Better to Kill the Emperor Than Be Discarded (2)
A deathly silence swept through the division's officers at my declaration that I would assassinate the Emperor. Had I stood in their boots, I would have reacted no differently. They had staked their lives fighting for the Empire all this time, and this endless, damnable war was finally drawing to a close — and now, out of nowhere, their division commander was about to commit the capital crime of regicide. Of course they were stunned.
In the weight of that silence, Colonel Jaeger, second-in-command of the division, put a question to me.
"Sir — why do you wish to assassinate the Emperor?"
"Colonel Jaeger. Have you no thought of taking my head, then, for plotting this act of high treason?"
Hearing that, Colonel Jaeger shook his head and spoke.
"Every officer and soldier of the 13th Division is a person the Empire threw away. I myself was posted here three years ago, for the crime of opposing His Majesty when he tried to force my daughter into his harem as a concubine."
Most of the field-grade officers, Colonel Jaeger included, had been assigned to our unit for the crime of earning the displeasure of the Emperor or the high nobles beneath him. Colonel Dripin, once commander of the 1st Regiment, had been demoted to us for disciplining the heir of a ducal house who had joined his command as a platoon leader and abused and tormented the soldiers without cause.
"Aside from Major Sophia, every field-grade officer stands in much the same straits. As for the captains, first lieutenants, and second lieutenants — they were posted to the 13th Division for the crime of being born into petty noble houses, then driven onto battlefields where death was all but certain."
Even back in twenty-first-century South Korea, men without connections or good fortune found themselves assigned to the most punishing posts, front lines and the like. With even the thinnest string to pull, one could generally avoid the miserable assignments. That much favoritism was bitter enough for those on the receiving end — but in our Empire, lacking connections was a crime in itself. Officers of the lower nobility were shunted almost exclusively into posts like mine, tailor-made for dying, and no matter what feats they performed, they were never promoted beyond Major.
"The world abandoned us, sir... yet you spent every ounce of your strength to have even a sliver of the credit we earned acknowledged."
"Recording every one of my men's deeds without omission, and pressing those records until your devotion and toil are recognized — that is my duty as your division commander."
This world is crawling with every species of human garbage, and the higher you climb, the greater the share of them among the ranks. Beyond pocketing their own credit and their subordinates' credit alike, there are plenty who would purge their own men at the merest hint that a mote of disadvantage might fall upon themselves. The Emperor who rules this rotten Empire, and every last one of the high nobles besides — they are all, without exception, exactly that breed. The only thing that separates me from them is that I lack the cruelty to trample other men underfoot and grin about it for the sake of my own career.
"I only did what anyone should have."
At my words, Colonel Jaeger shook his head.
"You have sacrificed for us again and again and swallowed political punishment for it. Judged on merit alone, you should long since have been made a Field Marshal of the Imperial Army — yet you quarreled with the high nobles over credit that was ours."
He wasn't entirely wrong. If, while piling up achievements of this caliber, I had instead devoted myself to flattery before the Emperor and his high nobles — devouring my men's credit into the bargain — the Emperor might indeed have made me a Field Marshal. He would have used me as living propaganda to lift the morale of the Empire's soldiers. And what a pretty picture it would paint: even a wretched officer of low nobility, if only he serves the Emperor faithfully, may rise to high rank and bask in every riches and glory.
"A commander who has sacrificed so much for us does not speak of high treason lightly. There must be a reason. So tell us — what brought you to this decision?"
When Colonel Jaeger finished, the other officers answered in the same vein. Having heard them out, I opened my mouth with care.
"The Emperor has promised that when this war ends, he will recognize the deeds of the 13th Division. He will elevate us to an Imperial Guard Division, grant me a two-rank promotion to General along with the title of Count, and then graciously permit my honorable retirement."
At those words, Colonel Jaeger and the field-grade officers — the men purged for political reasons — went white to the lips. They must have grasped what it meant for both of the Emperor's 'favors' to descend at once.
"Taken at face value, it might look as though the Emperor is acknowledging our achievements."
