The Sarajevo Commotion, Part II

The terror of extremist forces is on an entirely different level from the threats posed by the political establishment. It doesn't matter if their numbers are barely a handful. Their threat lies in the fact that they can casually commit acts of madness that the established political factions would never even dream of.

It is only natural. Lacking both numbers and political authority, the only thing they have left is a fanaticism fueled by guns and bombs, spearheaded by assassination and terror.

Sarajevo. The capital of Bosnia-Herzegovina, and the volatile intersection of South Slav nationalism and three major religions: Orthodox Christianity, Catholicism, and Islam.

"Chairman Stahl. Must I go as well?"

"...No, Your Imperial Highness. Please do not come."

"I am the Archduke, after all. Wouldn't it be fine if I stepped forward?"

It was the equivalent of the President of the United States visiting Palestine in an unarmored vehicle.

"Your Imperial Highness. Just to be absolutely clear: under no circumstances are you to go to Sarajevo."

"Hmm?"

"And if by some absolute miracle you do end up there, you must never, under any circumstances, ride in an open-top car for a parade."

After all, Sarajevo was historically famous as the very city where the Archduke was assassinated. In other words, Sarajevo was a place where the forecast always called for a high chance of archducal assassination. I hurriedly departed for the front lines of ethnic nationalism.

Naturally, we nationalists are not entirely brainless creatures. In fact, when faced with a crisis, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠our brains tend to work remarkably fast.

Furthermore, Sarajevo was the city with the highest density of secret police in the entire empire. Consequently, no one was foolish enough to openly shout slogans like, "Kill the Emperor, liberate Bosnia, and unite the Slavic peoples!" in the middle of the street.

Of course, that didn't mean the atmosphere wasn't subversive. On the contrary, a quiet, sinister tension hung heavily over the entire city.

Pamphlets containing such seditious messages littered the streets everywhere. Naturally, with the secret police watching like hawks, the locals didn't voice their grievances out loud, but they glared with pure hostility at any Austrian who crossed their path.

'This is dangerous. The atmosphere feels exactly like Gyeongseong during the Japanese colonial period.'

It was no exaggeration. It wouldn't be surprising if an uprising broke out at any second. In truth, the current situation in Bosnia was identical to Joseon in 1905. While not officially territory of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, the empire was effectively ruling Bosnia like a colony.

I had traveled to many places, including Bohemia and Slovakia, but I had never seen a place with an atmosphere this grim and volatile.

'If a rebellion breaks out here, it will trigger a domino effect across the entire empire.'

After all, in the original history, secret societies like the Black Hand and Young Bosnia—which eventually shot Archduke Franz Ferdinand—were born out of Austria's attempts to annex Bosnia.

With Hungary, the capitalists, and so many other disgruntled factions already waiting for a slip-up, failing to contain even a single crisis would lead straight to a nationwide rebellion and the collapse of the empire.

Truly worthy of the Balkans' reputation as an absolute powder keg. Even if I twisted myself into knots ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to solve one problem, another would immediately erupt somewhere I wasn't looking, like a hydra growing back its heads no matter how many times you sever them.

My next destination was a beer hall. Historically, didn't all major historical events start in a beer hall? The secret police had neither the will nor the capability to monitor what the common folk whispered over their drinks. Therefore, if one wanted to hear the raw, unfiltered voices of the Slavic masses in Bosnia, the beer hall was the place to go.

"Filthy Reds! Kill the Reds!"

"Universal suffrage my ass... Since when did the Kaiser ever give a damn about his subjects?"

"We don't even have the right to vote in the first place!"

"That bastard Stahl ruined everything."

"If a true patriot rises up, he needs to shoot that bastard Stahl first."

"..."

My face had already been plastered everywhere, half by my own design and half by the public's idolization. I quickly covered my face.

"Listen, brothers. Soon, our 'society' is going to make a move for Slavic independence."

"What? Are you crazy? Do you want to get us all killed...!"

"Shh! It's guaranteed to work this time. We've received funding from an anonymous, powerful benefactor."

"What?"

"Think about it. Where do you think the money to print all these pamphlets came from? And who do you think is subsidizing the cheap beer you're drinking right now under the 'Slavic discount'?"

"What exactly are we going to do?"

"Hold on. This isn't the right place to talk."

A young man naturally approached a group that seemed particularly hostile toward the Emperor, then led them toward a dark, secluded alley.

'I need to follow them—ah, wait!' I started to rise to tail them, but sat back down upon remembering that my face was far too famous. I briefly considered tipping off the secret police, but decided against it, knowing it would achieve very little.

'As long as there is a source of funding and deep-seated resentment, even if I crush this group, another will rise to take its place. Ah, what a mess.'

The Austro-Hungarian Empire couldn't even control secret societies openly recruiting in local beer halls. It was an inevitable consequence. When colonial subjects harbor deep resentment, what can you really do?

'The fundamental issue is the mindset of treating Bosnia like a colony. As long as that persists, welfare and voting rights won't mean a thing to them.'

Of course, this was a long-term problem that had to be resolved gradually. If I were to suddenly demand in Austrian political circles that we grant equal rights to Bosnia, the political backlash would be unpredictable. Just as nobles treated commoners like dogs and the British treated Indians like slaves, hastily implementing appeasement policies could trigger a massive backlash and spark rebellions elsewhere.

'I'll have to address this the moment an opportunity arises, whether through a great war or something else. But more importantly, a rebellion feels like it's about to break out any second...'

For now, I had to deal with the immediate, seemingly hopeless situation. Massive amounts of funding were being funneled in from Russia and Serbia. Combined with the immense provocation caused by the rise of socialism, these fanatics were bound to lose their minds and execute a coup, a guerrilla uprising, or a terror attack very soon.

