Chapter 550

10 AM, the 17th. A tavern by the Spree River in Berlin.

An old woman bundled up as though it were the middle of winter entered the tavern, leaning on a cane. Despite it being morning, the place was already packed with people, yet it had fallen so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. Even in that unnatural stillness, where the liveliness of the world itself seemed to have vanished, no one paid attention to the sound of the door opening. Even the tavern keeper was too absorbed in their newspaper to notice the new customer.

“Excuse me.”

“Ah, yes.”

The old woman tapped the counter to get the keeper’s attention. She ordered schnapps instead of grain liquor, and without a word, the keeper brought out the cherry schnapps the old woman usually drank. The keeper, who normally struck up a conversation with the old woman now and then, merely turned their eyes back to the newspaper today.

For now, there was nothing but silence.

Every so often, the sound of someone taking a drink broke it.

“Oh!”

After a little while, people began calling out from various corners of the tavern. On the front page of the Imperial Dailies they had brought with them, a well-built young person was finally walking toward the stage in the square.

It was Lukas Askanien.

His face had not appeared in the press all that often, but anyone could tell he was an Askanien. Either he bore an uncanny resemblance to his older brother, or he had the same air his father had carried in his youth. His hair, neatly styled with just enough of a student’s look to it, stood out.

The solemnly arranged scene that followed made it clear just how much effort the Imperial Family and the government had put into this clarification. And they had good reason. From the outset, the Prussian government had been left with two choices.

First, pander to the public’s seemingly simple and obvious desire, execute Lukas Askanien, and demonstrate that they recognized both the gravity of the continent-wide crisis caused by Pleroma’s terrorism and their responsibility for it.

Second, though somewhat more complicated, make it clear that the person they had recruited in the first place was not Pleroma, and that the Prussian government had been actively fighting Pleroma all along.

What mattered here was that Adrian Askanien, a central figure in the government who was deeply involved in Prussia’s policymaking, had already made his position known through Italian newspapers.

He had offered his deepest apologies to Austria-Hungary and Italy, countries that had suffered at Pleroma’s hands, and promised to do everything in his power to suppress German criminals for the safety of the Italian Peninsula, where he was staying under orders from the German government. He had also expressed goodwill toward Britain while making it clear that France had acted rashly.

Those who were slow to understand what he meant did not realize what position he was actually expressing. Most, however, understood perfectly well.

It was an argument meant to firmly establish that Prussia had done nothing wrong—in other words, that Prussia had never recruited Pleroma in the first place.

Adrian Askanien never directly appealed to sympathy by saying that his younger brother was not a member of Pleroma, so few considered his statement biased or overly emotional. In the old woman’s judgment, the elder brother was, first and foremost, a politician who knew exactly how to win, just as he had proven time and again over the years. Even in matters concerning his younger brother, he had not fallen from his position. If anything, his standing had grown so firm that some had even come to hope Adrian Askanien himself would put his misguided younger brother to death.

Then what about the younger brother?

Had he inherited the same talent from his parent? Was he as strategic as his older brother? It was time to find out how he would conduct himself with the muzzle of an executioner’s gun pointed straight at him. The entire nation was waiting to see for themselves. The old woman took another drink, thinking of the Imperial Second Academy professor who had sat beside her a few days ago.

[Good morning, my fellow subjects. I am Lukas Askanien. As vice captain of the 101st Unit of the Imperial Mage Association, I greet you all once again.]

A voice flowed from the newspaper through its filter.

This second Askanien stood there with a somewhat haggard face, yet he still looked strong. Perhaps, like many Imperial mages, some of that strength came from his build, but more than anything, it radiated from the extraordinary vitality in his eyes, a liveliness unlike anything the old woman had seen in another person. Even as the majority regarded him as someone connected to Pleroma in one way or another and demanded his punishment, he did not shrink back. His cheeks and eyelids were slightly sunken, but his eyes alone shone brightly.

They were not the eyes of someone ready to fight, nor were they the eyes of someone who had transformed his resentment into righteous indignation. They were the eyes of an innocent person.

The tavern grew noisy for a moment. Some shouted, “Bah!” the instant his name was mentioned, while others needlessly rattled their glasses. But beneath it all, everyone was caught in a heightened tension.

Just what new spectacle would this Askanien bring them?

They thought it without even realizing it. Childlike curiosity filled their gleaming eyes, along with the solemn sense of morality they prided themselves on as proof of their own sincerity.

Askanien lifted his slightly bowed head without once looking at the podium where his script should have been—come to think of it, he had not appeared with a script at all. A vein stood out slightly in his neck as he raised his voice.

