Chapter 3: Regis and Bastian

Now with Claude’s referral, Regis went to meet the man who had connections to the palace. He had gone to the farthest outskirts of the capital, where commoner residences lined the streets, and down a narrow back alley. From there, it took only a few turns before he reached a pub—a brick building around twice the size of a common house.

The sun was sinking toward the western horizon; it was almost time for dinner. The surrounding buildings were shuttered, and very few people wandered the alleys...but the pub’s windows were wide open, and from them leaked the light of several oil lamps.

A small sign out front read “Provence.”

This time, Regis and Franziska were being accompanied by Claude rather than Fanrine. Their destination was the haunt of the liberalists, where those hostile toward the nobility gathered; there was no telling what would happen if they brought with them the daughter of a duke, no matter how impartial she was. After all, not everyone listened to reason. It was because of this that Fanrine had gone back to Renard Pendu’s camp early. She needed to tell Jessica that the others would be returning later than scheduled.

In truth, Franziska was in danger as well. Regis had wanted her to return also, but she was both his guard and his monitor—she certainly wasn’t going to leave because of any potential danger.

And so, Regis, still disguised as a woman, sat on a pub bench sandwiched between the mercenary and the reporter. They were at a round table behind a partition, with a two-seater bench across from them. Even farther back there were barrels, along with spare bricks and lumber. It was quite a disorderly place.

Claude stuffed some leaves into his pipe and then held it up to a candle. Slowly, smoke began to waft from the chamber. Tobacco was considered a luxury product—it went for more than most medicines did.

“I have to,” Claude explained, “otherwise the headaches don’t go away.”

“I see...”

“I sent a messenger around noon. Don’t know if they reached her or not, though. She might not come today.”

“I can wait. Everyone from your newspaper is already working hard for my sake; the least I can do is be patient. We do have a three-day time limit, though.”

Franziska yawned. “Sleepy...”

“You can go back if you want to,” Regis said.

“Without you? Sis’ll be livid.”

“I’ll come back; I assure you. I need you as much as you need me.”

“Says the guy who essentially halved our brigade. Yeah, I don’t trust you. Can’t imagine why.”

“...Understandable.”

A ruckus started brewing across the partition, and then she appeared—a stern-looking woman holding a cane. She appeared to be older than Regis but younger than Claude. Her brown hair was tied into a ponytail that hung across her chest, and she wore a navy-blue blouse with a long skirt underneath. One of her legs must have gone lame, as it dragged along the floor when she walked.

“It’s been some time, Claude,” the woman said.

“Hey! You’re looking better than expected, Teach!”

So this is Madame Morgane Bourgine, Regis thought. She was supposed to be around thirty, but she had a certain presence to her.

“Ever since the kid came around, I’ve been able to enjoy my meals in peace. Well, not always enjoy—the High Britannian cuisine his friend makes isn’t so promising.”

“Isn’t it all fish and fried potatoes over there?”

“Not exactly. What I had wasn’t quite...edible. I’m currently teaching her Belgarian cooking.”

Claude chuckled in response.

“I hear you want to introduce me to someone,” Bourgine said.

“Oh, he’s actually got business with your disciple—it’s about the palace, see—but I thought you might be interested in him. Despite how he’s dressed, this bloke here is the famous strategist, Regis d’Aurick.”

“A pleasure.” Regis stood and courteously lowered his head.

Bourgine reciprocated. “I see... Quite a hobby you have,” she remarked.

“I-It’s not a—!”

Bourgine chuckled. “I jest. There’s a good reason for the way you’re dressed, right? I think you’ll find that most of the people who visit this pub also have...special circumstances. As for my disciple, I’ve already called him; he should be here soon. If your interest is in the palace, you’ll need to speak to him.”

“Thank you.”

“But since we’re here, how about a little chat?”

“If you don’t mind.”

Bourgine needed Claude’s assistance to sit down, although once she was on the bench, her back was straight and dignified. “Despite hailing from a common household, you are a peculiar individual with deep ties to both Prince Latrielle and Princess Argentina,” she said.

“Well, now that you mention it...”

He’d also occasionally played chess and rummy with Fifth Princess Felicia. He’d grown so used to it that he hadn’t considered it anything special, but now that he stopped to think about it, he didn’t know anyone who could say the same. He was also the only person who had ever served on the staff of both Altina and Latrielle.

“That is precisely why I want to ask you...what sort of nation do they each desire?” Bourgine asked.

“Latrielle’s intentions are exactly as he has announced publicly—he intends to conquer all the surrounding territories to enlarge the Empire. Assuming he does become emperor, every nation we’re familiar with might end up under imperial rule.”

“So he’s a hegemonist. Do you really think he can manage such a feat?”

“I’ve heard his plan in detail.”

“And from the viewpoint of an esteemed strategist, will he be able to achieve his ideal?”

“Please, I’m just an ordinary administrative officer. But that aside...it would be possible, if every single commander in the Empire were as competent as Latrielle himself.”

“The Empire is vast and powerful, and still you say there aren’t enough people?”

“Unfortunately.” To be more precise, it wasn’t exactly the numbers they lacked, but Regis wasn’t going to get into that now.

“Then what ideal does Princess Argentina hold dear? I have heard of her simple lifestyle, perhaps owing to her commoner mother. She has many commoners who support her for that reason, but how is she really?”

