Semi-Coercive Imperialist

They were crying.

People were crying.

Not just Imperials. Even the foreigners who had passed through the illusion with them, even Prozen's citizens, gazed up at the radiance with tears in their eyes.

Imperial knights, soldiers, nobles, and commoners, faces from every station and every walk of life, wore the same entranced expression.

A state in which the sanctity of the nation consumes the individual, where living for it becomes natural.

Johann Goethe had named it "totalitarianism."

The very word, the very concept, was Johann's invention.

"......"

Would they be somewhere in the square right now, weeping their hearts out?

Would they be praising and glorifying the Empire, comparing its light to the shabby reality of their homeland, and turning their longing into faith?

This light existed for exactly that purpose.

It was the greatest act of propaganda, meant to forge the Empire into a single weapon.

Lenny's camera was capturing the square at that very moment, and Prozen's freedom would carry our propaganda to the farthest reaches of the continent without censorship.

This magnificent moment would be preserved forever.

"Good work, Sir Knight."

Johann Georg stood beside me with a faint smile.

"You too, Dr. Johann."

I placed a hand on his shoulder.

The sequence of the ceremony had been entirely his idea.

"......Sir Knight."

Someone suddenly approached us.

It was one of the Emperor's ministers.

"Yes. What is it?"

"Well...... ah."

He couldn't continue.

The old courtier's mouth opened and closed several times. A man who had spent his entire life observing ceremony and formalities couldn't get the words out.

"Very, very...... good. No, that isn't enough......"

Patriotism had overcome decorum.

"......No."

In the end, he gave up on finishing the sentence. Instead, he stepped closer and whispered to me.

"His Majesty the Emperor wishes to see you in person, Sir Knight."

My entire body stiffened.

The Emperor.

The heart of the Empire, whom I had never met either before or after my regression.

For the first time in my life, I had the chance to meet him.

......

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The imperial anthem still pulsed softly somewhere in the square that night.

Escorted by the Imperial Guard, I walked.

It was a strange route.

The farther the noise of the World Expo faded behind me, the more unnaturally empty the streets became.

There was no way such silence could exist in the middle of Prozen.

So it had been made to exist.

Perhaps they had bought out the entire district for the night. Or perhaps they had driven everyone away by force.

At every corner, men in plain clothes stood motionless in the darkness. They were probably meant to be seen, to prevent citizens from approaching in the first place.

My destination was an upscale mansion.

It stood not far from the square, high enough to overlook the entire World Expo grounds at a glance.

From the outside, it looked like nothing more than a wealthy residence, but the air changed the moment I crossed the entrance.

The Royal Guard stood in formation in the lobby.

Twenty...... thirty...... no, forty.

Black uniforms lined the walls without moving.

Not a single gaze followed me as I walked between them. Every one of them had been trained to stare straight ahead.

There were three inspections.

One on each floor.

At the third, I surrendered my ceremonial sword.

The stairs were carpeted, swallowing every footstep, and black eagle banners of the Empire hung from each landing.

A rented building in another country's capital had been transformed into imperial territory in a single night.

That was what it meant for the Emperor to stay somewhere.

Wherever he sat became the center of the Empire.

"Just three more floors."

With every floor we climbed, the silence grew another layer thicker.

By the time we reached the final staircase, I could hear my own heartbeat.

For the first time across two lives, I was about to meet the sky of the Empire.

Sebastian stood before the door to the top floor.

"......"

He was my father.

But before that, he was the Emperor's subject.

Sebastian gestured inside with his chin. He didn't tell me I had done well, nor did he warn me to be careful.

I gave a short nod and crossed the threshold.

The room was dark.

Beyond the half-drawn curtains, fragments of light streamed in, tinting the darkness silver-white. In the center of that backlight sat a chair draped in a thin veil.

Beside it stood the Emperor's daughter, Justine, like a shadow.

"Maximilian of Ebenholtz, son of Sebastian."

