Semi-Coercive Imperialist

The Meaning of Disposition (5)

A field thick with the smell of gunpowder and blood. Military police collected the bodies that had collapsed into the pits. The ranks on uniforms riddled with bullet holes were all over the place: lieutenant colonel, major, captain, first lieutenant, staff sergeant, sergeant first class, master sergeant…… Most of the corpses would be burned after their hearts were autopsied, yet among them, the bottom tier, ordinary soldiers, were rare.

Maximilian’s executions had followed a clear standard.

“……”

Soldiers watched Maximilian standing in that blood-red place. Even at the site of a massacre of hundreds, not the slightest ripple crossed his face. Only a dry calm hung around him, as if this were just another ordinary day.

“Lieutenant Colonel Goetz.”

Suddenly, Maximilian called for Lieutenant Colonel Goetz.

“Yes, Sir Knight.”

“How has Edmund been lately?”

At the name that slipped out so abruptly, Goetz quietly lowered his head. The youngest colonel in the Imperial Regular Army, Edmund Bwindol.

“……Yes. He is in the north right now.”

“I see.”

Goetz studied Maximilian’s expression, then asked for instructions.

“How should we report this…… to higher command?”

Summary execution of top command, a mass shooting of hundreds.

Knights had extralegal authority as the Empire’s watchdogs, but this scale was different. It meant something that could overturn the entire military.

“Disclose it exactly as it happened. We detected embezzlement of military supplies and smuggling with enemy states, so the traitors were put down as an example……”

There was enough evidence.

Lieutenant Adel had preserved almost all the intercepted records with his usual diligence, and the fragments from multiple frequencies he had collected without even realizing it would now be interpreted by Maximilian’s staff officers.

“On the other hand, for you.”

Maximilian slowly turned his head. His gaze reached the survivors.

“You will be given fitting rewards.”

Rewards from him. Everyone’s complexion shifted.

“But remember this. This is not a one-time thing.”

His golden eyes swept over them.

“I have now memorized your faces and names.”

A faint curve rose at the corners of his mouth as he added,

“I hope you keep proving yourselves and making the effort, so you remain worth remembering.”

The survivors stared at him blankly for a moment, then belatedly saluted.

……Loyalty.

Like that, they had come under Maximilian’s notice. Yet fear matched that overwhelming feeling.

Today, Maximilian had executed hundreds of imperial soldiers. But there had been no malice in any of his actions. His killing had a clear reason. He simply carried out what had to be done, without emotion.

And that was exactly why–

He was a man they could not understand.

……

House Weiss had been a famous wealthy family even in the Empire. Its military network, spread for years inside the armed forces, had been deep and tenacious. Lieutenant Colonel Eaton had used his own assets to seize control of the eastern border.

It was a fairly clever choice.

The West had too many old noble houses, and the center had too much surveillance and restraint, so he had tried to spread his own will in the East.

The late Brigadier General Juken, who had clung to Eaton and fed on scraps, had been the same.

Juken’s direct senior from officer academy had been Division Commander Caleb, a key figure on the eastern front, and Caleb had been especially close to the eastern corps commander.

In other words, they had been bound together for over a decade in ties as thick as blood.

“……Corps Commander.”

That seemingly unbreakable connection snapped in an instant.

– There are only two choices, Caleb.

A single step from Maximilian Ebenholtz.

Or one light, casual cough.

Just that had ripped the East out by the roots.

– Take off your uniform.

Division Commander Caleb swallowed dryly at the voice coming through the receiver.

– Or offer your neck.

They had sold supplies to the enemy, the Eastern Alliance. Even if it had been customary, the moment Ebenholtz decided to make it an issue, it became justification stronger than anything. So the excuse that subordinates had acted alone was impossible.

– Even House Weiss has gone under now. Direct line, branch line, all of them got summoned by Sentinel.

Sentinel. To everyone in the Empire, they were objects of fear.

Even Weiss had disintegrated in half a day under a Sentinel Summons.

– Give up everything and keep your head down quietly. If you want to keep your life.

“……Understood.”

Caleb’s voice trembled.

– Remember this, Caleb.

In truth, the corps commander was no different.

A man who had climbed to enviable rank and position, yet still had no choice but to fear. A noble at the very ceiling of imperial society.

