Chapter 153: Turning Point (3)
Chapter 153: Turning Point (3)
The "Imperial Citizenship Act for the Protection of the Aran Bloodline"—more commonly known as the "Imperial Citizenship Act"—was officially announced.
Princess Justine had proposed it herself, and the Emperor had sanctioned it with the royal seal. There was no turning back.
“How in the world could such an atrocious law even exist?!”
In District 39 on the outskirts of the Empire, the city of Zestpol was a powder keg. As a hub for various Magi-engineering corporations, universities, and Magic Towers, the city was a collective of intellectuals now consumed by concern and fury over the new bill.
“They’re going to investigate family trees and permanently expel anyone from public office or universities if they’re deemed an 'inferior race' or 'mixed blood'? Who gets to decide who is a pureblood and who is inferior? By what possible standard?!”
Joshua, the hot-blooded son of the Chancellor of Zestpol University, shouted with his fists clenched tight.
However, the Chancellor only shook his head, staring out the window with a stiff, grim expression.
“...Lower your voice. Night might fall upon us.”
At the Chancellor’s trembling words, Joshua’s grip tightened further.
'Night' was a metaphor—a chilling reference to the man who had ruthlessly trampled the Genen Autonomous Region.
Throughout the Empire, Zestpol included, people had come to fear the moon as much as the sun. For the moon was the one that delivered the sun's will with the most chilling precision. When darkness fell, that silver light could transform into a blade without warning.
Before anyone realized it, his name had become one that everyone on the continent—save for the Aranians—whispered with dread.
“Joshua. There is a monster in Ebenholtz...”
Joshua gritted his teeth.
“Do not grant a man like that a grand narrative. We have our own path to take.”
The lives of his neighbors, his friends, and his lover were far more important than any fear of that man. At least, they were to Joshua.
“I will fight. Even if my body is broken to pieces.”
The grand ambition known as revolution began to swell.
*
In a deep, secret chamber within the Imperial Palace, Chief of Staff Kurt Grossman spoke in a low rumble while puffing on a cigar.
“We will round up and imprison anyone who expresses even the slightest opposition or dissatisfaction with this bill.”
Kents Bertem, sitting opposite him, tilted his head in confusion.
“The massacre in Genen happened only a few years ago. Are there still fools left who would dare openly defy the Emperor's command?”
“...”
Instead of answering, Grossman stared intently at Kents. Kents let out an awkward cough and picked up his own cigar.
“If there is no visible backlash, we must drag it out and create one by force. Those bastards are merely hiding their subversion beneath the surface. We have already formed the new 'Special Guard' to root out every last one of those impure ideologies.”
It was a matter of performance.
Maximilian of Ebenholtz had single-handedly monopolized all the political capital from the armed suppression of the Genen incident. Therefore, the hands and feet that strictly enforced this Citizenship Act and carried out the Emperor's will had to be the Imperial Guard.
It was Grossman's precaution to prevent power from concentrating solely in Ebenholtz.
“Yes. I understand.”
“And one more thing.”
Grossman added offhandedly as he stubbed out his shortened cigar in the ashtray.
“Goebel will be replaced soon. We no longer need an old, incompetent dog.”
A chill ran down Kents's spine for a moment, but he quickly put his cigar to his lips.
“...Wouldn't that be dangerous? Reutern II will be watching.”
“Which is why your role is important, Kents.”
Grossman and Kents had become wary of Reutern. It was inevitable, considering Julius had fallen due to his schemes.
“I will leave that man to you. Keep a close and thorough watch on him from his side.”
A bastard who hid a viper-like temper beneath a dull, stupid face. Since he could thrust a dagger at any moment, they could never afford to let their guard down.
*
In a secluded underground warehouse in Zestpol, a secret night school was in full swing despite the late hour. The room was cramped, filled with miscellaneous items, makeshift desks, and a single blackboard.
“I will explain the 'Imperial Citizenship Act' currently being proposed,” the teacher said, tapping the blackboard. The dozens of young people gathered held their breath.
