The Special Envoy
Jin-cheol harbored intensely negative feelings toward Rahman, so even the man's terrified expression just looked like a mask to maximally cover up his own faults. Deep down, he wanted to tell the bastard to cut the bullshit and just write up the surrender documents properly.
"Special envoy? And who's that supposed to be?"
Fortunately, unlike Jin-cheol, who was itching to smash Rahman's face in, Miguel stayed rational. He'd spotted something odd in the word Rahman had used and zeroed in on it right away.
Rahman stared blankly at Miguel with his haggard face, then dropped his head again and continued his story.
"...I first met him before I became a general. Back when I was just a lowly member of the Urata Party..."
Urata hadn't been called Urata back then. It was the Phlos Congress State. Phlos had its flying battleships, its generals, and its corrupt military, just like now. Urata was merely the name of a small political party. Named after a god from ancient legends.
The young Rahman, as a member of that minor party, believed the Phlos Congress State's dire situation was all the fault of rotten generals and military brass. He thought that without those foolish leaders, the great-blooded people of Phlos would rise up on their own and form the mighty unified supercontinent empire from the distant, ancient past.
So Rahman figured there was only one thing for him to do: sweep away the stupid, corrupt leaders and guide the Phlos people according to their noble bloodline. To that end, he rallied the depressed Phlos citizens. How? With anti-government speeches and volunteer militia activities.
At that point, Jin-cheol glanced at Miguel's face. He was trying to hide it, and mostly succeeding, but a hint of melancholy and shock leaked through.
Rahman's tale continued.
"...It was just like any other day. I'd given a speech in a tavern about the greatness of the Phlos people and returned to my room. That's when he appeared in that tiny garret."
"Appeared? What do you mean by that?"
"Exactly what I said. He emerged from thin air, like stepping out of an invisible rift in space."
To the terrified Rahman, he soothed him not to be afraid. That unbelievable entrance combined with the calming reassurance made Rahman think, for some reason, of the angels from Phlos legends. Of course, those legends had been fabricated to deify the generals' bloodline, but still.
He gave the young Rahman two gifts. The first was health. He cured Rahman's chronic skin conditions and digestive issues, and made him far more physically robust than the average Lavito. Rahman, who already had a talent for speeches and agitation, now appeared to party members and the masses alike as a superhuman promising a new era, thanks to that sturdy body.
The second gift wasn't much use at first, but soon became the mainstay of Rahman's anti-government volunteer militia. It was the black iron armor that even Jin-cheol had seen.
"...Even our country's top technicians couldn't fully understand parts of that armor's blueprint. They only accidentally confirmed, through an Esai scholar, that the small amount of drug the wearer had to inject for full operation was some bizarre relic called 'silver blood'—or bloodline."
Merciless super soldiers clad in black iron. Rahman led them to overthrow the old Phlos government and establish the new nation of Urata. All while propagandizing that the previous generals were evil demons worshiping the wicked god Marxus.
"That special envoy didn't just hand over those gifts for free, did he?"
"...No."
The core components of the black iron armor and the small doses of drug the users needed were supplied by certain Baika merchants. After Urata's founding, those Baika began surveying the entire nation under the pretext of academic research. What they were after was obvious. They were excavating ancient ruins. Including the Black Path, digging up lands known to be remnants of the forgotten imperial era.
"They did excavate a few sites afterward. Old ones of academic interest, but otherwise useless."
After three or four years of that, the Baika suddenly up and left. And the envoy never visited Rahman again. So Rahman concluded the envoy was a Baika—or one of those seafaring Gipain from across the ocean—and that the Baika were half-mad knowledge fanatics radical enough to topple a nation for a single relic. He even thought he'd never see them again now that their business was done.
"So you figured the special envoy was Baika?"
"No, that's just my guess. He wore a helmet that hid his face. A strange mask, smooth and mirror-like, reflecting the viewer..."
Listening to Rahman's description, Jin-cheol thought of those old electronic music duo performers from back in the day. The helmet sounded kinda like theirs.
"...For a long time after that, as I ran the country, I forgot about him. Yeah, about thirty years, I guess."
