Turbulent World (3)
Lutus instinctively grasped the hand. Even though he should have shaken it off, the motion came as naturally as flowing water.
"Here's a revolver. I took it from the police earlier. One revolver should be enough for you."
Lutus nodded instead of replying and checked the cylinder. Six rounds of live ammunition, packed tight.
"I picked up that extra bullet from my pocket."
"The Chancellor?"
"Evacuated safely. Your subordinates too."
At the sight of Drake's grin, Lutus let out a short sigh. Relief washed over him.
"But we're not done yet. Those bastards definitely set traps along the escape route."
Drake glanced at the people scattering in every direction. Though several minutes had passed since the first attack, gunfire still echoed without pause. This was deliberate. It was nothing like the Revolutionary Front's strike on the Branberg Eastern Army Headquarters. Every terrorist had eyes gone mad with rage, their reason paralyzed by fury.
Lutus knew that feeling well. The massacre in the capital. The burning anger toward superiors who cared only for their own bellies while the front lines collapsed. He, too, had once carried that unbearable emotion.
The only ways to stop them were to slaughter everyone their rage targeted—or to embrace death himself.
"We don't know how many will come. If the local police have reached this point, their routes are already compromised."
"I agree."
"So… I need your help, Lutus Edan."
Drake's voice was more solemn than Lutus had ever heard. He should refuse. He had worked so hard to push everyone from Graveyard Fortress away. Drake Brown had been one of the most important among them. In the memory restoration through Akasha, he ranked second only to Arhen Orca. Counting their time as lieutenants, he was the comrade Lutus had known the longest.
Getting entangled again would shatter every vow he had made.
"…"
"Did you really want to be forgotten by us?"
As Lutus hesitated, Drake continued.
"You're the one who seized victory while shouldering everyone's blame. I think I understand a little now. Maybe you found your own path—one no one else could comprehend, yet not necessarily wrong."
Of course, countless things still made no sense. The sloppy orders. The injuries they caused his men. But one truth remained: the Lutus Edan Drake remembered would never have acted out of malice alone.
Perhaps Lutus had colluded with the greedy pigs in the rear, yet the improved supply situation at Graveyard Fortress remained unchanged. No one could ever fully understand another person. They only judged according to their own standards.
Maybe he himself had been doing the same to his old friend.
Right and wrong were never objective. They were purely subjective values.
Yet Drake remembered the drinks he had shared with Lutus Edan. In that moment, both men had been genuinely happy.
This time, it was Drake's turn to set aside his principles. He had already paid the price for his dogmatism at Graveyard Fortress.
"I'll respect your path. If you tell me not to look for you, I won't. If you want to meet occasionally and drink like old times, I'll do that."
The unexpected answer left Lutus staring blankly. Drake's upright gaze remained unwavering, as always.
"So I need your help, Brigadier General Lutus Edan. To escape this place and fulfill the duty entrusted to me."
That was the kind of man Drake was—hot-tempered, body moving before his head, sometimes stubborn, yet honest, always thinking of others first, and capable of respect.
At those words, Lutus finally opened his mouth. For the fortieth time, a layer of the loneliness pressing on Lutus Edan's shoulders peeled away.
"Lead the way, Colonel."
Yes. If a comrade asked like that, he had to answer. Not as the former commander of Graveyard Fortress, but as Werner Grime, Director of the Security Strategic Agency.
Right after the massive explosion echoed from the memorial park, all schedules were suspended. How could anyone continue when the President of the Republic of Bostania had been shot in the head right before their eyes? They had to return immediately, no matter what.
"Director!! Where the hell did you go? I thought you were done for!"
The guard battalion commander's face was deathly pale. He leapt forward the moment he spotted Drake Brown pushing through the crowd.
"Ah, sorry for vanishing without a word. I brought the strongest ally I could find."
When Drake pointed behind him with his thumb, Karin and Edward, who had been scanning the area, rushed out.
"Director Werner!"
"Are you hurt anywhere!?"
"I'm fine."
"A family reunion that could make anyone cry. Well… how's the Chancellor's condition?"
"Much more stable than expected. He's currently inside a bulletproof escort vehicle."
"Good to hear. How many vehicles do we have?"
"Two. The rest are blocked. The foreign escort teams are in complete chaos."
Drake clicked his tongue. Terrorism at a summit of this scale. The Republic of Bostania's hollow core was laid bare. Turning the memorial park—resting place of national heroes—into a battlefield… how many years would it take for their prestige to recover?
Yet having only four usable vehicles in such chaos was fatal.
At that moment, Werner Grime, who had been silently observing everything, spoke.
"Vehicles won't work."
"What? What do you mean… I mean, what do you mean, Lieutenant Colonel?"
"We have no idea what the roads are like. If we get boxed in front and back, we'll be sitting ducks."
"I checked on the way here. The terrorists' firepower isn't that strong. Most are only carrying pistols."
Lieutenant Edward, the weapons officer, added, "If we move with the panicked crowd, we can reach a safe zone."
"The Lieutenant's right. They were targeting national leaders. Ordinary citizens were just unlucky collateral. In other words, they won't attack first unless provoked."
Whether their goal was overthrowing the Republic of Bostania or a localized radical provocation like the Revolutionary Front's remained unknown. One always had to assume the worst. It was Drake's habit—and one he had learned from Lutus Edan.
"We'll move on foot. I was wrong."
Since this was the final schedule, the entourage was small. They could easily blend into the crowd.
When Drake Brown, the local security chief, made the decision, Chancellor Mikhail actively cooperated.
"I spotted a route earlier. This way should be safer."
The Chancellor pointed to a spot roughly one kilometer west of the memorial park. The winding alleys would make them far less visible than the main roads. With fewer people around, they could also link up with the personnel waiting near their lodging.
"As expected of the Chancellor."
"I learned it all by watching others. Let's move. The terrorists might still be prowling nearby."
"Yes!"
Werner Grime and the Security Agency personnel took the lead. They advanced without hesitation, eyes sharp for anyone suspicious. Even with over a dozen escorts moving together, they drew attention—but since they had nothing to do with the attack and their numbers were substantial, the sense of threat was minimal.
When homeless people emerged from alleys to see what was happening, Werner quickly raised his gun and warned them off. After several repetitions of this, the group reached an area well away from the memorial park.
The moment he caught his breath, Drake rushed to the rooftop and contacted the remaining security forces.
"D-Director! Are you safe? What about the Chancellor!?"
"He's safe. Pack everything and head to the location I'm sending you. We're going straight to the airport. Tell them to prepare the private plane for immediate departure!"
In the unprecedented chaos of a bombing during the summit's final event, the security team arrived with vehicles at once. Thanks to their swift arrival at the airport, the imperial delegation received real-time updates on the attack.
Every single report was devastating.