“She doesn’t live an extravagant life, to say the least. I wouldn’t go so far as to say she lives like a commoner, but she would never host an unnecessary party, and I can’t even imagine her splurging on art pieces and dresses. I must admit, though, Latrielle is just as much of an economist. Neither person is a fool. Now, as for Argentina’s ideal...”

Bourgine was listening silently. Claude was slouched back, trying to pretend that he didn’t care, but there was a seriousness in his eyes that suggested otherwise. Franziska, meanwhile, looked as though she was struggling to stay awake.

“The princess is aiming for world peace.”

Bourgine looked at Regis quizzically. “Is that her public stance?” she asked. “Or is she serious?”

“It would be pointless for me to discuss public stances with you. The princess aims for world peace. She does not simply hope or dream for it—she moves toward it. As do I.”

Claude’s eyes widened.

“And what do you mean by ‘world peace’?” Bourgine asked. She was no longer looking at Regis; her gaze was lowered to the floor.

“We mean pacifism—to form peaceful relations with the neighboring powers so that, if some nation invades, we can put up a joint defense. Likewise, if a nation faces tragedy, we will offer our support.”

“Does the princess sincerely believe such a thing is possible?”

“On some level, it’s already in practice. I don’t go out stealing other peoples’ property, and Madame Bourgine, I doubt you’ve ever taken someone’s land by force.”

“Right... If you equate it to personal morals, then only contemptible bandits snatch that which belongs to their neighbors.”

“Indeed. Our military may excel, but say we were to steal another’s land and arbitrarily claim it as our own—that would be seen as inexcusable if done on a personal level. We would receive only criticism from those around us, severely hindering our ability to earn trust or friendship.”

“Are you sure this ideal isn’t an empty one?”

“It’s certainly optimistic, but without such optimism, humanity will eventually bring about its own destruction.”

“I see. So that’s what you think.”

“The wars thus far have been fought with bows and spears. Casualties never account for more than half of a unit—even when one is annihilated, the majority have normally fled or are merely injured. Now, however, we have entered the era of the gun. Bullets are sharper than any spear and can travel farther than any arrow...and above all, they offer no opportunity for retreat. Soon, we will find ourselves in a world where annihilation truly does mean that every member of a unit has been killed. Civilian deaths will similarly be more cruel and thorough than they ever were with horsemen.”

Claude gulped. “Seriously?”

Bourgine nodded, her expression grave. “Past wars have been a competition of sorts,” she said. “You mean to say that combat will shift toward slaughtering the enemy first and foremost?”

“I think so. I’ve been stunned by how much the gun has developed over the past few years alone, and if my predictions are correct, these advancements are only going to continue. There are already ideas for how to achieve consecutive fire.”

“Consecutive fire?”

“You automate the loading process. These systems are currently too large for one person to realistically carry, but it’s only a matter of time. When we speak of politics, we must also think of what will come after we draw our last breath.”

“Indeed. You’re right about that.”

Franziska scoffed from beside him. “Those ideals are all well and good, but there are loads of countries that despise Belgaria and all its stands for. And now, after hundreds of years of war, you’re going to turn around and cooperate with them? Hah. If any one of them invades the Empire, they’re all going to join in and tear you to shreds.”

“I agree that establishing the necessary peace treaties won’t be easy,” Regis conceded. “That is part of what makes this an ideal, but I think it’s much more than just a dream.”

“It’s impossible. How could it not be?!”

“If every statesman gave up and chose only to fight, humanity would crumble before long.”

“Hah? But in any battle, someone always comes out on top—there’s always a winning side who keeps on living.”

Regis shook his head. “Say, for instance, that an empire of one million manages to best all other nations—new wars will simply start originating from within its borders. Five hundred thousand may remain when the dust settles, and then another battle will commence among those.”

“How can you be so sure?!”

“Isn’t it obvious? Because the group that was victorious over all other nations was the same one that chose to fight and plunder.”

Franziska stared at Regis for a moment; then she offered a quiet, “Oh...”

“One group chose to brute force its way to victory—why would it suddenly change its ways? No matter what system they might have set up after the fact, its leaders will grow old, disasters will strike, and new weapons will be developed. The balance of power will eventually change, and once someone perceives a chink in the metaphorical armor—even if one doesn’t actually exist—war is inevitable. People will once again be gunned down.”

“...Yeah.”

“And again, only the victors will remain. Their way of thinking brought them victory before and allowed them to monopolize the available wealth, so why should they change? One million becomes five hundred thousand, that becomes two hundred and fifty thousand... From there, the populace will only continue to decrease. The ultimate outcome of hegemony is clear to see—there is only one future for those who see war as the only means of survival.”

“A-And that is?”

“They’ll fracture their civilization until they’re no longer capable of war, and then that’s it. Whether it’s a natural disaster or a wild beast... I couldn’t tell you what would bring about their final moment, but in the end, they’ll cease to exist. Perhaps all that will remain are savages with no more than vague, fleeting memories of a civilization that once was.”

“Aren’t you reading too much into this?”

“This isn’t just my imagination—there are plenty of species that went extinct after they failed to coexist with their environment. There are countless examples of nations weakened from civil wars that in turn fell to foreign powers. You should know a few yourself.”

“That’s...”

Franziska hailed from the Germanian Federation, a nation of constant civil war where countries often faded and new ones sprung up in their place. Assuming this continued after guns became more widely accessible, Germania would soon fall in its entirety.

“Those who support hegemonic conquest do not truly understand this new era,” Regis said with the utmost certainty. “No matter how many battles they might win, they will rule only over a land of corpses.”