[…And then, I lamented.]

“Lamented? How dare this bastard say he lamented? Who got us into this mess in the first place!”

Someone suddenly shouted in anger. There were countless reasons why the international situation had deteriorated and Germany’s position had reached this point, and Askanien seemed farther removed from the root of it all than anyone. Yet there were still people who, rather than adapting to the more conciliatory atmosphere of the past few days compared to Easter itself, had only dug their heels in deeper and continued to blame Askanien for the international division. Before anyone else could speak up, Askanien on the screen continued.

[Why did I lament? Because our greatest enemy, Pleroma, was so blatantly trying to divide you, my fellow subjects.]

Askanien swept his blazing gaze across the audience, spreading his hands as he finished. Murmurs of confusion rose from inside the bar. This was not what anyone had expected to hear. The mere fact that he had lamented was unexpected enough, but everyone had naturally assumed he would say something like, ‘I lamented being falsely accused.’ Yet what they actually heard was not ‘I,’ but ‘you, my fellow subjects.’ The one who had been wronged had changed.

The person who had shouted moments ago opened and closed their mouth, their face still twisted with the same fury as before. For now, they waited to hear what Askanien had to say, so they could get angry all over again.

Amid the silence, Askanien spoke again. He drew his head slightly inward and stared straight ahead, his expression somewhere between a glare and an icy calm.

[So what became of their operation?]

The bar was eerily quiet. The commotion from before had completely vanished. The old woman thought of the professor from the Imperial Second Academy.

[The operation was a resounding success.]

“Hmm.”

The old woman pursed her lips inward and closed her eyes.

It was difficult for anyone in their position to openly say that Pleroma had succeeded. Yet here was the person being mistaken for a member of Pleroma, pointing at the citizens and telling them that Pleroma had succeeded because of them.

The atmosphere in the bar shifted slightly. Judging by Askanien’s way of speaking, the professor had never needed to worry about his student. Askanien had succeeded in drawing everyone’s attention, and he was equally skilled at keeping it there.

[Our government, which has fought with everything it has to eradicate Pleroma until now, has become an organization that recruited Pleroma’s Christ. I, who have never colluded with Pleroma or acted on their behalf, was transformed into their Christ in an instant, in the eyes of everyone. Because of Pleroma’s lies, the peaceful daily lives of the subjects and the German Empire, which had been steadily flourishing without ever losing momentum, have come to a standstill!]

The old woman thought Askanien’s speech resembled that of General Garibaldi, who had led the Italian unification movement. The circumstances and subject matter were entirely different, yet the fact that she had been reminded of Garibaldi’s speeches meant Askanien was succeeding in drawing people in. It was remarkable in itself that the words of an inexperienced young person could bring to mind the speeches of a veteran statesman. Such a thing was rare—it belonged to the realm of talent. The old woman was certain of it now. Askanien’s ability to captivate people was no different from his brother’s.

Unlike the old woman, who found the speech fascinating, the people were now caught up in something closer to excitement than interest as Askanien laid out the damage their country had suffered. It was tension, almost the heightened feeling of being in the midst of a crisis. The sound of people gulping down their drinks came again and again. The tension deepened.

Was it because what he was saying was shocking?

No. Everyone had vaguely known that the country was sinking.

The fact that his words provoked no real resistance was because Askanien had successfully set the mood. They were all immersed in a play, accepting the play as though it were reality. The audience responded exactly as the performance called for.

[…That is why they succeeded. This is precisely the collapse of the Empire that Pleroma wanted.]

At that moment, the old woman thought of another politician other than Garibaldi.

Gladstone, the British politician who had served as Prime Minister—the only conscience in Britain who had opposed the Opium War.

Ah.

But for a fleeting moment, the old woman realized what she had been missing.

Just as the corners of her mouth began to rise, Askanien snapped her out of her thoughts. In a voice roughened at the edges, Askanien cried out with force.

[…Is that all? I’m asking you. Is that truly all—!]

What appeared on the screen was a pack of blood.

The people who had doubted their eyes for a moment cried out.

“Whoa!”

The tavern owner let out a breathy “Huh…” and covered their mouth, tilting their head. Everyone sitting in the tavern reacted the same way. They could tell what was about to happen, and they stared at one another with their mouths hanging open.

The old woman’s eyes widened as she rested a hand against her chin.

[This is blood I received from the blood bank at nine this morning in exchange for my own blood. It’s human blood, and it hasn’t been processed yet, so it still contains human mana. Doctor, is this blood infused with mana? Make it clear to everyone that our Empire will not be shaken by Pleroma’s schemes any further.]