A voice called to me from beyond the veil.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

I dropped to one knee. With my head lowered, the pattern of the carpet filled my vision.

"......"

The silence stretched on.

I could feel a measuring gaze on the back of my neck. One second, two seconds. The longer it lasted, the heavier the weight on my back became.

Even this silence must have been part of the language of the imperial court.

"Thank you."

Then, suddenly, unexpected words struck my ear.

A phrase far too heavy to be the first thing the apex of the Empire said to a subject.

"Today, I saw Aran's future in you."

He must have been referring to the light beyond the window. The tears in the square, the Imperials melted together as one. This window overlooked that scene of rapture perfectly.

"But there is one thing I must ask."

His voice dropped half an octave.

"Where did you get that light? I heard the blueprints were yours, and the conception as well."

Was he asking about my muse? Demanding the source of my creation?

As I considered my answer, the Emperor's excuses from before my regression suddenly came to mind.

"......I saw it in a dream."

"A dream?"

"Yes."

In the historical records from before my regression, the Emperor had repeatedly spoken of dreams as the war turned toward defeat.

"I have had the same dream for a long time. A dream of a temple built from light. I only transcribed that dream."

Perhaps my words weren't entirely a lie.

Regression could be called the longest dream in the world.

"......"

A long silence followed.

Then a low sound came from beyond the veil.

It was laughter.

"......Is that so? You dream as well."

At those words, I knew I had passed.

"I dreamed too. No, I still do. Every time I close my eyes, an unending dream......"

After listening quietly, I carefully asked, "......What kind of dream was it?"

"The continent. A dream where the world is unified and the Aran triumph."

Up to that point, it was the ambition of a conquering monarch.

"But I also dream the opposite. A dream where we are defeated, and humanity is destroyed."

"......"

Ice ran down my spine.

If we lost, humanity would be destroyed, not just the Empire.

It was too precise a statement to dismiss as a conqueror's delusion.

Caught by a strange feeling, I raised my head.

The Emperor was still hidden by the veil. Yet I had the illusion that I met the gaze beyond it.

"......Destroyed."

"That is so."

The Emperor continued in a measured voice.

"Do you know why we call them subspecies? Because one day, they will turn against humanity. As you have always said in your book."

An indescribable sense of wrongness rose inside me.

Was it coincidence?

Had delusion and truth merely overlapped by chance?

Or did this man possess some unexplainable something, just as I had regressed?

"We must cleanse the continent's enemies as Aran, the true masters of civilization."

But we were different.

Not every part of us was the same.

His blade was pointed at all non-Aran, while mine was pointed only at those who weren't human.

Two hatreds with different targets had only happened to mesh like gears for now.

"Today, you carved Aran's greatness into the world. Even I felt proud to be Aran. The Empire has become fuller within me."

The moment he finished speaking, Justine moved.

Her hand caught the edge of the veil. The fabric quietly began to lift.

The Emperor had decided to show me his face.

Before the veil was fully drawn back, Justine's gaze fixed on my face.

This was probably another test.

The Emperor I knew was a man with a severe inferiority complex about his appearance. The father and daughter were about to judge what passed through the eyes of a subject seeing that face for the first time.

"Raise your head."

The veil was completely lifted.

I raised my head and looked at him.

Black hair and blue eyes. Short hair. Pursed lips and a flat nose.

There was no trace of gold, the symbol of the Aran, anywhere on him. Yet he wasn't ugly, as the rumors before my regression had claimed.

He was simply ordinary.

The face of a middle-aged man nobody would turn to look at if they passed him on the street.

Perhaps that was what made him so unreadable.

As ordinary as he was, he was just as unsettling.

"What do you think?"

I didn't hesitate.

"I am looking upon the glory of the Empire."

"......"

The Emperor's blue eyes narrowed.

"Are you disappointed by my appearance?"

It was a question that had sunk deep into his bones.

I met his blue eyes directly and spoke.

"Your Majesty. I have always spoken of the spirit."

Nowhere in Moonlight Below had I praised blond hair or blue eyes.