Franziska was at a loss for words.

Bourgine nodded. “I’ve never seen the new guns that High Britannia uses, but for you to make such a conclusion, they must be terribly capable.”

“It’s also worth considering that the High Britannian Army wasn’t using them to their full potential.”

“Really? But I heard that countless imperial soldiers were lost.”

“That’s our small consolation. Had they used them more efficiently, we would have suffered even graver losses. Perhaps the capital would have been taken too.”

Claude wiped his brow. “I’m glad you weren’t on High Britannia’s side...”

“I’m actually quite sure their commander realized this problem, but there was nothing he could do—his suggestions simply didn’t mesh with his queen’s aesthetics.”

“Are guns really that amazing?” Claude asked, leaning in closer.

“Even a child could take down the finest knight with the squeeze of a trigger. We’ll need to rethink our understanding of war.”

“Ah...” His body trembled at the mere thought.

✧ ✧ ✧

Claude glanced toward the partition; a second commotion was starting to grow beyond it. “Is your apprentice here?” he wondered aloud. “Hm? No... This is...”

Yells overlapped with screams and a metallic clatter.

Franziska rose from the bench so suddenly that it slid back a short distance, and she swiftly produced from her bag her crossbow. “That’s the sound of armor!” she called.

Claude stood as well, clicking his tongue as he reached behind his waist and drew a knife. The partition was kicked down a mere beat later to reveal a group of soldiers clad in black armor.

Ten, Regis counted. No, twenty?

“We’ve found them!” one of the soldiers cried.

Wait... They’re not from the capital garrison. And they’re not from the First Army either!

Regis had never seen their armor before, but their uniforms were emblazoned with the crest of the Empire. They had to be part of the standing army.

The man leading the soldiers was glowering at them, but a cold smile played on his lips. “Oh my... We’ve hit the jackpot,” he said. Unlike his comrades, he wasn’t wearing any armor; his chest was instead decorated with various medals and gems. He was short and slender, with a crooked nose and narrow, fox-like eyes.

Regis recognized the man in an instant—he was the inspector who had come to the Beilschmidt border regiment eight months prior, carrying the directive for them to capture Fort Volks. Regis had caught him just as he was about to assault Clarisse, although it was Eric and Altina who had ultimately salvaged the situation...

“Inspector Becker?!” Regis inadvertently cried out.

The narrow-eyed man glared at him. “Huh? A woman? Have we ever met before...? And you know, I’m not just some measly inspector; I’m regiment commander of the Public Order Corps!”

“Wha... But how? Weren’t you arrested and tried for attempted assault and soliciting bribes?!”

“Nonsense! I’m the nephew of Marquis Beclard and the second son of a count. Why would some trivial issue with a godforsaken regiment have any effect on me?!”

“So you were never tried...?”

“You have no right to mouth off at me, commoner. Oi, arrest her! Make sure she’s taken alive, and be especially mindful not to damage her face.”

The black-armored soldiers approached with their swords drawn. Their blades were already stained with fresh blood.

“You animals!” Bourgine yelled. “If you so much as harmed the patrons here—!”

“Hah! We have intel that this pub is a watering hole for rebellious elements. We merely eliminated them to preserve the Empire’s public order!”

“How could this be? And without so much as a trial...”

“We are the law! If you have any complaints, then you can bring me to trial. If you’re still alive by tomorrow, that is!”

“Commander! That’s Bourgine!” one of the soldiers reported.

“I see. Cut her down, then!”

“Eh?! But...the minister said to capture her.”

“Did you not hear me?! Why should I have to endure some gratuitous trial?! The dead can’t sue, nor can they run. They can’t argue back either! And that makes them exemplary, virtuous citizens, goddammit!”

“Y-Yes, sir!”

“All right. Now, let’s clean up the populace!”

The armor-clad men raised war cries as if they were on the battlefield...but Regis was by no stretch of the imagination a soldier.

Claude rushed to protect Bourgine. “Run! We can’t have you dying here, Teach!”

“Don’t let them get away, no matter what!” Becker ordered. “If a single one of them leaves this building alive, you’re all getting a beating!”

The soldiers charged toward their prey. The pub was by no means spacious; there was nowhere to run, nor was there even a window to jump out of.

We’ll be killed at this rate!

“Hold on!” Regis cried out. “Let’s make a deal!”

“Ignore her!” Becker screamed in response.

Regis knew that he had to buy time, but it seemed the same method wasn’t going to work on the inspector twice. The soldiers, however, seemed to hesitate slightly at his words. He was sure he could get through to them; he just needed to hold firm.

“Are you sure about this, gentlemen?! Your commander is a big shot, so he’ll get off scot-free, but is he the sort of man who’ll stick up for his subordinates?! Why do you think the minister conveyed the order to you and not just to your superior?! Are you really going to ignore the order to capture Professor Bourgine?!”

“Silence!” Becker snapped. He then turned to his men. “You’ll kill when I tell you to! Any who oppose me are rebellious elements! You’ll be killed along with them!”

At that, the soldiers’ momentary hesitation was gone—perhaps the inspector truly had put his own men to death in the past. They brandished their swords as they were ordered.

So that didn’t work out...

Much to his dismay, the soldiers were fearful and loyal. Regis couldn’t even delay them enough to come up with a plan.

All of a sudden, there was a sharp twang—the metallic snap of a crossbow. A bolt fired from close proximity bit into the neck of one of the black-clad men.

“Gah?!”