It was plainly blood to anyone who looked at it, yet Askanien called for a doctor. Once the doctor officially confirmed that it was indeed blood, Askanien nodded and poured it into a cup.

With a resolute expression, he made the sign of the cross.

Only then did the people realize anew that he was a Catholic.

Remarkably, the fact that Pleroma also claimed to be Christian receded from the public’s mind. Faced with the visual power and intensity of something sacred, that claim could not hold its ground. It simply faded away.

Askanien held up a glass filled with bright red blood and said.

[Let’s settle this once and for all.]

Gulp—

At the sound of him swallowing the blood, the old woman felt the drink she had just taken rise back up her throat. She gave a hollow laugh and turned away. Askanien emptied the cup in one go, his expression resolute, then wiped his mouth with a handkerchief. He reached out to the mages standing on either side of him.

[Look. Take my hand. Everyone, look! If any abnormality in my mana is detected after drinking the blood, I’ll be restrained on the spot. These mages are here to immediately separate me from you and restrain me if there’s anything wrong with me. But if there’s nothing wrong, you’ll have no choice but to believe that I’m innocent.]

He stepped down from the stage and held out his hands to the high-ranking government officials. Though reluctant, each of them took his hand, their eyes widening in surprise as though they had discovered something unexpected. With every such reaction, Askanien’s expression grew more composed.

Despite maintaining the utmost composure, he soon began to retch. Only then did horrified sighs escape the people sitting in the tavern, who had been watching in breathless silence. Everyone could empathize with the contorted expression on Askanien’s face and the way he lowered his head and paused for a moment. Even seeing the cold sweat running down his face and his complexion turning deathly pale, they could no longer believe that he was a member of Pleroma who drank human blood. The old woman silently watched Askanien’s audiovisual strategy unfold.

When the old woman had been sitting here trying to convince the people at the surrounding tables, no one had listened to her. Even those who did listen had condemned her. But the moment Askanien presented them with visual and auditory proof of his innocence, he became, if only briefly, an object of sympathy. A profound confusion settled over the citizens. They felt a disconnect between what they had believed until now and Askanien’s reaction before their eyes.

Yet unlike those who merely drank their good liquor and lamented, Askanien remained resolute even after forcing himself to swallow something unfit for human consumption. He spoke as though his words could pierce straight through the camera and reach those watching beyond it.

[…Nothing has changed about me. It’s just… just… I’m filled with profound anger at the fact that I must now drink the blood of the living to thwart Pleroma’s strategy. I’m filled with anger that the Empire is being shaken by Pleroma’s schemes! Everyone, I—]

Askanien’s mouth snapped shut, and his brow immediately furrowed. He covered his mouth and bent his body to the side. At the same time, a chorus of startled voices erupted throughout the tavern.

It was the most undeniable proof of all.

Even after vomiting up the blood he had swallowed, Askanien continued to dry-heave for some time. Then, with a resolute expression, he took out a handkerchief and wiped his mouth. There was blood on his gloves. With trembling hands, Askanien gripped both sides of the podium and rapidly blinked his eyes.

Despite the unsanitary, filthy sight before them, no one could think of that for long. Something else came to mind first. The shock began to sink into the viewers’ minds.

He’s really going this far to prove his innocence?

The fact that he was willing to go this far shattered all the assumptions they had built up at once.

The old woman realized something similar, yet different.

Lukas Askanien was showing none of his own emotions. For an eighteen-year-old, he put the greater cause ahead of himself with astonishing thoroughness. If they put themselves in his place and honestly considered what they would feel, what emotions would come through in their words, the answer was obvious. That forceful tone, those carefully chosen words—there was no way they could have come purely from his heart.

More than anything, it was a choice calculated with cold reason.

In other words, the old woman realized that she could no longer see Lukas Askanien in Lukas Askanien.

The Lukas Askanien everyone was watching now was not the human Lukas Askanien, but the politician Lukas Askanien—a different being who happened to bear the same name.

But no one knew that.

Everyone believed they had discovered a new side of Lukas Askanien. And through that discovery, they came to realize that what they had believed before had been a misunderstanding, that they had been wrong.

That was why this could only be called a performance.

In an age when politics had become a kind of theater, he was carrying out the finest strategy of all.

Amid the slight commotion and confusion, people waited for the person on the screen to speak. Askanien had been silent, bracing himself against the podium and catching his breath. Despite his visibly poor condition, he remained steadfast as he spoke.

