Translator: KJ

Before my Regression, there had been those who blocked the Empire's blade with nothing but their bare bodies. There had been those who laid down their own lives for the rightness they believed in.

The history of the continent was the trajectory carved out by such 'people'.

But they were by no means flawless human beings. Nor were they noble saints.

They were simply contradictory, at times cruel, the kind who, for the sake of their cause, would willingly trample over others, and even over themselves.

Highland's future Prime Minister, 'Arthur Winston'.

He, too, was one of those people.

A towering figure of a man who, with a temperament fiery enough and a bold, daring strength, bound a crumbling nation together, stood against the Empire to the bitter end, and in the end wrested out a victory.

If I were to snuff out his life here and now, would the Empire's future turn out the better for it?

Or would it set off some even more grotesque change?

History is like a living thing; a void does not stay a void. His empty place will surely be filled by someone else, and it will give rise to yet another variable that I cannot foresee at all.

[......The survival of a nation springs not from bloodline, but from iron and blood, and from an unyielding will.]

I recalled a passage from『The Duty of Steel』, the political treatise Arthur Winston had once written.

He was a man who knew no compromise. The man who understood the Empire most deeply, and loathed it most of all.

And......

"Sir Knight!"

The headquarters of the Western Imperial Guard.

The Imperial Guards all lined up before me. As they saluted me with rigid precision, I smiled and spoke.

"I happened to have an engagement nearby, and I heard that you'd detained a Highlander suspected of espionage."

Most of them wore visible looks of alarm, but not one of them dared to stand in my way.

"Yes, yes. We're most grateful for your visit."

I stepped inside the headquarters.

"Right this way."

Guided by an Imperial Guard, I threw open the door of one of the interrogation rooms myself.

Arthur Winston himself was not there.

Only his terrified wife and daughter, along with the Highland military officer who had accompanied him, were being held there.

* * *

At that same moment, the interrogation room.

Arthur Winston glared at the two Imperial Guards seated arrogantly across from him. One handled the Highland Language translation, while the other treated Winston like a criminal, barking threats at him.

"Like I said. This here is the proof!"

More than this rudeness, Arthur Winston was worried about his wife and daughter. Separated from him, they were locked away somewhere else.

"......See here."

Arthur opened his mouth, holding back his suppressed anger.

"You're the one who'd better look at this!"

The Imperial Guard said it in Highland Language.

"What's this photograph?! A foreigner, and you've got the gall to go snooping all over the Empire?"

He thrust out even the photos his daughter had taken, calling them evidence, and shouted.

But he must not lose his composure. This was the Empire, and his family was locked up here.

"If you're truly so suspicious, then surely you can make a formal inquiry through the Highland government."

When the Imperial Guard handling the translation relayed his words, the other Guard's brow crumpled sharply. Then, aiming a pistol at him, he spat out something harsh, words Arthur could barely even make out.

"He's asking whether you'd like to die together with your whole family."

At the translator's words, Arthur's eyes flew wide.

"If you lay so much as a finger on my family, the Empire will face the fury of all of Highland."

At the warning, the Imperial Guard snorted.

"......The hell's that old man going on about?"

"He says he won't stand for it if we touch his family."

"Ha! He still hasn't figured out the situation. The nerve of him, in a place like this."

The Imperial Guard slammed the desk with a bang and rose to his feet.

"With evidence like this, we could hand you a summary judgment for espionage right now. If you confess nicely-"

──Knock knock.

Just then, the door opened along with the sound of knocking. Another Imperial Guard rushed in and whispered something into his superior's ear.

"......What?"

In that instant, their faces crumpled like sheets of paper. Expressions mingling bewilderment and shock. Arthur, too, sensed at once that the mood had shifted abruptly.

"Wh-why is that knight coming here?"

The Imperial Guards exchanged a few words among themselves, then filed out in a rush, leaving Arthur Winston stranded alone in the interrogation room.

──Click.

The door, firmly locked.

A silence that fell all at once.

"Hey!"

Seized by a strange unease, Arthur rose from his seat.

Bang bang! Bang bang!

"Open the door!"

He pounded roughly on the door and shouted, but no answer came back from outside.

Bang bang! Thud!

"Damn Imperial bastards."

