorous self-discipline since taking over, was different.
“Lucilla, could you bring me a mirror?”
“Understood.”
Adjusting my collar, I looked into the glass. A tall, sharp-featured young man with striking blonde hair and brilliant blue eyes stared back at me. He possessed the distinct, refined look of a true leader. The black military uniform, custom-ordered from the South's finest tailors, exuded a restrained elegance and a commanding presence.
“Hmm, this should do.”
“You certainly look handsome when you actually make an effort, My Lord. You should dress like this more often.”
“Why bother with such uncomfortable clothes when I'm not in public? Besides, I believe that's the first time I've ever heard a compliment from your mouth.”
“...Whether I like you or not, a fact is a fact.”
I let out a soft chuckle. Seeing the usually unflappable Lucilla momentarily flustered, her words catching in her throat, was highly amusing.
Thirty minutes remained until the speech. It was time to prepare my mind.
I exhaled a deep sigh, letting go of my complex emotions. What remained in my mind was nothing but cold, sharp calculation. I had delivered dozens of speeches while purging the Southern capitalists. The composure I had cultivated to shatter the 'naive, inexperienced brat' stereotype was proving its worth now.
I mentally reviewed the objectives of this speech once more.
Justify the war. Eradicate anti-war sentiment. Cultivate the image of a leader who stands directly before his people. Transition the South into a wartime economy. Erase hostility toward the Westerners.
The last part was the most critical. Preparing for a wartime economy, and managing the hostility toward the Westerners. To stand against the Empire and the external threats beyond, we had to bring the territory up to the Arbel Mountains under our banner. We had to embrace the Westerners as our own.
To achieve that, we needed overwhelming power. To reshape the world using only the South as our lever, we had to squeeze every drop of strength from this region. There were only two ways to do this: plunder the occupied territories, or mobilize a wartime economy.
Nazi Germany had funded its war machine by plundering occupied lands. But we could not afford to use such methods. If we ruled the West through exploitation, they would become an untrustworthy, volatile enemy at our backs. We would waste our strength policing an internal colony while simultaneously draining our resources on external conflicts.
Furthermore, if harsh colonial rule bred deep resentment, we would never be able to conscript the Westerners as soldiers. We would have conquered the West only to render its greatest asset useless.
Therefore, instead of plundering the West, we will fund our military expenditures by running a wartime economy.
In truth, transitioning to a wartime economy was inevitable anyway. It had only been a few years since our reforms began from absolute zero. To occupy the West and utilize their human resources as soldiers, we needed an astronomical amount of weaponry.
The West and the South shared almost no racial differences, and their cultural gap was minimal. A thousand years of cohabitation under the same empire had fostered a deep sense of shared identity. Properly channeling and manipulating that sense of kinship was the ultimate goal of this speech.
In any case, a clash with the Imperial Center is inevitable.
The establishment always loathes innovation. This wasn't a matter of mere prejudice; it was a natural historical phenomenon that any world on the cusp of industrialization had to endure. To ignite an industrial revolution, the landlord class—which held the monopoly on land and labor—had to be utterly dismantled.
And in this romance-fantasy world, the 'landlord class' was synonymous with the nobility. Who among them would welcome the waves of industrialization spreading from the South, knowing it would sweep away their own class?
Moreover, this world possessed another layer of entrenched elites: mages and knights. Knowing their absolute authority would evaporate once innovation took root, they desperately suppressed the tides of progress.
Consequently, the Imperial Center was currently in a state reminiscent of the late Qing Dynasty in the late 19th century—or perhaps even worse. At least the Qing Dynasty made some effort to build factories and commission ironclad warships.
But in the Empire, where the nobility and the mages held an iron grip on power, even that level of desperate struggle was impossible.
Which is precisely why the Crown Prince's mediation proposal was such utter garbage.
There was no logical universe where the victim of a cowardly surprise attack would simply back down because of such a proposal. The fact that the Crown Prince had sent such a ridiculous compromise was clear proof of the immense pressure exerted by the central nobility and mages, who refused to concede a single inch to the South.