“This evil law is barbaric in its very essence. The Empire has decided to divide human dignity and value based solely on blood and lineage.”
The teacher wrote in bold letters on the blackboard.
“Without any scientific basis,”
[ 1. Dominant Bloodline: Aran ]
“Or even the slightest shred of logic,”
[ 2. Quasi-Bloodline: Those loyal to the Empire, eligible for treatment equivalent to Aranians ]
[ 3. Related Bloodline: Close collateral branches of Aran ]
“It is a primitive classification system meant only for discrimination and oppression.”
[ 4. Alien Bloodline: Those who pollute the purity of the Empire ]
“The core of this bill goes beyond class discrimination. Even if only two of your four grandparents are of an Alien Bloodline, or simply if you share their faith, you can be branded as an 'Alien Bloodline' at any time.”
Anger laced the teacher's voice—a smoldering ember of rage with no outlet.
“Merin, Kensi, Yedlem, Dromon, Izenheim... Even though they were born and raised in the Empire, they are targeted solely because they do not possess Aran blood!”
Zestpol's symbol was progress. In exchange for paying massive taxes to the Imperial Family and under the pretext of expanding the adjacent Underground City, they had gained privileges akin to an Autonomous Region. However, in the face of an imperial command, it was ultimately nothing more than a powerless frontier city.
“What does everyone think about this sheer madness?”
“It doesn't make any sense,” a young man replied calmly, raising his hand. The teacher nodded with a bitter expression.
“Especially here in Zestpol, there are many mixed-bloods and immigrants. But they are our neighbors who have shed sweat, blood, and tears alongside us for decades to build this city. They are undeniable citizens of the Empire.”
A friendly neighbor with whom you exchanged smiles yesterday, stripped of their citizenship in an instant by a single line of the Emperor's law? It was an outrage that defied all human common sense.
“Therefore, we—”
Just as he was about to continue, KABOOOM──!
The basement door was blown apart. A gust of wind mixed with wood splinters surged into the room. The students' screams were instantly drowned out by the blast pressure.
“...Oh, my.”
Thud. Thud.
From the dust cloud, a man walked in, one hand casually shoved into his pocket. The floorboards creaked beneath his heavy military boots.
“Well, you guys sure wrote down a lot of things, huh?”
He looked at the blackboard and gave a snickering smile.
“Hey—you fucking reactionary bastards──!”
A menacing shout echoed as the black-uniformed Imperial Special Guard stormed in.
“Who the fuck do you shits think you are, daring to run your mouths about the laws of the great Empire?!”
The Guard Lieutenant Colonel—Lorenz—shouted, sweeping his gaze over the "subversive elements."
“Arrest every last one of them──!”
The teacher stepped forward to protect his students, but he collapsed instantly as the butt of the pistol Lorenz swung caved in his face.
“Guaaagh!” “Kyaaaah!” “Urgh, thwack!”
The cramped basement devolved into a pandemonium of screams and brutal beatings.
*
In the affluent district at the heart of the Empire, Genen's Chief Secretary, Elias Walter, stepped out of his car. Imperial nobles were already gathered at the Empire's finest restaurant, 'Lilac Vita'.
Political bureaucrats, Guard generals, and members of the House of Nobles stood outside. Everyone looked at 'Lilac Vita' with anticipation, but they were unable to enter. They lacked invitations.
Elias adjusted his suit.
“A pleasure to meet you,” he said, approaching them with a polite greeting.
“Ah, so you are...”
“Yes. I am Elias Walter, Chief Secretary of Genen.”
The nobles looked him up and down with intrigued eyes.
“Let us go in.”
Elias took the lead. He handed the reservation ticket to the staff and was guided to a private room prepared in advance. The nobles sat down, marveling at the interior of the spacious suite.
They chatted about this and that—how it was their first time at 'Lilac Vita', or their second, and how they were even more excited than before. Elias, as the host, naturally became the center of the conversation.
“By the way, Elias, I heard you originally hail from the Empire?”
“...My grandfather was a noble of the Empire.”