In that time, the young politician trying to change his nation had become a cunning old general, and the vibrant new country yearning for a better world had circled back to the same old mess. The military weakened too. They still had the black iron armor, but without silver blood for full operation.
Meanwhile, tensions with the Zasoyeonbang escalated, war clouds gathering over the nation. The once-sharp young man succumbed to pressure and fell into drugs. And in his drugged hallucinations, a figure truly tore through the air like a phantom.
The special envoy.
"He looked exactly the same as thirty years ago... The clothes, the helmet, even the voice..."
Like before, the envoy supplied parts and silver blood for the black iron armor, plus tech to upgrade the flying battleship. Astonishing tech. Lavito airship technology, stagnant for decades, evolved thanks to his gifts.
"He said we'd have won if we'd kept fighting? Ha, bullshit. If we'd fought to the end, my battleship would've triumphed. The one that faced Zasoyeonbang's head-on and came out fine. Your ragtag airships wouldn't stand a chance..."
Rahman revealed his twisted pride. Jin-cheol grimaced slightly, and Rahman, who'd been smirking, quickly bowed his head at the look.
Miguel, on the other hand, nodded. Just before, the battle situation favored him, but post-fight checks showed Urata's battleship hadn't taken heavy damage. Maybe Rahman was right; without taking down that one ship, the revolutionaries might've lost.
In any case, the envoy not only bolstered Urata's military with superior tech but mobilized shady Baika merchants for funding. In return, he demanded a full excavation of the entire Rostang region.
Rostang had legends and ancient texts about a subterranean city. But a modern Lavito city sat atop it, so flipping the whole place wasn't easy.
"That's when I realized. He'd probably gone to Zasoyeonbang's Donchaba first. But Donchaba couldn't stomach razing a city of tens of thousands for the envoy's demands..."
So he'd come to me after decades, Rahman muttered.
Miguel slowly shook his head. Knowing that and still making the deal? No different from a pact with the devil.
"So? Did you end up flipping Rostang? By kidnapping Zasoyeonbang citizens and forcing them to dig?"
"...Simple math. Conserve our resources while destroying the enemy's future."
Tens of thousands of kidnapped Lavitos from Zasoyeonbang dug up Rostang. No safety plans—just blind digging downward. Accidents piled up, naturally. Urata forces provided minimal food or medical care. They were just cannon fodder anyway.
What they uncovered was a pitch-black tunnel leading to a massive underground city.
"Other ruins turned up too, but what the envoy wanted was that tunnel—or whatever lay beyond. He'd never demanded anything directly before, but suddenly he called for my 1st Special Forces Ironclad Brigade. Said he needed hands underground..."
No real reason to refuse, so Rahman sent the envoy and his elite troops down that black maw.
And that night, white beasts crawled up from it.
"...Those beasts had white fur and degenerated eyes. Hunched backs, scrawny limbs swinging crude spears and daggers. But those primitive monsters killed hundreds of my elite troops and dragged off hundreds more. I don't know if they died or lived. All I know is the next morning, the brigade commander's head was impaled on a spear and displayed at the tunnel entrance... The day after, another head joined it, and as it kept happening, the surface troops..."
Rahman clutched his face and slumped over the desk. The old terror resurfacing.
The rabbit looked pitiful like that, but Jin-cheol didn't sympathize. He pondered instead.
This "special envoy" from the story so far. Scheming like some shadow puppetmaster. For it all to make sense, the bastard had to be an Opesis mercenary—definite heir to the forgotten empire. The Baika funding Rahman? Muksaang House.
The tunnel under Rostang? Probably the path to the "Amerika Arsenal."
But monsters pouring out? Were those bio-weapons or something?
Rahman said days passed after the envoy and his men entered. Had the Opesis guy already grabbed what he wanted and bolted? Too late now?
Lost in thought, Jin-cheol felt Miguel nudge him from the side. He jerked his chin toward the door, standing to leave, and said to Rahman looking up at him:
"Wait here."
"...Y-you won't execute me, right? You can't. I'm Urata's general. An icon and leader to the Uratans..."