Aran colors were only a vessel. No matter how brilliant the vessel was, if what it held was murky, it was not Aran. If the spirit within shone brightly, that was Aran.

Every line like that had been written for the Emperor.

"What makes Aran, Aran, is not hair or eye color, but spirit. And the pinnacle of that spirit is..."

I paused for half a breath.

As Johann had once advised, I held the Emperor's attention before continuing.

"It lies in the conviction and dream Your Majesty carries. Therefore."

"......Therefore?"

The Emperor asked as though he couldn't bear my silence.

I answered with a faint smile.

"Your Majesty is the path of light the Empire must follow."

The Emperor studied my eyes for a long while. Justine did the same.

"The light that hangs over the Imperial Pavilion. That is Your Majesty."

Their eyes sought lies. Their expressions judged flattery.

But this feeling, at least, was sincere.

You had just spoken of a dream that meshed with mine like gears.

"......I see."

The Emperor slowly nodded, apparently satisfied.

"You are Sebastian's son."

To him, it was the highest praise.

To me, it somehow sounded like a slight.

I was Maximilian, a knight, not Sebastian's son......

* * *

Dawn.

Tatiana was still looking at the brilliant Imperial Pavilion.

A hollow laugh escaped her.

So their aesthetic was light.

"......"

Even from afar, the palace of light shone brilliantly. The imperial anthem still flowed low through the square like a stream.

She had to acknowledge what deserved acknowledgment.

There was no victory or defeat in art, but at least at this moment, the Empire had won.

"Even so, ours will remain longer."

One of the Adversaries spoke.

Light vanished when it went out, but steel endured for a hundred years.

Tatiana gave a bitter smile.

"A wall without walls."

She murmured as she looked up at the temple in the sky.

"They raised walls with light. It is the art of mana engineering."

She added with a self-mocking snort.

"I learned something today. He wasn't just a knight with a tin can in his head."

"......That is a dangerous thing to say."

One of the Adversaries warned her quietly.

Tatiana nodded obediently.

Purges were in full swing in Lobrus. Even praising an Imperial could put her neck in danger.

"But I will not lose."

She laid a hand on the steel figures of a man and woman waiting for the morning sun.

"I will strive without end, with the East's resolve."

......

The next day, newspapers around the world plastered similar phrases across their front pages.

[Empire Conquers the Night. A Temple of Light Raised in the Sky, Le Gemion]

[The Definition of Architecture Rewritten: Walls Without Walls, Roofs Without Roofs, Hailand Times]

[The Promise of "Tallest" Has Been Kept. Not With Stone, But With Light, Itelic Morning]

Every paper identified Maximilian as no more than the "person in charge of the Imperial Pavilion," but the level of praise was unmistakable.

Since the World Expo's theme was peace, there were no needlessly provocative remarks.

Even the review journal distributed by the Revision Society published this column.

──[ We Too Can Become Aran ]──

I confess that I cried in the square last night. I will not be ashamed to admit that half those tears were jealousy.

Under that light, the Imperials were one. But when was the last time we, the people of Prozen, were one? Parliament is divided, the streets are on strike, and our songs are nothing but jeers thrown at one another......

I ask this. What does it mean to love one's homeland? Is it to embrace a rotting homeland as it rots, or to save it by any means necessary?

The origin of the Aran is the Centric, the human civilization that began at the heart of the continent. Prozen is therefore a collateral branch of theirs, and if we strive hard enough, we can become "quasi-Aran."

We are not enemies of the Aran, but brothers who have lost their way.

The day we prove that spirit for ourselves, we too will earn the right to stand beneath that light......

──────

This was the ideology of Clara Magal and the Revision Society, which was eating away at Prozen.

The moment Maximilian read the column, he transferred ten million imperial dollars to them as membership dues.

And so the continent, and the Empire, slowly became steeped in it.

Radios distributed even to rural villages replayed that night's broadcast again and again.

Imperial knights and soldiers took leave or traded shifts as they headed for Prozen.