– Not someone we can fight.

“……Yes.”

Click.

The communication cut off. Major General Caleb’s legs gave out and he dropped to the floor.

He covered his face with both hands and swallowed the name of the disaster that had fallen over them.

……

Western Prozen Republic, National University laboratory.

Professor Jean Pierre let out a hollow laugh at the intelligence report delivered by Director Akenji.

“Huh.”

A bloodstorm had swept the Empire’s eastern border.

Soldiers tied to military corruption and treason had been executed on a massive scale.

“Hundreds executed alone?”

Even Prozen Intelligence’s rough estimate had come close to 300.

“Yes. A brigadier general and dozens of field-grade officers lost their heads. Summary execution on site, no trial.”

Jean Pierre’s shock came from who had been executed.

Jean Pierre knew history. He knew the history of the imperial army.

In cases like this, the lower ranks usually took most of the blame. Even when they climbed high enough to make it look convincing, it usually stopped at company-grade officers, and most of the time the incident got reduced and buried before that.

For the imperial military, especially the border forces, that was daily life.

In the closed group called the military, top command united to protect its privileges and safety. That was why it was extremely rare for generals to lose their heads.

“If courts-martial continue, more stars could fall. They say generals tied to the case are likely to be summoned one after another.”

“……”

In the darkness behind his closed eyelids, a blurred outline rose.

Neatly swept-back blond hair. Sculpted features.

“……Akenji. Who led this purge?”

At Jean Pierre’s question, Akenji gave a bitter smile.

“You already know, so why ask?”

Suddenly, that chilling gaze came back to him.

“The one person who can purge this many military figures and still walk away untouched.”

Those eyes smiling as they offered a handshake in the museum.

Before he knew it, that young man’s face had become clear in front of him.

“No. The person who makes even that purge feel natural.”

He was the Ebenholtz monster all of them knew.

“It must be Maximilian.”

Jean Pierre quietly opened his eyes. He looked out the window. Tap. Drip. Rain beads formed on the glass and slid down. Monsoon season had come before he noticed, and the sky had turned ink-dark.

“It’s going to rain, for quite a while.”

Jean Pierre prepared tomorrow’s lecture and gave another bitter smile.

……

Arte Museum.

Princess Justine had been standing in the middle of an empty corridor since early afternoon. She had heard that a large batch of new masterpieces had arrived at the museum.

“Oh……”

Across broad white walls, masterpieces steeped in time and history hung one by one.

“March of Dawn,” painted by Raffaello von Strauss, a master from the Empire’s founding era.

The grim resolve of knights raising bloodstained flags looked vivid enough to burst out of the canvas.

Beside it was “Stroll by the Blue Riverside” by Edouard Manet, founder of Prozen Impressionism. The soft colors were beautiful.

Then “Portrait of the Fallen,” left by the southern genius painter Titian. His bizarre contrast of light and shadow had once been ignored, but now he was recognized as one of the most expensive painters.

On top of that, five or six more classic masterpieces worth millions at continental auctions took the light at perfect intervals, as if they had found their proper places.

“……You are here.”

Museum Director Verdi carefully approached her while she admired the paintings.

“Truly, some fine works have come in.”

“Yes. We have more tourists as well.”

Answering politely, Director Verdi studied the princess’s profile, half-hidden under her robe hood.

“You seem especially pleased today.”

At that, Justine’s eyebrow twitched slightly.

“……Me?”

“Yes. You look much lighter than usual.”

The princess suddenly turned her head and looked at the decorative mirror set in the hallway.

Her own face reflected there.

A smile at the corner of her lips, faint as watercolor yet unmistakable.

“……I see. I am not very aware of my own expression.”

Maybe the reason, maybe.

“It might be because of the news from the East.”

The bloodstorm that swept the eastern front.

The brigade’s corrupt leadership and hundreds of crooked soldiers had been summarily executed on site by a single knight. The news spread far beyond the military, all the way into central imperial high society.

A merciless, precise purge that even his father, Duke Sebestian, would feel privately proud of.

“The East…… you mean.”

Director Verdi’s expression was not good. Probably because he was an intellectual.

Educated men, scholars, did not like brutality. Had knowledge and intellect bred nothing but useless sympathy?

