Translator: KJ

A corner of the library in the Imperial Palace, lit by the gentle glow of mana-stone lamps.

Hannah was reading a book.

The documents for the Registry Compilation Project, the assignment she had been dispatched to handle, lay pushed aside for the moment; she was reading「Under the Moonlight」─ Maximilian's autobiography.

“.......”

She was absorbed, saying nothing.

She t⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ook the sentences in with her eyes.

Just as she once did at Empire Point, poring over military theory through the night, she held a pen in one hand, drawing a red underline beneath every important passage.

“......A people is a community bound together by those who share a historical identity and a common bloodline.”

Murmuring the passage softly aloud, she copied it with care into her notebook.

“Sharing the sublime awareness of being Aran...... and by the lore handed down through the long ages.......”

The scratch of a pen nib.

“Race is the single most important measure for maintaining the order of the continent.”

The soft rustle of a turning page.

“Without this distinction, humanity would splinter into countless factions and, in the end, perish.”

Hannah drew the underline twice, one stroke over the other.

“The Pure Aran are the race that stood at the very dawn of the continent. They are the ones conceived to be its true masters.......”

“Hey. What are you doing?”

Just then, a familiar voice came from behind her. It was Dare Tan, a colleague from her cohort. He, too, had a copy of 「Under the Moonlight」 in his hand.

“......I'm studying.”

The words printed in this book were Maximilian's language. They were the ideology held within his gaze. They were also the will that spoke for the Ebenholtz name, and beyond that, for the Empire itself.

To internalize and master it fully, study was essential.

“You too? Me too.”

Dare Tan let out a small laugh and dropped into the seat across from Hannah. He set two cups of warm coffee on the table and slid one over to her.

Slurp.

The two of them sipped their coffee, sitting quietly across from each other, and sank back into their separate silences.

.......

At the heart of the Empire, the Kaiser Society's research into racial science had, of late, grown more fervent than ever before.

And the place where their gaze burned hottest was─ a single book.

Wilhelm, the President of the Kaiser Society, turned a page of 「Under the Moonlight」.

Right after its publication, Maximilian Ebenholtz had given him this book as a personal gift. Along with a certain 'glorious certificate'.

「Genealogy Authenticity Certificate」

The original of Wilhelm's family tree, which Maximilian had personally verified as that of 'Pure Aran lineage'.

It sat enshrined in an ornate gilt frame, displayed with pride on the most visible table in the very cente⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠r of Wilhelm's office.

“Haaa.......”

All at once, as the President read on, the rims of his eyes reddened, wet with emotion.

The superiority of the Aran people, and a lofty, refined ideology. In truth, until now these had been nothing more than a tempest in a teacup, swirling only within the walls of the Kaiser Society.

To put it more precisely, what they lacked was the 'authority' to spread this ideology across the whole continent and rally people to it. After all, there was still no shortage of scholars who picked at Wilhelm's own theories and talked back to him.

But now things were different.

Maximilian Ebenholtz. He himself had set forth the will of the Aran in a book.

Who could possibly dare to raise a hand against his words, against his will?

Those vermin, with their stuck-up noses and their pretensions to being intellectuals, would never dare to set their pens against Maximilian's. They would mutter behind his back, or rather, they would shrink into themselves, fretting that even their muttering might leak out.

And in this great work, there were even passages that cited ideas Maximilian had borrowed from Wilhelm himself.

[ ......Bloodlines may be divided as follows. At the very top, the 'Ruling Bloodline', which leads the continent. The 'Quasi-Bloodline', which, through its loyalty to the Empire, may be afforded treatment on a par with the Aran....... ]

“The very emblem of the Aran. A true idol.......”

Wilhelm murmured, overcome with emotion, and then suddenly shot to his feet.

At the bottom of one paragraph. A footnote, written small.

Wilhelm's eyes went wide as he stared at it. His whole body quivered, trembling uncontrollably like an aspen in the wind.

[ This concept is cited in part from the racial classification system of Doctor Wilhelm, President of the Imperial Kaiser Society. ]

A single line crediting the source. It froze his brain solid. It felt as though his entire skull had seized up in a cramp.

With trembling hands, Wilhelm clutched at his frizzy hair.

He gaped, lips opening and closing without a sound, and then, before he knew it, fainted dead away for a moment.

.......

Thud.

Arthur Winston tossed the book onto the table.

“Honestly.......”

The premises of its worldview, dressed up to sound like science, ran remarkably deep. It carved up race and ethnicity however it pleased, yet within that very framework the concept of the 'nation-state' remained strangely faint. Was it a calculated device, a clever way to sidestep the diplomatic friction that would otherwise arise down the line?

“......Tsk.”

