Chapter 93: A New Spring (3)
Chapter 93: A New Spring (3)
Maximilian’s office.
Yukia sat in the clerk’s seat, processing paperwork.
Clack—clack-clack—clatter-clatter-clack—
She possessed an extraordinary aptitude for machinery. Her fingers moved across the keyboard with such speed and precision they were a mere blur, drawing occasional sidelong glances from the other clerks.
Slam.
The door swung open, and Chiron, a high-ranking knight, stepped inside.
He looked at Yukia and asked, "Is Knight Maximilian inside?"
"Appointment."
"…What?"
"Did you make one?"
Chiron stared at her blankly for a moment before knocking on the door to Maximilian’s private office.
Knock, knock.
"Max. Are you in?"
—Come in.
Chiron shot another glance at Yukia before heading inside.
Yukia focused mana into her ears.
—You’ve arrived.
Through a pre-installed eavesdropping artifact, the voices of Maximilian and Chiron were transmitted clearly.
—Ah, Max. I saw you even put in a discount order for the Premium Cubes this time. You didn't have to go that far.
—It was nothing.
In the middle of their casual conversation, Maximilian suddenly pivoted.
—Knight Chiron, how many staff members do you have?
—Hmm, I have eight clerks. My informants are far more numerous… but wait, one of your staff is a Yaken, isn't she?
Yukia’s ears perked up at Chiron’s words.
—Yes.
—Is that alright? There aren't any specific regulations in the Sentinel, but…
Only pure-blooded Imperial citizens could join the Sentinel. However, the regulations regarding a knight’s personal staff were still a gray area.
—Keeping a sub-species by your side could be a blemish on someone with a bright future like yours. People might use it against you.
—It’s fine.
Maximilian gave a small smile.
—She is a connection to someone I know well.
—…Someone you know?
—Yes.
Stop.
Yukia’s hands froze. Her heart gave a heavy thud.
—You knew someone among the Yaken?
—I’m sure you do as well, Knight Chiron.
—Me?
—The Empire needs Guides, after all.
—…Ah, Empire Point. Right.
Chiron let out a dry chuckle of realization.
—It’s been over ten years now, so the memory is a bit fuzzy.
Yukia bit her lip.
A Guide.
And the necklace.
"…Miss Yukia."
A fellow clerk crept up to her.
"Could you help me with this? The computer is showing a strange error—"
Yukia had already become the resident expert that other clerks sought out for advice.
"Later."
"Ah, right."
The clerk grumbled as he retreated to his seat.
"Geez. She’s so good I can’t even complain."
—Haha. How curious.
Chiron’s greasy laughter echoed through the artifact.
—Since when did you care about such a trivial connection?
—It was not trivial at all.
Maximilian’s voice was dead serious.
—In fact… she was the person who made me look back at myself.
His tone was solemn.
—As a noble.
Yukia’s fingers, which had resumed typing, stopped once more.
She waited silently for his next words.
—She was the person who made me reflect.
The weight in his voice was undeniable.
—Hmm. I see.
Sensing the gravity, Chiron didn't press the matter further.
—Anyway. What was it you wanted to say?
—Ah. That four-star restaurant you mentioned last time…
The rest of the conversation went in one ear and out the other. It was mostly mundane chatter, but more importantly, Yukia’s mind was now completely occupied by other thoughts.
Creak.
The door opened. Chiron stepped out with a satisfied expression.
Maximilian made a point of walking him out.
"Well then, Max. I’ll enjoy the meal thanks to you."
"Of course. Please let me know if anything comes up."
—In truth, Maximilian had summoned Chiron on purpose. He had intentionally brought up the staff count to steer the conversation and say those words for Yukia’s benefit.
"Ah, what could possibly happen? Haha. Go on back in. No need to see me off all the way."
Unaware he had been used, Chiron left with a beaming face.
*
End of the workday.
Back at the dormitory, Yukia sat by the window and pulled out an artifact. It was a disc-shaped eavesdropping recorder, half the size of her palm, which she had crafted herself.
‘Since when did you care about such a trivial connection?’
She replayed the recording of Maximilian’s conversation.
‘It was not trivial at all.’
A person who wasn't trivial.
‘In fact… she was the person who made me look back at myself.’
Not trivial at all.
‘As a noble.’
As she listened to his words on loop, an owl flew in from the night sky. She untied the letter fastened to its leg.
It was another coded message.
[ ◆◇◆◇◆◆◇◇◆◆…… ]
The decoded content was brief.
[ The designated road. With Maximilian. ]
Yukia crumpled the note in her hand. Her tightly shut eyelids trembled slightly.
‘It was not trivial at all.’
Unlike the nobles who treated the Yaken as insignificant, his voice—insisting she wasn't trivial—kept echoing in her ears.
* * *
To me, a "new spring" is the unknown.
From now on, the things I know and the things I don't will likely intertwine.
Vrooooom—
Even this very moment was a testament to that.
The driver of my car was my executive secretary, Yukia—the poor Yaken being manipulated by Izenheim.