“We’ve got to fight!” Franziska declared. The phenomenal speed at which she was able to reload her weapon meant three more soldiers fell silent in the blink of an eye. She had a proficiency that was perhaps to be expected of a mercenary of the renowned Renard Pendu...but unfortunately for her, she was too heavily outnumbered. The soldiers closed the distance in no time, and a sword was thrust in her direction.

“Hah! I’m not gonna be done in by such a slow attack!” Franziska yelled as she evaded the first stroke. But next came three slashes at once, and then four. The soldiers were properly trained and coordinated, leaving her with increasingly little room to dodge.

Franziska used her crossbow to block one of the oncoming attacks, hoping to open up an escape route, but this move came at a cost—there came an audible ping as the string snapped in two, making the weapon unusable. To make matters worse, its slender frame had come apart too; she could no longer use it as a shield.

The space was simply much too narrow for Franziska to exhibit her might. Her heels bumped against the bench, providing enough of an opening for a blade to sink into her flank.

“Guh?!”

Her slender body crumpled and collided with the ground. Then, with a loud retch, she spat up what had been accumulating in her throat—a vivid red liquid.

Regis was frozen halfway out of his seat. The soldiers had already readied their blades again, this time approaching Claude and Bourgine. Despite Claude’s best efforts, the knife in his hand wasn’t even a threat to them.

“Kill the man too!” Becker ordered. “Whoever he is, I’m sure he’s in cahoots with the rebels!”

“You’re a piece of trash!” Claude shouted.

“S-Stop this at once! You’re all making a huge mistake!” Regis spread out his arms in a desperate attempt to intervene, but he couldn’t even slow their advance.

Just as the soldiers went to attack, however, something flew over their heads. For a moment, they wondered whether it was a bird or a beast, but when the shadow landed, it became clear there was a dagger in its hand.

Blood sprayed through the air as one of the black-clad soldier’s arms was abruptly severed at the elbow. A beat later, a young man with brown hair descended before Claude and Bourgine.

“Phew. So, what’s going on here?” the new arrival asked. “I’m used to you almost getting captured, but ain’t it strange that you’re about to be killed instead this time?”

The brown-haired man wore dark glasses with lenses of smoky quartz. The dagger in his hand was wide at the base, with both sides narrowing to a triangular point. It was about four palms (thirty centimeters) in length and as thin as paper. Regis immediately recognized it from paintings, but he had never seen the real thing before.

Isn’t that the Vite Espace Trois?! That means this man is...

“My apologies,” Bourgine said. “It seems I’ve had to rely on you again, Bastian.”

“I should be the one apologizing for showing up so late. If only I’d noticed a bit sooner, then... Wait. You?!” Bastian’s eyes widened as he spotted Franziska on the floor. “Aren’t you Franka?!”

She looked up with a groan and opened one eye. “Ah... Bastian?”

“What are you doing here?! Ah, no, that can wait! This’ll only take me a minute! Don’t go dying on me now!” Bastian removed his glasses to reveal his crimson eyes, a trait said to belong only to Belgarian royalty. “I am the Third Prince of Belgaria, Heinrich Trois Bastian de Belgaria!” he declared, fixing the soldiers with a glare. “For what reason do you point your blades at Professor Bourgine? You even wounded my friend while you were at it.”

The soldiers backed away, but this earned them a scolding from Becker.

“You idiots! Why the hell would a prince be here?! He’s clearly a fake, and someone with the gall to impersonate royalty is only going to disturb the peace! Kill him! I want him dead! Cut him down, or I’ll have you all cut down instead!”

“Oh, my old man did say something about the new Public Order Corps,” Bastian mused aloud. “I thought that was a while down the road, but I guess they’re already in action.”

Once again, the soldiers hesitated, but just as when Regis had tried to stall them, they soon folded to Becker’s screams and brandished their swords.

Bastian gave a light sigh. “Sorry about this. When I’ve got something to protect...I refuse to hold back.”

For a moment, his form blurred. Regis couldn’t tell what he had done, but then three soldiers collapsed at once. There was blood gushing from their sides—from cuts that had been made through the gaps in their armor. Those behind them swallowed their breaths.

Bastian flicked the blood from his dagger with one smooth motion. “My brother is...faster than this... So I must...become even faster... I have to...”

“H-Huh...?” One of the soldiers began to falter, only for the inspector to impatiently kick him forward.

“What are you falling back for, trash?!”

“C-Commander?!”

Becker now had a pistol in his hand, the muzzle of which was pointed at Bastian. “So he’s a prince, huh? Who cares? It won’t make a difference when he’s dead!”

“A-Are you serious?!”

Becker was grinning so hard that it looked as though his cheeks might burst at any second. His eyes were bloodshot, and with his right index finger he squeezed the trigger.

There was no gunshot—only a soft thud.

“Eh?”

Becker looked down to see what had caused the noise; then he screamed. Sitting on the floor was his right index finger.

“MY FINGER?!” he wailed. “M-My...finger?!”

“Something tells me we’ll get a lot of worthwhile information from you in court,” Bastian said. “Let me say this first—no funny movements. The way I see it, injured beasts are always the most dangerous ones. Next time you pick up a gun or blade, I’ll aim for your heart.”

It seemed that Bastian had thrown a knife with the hand that wasn’t holding the Vite Espace Trois. Regis hadn’t even seen him holding it, nor had he seen it move through the air...but there it was, stabbed into Becker’s now four-fingered hand.