As long as the World Expo continued, the Imperial Pavilion would repeat the same lighting ceremony at the same hour every night.

Maximilian had kept his promise to be the tallest, and an Imperial Grand Assembly in the same form was scheduled to be held in the Empire itself later......

The continent had been swept up by the palace of light, but Maximilian himself was at the Zerpha Pavilion.

Whenever he wore plain clothes, he always stood in the same place.

A spot where he could admire the completed massive oil painting Guernica from a suitable distance.

Guernica had been completed a full week after opening day, but since then, he had come here whenever he had time.

"......Your art is far more successful."

Pablo Sovakin stood beside Maximilian.

"Why do you insist on coming to this shabby place?"

At night, everyone flocked to the Imperial Pavilion. People across the continent boarded trains and ships with only one thought in mind, to see that light with their own eyes.

Yet the master of that light stood every night before a black-and-white mural in this quiet, outlying Zerpha Pavilion.

"......"

Maximilian only smiled.

Without taking his eyes off Pablo's painting, he spoke softly.

"I have been thinking about what will remain the longest."

The Imperial Pavilion and Eastern Pavilion had been built by the Empire and the East, who had poured in money like fucking mad, poured in more, then poured in still more.

The Empire had become light, and the East had risen in steel. The people of the continent focused only on them.

But after time passed and passed, if people in the distant future were asked what had been at that World Expo...

"I think this of yours will remain the longest."

It would probably be this Guernica.

Not the temple of light or the steel man and woman, but a single black-and-white mural hanging in Zerpha's outlying World Expo pavilion.

"......"

Pablo Sovakin silently watched his profile.

He was a strange man.

The man who had created art that brought Prozen to its knees spoke as though he already knew his own work would be forgotten.

"Then."

The painter became even more certain as he looked at the knight who loved Guernica, a painting that contained a massacre.

War could not be avoided.

"......How many people are you planning to kill?"

Maximilian didn't answer.

Instead, moonlight flowing through a gap in the window settled over his face.

One side was submerged in darkness, the other glowed white. A portrait of golden beauty divided into two planes.

Perhaps that was his answer.

At that moment, Pablo felt a shudder run through him as the hair on his head stood on end, while at the same time, fierce inspiration struck him as an artist.

He didn't need to hear the answer.

As if possessed, he picked up charcoal and drew the first line on an empty canvas.

The face of a man, divided precisely between darkness and light.

The title had already been decided.

「Where the Light Points」

* * *

Empire, Sentinel Knights.

Hanna Usar had reserved a train ticket for Prozen, but she still couldn't leave.

"......Why on earth did you detain those people? At least explain it to us!"

She had detained every Izenheim bastard who used that strange manner of speaking in the sewers.

"I have my reasons."

"Then what reasons? They aren't even suspected of anything!"

Acquaintances of the detainees and representatives from their workplaces and the city came to protest day after day, but Hanna had nothing she could properly tell them.

Suspected subversive activity based on a scent only the Yaken could detect......

It was exactly the sort of thing that would make people think she was crazy.

"......It is Sentinel business."

"What kind of answer is tha-"

"Leave."

Hanna gestured to the staff officer beside her.

"Remove them."

"Yes."

"No, Sir Knight! Sir Knight!"

Even Hanna thought the number was a bit high.

Nine people in total.

It was clearly a burdensome number to hold under a single knight's detention authority, so it wouldn't be strange if pressure came down from above at any time.

Even so, she had no intention of releasing them. They were definitely connected to the Blue Rose Society.

"What about Sir Julian?"

"He is still away on assignment."

"......Damn it."

Hanna pressed her temple.

The Izenheim bastards all claimed they knew nothing, as if they had agreed on it beforehand, while the person holding the key to this investigation couldn't even be reached.

As a result, her train ticket to Prozen sat in her drawer again today, its validity slowly ticking away when...

"Sir Knight!"

A staff officer burst through the door and shouted.

"We have received a message from Sir Julian!"

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