Arthur Winston turned away, grinding his teeth.

"......Pulling barbaric stunts like this, and they still mean to talk of diplomacy."

The Empire's true danger lies in exactly this kind of unchecked violence and arrogance.

"Sons of bitches......."

But this might actually work in their favor. The Empire was this overconfident in itself, yet should the great powers of the West unite, it would be an enemy well worth fighting.

"......"

Arthur folded his arms in silence and closed his eyes.

"......Haah."

How ma⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌ny hours passed in that ice-cold interrogation room as he waited for the Imperial Guards to return?

"Hey! Just how long do you intend to keep me locked up?!"

Just at the moment when Arthur, unable to endure it any longer, rose from his seat and shouted out loud once more.

──Creeeeak.

The iron door opened.

"What is this now—"

"Please come with me, Councilor Winston."

"......What?"

A demeanor utterly changed from a moment ago, courteous and respectful.

This time he even bowed his head with a quick dip.

"We apologize for our rudeness earlier, before your identity had been confirmed."

"......"

"This way."

Wearing a dubious expression all the same, Arthur Winston followed him for the moment.

Trudge. Trudge.

They passed through the cold corridors of the Imperial Guard headquarters and arrived before a room adorned with lavish decoration.

A place bearing a nameplate that read [Commander's Office].

"Please, come in."

The moment the door opened, warm air wafted out together with the pleasant scent of tea and the soft sound of laughter.

"......?"

Arthur Winston could not believe his eyes at the sight inside the room.

There sat his wife and daughter Sarah, who had been taken in along with him. Far from anxious, they were seated across from a man, chatting and laughing brightly.

A handsome man, with neat blond hair and tidy civilian clothes.

His daughter Sarah's gaze stayed fixed on him, as if utterly captivated, and every time he smiled, Sarah blushed and smiled along.

"Is that so? A number of misunderstandings piled up. I'm glad I arrived in time."

What's more, the man's Highland Language was fluent. His accent, too, was elegant.

An unmistakable Imperial, yet he spoke with an accent more aristocratic than that of Highland's own native-born nobility.

"Sir Knight. I've brought him."

At the Imperial Guard's words, everyone turned to look at him.

"Papa!"

His daughter Sarah lit up and stood.

"Dear."

His wife, too, greeted him with a far more relaxed expression.

"Ah. You've arrived."

Across from them, the blond man also rose from his seat and gave a gentle smile.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Councilor Arthur Winston."

Then he approached him and extended a hand.

"I am Maximilian Ebenholtz."

"......"

Ebenholtz.

Maximilian Ebenholtz.

A brief ache throbbed at Arthur's temple. There was no way he could be unaware of the weight that name carried.

What had his wife and daughter discussed with him?

Worry struck him all at once, but he could not allow himself to be intimidated.

Councilor though he was, his was a position that represented the nation, and so he could not bend himself low.

"......A pleasure. I am Arthur Winston."

He clasped Maximilian's hand. His heart was rocked by the tension surging up in him.

'So this young man is the monster of Ebenholtz.'

"What were you discussing with my family?"

"Ah, nothing of any great importance."

Maximilian glanced toward the daughter, Sarah. As if embarrassed, Sarah ducked her face for no particular reason.

"Your daughter said she very much wished to visit the Empire's Arte Museum and the Royal Opera House. I was just telling her that arranging that much is well within my power to accommodate."

At that answer, Arthur was left momentarily blank-faced.

"Then, ma'am, miss, why don't the two of you head off now and rest comfortably."

Maximilian courteously urged the two women.

"My people outside will see you safely escorted."

His wife and daughter rose to their feet. As if they had already forgotten entirely that they'd been dragged into an Imperial Guard interrogation room, their faces were free of every trace of worry.

"Papa! Let's go to the museum together later!"

At that bright, innocent farewell, Arthur Winston gave a wry smile and nodded.

──Thud.

The door closed.

And so, Arthur Winston cam⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌e to be alone, face to face with Maximilian.

"......"

Maximilian regarded Arthur in silence for a moment. His smile had vanished at some point. The gentle atmosphere, too, had sunk into something cold.

"What are you thinking about?"

Even at that question he kept his silence for a while, before opening his mouth in a low voice.

"I am deliberating, Councilor Winston."