“It’s not too late,” Bastian addressed what remained of the Public Order Corps. “Leave now, and I’ll consider this a problem with your superior. Alternatively, if you want to fight, I won’t show any more mercy. What will you do?”

There was a clamor as, one by one, the soldiers cast down their swords. Then they dropped to their knees, removed their helmets, and lowered their heads.

“My apologies, Y-Your Highness!” one of the soldiers stammered. “We were simply—”

“Glad you understand. Throw that idiot into a holding cell. I’ll have a good chat with my brother and the minister about him. Killing innocent civilians... How reckless can a man be?”

“I-If I might be so bold... That woman, Bourgine, is a rebellious element.”

“On what basis? Because she’s a liberalist? Because she made a speech in the palace plaza? Neither goes against the word of the law.”

“W-We weren’t told the specifics...”

“If you want to avoid this country falling into ruin, do some research yourself and form your own opinions. Now, go already. I’m in a hurry.”

The soldiers bowed and then made for the exit, dragging Becker—who was kicking and screaming—with them.

✧ ✧ ✧

Franziska was stripped down and laid on the bench. Her clothes had been sliced through at the flank, but the chainmail beneath was intact. She had shifted along with the blow to mitigate the damage—a move that had successfully kept her injuries to a minimum.

Regis touched the large, dark bruise that had formed, causing Franziska to grimace.

“Ngh...”

“Answer by nodding or shaking your head,” Regis said. “Are you having any difficulty breathing? Do you feel nauseous? Is there a ringing in your ears? Any throbbing in the pit of your stomach? Does it hurt here? How about here? Here?”

Franziska winced.

“Oh, looks like it does hurt there. I see... It seems you’ve fractured maybe two ribs. As much as I want to rush you to a doctor, for now, I don’t think your life is in any danger. You vomited blood earlier because the blow got you in the stomach. You need to rest for now. Limit your meals to soup for the time being.”

“Ghh... How could I have made such a...?”

“I’m glad you’re still alive. Thank you for protecting me,” Regis said, taking her by the hand. Franziska clicked her tongue but didn’t attempt to pull away.

“Was I...?”

“Pardon?”

“Was I...useful? Do you think Gil will...praise me?”

“I don’t know what he thinks, but we’re both better off alive, for the Mercenary King’s sake.”

“I see... Then it’s all good.”

“I don’t think you’ll get much sleep due to the pain, but lie down whenever you can. I’ll call a doctor.”

“Mm...” Franziska nodded and then shut her eyes, her teeth gritted as she endured it. The store owner called for a carriage, and they soon put the pub behind them.

✧ ✧ ✧

The Bourgine estate consisted of a cheap apartment, located on the second floor of a building that was in such a sorry state it was surprising to learn anyone lived there at all. They had to climb a flight of partially destroyed stairs around the back just to reach the entrance.

Inside, they were greeted by four wooden chairs and a table. The floor was almost completely covered with stacks upon stacks of books.

It was night, but Bourgine called a doctor she knew to have Franziska looked at. The mercenary’s bones were set with boards and bandages. Her condition was just as Regis had diagnosed; it would be a month or two before she made a full recovery. The condition of her internal organs was as of yet unknown, and there was nothing more the doctor could do for the time being. He said for them to call him again if she coughed up any more blood, and then he left the apartment.

Franziska was tucked into bed while Regis and the others gathered in the living room.

“Phew...” Regis exhaled as he took a seat.

“You look tired. Please, have some.” A girl with blonde hair and blue eyes held out a cup of coffee. She had a gallant, gentle air to her, and even Regis, who usually had no interest in women’s looks, found himself quickly entranced.

She was Elize Archibald, a friend of Bastian’s. Her petite build made her look about thirteen years old, but she was actually sixteen, the same age as Bastian. Regis considered himself very lucky that he hadn’t broached the topic before finding that out.

Regis accepted the cup with a thank-you and then took a sip. “Mm. Quite nice.”

“Haah. That’s a relief.”

Also gathered in the room were Bourgine, Claude, and Bastian.

“You have my utmost gratitude for saving us back there. I am Regis d’Aurick, strategist to the fourth princess.”

“Huh?!” Bastian looked at him quizzically.

“A-Ah... Ha ha... There’s a good reason why I’m dressed like this.”

Both Claude and Bourgine vouched for Regis’s identity, but Bastian was looking more doubtful by the second. “Regis d’Aurick... The tactician who tore through the High Britannian Navy, right?” He had apparently heard the rumors while sheltering in a noble’s mansion in High Britannia.

Regis scratched his head. “I suppose I did take command as admiral proxy...”

“The hero who led the Empire to victory?!”

“Not through strength, though...”

“The person who did all that...is this flimsy-looking thing?!”

“Sorry to disappoint...”

“I was expecting a rough and tough bear of a man, but...you’re a woman?”

“I’m not!”

Somewhat accustomed to this exchange by this point, Regis explained the situation—that he had to don a disguise because Latrielle was pursuing him.

Bastian observed Regis all over, rather impressed. “Now that you mention it, your hair is a bit...lopsided.”

“Ah. You’re right. I must have moved around a bit too much. I should straighten it while I can...”

Regis removed his wig for a moment, but then he hurriedly put it back on. Without it, he was no longer a person in disguise; he was just a man wearing a dress.

“Hmm?!” For some reason, Bastian was now looking at him with wide eyes.

“I-Is there something on my face?” Regis asked.

“Makeup. And a lot of it.”

“Oh, err... Yes, well...”