The air inside the car was strangely cold. It was silent and dangerous. A sense of foreboding seemed to travel through the car seats like a sensor.
However, I had already made preparations.
By now, Schatz would be moving covertly, tailing us.
"You’re a good driver."
I meant it.
Clerks trained at the main estate were good, but Yukia was on a different level.
"…I have."
Yukia spoke up as if she had been waiting.
"One question."
"Try adding a polite suffix."
"I have one… sir."
"Much better."
Whoosh—
The sound of the wind whipped past as we sped down the road.
"You were wearing a necklace."
It was the question I had been expecting, but I feigned ignorance.
"…A necklace?"
"Back then. When the bomb went off in the corpse."
"……."
Yukia’s eyes flickered toward me in the rearview mirror. I quietly maintained my act.
"……I wonder."
When it comes to "shaping my image," I am an expert. It’s a skill naturally honed through years of living as a fugitive on the run.
"It was a gift from a benefactor."
That was all I said.
There was no need for a long-winded explanation. In fact, I shouldn't give one. It would only seem artificial.
"Ngh……."
Yukia let out an unidentifiable groan.
Just then, the road opened up. It was the Marinus Overpass, with the deep Imperial River flowing alongside it.
This was one of the many scenarios Schatz had anticipated.
If she were to suddenly jerk the wheel and plunge into the river, the assassins waiting below would…
Yukia glanced at the river stretching out to the left.
Grip.
The sound of her hands tightening on the steering wheel.
Was she hesitating right now?
I gripped the Super Stimpak hidden in my coat.
Thump.
My heart gave a slight tremor.
Below the riverbank, I sensed Izenheim’s presence.
Thump!
The Virus let out a warning cry.
It seemed Izenheim was alone, but her "intensity" was on another level.
Thump.
Yet, the car simply kept going.
It moved peacefully away from the river.
Just as the Virus’s reaction began to subside—
Screeeeeech—!
Suddenly, Yukia yanked the steering wheel. With a thunderous roar, the vehicle spun like a boomerang. Black skid marks were seared onto the asphalt, and immediately after—
Crash—!
A truck lunged out from the opposite lane.
Grind!
It plowed through the space where we had just been, smashed through the guardrail, and plummeted.
I watched through the window, my body tilted by the force of the turn.
Thud! Thud! Boom—!
The truck tumbled down and splashed into the river.
"……Hmm."
The truck was meant to push me in, and the assassins in the water were meant to confirm the kill.
Not a bad scenario.
"Haah, haah……."
Yukia panted heavily, her forehead resting against the steering wheel. I watched her intently.
What "decision" had this Yaken just made?
I couldn't be sure yet. Just as I was acting, this could also be part of her performance.
"Are you alright?"
"……."
At my question, Yukia lifted her head and nodded. Her face and back were already drenched in cold sweat.
"You really are a good driver."
"It’s the basics."
She calmly turned the wheel again.
Wiping her sweat with her sleeve, she navigated through the wreckage on the road like an eel.
"……."
"……."
The car was silent. Not even the engine seemed to make a sound.
I closed my eyes without a word.
Today’s harvest was satisfactory enough.
*
Imperial Central University.
My schedule for today was a lecture.
The topic: "The Path the Empire Must Take."
"…As Aranians of the Empire, we must shatter the jealous misconceptions the outside world holds toward us."
The vast auditorium was packed with university students, all eyes on me.
"The thousand-year history of the Empire will never crumble."
The script was written by a ghostwriter. Composition and I simply didn't get along.
"Therefore, I hope all of you will become talents worthy of the Empire and fulfill your duties."
Clap, clap, clap, clap—
Applause erupted. The expressions of the students were varied. Some looked on with genuine respect, others with jealousy and suspicion, and a small but vocal minority held blatant hatred.
"—I have a question!"
Someone in the center of the audience raised their hand high.
I looked at his face. A blonde Aranian with a sharp impression.
I knew him.
In fact, he was exactly the kind of person I had "wanted."
"Knight Maximilian. I have a question."
Before my regression, he was a war criminal.
A first-class one, at that.
"……Your name?"
First-class war criminals possess a certain level of ability.
After all, inciting national or global fury is impossible without a specific kind of talent.
"I am Johann Georg Goetze, currently in the doctoral program for Humanities."
Johann Georg Goetze.
A man of common birth who would eventually become the Empire’s Minister of Propaganda.
The eyes he directed at me were filled with deep animosity.
"You told us to become talents worthy of the Empire. But before that, I wish to ask: Do you believe the current Empire treats the Aranian people as they deserve?"
The room fell into a stir. A commotion broke out. It was a provocative, reactionary statement to hurl at an Ebenholtz.
But I knew.
He didn't hate the Empire. On the contrary, he loved the Empire so much that he loathed those who were ruining it.
The piggish bourgeoisie, the corrupt nobility. His hatred was directed at them.
"Currently, the taxes imposed on the Aranian people are more cruel than ever. Commoners break their backs just to buy a loaf of bread, while those who collect those taxes—"
"You! Drag that man out!"
Security guards and university officials rushed out from behind the stage in a panic.