[I am not Pleroma.]

The game was over.

It had ended long ago, and now it had ended perfectly once again.

The old woman took another drink. The sound of people exhaling could be heard here and there.

The argument over Askanien’s execution with the public was over.

The public might once again be swayed by Pleroma’s claims and seize on Lukas Askanien’s weakness at any moment. But as long as Askanien kept his head straight, it would not be easy to drag him to the execution grounds.

At least not over the same matter.

Lukas Askanien was in no way inferior to his older brother. If anything, he would become a formidable rival, one capable of seriously threatening his brother’s position.

And the old woman knew that this was only the beginning.

What kind of beginning was it?

It was a new beginning because, from today onward, the Empire would have to accept this politician. They would have to welcome this powerful orator who had appeared like a comet into the ranks of Imperial politics and entrust him with the future of the Empire. Once the public could no longer doubt this person, the image of a person who had overcome adversity would become an extraordinarily powerful weapon, and Askanien would never fail to make use of it. The Imperial government, too, could not afford to let him slip away when calls for Pleroma to bear responsibility were beginning to emerge. He had become the very embodiment of innocence rising above adversity.

While the old woman was lost in thought, Askanien underwent one more verification based on divine power, winning over a certain number of Christians in the process. The old woman watched him rise from the sofa as though he had never shown a moment of vulnerability, then draw the audience in with his commanding presence.

[…So, in that light, I ask you to think again.]

The old woman found that those words, in particular, struck a chord with her.

[Pleroma has thrown the Empire into chaos, innocent subjects have lost their lives, and our economy has contracted at a rate no different from that of a nation at war. Our homeland, which had been striving toward the greatest heights, has been turned against the continent by the machinations of a false religious organization. Believing their words, and mistaking me for Pleroma’s Christ because of them, is only giving strength to the lying tongue and pen Pleroma wields. That is why I lament! To those who slaughtered innocent lives across the continent and now seek to drag our homeland and our continent into the mire by using such inhumanity to seize them by the throat—!]

Lukas Askanien raised his fist to just below his face, high enough to carry weight without appearing frivolous, and cried out with solemn force. Then he stopped speaking, as though time itself had come to a halt. After looking over everyone, Askanien spoke calmly, confidence written across his face.

[Please do not give them the chance to shake the Empire. May our homeland and all of you, my fellow subjects, be blessed.]

Silence descended.

As the sound of applause came through the newspaper, people throughout the tavern began clapping as well. The sound grew louder and louder. Outside the tavern, it was quiet. Perhaps the applause from the newspaper overlapped with the real applause and made it sound that way. There were none of the usual sounds of carriage wheels rolling by or children running about.

The old woman realized that this was a turning point for the Empire. An indelible change in German history had begun that morning.

Quiet discussions began here and there. Not a single person cursed and stormed out.

That was enough. She had seen all she needed to see.

Just as the old woman was about to rise from her seat, a middle-aged man sitting alone at a table in the back spoke quietly.

“What a young man. Truly, he reminds me of Gladstone.”

The old woman glanced at him and his table. Now that she looked, she noticed that one of the yellow papers had already dubbed Askanien the second Gladstone.

Indeed, in some ways, Askanien had spoken like Gladstone. Just as the old woman had briefly thought. Like that British politician who had shocked the entire House of Commons on the eve of the Opium War—who had declared that he feared God’s judgment for the national crime Britain had committed against China, and that waging such an unjust war would be an insult to their homeland and their flag.

Lukas Askanien had kept striking at the citizens’ very hearts, telling them that they had been manipulated by Pleroma, that they had strengthened Pleroma and helped it continue its crimes, that Germany now stood on the verge of collapse because of it, and that the blame lay with them. His words were somewhat more direct than Gladstone’s.

But to call him the same as Gladstone would be a mistake. Such a comparison would be an insult to both of them.

The old woman muttered, “I see things differently.”

“Do you? I wonder why.”

The middle-aged man at the table behind her raised an eyebrow as he asked, showing no offense.

“This person shocked the citizens just as Gladstone did, but the shock he delivered was not the kind that strikes at the root of the matter. In other words, he is still fighting to survive. If you insist on comparing him to Gladstone, then he is the Gladstone of his early days in politics, not the Gladstone who opposed the Opium War.”

“What do you mean?”

“This person didn’t rebuke all of us.”

The old woman answered briefly. Not realizing that he had yet to rebuke the entire public was itself an insult to both Gladstone and Askanien.