“Hey. I get the feeling we’ve met before.”

“Eh?” Now it was Regis’s turn to observe the prince—namely, his crimson eyes and brown hair. “You’re Third Prince Heinrich Trois Bastian de Belgaria, correct...?” There was little room for doubt—after all, the prince had already introduced himself during the fight in the pub.

“Yeah, but that’s not it! I mean, at that library in the palace! Ah, you might remember me better like this...” Bastian put his glasses back on.

“Eh?”

“You seriously don’t remember me?! Even after you said you’d read my future masterpiece?!”

“Ah... Wait. Are you perhaps the kid who borrowed Of Swords of Sleet and Enneadic Wings? It surprised me how you left without properly checking out the book, but the minister of ceremonies told me to act as though I didn’t see anything.”

“Don’t worry, I returned it properly after that. After I’d read it cover to cover, of course.”

“That’s good. To think the boy from back then was the third prince... That’s surprising.” Regis gazed at Bastian, immersed in a sense of nostalgia. The prince, meanwhile, seemed rather perplexed.

“You’re a weirdo.”

“Huh? Well, I get that a lot...”

“People usually start acting all humble before royalty. Man, I can’t stand all those stiff formalities. It’s not like I have a problem with how you’re acting right now; in fact, I actually prefer it like this.”

“Certainly. I’ve had many opportunities to speak with other members of the royal family, so this casualness just came naturally to me. My apologies.”

“It’s fine, I tell ya. Forget about it. I just thought it was rare, that’s all. Since you’ve been both Argentina’s and Latrielle’s strategist by this point, I guess it makes sense that you’re so used to royalty.”

“Right. If I hadn’t served as the princess’s tactician, I probably would have addressed you more politely.”

“Hah... We have more than enough of those formalities in the palace. Just call me Bastian. You’re like a teacher to me, after all!”

“A-A teacher?”

“You taught me about books. I’ve read so many since then... I’ve written a little too.”

“My, that’s wonderful!”

“Not anything I’m satisfied with yet, mind you... I just can’t envision the cool protagonist I’m looking for.”

“I see. That is quintessential. If you’re looking to take inspiration from recent trends...”

“Go on.”

Just as their book-focused conversation started to heat up, however, Elize intervened. “Bastian, this seems like a topic for another time. Didn’t you have something important to discuss?”

“Oh, right...” Regis said.

“Hah. Just can’t help myself...” Bastian cleared his throat. “So, Latrielle’s after your head, is he?”

“I declined his request for me to continue serving as his staff officer. It seems he did not take kindly to that.”

“He never changes, does he?”

“Has something similar happened before...?”

Regis attempted to pry into the matter, and much to his surprise, Bastian offered up what he knew just like that. He didn’t propose an exchange, nor did he demand a fee of any sort.

So this is what it’s like to be truly wealthy... It never even occurred to him to request something in return.

“Latrielle, he...killed my old man...” Bastian said.

“Such is the rumor going around the court.”

“So, you figured it out too. Thing is, there’s no evidence. It’s the same as what happened with Auguste. In the end, he’s got all the nobles behind him, so it won’t come to light no matter what we do.”

“No... I’m not so sure about that.”

“Eh?”

“It’s a mistake to assume that authority can conceal the truth. We need to teach Latrielle that a new era is upon us.”

“R-Really?” Bastian seemed at a loss for words.

Bourgine chuckled. “The man is due to become emperor in three days, and you intend to teach him a lesson? And this isn’t even a barroom bluff. You’re serious, I take it.”

“I’m aware that I may be talking big...but I want your cooperation to make it a reality.”

Bourgine nodded. “As long as our ideals align.”

Elize lined the table with sandwiches; she had gone as far as to prepare a midnight snack. “So, what are you planning? Oh, do go ahead,” she said, gesturing at the food.

Thinking back, Regis hadn’t eaten dinner. “Thank you,” he said. “I think I’ll take you up on that.”

Bastian reached for a sandwich too. “Ah, fine! I’ll tolerate a bite myself.”

“It doesn’t taste that bad...” Elize murmured, her brow furrowed.

They must get along well, Regis thought, a knowing smile playing on his lips. This didn’t last long, however—any such thoughts were quickly blown from his mind when he bit into the sandwich. Is this...rotten?

In fact, the closest smell that came to mind was kitchen waste. Between the two pieces of bread were vegetables boiled until they had lost all semblance of shape, texture, and taste, topped with rough, sand-like...meat, perhaps?

“Hrk.” Regis almost vomited, but he managed to hold it in.

Bastian swallowed the sandwich in one gulp. “The trick is to hold your breath and try not to taste it. It might be a bit much for a noble.”

“O-Oh, no, I’m a commoner. Though I was granted the title of chevalier not so long ago.”

“Oh, I knew it. You were wearing a commoner uniform back when I met you at the library.”

“Y... Yeah...”

Regis took a great swig of coffee to wash away the foul taste lingering in his mouth.

✧ ✧ ✧

“Professor Bourgine is a renowned liberalist,” Regis said to Bastian. “If you’re her disciple, does that make you a liberalist too?”

“Do you think that’s strange?”

“Not at all. The princess I serve is also opposed to the current establishment—though she doesn’t want to go as far as abolishing the nobility.”

“Well, why not?”

“At the moment, the common folk aren’t capable enough to speak on politics. If the nobles are simply done away with all at once and such matters are left entirely to the people, I can see a seditious conman taking power.”