The nobles observed Elias's pale blond hair and golden eyes, nodding in approval.
“Hmm. As expected, blood doesn't lie.”
Elias chuckled softly.
“After all, Genen shares the same roots as the Empire. Sharing the same language and culture... Are we not a part of the Empire?”
He casually threw out the bait, and right on cue, expensive liquors were served. The nobles smiled brightly in agreement.
“Indeed. We could be considered cousins. If one proves their loyalty and dedication to the Empire, such qualifications are naturally granted.”
“I would prefer it if you called us brothers.”
“Hahaha. Good, very good... Hm? But this menu seems different. When I came before, the amuse-bouche wasn't like this.”
“They say Lilac Vita's menu changes every month,” Elias explained on behalf of the waiter. “I'm told they rotate the menu utilizing not only Zerpa's local specialties but also seasonal delicacies from all over the world.”
“Ah, so that's why people say a return visit is mandatory.”
“Mm-hm. It certainly deserves to be called the best on the continent, surpassing even the Empire.”
The amuse-bouche was a delicate, pudding-like dish. Upon taking a bite, everyone’s faces melted into expressions of euphoria. Even Elias, who was focused entirely on the political maneuvering, was startled by the taste.
“...Ah. Right.”
Elias pulled his senses back to reality. According to Maximilian, if one were to grade these men, they were 'Mediums'—more than enough to serve as stepping stones for Genen.
“About the 'Imperial Citizenship Act' that was recently promulgated...”
This was Elias's main point: consistently feeding them meals and money to secure Genen's unwavering status as a [Quasi-Bloodline].
Elias Walter was enduring his own nausea for the sake of Genen.
*
While a piercingly cold wind blew across the Empire, the Imperial Guard ran rampant, scouring the capital. Behind the scenes, I activated my own kill list.
The Izenheims who absolutely shouldn't be in public office.
It was the task of weeding out the bastards wearing human skin—the ones Yukia and I had identified while moving back and forth across the Crossroads.
Rustle—
I wasn't alone in the Knight's office today. Four Guard members had come to observe, and sitting opposite me was a man they had brought in.
Rustle—
I turned a page. It was a bureaucrat's family tree certificate—what was commonly referred to as a 'genealogy.'
Rustle—
I couldn't help but let out a scoff.
──Thump.
His heart is beating with terror, yet this very document supposedly proves that he is an Aranian. It was almost delightful. Something that would have ended in mere expulsion can now hang him by the neck on charges of document forgery.
I raised my head and looked at him.
──Thump.
I wanted to cut him down right this instant. I wanted to speak to him in the language of Izenheim.
“Mr. Espin. You said your grandfather had this family tree issued twenty years ago.”
“Yes. That is correct.”
But I had to hold back. I couldn't show my cards to these bastards.
“But do you see this here?”
I tapped the red official seal of the Empire's Central Third Bureau in the bottom right corner.
“Everyone, take a look.”
I held up the document for the Guard members. The Lieutenant and Captain leaned in close.
“It's a perfect circle with a neat border.”
A stamp is pressed hundreds of times a day; it naturally wears down over time. I pulled out another original family tree that was stamped exactly twenty years ago.
“This is an authentic family tree authorized by the Central Third Bureau during that same period. There are faint irregularities along the border of the seal.”
A time difference of decades. The smudging of the ink pad and the defects of the stamp were subtly different.
“In other words, this document was forged.”
For a moment, the Izenheim's pupils trembled. Cold sweat trickled down his pale cheeks. What a very human reaction. It was so shallow and filthy that the sheer hypocrisy made me want to vomit.
“You, who dared to try and deceive a Knight,” I said, scribbling my signature. “Will undoubtedly receive a fitting punishment.”
It was a document remanding him to the Knight Court.
*
Late at night at the Knight Order, I looked out over the panoramic view of the Empire beyond the glass window, lost in thought.
A more detailed classification than before my regression, and the survival of the Yaken. These were meaningful changes I had cultivated, but the future remained unpredictable. I couldn't even dare to guess what came next.
“Killing people with a pen...”