Gladstone had pointed out every one of Britain’s wrongs concerning the Opium War, without holding anything back. This person could have done the same, but he told them only half of it. He had chosen this strategy because if he told them everything exactly as it was, there was no doubt they would rage against him. That was probably why the words ‘think again’ had struck her so deeply. Those were the words Askanien truly wanted to say.

The middle-aged man thought for a moment before nodding.

“That’s true.”

What was most surprising was that more people than expected already believed Askanien’s speech had been groundbreaking enough to enlighten the public and dispel their ignorance. Askanien had only just set foot in the Lower House, yet to the people, he had already become the Gladstone of the Opium War speech.

Many people were beginning to see Askanien as an icon. Perhaps not yet, but the foundation for it had been laid. Askanien had refused to bow before those trying to drag him to his death. Instead, he had sternly reprimanded them while embracing them. Rather than bowing his head, cowering in fear, or simply accepting their judgment, he had pointed out that they had been manipulated by Pleroma’s schemes.

No one realizes that his admonition has been strategically edited. In fact, they would be lucky even to realize that Askanien was criticizing them indirectly. Some would selectively hear and accept only what suited them, telling themselves that they had been led astray not because of any failure in their own judgment, but solely because Pleroma was at fault.

Even so, there were still people who, as far as the old woman could tell, felt ashamed. Some had understood what Askanien meant: if Pleroma was throwing the world into chaos, then it was clearly because they had helped them do it. The middle-aged man sitting before her was one of them. People like this would gradually make their way into every corner of society and lead the discourse to come.

In a society where discourse does not take place, criticism is not criticism at all—it is condemnation. What passes for discourse among people of opposing opinions is not discourse, but a constant reinforcement of identity. The discourse that had been stifled until now was finally beginning to take place, opened up by Askanien’s speech as a catalyst. Some of those who had firmly believed they were criticizing rather than condemning others would come to believe that their misunderstanding was entirely Pleroma’s fault, while others would realize that they, too, had played a part. In that sense, Askanien had successfully brought everyone into the fold.

And so, this was only the beginning.

After thinking for a moment, the middle-aged man spoke.

“Then how are we to judge this? If he really only told us half the truth, I hope he doesn’t become too eager to pander to the public.”

Pander to the public, was it? From the way he put it, this middle-aged man was clearly capable of thinking for himself. He understood what discussion was and where the problem lay. Perhaps he would not have been one of those condemning Askanien even without Askanien’s speech.

The old woman paused for a moment before answering.

“When he first entered politics, the young Gladstone took a moderate position on the abolition of slavery.”

“He did. His father was one of the most prominent slaveholders in Britain, after all.”

“And after his father’s influence waned, he gradually began to take a harder line in advocating the abolition of slavery.”

He had become able to actively push his own convictions through.

The higher a person rises, the more the person who once kept their head down beneath the surface begins to reveal their true nature. That was why what mattered was how the person Askanien would leave his mark on the politician Askanien. What kind of person was the Lukas Askanien they had yet to see?

For some reason, the old woman was not worried on that account.

That person must surely know that the public had tried to drive him to his death today, and it was something he would never forget, not even when he grew old. Today’s ordeal would change both his life and the course of German history.

On this day, when she had met the politician Askanien for the first time, the old woman found herself looking forward to what would come.

With a faint smile at the corners of her mouth and not a trace of worry in her eyes, she said, “What we can expect from that person is to see what kind of speeches he will bring us once he breaks free from this present age, so full of constraints, and gradually frees himself from the shadow of death.”

What does it mean to be an ethical person?

If being ethical means refusing to bend, then I am not an ethical person.

Amid the endless applause, I looked over the audience. I took in the muted cheers and the great upheaval taking place beyond my sight, then stepped down from the podium. The clapping of countless people did not cease, drenching the world like the sound of rain.

Mecklenburg followed behind me, but when he saw my smile, he said nothing. He was deep in thought, changing from somewhere deep within. I felt a very human joy at having been there for the moment of his transformation, along with a slight unease. But since he neither told me what he had realized nor tried to stop me, I had no choice but to look away and leave that personal transformation of his alone.

As Mecklenburg followed me deeper into the palace, I said, “There are quite a lot of places I need to stop by from here on.”

“I know. I’ll take you there.”

Mecklenburg answered, then hesitated as though he wanted to say something more. Just as I was about to turn toward him, a familiar figure caught the edge of my vision.

“Luise.”

My eyes widened at the familiar face waiting at the end of the corridor. The person who had been waiting in the lobby whipped his head around at the sound of my voice. Those green eyes were trembling a little differently than usual.