Claude raised a hand. “Sorry for butting in, but...what exactly do you mean by ‘seditious’? Could you give an example?”

“A simple one would be someone who provides the public with a clear-cut enemy,” Regis replied. “The facts of the case don’t matter—for instance, you could leak false information saying that the emperor mocked the commoners.”

“Surely the emperor could just refute those claims.”

“They could, but the populace will assume they’re making excuses. Proving a negative is no easy task. That level of deceit is enough to cheat people, especially because the public wants an enemy. They are deceived because they want to be deceived.”

“I see...”

“Another example would be someone who claims that the actions of a foreign nation are unjust. It doesn’t matter what those actions are; the people are once again given an enemy to fight, and they will dedicate themselves to opposing it. This means more followers too. In summary, the people are currently too easy to incite. I cannot entrust them with politics.”

“Hah... History may have changed if you were born in High Britannia, Regis. The people have authority there, right?”

“Yes, and they were thrown into a reckless invasion as a result. An incited group always tends toward naive and aggressive behavior. Only a tragic end awaits them.”

“That wouldn’t exactly be true if they’d won, though... No, let’s not. I apologize for getting the conversation off track,” Claude said with a shrug.

Regis raised his second cup of coffee to his lips. “Don’t worry about it. In any case, I think it’s too early to do away with the nobility.”

“What about in the future?”

“The pacifism I strive for will need the people in power.”

Bastian nodded. “I had a good friend who was taught by Madame Bourgine. He wanted to bring freedom to Belgaria. That’s...what I hope to do. Someday.”

“I see.”

“Those born into nobility lead extravagant lives, while those born to commoners live to be exploited by them. Isn’t that unfair?”

“So you’re hoping for freedom of work. As well as equal rights and equal taxes, perhaps.”

At this remark, Bourgine silently nodded. She took a step back, like a professor watching a debate between students.

“But...Latrielle said that unfairness is inevitable,” Bastian went on.

Regis was a little taken aback. “You spoke with Latrielle about liberalism?!”

“Yeah. I smacked him with it...and was utterly defeated.”

“What did he say?”

“That nobles learn how to manage land, people, and armies from infancy. Only the most exceptional commoners can hope to match this.”

“That would be educational inequality.”

“But he’s right—it’s impossible to give every citizen in the Empire the same education those in the nobility receive. I looked into it myself, and it’s just impossible!”

“I worked as a teacher before, but my students were all the children of affluent houses,” Bourgine added, her tone level as if she were attempting to calm Bastian.

The schools that were run on the contributions of affluent commoners and nobles required exorbitant tuition to attend. The church ran classes too, and these were free to attend, but they were only held on Sundays after prayer.

Powerful nobles hired home tutors, all of whom were paid handsomely. Incidentally, the teaching profession was often filled with nobles who weren’t heirs to their houses, and it was exceedingly rare for a commoner woman to take up the mantle.

Regis nodded. “Latrielle is speaking from the facts—nobles are given special education and are thus able to better foster their talents. This system is what has allowed the Belgarian Empire to grow as large as it has.”

“So you think my brother’s right too?”

“He was right. But times have changed.”

“Huh?” Bastian cocked his head, while Regis picked up one of the many books stacked throughout the room.

“I’m talking about books. Books will change the world. It’s impossible to have a home tutor for every commoner, and sending them all to schools won’t be much easier, but they can at least be taught to read and write. Once they have those basics down, they can learn the rest themselves by reading. Books are expensive at the moment, but that cost will go down as technology advances. Soon, even children will be able to buy them with pocket change.”

Bastian stared at the book in Regis’s hand. “So this is going to do it...”

“Prince, haven’t you taken in many different viewpoints from reading books? They have the power to change people—to change the world. At least, that’s what I think.”

“So...anyone can become like you?”

“Ah, no... If you filled the streets with people like me, the nation would fall to pieces. I am a commoner, though. That made it hard for me to obtain books, but as long as I economized on food, clothes, and shelter...it wasn’t impossible.”

“I’m starting to see the problem here. But if we can make books even cheaper—if we can make it so that even more people read them—you’re saying the nation could change?”

“Yes. If we can meet all of those conditions, things will definitely change.”

“I see. So, with books, his dream...can come true.” Bastian wiped away the tears that were blurring his vision. Regis could make an educated guess as to why from the prince’s behavior, but he intentionally refrained from bringing it up.

“I, too, think books can change the world,” Bourgine muttered. “The people who have lived their lives serving the nobility have started to read, to share opinions, to demand freedom and equality... We’re getting more and more liberalists.”

“So it seems,” Regis said.

“But these discussions are being suppressed.”

“Indeed. We were almost killed back there.”

“Regis d’Aurick. You are an excellent tactician, well versed in politics, economics, and science, and of good moral character. I want to hear your opinion on the matter—what can we do to change the nation?” Bourgine asked frankly.

Regis found himself at a loss for words. He knew the answer—an answer, at least—but not whether he should actually voice it. The most he could do was remain silent.

Claude leaned in. “Hey, how about this? Regis, you want to give Latrielle a good wake-up call, right? You’ll need Prince Bastian’s help for that. How about their cooperation in exchange for an answer to Madame Bourgine’s question?” It was exactly the kind of proposal one would expect from a reporter. His was a trade that dealt in information.

Bastian shrugged. “I’ll help out either way, so long as I think it’s the right thing to do.”

“And I personally think there’s something wrong with putting a price on the act of sharing opinions,” Bourgine added.