Ignoring the rabbit's drivel, they stepped out. The others outside already wore grave expressions.
Miguel addressed them. "So, knightly order—reducing worldly strife, or cutting down the wicked when that fails. What do you make of this situation?"
His slightly biting tone made Aiman, Haeta, and the Lavito knight Pastel look awkward.
Aiman chuckled dryly. "What is there to say among ourselves? Point is, first we rescue the Zasoyeonbang people that Urata's general left behind in Rostang."
"Put the envoy and those funding Baika aside for now—save the innocents in Rostang first?"
"Exactly."
"Then Rostang it is."
"Top priority."
"Agreed. Let's move."
Decision made. Miguel quickly mustered what forces could deploy immediately. The garrison and Urata battleship couldn't budge yet—garrison busy with cleanup, battleship short on crew. Unload wounded, load weapons, repair Comintern for immediate flight.
All prep done in two hours, focusing solely on rushing to Rostang to save any Zasoyeonbang survivors.
"Why'd you board?"
Jin-cheol eyed Dol Jumeok and little Maro tagging along beside him.
Dol Jumeok scratched his bald head. "We're Lamien's bodyguards. Gotta go."
"We?"
"Yeah. We. Double the pay."
He and Maro stared silently at Jin-cheol. He chuckled and let it slide. Keep this up, and we'd get a Lavito body with an Ologg mind hybrid.
They'd mounted what looked like field guns and machine guns on their truck-raider from before the assault. With its bulk and armament, it was practically a tank. Must've held during the raid.
Seeing the brute and kid, Jin-cheol went looking for Lamien. After Rahman's interrogation, she'd gone rigid, statue-like. Rostang had Epani, naturally. Had she survived?
Hunched under Comintern's low ceiling searching, he bumped into Miguel first.
It was a small open space at the stern, like a balcony. Jin-cheol stretched his back and neck in the fresh air. Miguel, coat draped over his shoulders fluttering at the railing, smiled at him.
"What're you doing out here?"
"Letting go of obsessions."
What the hell? More zen riddles?
His face must've shown it. Miguel, still smiling, said, "Amusing. Unlike Snow, your expressions are varied. Even setting aside the different species, she's so stoic it's hard to read her emotions."
"...Yeah?"
He turned to the sky. "Ah, right. What obsession? You said it last time: in this new world, could I avoid becoming another general?"
"...Think I did."
Jin-cheol shifted uncomfortably. Ten thousand years ago, he was just a grunt; even stronger now, he still felt the same inside. Overthrowing nations like Miguel? Jin-cheol found even swaying one person's life draining.
Miguel laughed at the lukewarm reply. "I've mulled that a lot. Rahman's talk just now helped me decide."
"Decide what?"
"Once Zasoyeonbang stabilizes, I'll board Comintern with like-minded warriors and leave."
"...Where to?"
"Other countries. Every nation on this continent crushed under some general's boot."
Jin-cheol smirked. "Liberator of the entire Eastern Continent?"
"Eastern? Ah, from your view. Yes. I'll be the liberation army. The hammer smashing generals' chains, the scythe lopping off the necks of these serpentine regimes from below. Even if I perish pointlessly, some spark will remain."
Cool as hell. A will to keep moving, never stagnate. Not for everyone, but respectable for those who chose it.
Miguel continued. "That's why I've picked Lamien as my successor."
"...What?"
"After I leave Zasoyeonbang, she'll be its general—no, general's off. Prime minister? Yes, prime minister."
Jin-cheol blinked. "What the fuck?"
"...Why?"
"Her weaknesses are too glaring."
Miguel eyed him again. "The lover she's desperately seeking. She's the same sex, right? Nothing bigger than same-sex love as a weakness in Zasoyeonbang society. And that'll keep her from stagnating in the rotten waters. Endless scrutiny and opposition."
"No, that's not..."
"Lieutenant Lamien. Zasoyeonbang Air Academy runner-up graduate. Know her mother?"
"Fuck no. What’s that got to do with anything?"
"Everything. Her mother's the Zasoyeonbang Central Bank president—the biggest power holder representing the elites now that Donchaba's gone."