A rather grave anguish over what to do with Arthur Winston, one that Arthur himself could not have guessed at.

"Then may I be the first to ask a question?"

"Of course. Ask whatever you like."

Arthur let out a sigh like cigarette smoke and asked.

"Why on earth does the Empire so despise and persecute its minority peoples?"

A curious curve traced its way across Maximilian's lips.

"To say we despise all minority peoples would be somewhat misleading."

"......You loathe only the Ezenheim, then?"

"Yes. If you confine my feelings strictly to 'loathing', then it is the Ezenheim alone. They are a race that should never have been trusted in the first place. Is there not similar sentiment in Highland as well?"

Arthur Winston held his tongue. So did Maximilian. There was no need to belabor a subject like this at length.

After all, they were parallel lines that could never cross, not ever.

"Councilor Winston. I've heard the purpose of your visit to the Empire this time was to write a book."

"That is correct."

Maximilian pointed out in a subdued voice.

"You did something far too dangerous. You could have been handed a summary judgment by the Imperial Guard on charges of leaking the Empire's secrets."

"Summary judgment? Taking a few photographs and treading on a bit of ground, that's leaking secrets?"

"Yes."

Maximilian answered with the utmost composure.

"If the Empire calls something a secret, then it becomes a secret. If it chooses to make an issue of something, then that, too, becomes an issue."

"......"

"Councilor Winston. Had I not happened to catch wind of this news, you might never have walked out of this place at all."

The Imperial Guards just now had been every bit as menacing as those words implied.

'So then, did Maximilian intend to free me from this place precisely because he knows who I am?'

"......So, from now on."

He drew a sheet of paper from inside his coat. Arthur tensed for a moment, but the man scrawled a few lines and his own signature onto it.

"Whether it be the Imperial government or the Knight Order, you must obtain agreement in advance from one of them before you come."

He held the blank page out to him.

"......What is this?"

"An admission pass to the Arte Museum, and tickets to the Royal Opera House."

It was not an actual ticket, but something Maximilian had inscribed directly in his own hand and signature. Even so, it would earn far better treatment than any mere ticket could.

"Since you've come to travel the Empire, I hope you'll make some fine memories with your family before you go."

Maximilian rose from his seat with a knight's courtesy.

"Come, let us be on our way. This Western Imperial Guard headquarters is hardly a pleasant place."

At the sight of him offering this with a smile, Arthur went momentarily blank.

He tried to keep his guard up to the very end, but Maximilian did him and his family no harm at all, right up until they boarded their car and departed.

If anything, he even saw them off with a wave of his hand.

Only then, at last, did Arthur understand the description of Maximilian that Jean Pierre had written some time ago.

[A pristine, fastidiously immaculate figure, one that stands either in perfect opposition to everything he has done, or precisely in line with it. In the nation that is the Empire, the most aristocratic quality that the aristocratic class could possibly possess.]

—Excerpted from Jean Pierre's essay 「The Form of Aran」.

A sentence riddled with contradiction, one he had merely scoffed at the first time.

And yet it was true.

Professor Jean Pierre of Prozen, when it came to appraising a person, truly deserved to be called a scholar of the age.

* * *

......A matter of necessity.

Arthur Winston is a man who will, in time, come to wield powerful influence within the Western Alliance.

But if I were to eliminate him here, who, exactly, would fill the void?

It is a dangerous variable. In the worst case, I could end up with a situation worse than if I had simply killed him.

Varmil, Premier of the Eastern Alliance, is an Ezenheim. Of that, I am now certain.

And what if the Ezenheim were to seize the Western Alliance as well, once Arthur was dead?

So for now, it is better to keep Arthur Winston alive. He may not be anti-Ezenheim as such, but he is at least not so weak-willed a man as to be swayed by them. If anything, he is strong, and steadfast.

"Whoaa......."

The Arte Museum.

Flanked by their bodyguards, Arthur Winston, his daughter Sarah, and his wife Maria took in the artworks, gasping in wonder again and again. Arthur, too, was utterly absorbed in the masterpieces.

I loo⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌ked down on that peaceful family from the second-floor balcony, then withdrew, soundlessly, a step back.

And left the museum entirely.