Regis sighed. If Claude had been aiming for this, his conversation skills were abnormally astute. Perhaps he was more suited to being a diplomat than a journalist. Now that Bastian and Bourgine had said they would cooperate even without compensation, Regis could no longer refuse to share his opinion. He took a moment, organizing his thoughts.

“Books will change the world. They will change this nation too. However, expanding the views of the populace is not enough to change the establishment. They will simply be oppressed. I am a pacifist. I despise war. I don’t want to see anyone die. It is for these reasons that I don’t want to admit this, but...ultimately, for the people to change this nation...an armed uprising seems to be the quickest option.”

An armed uprising. Regis was proposing that the Belgarian people take up arms and attack their oppressors.

Bourgine frowned. “Attempts have already been made in too many towns. The result is always the same: the army storms in, many die...and not a single thing changes.”

“Yes, because even if an amateur picks up a bow or spear, they can’t hope to match a knight. It’s questionable whether a hundred commoners could take down a single rider.”

Bastian raised his right index finger. “So you’re going to suggest they use guns, right?”

“Precisely.” Regis heaved another sigh. “I personally hope it never happens. I aim to have the princess become empress, to better our relations with foreign powers, and to incrementally level the playing field between commoners and nobles. In other words, my goal is for bloodless reform. However, if you want the most effective way...it would be for commoners with a bare minimum education to stage an insurrection with guns.”

“Will that do away with the nobility system?”

“If you demanded that, the nobles would rally all their forces to fight. If you really want to win a war, you should keep it so that your enemy isn’t giving it their all. Demand the formation of a parliament so that commoner representatives have a voice in politics. That sounds more realistic to me.”

“Is that really enough though?”

“If the people have a say in politics, they can make schools, allowing commoners on the whole to become more knowledgeable. In turn, we will be able to increase the number of commoner commanders in the military. Once the common man has a stronger voice, some nobles may be swayed to their side. A parliament will serve as the hole in the bottom of their ship.”

“Sounds great. I’m all for it,” Claude said as he rose enthusiastically from his seat. Bourgine, however, was quick to interject.

“Don’t be ridiculous. The High Britannian Army had guns, and not even they could defeat our nation’s cavalry. It’s not going to be as easy as it sounds.”

“I mean, we only won because we had Regis d’Aurick on our side, right?”

“A gun’s weakness is its supply chain,” Regis explained. “The new guns serve little purpose without bullets, and there aren’t yet any facilities in Belgaria to produce the required ammunition. Even if one is built, its production would go straight to the army rather than being made accessible to the common man.”

“Is there no other way to make them?”

“The blacksmiths in Rouenne are racking their brains over it, on Latrielle’s order. But it’s going to take time.”

“The blacksmiths, eh? I see...” Claude nodded a few times; then, he stooped down in front of Regis. “So? You’re Regis d’Aurick. That can’t be it, right?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Books will change the public consciousness. Guns and bullets can raise the success rate of an armed uprising. These are things anyone could have figured out. But nobles aren’t going to build schools for commoners, and there’s no easy way to obtain guns and ammo. There has to be more to this.”

“That’s precisely why I’m set on making the princess empress.”

“But you need a more realistic plan to make an armed uprising succeed. That’s why you were speaking so hesitantly.”

“Mr. Claude...I get the feeling that you’ve noticed already.”

“As a reporter, I’ve got a good nose for secrets. But I’m only asking these questions because I really haven’t figured it out.”

“Hah... Can you promise not to put this in an article? This goes for everyone else here too—please keep all this between us. Far too much blood would spill if what I’m about to say ends up getting put into practice.”

Bastian and Elize nodded their assent, while Bourgine said, “I’ve always been against violence.”

“Fine, fine. I won’t jot it down,” Claude said, placing a hand to his chest as he swore to God. “It’s a real shame though.”

“It seems that Prince Latrielle intends to conquer the surrounding nations within the next couple years,” Regis began. “He is preparing a large number of guns to achieve this, and a great number of commoners are no doubt going to be hired to fill roles in the production process. Artillery is still seen as being beneath the knights, so a majority of the foot soldiers using such weapons will be common-born.”

“Hmm? Wait. You don’t mean...”

“Yes—the production and the handling of guns is going to be left to commoners. My question is, what if such a body were to be infiltrated by the sort of individuals who could become the core of a rebellion...?”

“Of course... If we could seek out like-minded fellows as we make and train with these new guns...”

Regis shook his head. “But many will die in the process. Not to mention, civilians staging an uprising are a far throw from a unified army. They have a tendency toward cruelty and excess. What we speak of is a tragedy that must never happen.”

Claude returned to his chair, slouched over in defeat. “Thank you. You’ve provided a good reference point. I won’t put any of this in an article, as promised...but I’ll be looking at my newer stories differently because of what you’ve said.”

“All right.”

“Well, that’s not to say the current nobles aren’t cruel and excessive—at least, as far as I see it.”

“That may be so...”

Bourgine nodded. “I can definitely see how your plans can improve our chances of success. However, if we were to suppress others with military might, we would be no different from the nobility. I don’t think that will make Belgaria a better nation.”

“That’s right!” Bastian exclaimed, evidently sharing the sentiment. “I think we should fight if necessary, but we should think of other ways first. Civilians using guns to fight against knights? Let’s keep that to fiction, eh?”

“Then would you like to hear another plan?” Regis asked. “It’s a bit of a roundabout method, but it is somewhat more peaceful.”

To this, there were nods all around.