"Leave him be."
I stopped them as they reached out to seize Johann.
The guards hesitated and stepped back.
I walked to the very edge of the podium and looked down at Johann.
"……Johann Georg."
Johann’s face was etched with a desperate sort of rage.
I looked at him and gave a concise answer.
"I find myself in great agreement."
For a moment, Johann’s eyes wavered. He certainly hadn't expected this response.
I shifted my gaze away from him for a moment, scanning the students gathered in the auditorium.
"Students of Imperial Central University, the pure Aranian intellectuals the Empire is so proud of."
Over eighty percent of the students gathered here were commoners.
To begin with, there weren't that many nobles in the Empire.
"I ask you. Between the poor and the rich, the high-income and the low-income—which side should pay more taxes?"
The audience was silent.
"Between the nobility and the commoners—which side should bear greater responsibility and duty?"
No one answered.
In this world, an answer could be a crime.
However, that didn't apply to me.
I was one of the most dignified nobles in the Empire, and a businessman who "honestly" paid the "most" taxes in the Empire.
At the very least, I had the right to discuss taxes more than anyone else.
"Even if I don't say it, it is as natural as providence."
I looked back at Johann.
"Those who have much should give much, and the shoulders of those in high places should be heavier."
"……."
Johann swallowed hard. He looked utterly bewildered, as if he had been prepared to be beaten.
"Yet, in the current Empire, many seek to avoid doing so. Despite growing up within the Empire’s warm embrace and being nourished by its resources, there are far too many who wish only to consume the fruit while abandoning their responsibilities and duties."
This was my sincere belief.
The corrupt bastards who led the Empire to ruin before my regression.
"As Maximilian of Ebenholtz, I am different from them. I always act for the Empire and pursue only the truth."
My voice carried weight.
"The duty of a true noble. The attitude a noble must maintain. I intend never to forget these things. That is how a noble ought to be."
I stepped down from the podium and walked toward Johann.
I placed a hand on his frozen shoulder.
"One day, all the nobles and bourgeoisie of this Empire—not just myself—will finally realize. That the privileges they enjoy are, in fact, the weight of responsibility they must willingly shoulder for the sake of the Aranian people."
—I slightly twisted a sentence I had once read in a specialized book titled The Reasons for the Empire’s Fall.
"That is the path for the Empire, and the path the Aranian people must walk."
Silence fell. The students stared at me in hushed awe.
I asked Johann, "Is that a sufficient answer?"
Johann’s lips quivered as cold sweat poured down his face. He gaped like a goldfish, then suddenly his eyes rolled back, and he fainted on the spot.
"……Huh? What the."
Apparently, he had been forcing himself to muster far more courage than he could handle.
"Is there a doctor here?"
* * *
"We are terribly sorry!"
The Dean’s office of the College of Humanities, Imperial Central University.
"We are truly sorry, Sir Knight!"
The Dean of Humanities, the department head, the lead professor, and even the assistant professors—everyone connected to Johann was bowing ninety degrees before me.
"That boy—no, that student, Johann—is currently on a leave of absence. We had no idea he would suddenly barge into the lecture hall and ask such an impious question. We will expel him immediately—"
"No."
I shook my head as I set down my teacup.
"I found it quite refreshing."
"……Pardon?"
"I liked him. I’d even like to read the papers or essays he’s written."
The officials exchanged glances, their confusion palpable.
"By the way, why is he on leave? He said he was in the doctoral program."
"Ah… well."
The Dean of Humanities glanced at the professors around him. An assistant professor standing at the very back whispered in a tiny voice.
"……I heard his family is struggling financially. There are rumors he’s been working at construction sites to save up for tuition……."
I nodded.
"The source of his rage toward the bourgeoisie."
"We have no excuse! We should have managed our students more strictly. To have offended you like this, we truly……."
The Dean’s constant apologies were starting to grate on my nerves.
"……I believe I said there was no need to be sorry."
At those words, the faculty members’ faces froze like stone statues.
It seemed they had interpreted my "no need to be sorry" in a slightly different way. What, did they think I was going to bury him or hang him?
Lately, I have to be careful with everything I say. It’s because of the image I gained from the Genen suppression.
"Your name?" I asked the Dean.
"Ah, I, well. I am……."
"Do you not have a name?"
"Ah, no, I do. Hahaha…… It’s Benedict."
He gave a strained smile and wiped his sweat with a handkerchief.
"Dean Benedict."
"……Yes."
His neck retracted like a turtle’s.
I pulled a checkbook from my coat. I wrote down a figure with my fountain pen and tore it out.
"I truly took a liking to the student named Johann."
I placed the check on the table. The Dean’s eyes widened as he saw the amount.
"T-this is……?"
"A scholarship."
From now on, I intended to "manage" future war criminals.
If their madness isn't handled properly, it will explode uncontrollably just like before my regression. But it would be a waste of talent to simply dispose of them.
"Please deliver the full amount to Johann Georg Goetze."
Johann had fainted after meeting my eyes for only ten minutes.
With the fear they held for me, I would certainly be able to control them.