Still, he was only a museum director.

As a museum director, this degree of delicacy was tolerable.

“Yes. The East.”

Maximilian had slaughtered the vermin that deserved to die without mercy. The very kind of trash Justine hated most, all killed without him caring in the slightest about his own reputation.

“After a long time, I finally heard something very pleasant……”

The princess genuinely liked that firmness and decisiveness.

As she stared at herself in the mirror, a strange anticipation filled her eyes.

* * *

I returned from the East. But instead of heading to Order headquarters, I made my way to the underground city.

“Out Studio.”

A workspace on the outskirts of the underground city prepared for Filty, a surviving Outcast member. Filty sat in a chair at a desk inside.

“The comic seems to be selling pretty well.”

I picked up one volume from the stack of books on the table.

As expected, the comic Outcast had gained considerable popularity from the first print run.

Second printing, third, fourth…… It would go beyond the back alleys of the underground city and hook readers in the imperial capital too.

“It was interesting.”

Volume 1 covered the Outcast members’ miserable past and their escape from T24 Lab.

The unpublished Volume 2 now in my hand read:

[ Meden: Ah, sleepy. Can’t we stop working for once? ]

[ Elje: Stop what? Don’t you know time is life for mercenaries? The moment we rest ]

It was a collection of omnibus-style episodes where they settled into the underground city and built a name as mercenaries.

[ And then, one day, as “Outcast” coiled itself deep in that bottom world. ]

Near the last page of Volume 2, I appeared.

[ In the deepest and most dazzling place of the Empire. ]

[ On a plaza with a high platform and a crowd gathered. ]

[ Receiving the applause and cheers of all…… ]

[ Waaa! Waaa! Clap clap clap clap! ]

The lavish Sentinel Order induction ceremony. Filty had depicted that scene with eerie accuracy.

[ “Max Eben” ]

[ He entered Sentinel. ]

She had cleverly avoided real names, but anyone could tell it was me.

“……The staging isn’t bad either.”

Filty watched me quietly as I turned the comic pages.

“If you have something to say, then say it.”

With my permission, she opened her mouth.

“Just one question. Why did you keep me alive?”

Tap.

I closed the book. I raised my head and met her eyes.

“……Actually, I want to ask you that.”

From here on, the Outcast run would be drastically shorter than the original.

And its ending, far from hopeful, would be the protagonists dying miserable deaths.

So honestly.

“Why are you still alive? Is it just to finish this comic?”

I had expected Filty to kill herself.

Hector Mason was dead, T24 was shut down, and to Filty, Outcast had been more precious than her own life.

“……I got curious.”

Filty clenched both fists tight.

Staring straight at me, she said this.

“I wanted to watch with my own eyes what kind of end you’ll meet. Picaresque stories usually don’t end well.”

Filty was waiting for the end of me, the one who wiped out Outcast.

I gave a small smile.

Naturally, I pulled over a chair and sat across from her.

Filty asked,

“Now answer my question. Why did you keep me alive?”

“……”

With my fingers interlaced, I sank into thought.

Jacob. The first Izenheim I ever killed.

The Izenheim species as a whole seemed to move with one goal, the extinction of humanity, but even in that swarm, there were always aberrant individuals that fell far outside the norm.

“Filty. The possibility that you might be able to see what I see.”

Jacob had been one of those, and Jacob had been luck for me.

If among a thousand, no, among ten thousand, even one more like Jacob appeared before me just once.

“Because I want to believe in that possibility.”

“……What you see?”

She frowned, clearly not understanding.

I leaned deep into the backrest and murmured low.

“Right. You can treat this as comic-book imagination if you want.”

Filty’s gaze fixed on my lips.

“Izenheim.”

Her shoulders flinched at that word.

“They are not subspecies. They are not human at all.”

Her expression froze. Eyes that looked like she was listening to a madman’s nonsense.

“Their ultimate goal is–“

But if it was her, with clairvoyance.

If it was her ability to peek into every crack in the world.

“The extinction of humanity.”

Someday, she might catch the tail of this truth that only I knew.

“Therefore, my cause is to kill every last one of them and save humanity, and that is why.”

I looked straight at her and spoke the reason I had kept her alive.

“I want you to keep watching me.”