When the title of Imperial Guard is fastened to a unit's name, that division is treated as the Emperor's own. Never mind that we would perform no actual bodyguard duty — the name alone entitled us to the Guards' treatment. Our supply standards would improve by leaps, and the units around us would hail us as an elite formation worthy of respect. But the Emperor I have come to know is no bastard who would look kindly on the 13th Division — a unit cobbled together from rejects and the lowborn.
"No. The Emperor will feign respect for us while driving the 13th Division onto ever harsher battlefields — and then he will push us until the enemy's hands have slaughtered every last one of us."
In the Empire, we are criminals — because creatures of such lowly standing won achievements far greater than the nobles' own. But openly purging men who have given the Empire endless devotion would not look good, so the Emperor means to have the enemy's blade do the butchery instead. Only once we have paid for the crime of outshining the nobility — paid for it with all our lives — will the Emperor and his nobles deign to honor our sacrifice. Honoring living heroes of low birth might threaten their own positions... but the dead can threaten no one. And besides, memorializing fallen heroes is precisely how aristocrats display their mercy toward the common folk. It makes for such a flattering picture.
"That is why I mean to kill the Emperor — to keep you alive, to protect the soldiers who bled beside you, and to reward their sacrifice with land. But understand this clearly: it is treason against the Empire itself."
Killing the Emperor is treason. Succeed, and they will call it a revolution; fail, and every soul in this room will be executed.
The single most important thing for this treason to succeed is—
that the officers of my own division follow me, each of them resolved to cast his life away.
If even one person in this room does not believe in me, the revolution will fail, without fail. The moment a single officer I cannot trust leaks the operation to the Emperor or any other noble on the eve of the coup, everything is over.
"If any of you fears death — or if any of you dreams of offering this traitor's head in exchange for a life of riches and glory — then kill me now."
With that, I came to a stop in front of Colonel Jaeger, my deputy commander.
"Colonel Jaeger. Will you follow me in trust? Or will you kill me and enjoy your riches and glory?"
In answer, Colonel Jaeger gave me a salute.
Next I put the same question to Colonel Bergen, commander of the 2nd Regiment.
"Colonel Bergen. If you kill me right now, every one of you lives. What will it be?"
Colonel Bergen threw back his head and laughed.
"That son of a bitch Emperor — no matter how great the deeds we perform, wading into fire or flood without a second thought... that piece of trash has never once seen our division's officers and soldiers as people like himself. The Empire is no different."
That, in the end, is what made me resolve on rebellion. That son of a bitch Emperor never saw me — no, never saw my division's soldiers — as human beings. I might have borne even that, somehow. What I cannot bear is that act of monstrous ingratitude: brushing aside everything we achieved and resolving, like a master who boils the hound once the rabbits are caught, to toss us away. Does he take us for oxen and swine, walking into the slaughterhouse on their own four legs whenever the master commands it?
"Even if it means I live one more day and then drop dead, this Bergen will die fighting alongside the commander who saw us as men and bled on the same battlefield we did."
"Thank you, Colonel Bergen."
"And who knows — perhaps someone here is thinking that if they just... if they truly just cut off the commander's head, knelt before that bastard Emperor, and swore him loyalty, they might scrape out some wretched little chance to save their own skin."
Colonel Bergen turned his gaze on the other officers and went on.
"That man has never once seen a human being born without noble blood as his equal. We're the same to him as dogs and pigs that happen to talk and walk on two legs. Which means — even if you carried the commander's head to the Emperor, he would purge you all the same. Anyone he already resents, me included and every one of you, is marked for death."
Coming from that bastard, that would be entirely in character. I've only heard it told, but when a servant of lowly birth once threw his body between the Emperor and death, the man felt no gratitude toward his savior — only disgust that a lowborn creature's flesh had dared to touch his own.
When Colonel Bergen fell silent, I looked out across them all and made my plea.
"I can no longer stand by and watch my men — watch any of you — sacrificed while the Empire treats you as nothing more than its talking pigs and dogs. That is why I will kill the Emperor and set the Empire's order right. Will you walk this perilous road with me?"
They answered with one voice.