Though I could have taken the head of the man who will one day be an enemy commander, I chose to let him walk away alive.

But I have no regrets.

For I already know the man called Arthur Winston, his judgment and his choices, through the history of the past.

That is, by keeping him alive, I can hold the war yet to come within my own control.

If I were to kill Arthur Winston here and now, then the 'Mountain Range Breakthrough Operation' and the 'Deon Beach Withdrawal Operation', both soon to play out on the Western Front, would all be wiped to a blank page, turning into an unknown I could not predict in the slightest.

To lead the Empire to victory in the coming Continental War─ that is why I have kept him alive, for he is the surest answer key of all.

* * *

Clang──! Clang──!

In northern Robrus, a Labor Reeducation Camp ringed by grim barbed wire.

Even in the flesh-stripping cold, the prisoners drove their pickaxes into the frozen bedrock without end.

The Prison Warden, 'Maxim'─Yelena─, draped in a thick overcoat, was overseeing the worksite inside the tunnel.

"......What's this?"

All at once, her steps came to a halt.

In one corner of the cramped tunnel, a single scripture sat atop a crudely heaped-up altar.

"Ah, that's an altar for worshipping the 'Ezent', I'm told."

The Chief Jailer trailing behind her answered, watching her face for a reaction.

"There's a directive from the Party leadership not to go out of our way to stop religious activity, so......."

Religious activity. Yelena asked back, her tone dubious.

"On the Party's orders?"

"Yes. It seems they decided tha⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌t faith helps quite a bit with raising labor efficiency."

"......"

Yelena gazed quietly at the scripture.

The suspicions that had lain scattered like fragments in her mind suddenly fit together into a single piece.

"By any chance, are you an Ezenheim?"

she asked the Chief Jailer.

"No, no. I'm of pure Sled blood."

"What share of the inmates here are Ezenheim?"

"Not so many. Maybe a tenth, give or take, if that."

For the sake of a minority that isn't even large, the Party deliberately turns a blind eye to religious activity, at the central level, and props it up?

Of course, scriptures from religions other than the Ezen⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌t were, for the most part, permitted in as well. Those beliefs were precisely what gave the inmates the will to keep on laboring in this camp stripped of dreams and hope.

"......"

And yet this altar, in particular, felt peculiarly out of place.

Yelena ran a gloved hand down the cold altar and repeated to herself, inwardly.

'It's certain.'

The Premier of the Eastern Alliance─Varmil Makstun─is an Ezenheim.

Otherwise, there is no way the supreme power himself would step in personally to leave something like the Ezent standing.

So then, is the man nothing more than a deranged cultist? Is he exterminating the Yumanov Family and purging tens of thousands of comrades, all for the sake of the Ezenheim alone?

"......Hsss."

Yelena barely choked down the anger smoldering up in her like embers.

Everything in her wanted to smash every last one of these revolting altars to pieces and burn them to ashes then and there, but she could not draw the eyes of the Party leadership with a rash move.

To keep her true identity hidden, she had to show, if anything, perfect compliance.

"How much of today's quota is left?"

"A bit still remains. Shall I squeeze more out of them, Camp Warden?"

The Chief Jailer asked, fiddling with his baton.

"......No. From now on, we split every inmate into 'teams'. Any team that exceeds its quota gets extra rations, issued at once."

"Uh, what? But we, we're short on food ourselves."

"I'll cover it out of my own pocket. My salary stretches that far."

"......Wow."

The Chief Jailer's face filled with genuine admiration.

"Then what about the teams that don't make quota? A whipping, at the very least......."

"Whipping them isn't even worth the time. Hurt them that way and we lose labor, so tell the other teams to lend a hand. Extra rations in proportion to how much they help."

Yelena had no intention whatsoever of wringing the laborers dry to pile up a private fortune. The Camp Warden's salary, the funds passed down from the Party, and Maximilian's secret backing were more than enough to carry out her plan.

Her foremost goal right now was to prove her ability and her integrity to the Party leadership, here in the North.

"And conduct a full survey of the inmates' races and compile it into a register. That includes anyone who comes in from here on."

"Yes, understood!"

"Let's keep going."

Yelena resumed her inspection.

In this camp where a blizzard raged on even in summer, she was carrying out work that was hers and hers alone.

~~~

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