And as always, my preferred method was to fight fire with fire to weaken the nationalist forces. I planned to do the same this time, but there was a catch: the tactics I had used so far didn't work well against extremists who were determined to spout outrageous rhetoric and commit reckless acts.

Frankly, when it came to capturing public attention, extremists spewing venom and hate speech always held the upper hand. I needed an extraordinary measure to solve the crisis at hand.

"Chairman Stahl! The atmosphere in Sarajevo is highly volatile."

"Giving a speech in a climate like this is nothing short of suicide."

Naturally, the local branch of the Social Democratic Workers' Party (SDAP), well aware of the hostile public sentiment in Sarajevo, vehemently opposed my proposal to hold a public speech. Everyone in Sarajevo knew that a nationalist group backed by Serbia was planning to make a move soon.

'They're probably just waiting for the perfect angle to shoot anyone who opposes them.'

By openly cultivating such a terrifying atmosphere, they were successfully intimidating their opponents into silence.

"Their goal is to paralyze our movements. We must not fall for such a clumsy bluff."

"Even so, the risk is far too high! Those people are men of action. There is no need for you to put your life on the line, Chairman Stahl."

"Furthermore, they could use this as a pretext to hold a massive anti-communist rally."

Despite my arguments, the SDAP officials continued to protest vehemently. But my resolve was unyielding. I needed a pretext to crush the nationalists. And even putting that aside, this could serve as the catalyst to resolve the Bosnian issue, which was currently acting as a ticking time bomb for the empire.

"It is necessary, and it is something that must be done. Moreover, though I remain loyal to the imperial crown, I can no longer bear to watch the people of Bosnia suffer like this."

"...!"

"When I first discovered penicillin, I risked my life to go down into the slums. If my death is what it takes to improve the situation in Bosnia, then so be it."

"W-Why would you go to such lengths?"

"Isn't it simple arithmetic? My single life versus the lives of millions of Bosnian people. That is all."

The SDAP Bosnian branch had been living in poverty, their political foundation completely shattered. If they had any ambition for personal advancement, they would have ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠packed up and moved to Vienna long ago. They remained in this volatile city of Sarajevo solely out of love for their homeland and a sense of justice. The moment they heard the phrase "simple arithmetic," their eyes welled with tears.

"They do not call you 'Saint Stahl' in Vienna for nothing."

"I am deeply moved. Simple arithmetic..."

"I had forgotten the resolve I had when I first entered politics in Bosnia. I am deeply ashamed."

Haha. Having rolled around in the political mud for so long, it seems my tongue has been coated in butter. Why on earth would I die? The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠memory of three grown men trembling in fear, hugging each other as we marched into the slums, is an experience I never want to repeat. And naturally, I have no intention of doing so.

"What would you have us do, Chairman Stahl?"

"Please promote the event thoroughly so that as many people as possible will see it."

"Yes, yes...! To think you would brave such danger... *sniff*!"

"We are not finished yet. Please prepare some gunpowder."

"*sniff*... Huh? Gunpowder?"

"Yes. Am I not a chemist, after all? Just secure the gunpowder, and I will handle the rest."

"...?"

I had just announced an extraordinary plan that would both save my life and turn the tide in Bosnia. The SDAP member, who had been deeply moved by my "simple arithmetic" just moments ago, completely forgot his tears and began to stare at me as if I were a demon.

The Serbian-Slavic nationalist group, the "Brotherhood." It was a mediocre organization destined to be forgotten by history. Yet, its existence served as a stark reminder of just how many secret societies were scattered throughout Sarajevo.

"I heard Marx Stahl is planning a street speech. Have you heard?"

"That bastard with the blood-red name must have finally lost his mind. How dare he show his face so brazenly in Sarajevo?"

"...He's got some nerve."

Any seasoned politician would have recognized this as an obvious trap and stayed far away. After all, he was drawing attention so blatantly, it was practically screaming that a trap had been laid. But naturally, among the extremist groups that had ballooned overnight thanks to Serbian funding, individuals with that level of intelligence were exceedingly rare.

Besides, what if it was a trap? They had nothing to lose anyway.

'If we pull off one major strike... we'll take the lead.'

'Maybe we can even transition into an official political party.'

'We strike first! And then, all those "anonymous donations" flowing in from Serbia and Russia will be entirely ours!'

Of course, while Serbia was an extreme nationalist state that would make even the Nazis blush, the Russian Empire standing behind them hadn't completely lost its senses yet. If Russia realized that these groups were planning not just Stahl's assassination, but also the assassination of the Archduke and the Emperor, they would have panicked. But how could the Russian Empire, which only knew how to throw money at problems and do nothing else, possibly control an assassination plot?

"We're going!"

"Just you wait, Marx Stahl!"

Thus, the Brotherhood, along with the "Patriotic League," the "Bosnian Partisans," and various other nationalist secret societies with childishly dramatic names, all converged on Stahl's street speech, each member carrying a pistol tucked into their coat.

"Mmph, mmph!"

"Who the hell are you!"

Naturally, it was an open secret that these amateur secret societies, walking straight into such an obvious trap, were all apprehended and forced to eat potato stew through their noses. Yet, even after filtering them out, a truckload of secret societies still remained, lined up in double columns.

In a way, Russia and Serbia's investment might have been highly efficient. After all, training these rookie, suicidal conspirators was far cheaper than Japan training suicide soldiers strapped with hydrogen cylinders.

And so, on the streets of Sarajevo, the moment Stahl stepped out of his armored carriage, an earth-shattering explosion erupted, flipping the carriage on its side. Sarajevo, too, was turned completely upside down.