Had I been in his position, I probably would have drafted something similar. Though, that didn't change the fact that the Crown Prince's head was a flower garden of delusion.
The country was rotting to its core, yet the man who was supposed to lead it was completely infatuated with a woman, giggling like a fool. A ruler who should have been purging corrupt nobles and wielding a blood-stained sword was instead cradled in a woman's embrace. If that wasn't a flower garden of delusion, I didn't know what was.
Once again, the harsh reality sank in: the South could never walk the same path as the Empire.
“Ten minutes left, My Lord. It is time.”
“Right. Thank you.”
Taking the speech draft, I stepped out of the waiting room. The moment I entered the City Hall, the gaze of the massive crowd packing the hall locked onto me.
Before stepping up to the podium, I closed my eyes and steeled my resolve. Imperialism is madness. This is merely a drastic remedy for a world that is spinning even madder than imperialism itself. Therefore, I warned myself, I must be the one person who does not get swept away by the words of this devil.
The City Hall, packed with five thousand people, was quieter than it had ever been. The rising star who had swept away the corrupt Southern establishment and seized power. The pioneer who implemented policies years ahead of their time.
The brilliant innovator who had nurtured the South's growth while the Empire crumbled around them. And the true hero of the war, who had led three consecutive battles to victory: the Siege of Sarsen Fortress, the Defense of Sarsen Port, and the Air Raid on Albion.
Never in the history of the South had the title of 'superhuman' fit a man so perfectly. Thus, the crowd stared at the podium in breathless anticipation, waiting for this larger-than-life figure to appear. Finally, a man stepped onto the stage.
Kyle Leopold.
Exuding the quiet, absolute authority of a true leader, his presence caused the entire room to hold its breath in unison. Kyle opened his mouth to speak.
“Today, every citizen of the South has been invited to this hall.”
His voice was calm, measured, and heavy with gravity.
“Before me stand the wounded veterans of our recent battles. These young men, who bear irreversible scars from the West's cowardly night raid, stand here today representing the iron will of our military.”
Kyle's gaze shifted slightly to the side.
“Beside them sit the bereaved families who lost their loved ones in those very same battles.”
“The West's cowardly assault tore away our citizens' fathers, brothers, husbands, and friends. Our South owes an immeasurable debt to the sacrifices of these brave young men who fought to protect us all until the very end.”
It was a simple, factual recitation, yet it was more than enough to ignite a quiet, burning fury within the hearts of the citizens. The cowardly night raid by nobles who prated about 'honor' while looking down on Southern merchants.
The young men who fell victim to that absurd, unprovoked attack. Because they were the undeniable, perfect victims of this conflict, there was no need for cheap propaganda. The truth itself was the ultimate catalyst.
Kyle Leopold seized that rising tide of emotion and bound the hearts of the crowd as one.
“Behind them stand the defense workers who toil sleeplessly day and night to forge the weapons of the South.”
“And behind them are the representatives of our enterprises. The engineers of our design bureaus. Scientists, doctors, civil servants, teachers, architects... every single class that drives the progress of the South is seated here today.”
“Here, in the Albion City Hall, hundreds of women have also gathered. The young have gathered, and the elderly have gathered. Regardless of wealth, occupation, or age, everyone has been invited.”
“Therefore, you who stand before me are a perfect miniature of the entire Southern citizenry, drawn from every corner of our society. Is that not so?!”
Humans are creatures capable of profound empathy. Feeling the deep sorrow of the wounded veterans and the bereaved families, and burning with rage at the cowardly nobles of the West, the hearts of the citizens were already beating as one.
Before that shared emotion, barriers of gender, age, and social status melted away. Even the bankers, who always maintained their pristine suits, and the entrepreneurs, who valued their dignity above all else, were swept up in the electric atmosphere and roared in unison.
“That is correct!”
The thunderous roar of thousands filled the hall, shaking the very foundations of the building. Amidst the echoing vibrations, Kyle raised his voice a pitch higher.
“Then, my fellow citizens! You are representing the iron will of our South at this very moment.”