As the Knight Maximilian, I had signed dozens of documents today—Knight's trials that would lead to executions for the crime of forging family trees. A total of 43 people. However, among them were quite a few brought in by the Imperial Guard who were not Izenheims.
“Sir Knight.”
Schatz entered the office. I looked at her. This woman, illuminated by the starlight, had killed my father Zebestian before my regression.
“What is it?”
My people, who could one day become my enemies. To what extent would they be able to understand me? Would they be able to remain by my side until the very end?
“Intelligence has been intercepted. We just received a report that a man named Emilton is attempting to flee in the dead of night.”
I let out a faint breath. Emilton Veslon. A man who was similarly suspected of forging his family tree.
“Shall we pursue him?”
I looked back out the window and replied indifferently.
“...Let him be.”
Because he was not an Izenheim.
“If he is a Merin, it's actually a good thing for him to walk out of the Empire on his own two feet.”
This much, at the very least, I could do.
“There's no need to waste time hunting down and killing those who are fleeing.”
It was the best favor I could offer them.
“Yes. Understood.”
Schatz quietly retreated. I settled my thoughts as I felt the pouring moonlight.
*
While a piercingly cold wind blew across the Empire, a torrential downpour continued to pound Progen.
“...Jean.”
Jean Pierre had come to see his old acquaintance, Akenji, the Director of the Progen Central Intelligence Bureau—the CIB.
“So what you're saying is, you suspect this student from the National University to be the prime mastermind behind the bombing of Minister Louis Marceau?”
“That's right.”
Akenji looked at the composite sketch resting on the table. A wide-brimmed flat cap. Pitch-black hair and dark eyes. A teardrop mole under the eye. A masculine, pronounced jawline. It was a sketch completed based on the campus guard's statement.
“Felix Renoir from the Department of Military Science.”
“And the evidence?”
“...”
Jean Pierre kept his mouth shut. There wasn't anything he could properly call evidence.
The suspicion that he showed up right before the terrorist attack but never applied for reinstatement. That single, nameless answer sheet left in his lecture hall at that exact time. And the face the guard had seen for the first time on that very day—Felix Renoir.
The only bridge connecting all these was his own intuition.
“Akenji. People constantly change and grow. I don't like judging people through a dichotomy of good and evil; instead, I first consider the influence that person will exert.”
Jean Pierre continued, staring piercingly into the eyes of the person in the sketch.
“Felix Renoir. If he is indeed the student who left that answer sheet in my lecture hall...”
He had read the grand flow of the continent. He predicted the political situation in Zerpa and the strategic changes within the Empire. It was no easy feat; it was an insight that shattered the mold.
“He must have also anticipated the shift in dynamics between the West, the East, and the Empire if Louis Marceau were to die.”
In a single stroke, the assassin had severed the 'central axis' that allowed Progen to stand against the Empire. Jean Pierre rested his finger on the answer sheet.
“Of course, he only presented a single sheet of paper, and it is also based on outcome-oriented thinking, but...”
In truth, history itself was outcome-oriented. It was a discipline based on results. The process was merely pieced together afterward to explain it.
“This student is worthy of being called a genius.”
As a professor who analyzed figures, Jean Pierre sensed the insight contained within this answer sheet as true 'intellect.'
“In other words, even if he isn't the true culprit of this assassination, it means we have to find him no matter what. Because he is a talent who will be of use to Progen's future.”
Akenji looked back and forth between the composite sketch and Jean Pierre with a rigid expression. A scholar who had lived his entire life by reason and logic, the Jean Pierre, had suddenly come running to speak of intuition. He couldn't just brush it off.
“...I'll mobilize the agents under me.”
Akenji nodded as he tucked the sketch into his drawer.
Whoooosh──!
Outside the window, the torrential rain was still fierce. In Progen, it rains in the winter. Before long, it would turn into hail.
“It's raining quite heavily,” Akenji muttered bitterly. “Jean, don't head back tonight. Stay at my place; I've already had the guest room warmed.”
He stood from his seat and patted his friend's wet shoulder.