“And to you, I put forth a few questions. Answer me, so that our fellow citizens listening over the radio may hear, and so that our enemies, who must be trembling in terror at this very moment, may hear your reply!”
The atmosphere turned white-hot; the air vibrated with raw tension. The ecstatic crowd was ready to answer any question he threw at them. Kyle's voice soared, cutting through the heat.
“The nobles of the West believe that the citizens of the South fear war!”
“By violating the Sarsen-Lutetia Treaty! By invading the port we rightfully secured through a legitimate treaty! By launching a cowardly night raid in the dead of night without a shred of justification! They are testing the absolute limits of our patience!”
*Slam!*
Kyle slammed his hand down on the podium and roared:
“I ask you, are you, and all the citizens of the South, prepared to punish their crimes, no matter the cost?!”
The crowd's answer was already decided. Led by pre-arranged instigators, five thousand voices shook the hall.
“YES!”
Before the echoes of their passionate response could even fade, Kyle activated his voice-amplifying magic and pressed on.
“Second, the Imperial Center demands that we withdraw from the Sarsen territory, which we secured through a rightful treaty!”
“I ask you! Do the citizens of the South fear armed conflict? Do you wish to return to the days when we paid unjust tolls to Sarsen Fortress every single year, unable to utter a single word of protest?!”
The second question struck directly at the Center's mediation proposal. There was not a single citizen who would accept such an absurd demand—telling the victim to simply endure the blow.
“NO!”
Kyle smiled with cold satisfaction and delivered his third question.
“Third, the Center and the nobles of the West disparage the brilliant achievements built by our Southern workers, calling them vulgar!”
He struck directly at the deep-rooted imperial ideology of *sa-nong-gong-sang*—the traditional hierarchy that looked down on industry and commerce. The daily contempt and mockery endured by the Southern people was a collective trauma shared by everyone in the room. And there was no better weapon to incite hostility against the nobility than that very trauma.
“I ask you! Are you prepared to refute their claims? Are you ready to show those corrupt, arrogant nobles the sheer power of the great civilization our ancestors have built over the past century?!”
“YES!”
By scratching the deepest, most painful itch of the Southern people, Kyle elicited a response of pure, unadulterated fervor. Swept up in collective hysteria, the crowd was no longer capable of questioning his words.
At that precise moment, Kyle delivered the core of his message.
“Fourth, the nobles of the Empire claim that our Southern citizens lack courage! They say we desire submission, not war!”
“NEVER! NEVER! NEVER!”
“Then I ask you! Do you want Total War? If necessary, do you want a war more total, more radical, than anything you can imagine today?!”
For a brief moment, a heavy silence fell over the hall.
And then—
“YES!!!!”
A colossal roar erupted, completely eclipsing every response that had come before. Seizing the momentum, Kyle pressed on with his questions.
“I ask you! Do you swear to liberate our Western compatriots who suffer under the tyranny of the corrupt Western nobles?! Do you swear to spread the spirit of the free South to your families and friends in the western lands?!”
“WE SWEAR!”
“Do you agree that in times of war, the exact same rights and duties apply to all, that the heavy burden of war must be shared by everyone in the nation, and that this burden must be distributed equally, regardless of high or low status?!”
“WE AGREE!”
Taking a deep, heavy breath, Kyle delivered the final paragraph of his speech.
“Our military will annihilate our enemies in the sky, on the sea, and on the land! Do you believe that the technology and wisdom we have built will bring us unwavering victory?!”
“WE BELIEVE!”
The speech at Albion City Hall was a resounding success.
Starting the very next day, the South began to transform into a massive, roaring war machine.
Automobile factories shifted to producing field artillery, and pipe factories were refitted to manufacture rifles.
Engineers from the design bureaus began training factory workers on complex technical blueprints.
To coordinate rapid maneuvers with the naval fleet, the army mobilized its finest elite forces: 10,000 troops from the 1st and 2nd Divisions, along with a support force of 5,000.
The Dreadnought, having completed its deep-sea training maneuvers alongside the destroyer fleet, returned to port.
Having undergone maintenance and fully replenished its supplies, the flagship stood ready to set sail.