The first chapter was, without question, an autobiography. It recounted the path he had walked as a knight, his whole history, and in doing so it seized the reader's attention. The prose was even remarkably graceful. The sentences were poetic, too, and never overwrought, so they read easily and well.

At first, even Arthur had taken it for literature.

But from the second chapter on, it drew readers in through the warm doorway of 'a people', and then, beneath that, concealed the hierarchy of race.

The book never forced a clear conclusion. It slyly left the work of judgment empty, so that readers would fill in the blanks themselves and, in doing so, come to agree.

It was, therefore, no mere autobiography of Maximilian's, but an ideological tract designed to tame the masses.

Tap tap.

Arthur tapped the table lightly with his fingers. Before long, a servant entered the room.

“Take it and use it for kindling.”

He gave the order with a jerk of his chin toward the book lying on the table.

“Yes, sir.”

As the servant gathered up the book and left, Arthur sank into deep thought.

Maximilian Ebenholtz.

A nobleman who hid a mad ideology behind a beautiful smile, as though the very idea of imperialism had been given human form.

He was the single most dangerous man on the entire continent.

By now, even within the Empire, those who feared him were everywhere.

“Maximilian.......”

Arthur had come face to face with Maximilian only once, but the encounter had left a deep impression even on Arthur Winston, a man who had been through it all.

“There is one thing I truly wonder about.”

The one question he wished he could put to a man he would likely never have the chance to ask, a man he had no desire ever to meet again.

“Are you satisfied where you stand?”

A ceiling, not the sky.

A man who, standing at the nearest point to the highest place, still had to look upward, clinging to the ground.

And yet Arthur Winston was certain.

'Your boundless ambition surely lies somewhere above even that.'

'Because you, too, are in some measure a man like me.'

“.......”

Arthur turned his gaze to the window. Beneath the moonlight, the day having slipped into night while he read, he could make out the figure of the servant walking off with 「Under the Moonlight」 clasped to his chest.

.......

In the western Republic of Prozen, a research office at the National University.

Professor Jean Pierre lifted his gaze, which had been fixed on the book for a long while.

“Hmm.......”

He set down his rimless glasses as though tossing them aside and rubbed at his eyelids, heavy with fatigue, pressing hard.

「Under the Moonlight」.

The book was full of passages that he, as a professor and a scholar, could hardly bring himself to accept. The faculty of Prozen National University, the sociology professors in particular, might well already be foaming with rage and up in arms over it.

No doubt they would tear the book's logic apart piece by piece, annotate it line by line, and pour out rebuttal papers condemning the danger of its ideology.

But as Pierre saw it, the book was very clever. Its structure was meticulous. However sophistic its content, the form alone was beautiful.

That well-written a book.

In the first chapter, one could even sense something of genuine literary worth.

For binding the Empire into one and rationalizing hatred toward other races, there might be no more perfect instrument than this.......

Knock knock-

All at once, a knock broke through his heavy thoughts. It was Akenzi, Director of the Prozen Central Intelligence Bureau.

“You're here?”

Jean Pierre greeted him with a wry smile.

The bombing assassination of Minister Louis Marceau remained an utter mystery. They had pinned down a suspect, one 'Felix Renoir', but the man had vanished like a ghost.

“Jean, so you've been reading that book too.”

Akenzi asked, looking at the copy of 「Under the Moonlight」 sitting on Jean Pierre's desk. Jean Pierre nodded.

“The translation came out unusually fast. Have you finished it, Akenzi?”

“As the Intelligence Bureau Director, the man responsible for national security, if I didn't read a seditious book like this, that would be the real dereliction of duty.”

Akenzi answered with a bitter smile.

“What do you make of it?”

“Vicious racism, wrapped up with great sophistication.”

He drew out his own copy of 「Under the Moonlight」 and pointed to one page.

“The part about the Ezenheim especially. He's cunningly worked in crime statistics from the Empire. Claiming the Ezenheim crime rate is overwhelmingly higher than that of other races......”

As he listened, Jean Pierre thought of the Ezenheim settlements that existed in Prozen.

Many people would surely use this book as grounds for their hatred. Would those people, once again, be swept up in that loathing without having done a thing to deserve it?

“And he pins nearly every ideological crime on the Ezenheim in particular.......”

Jean Pierre looked out the window and thought to himself.

Before long, this hatred would take a shape of its own.

* * *

The book.

Whether I can even call it my autobiography, I am not entirely sure myself, but it is of a wholly different grain from that crude autobiography Johann once drafted for the Emperor.

No, the two are not even in the same class.

Into this book, literary delight and artistic metaphor had been exquisitely blended. It meant that the genius of one Johann Georg Goetze, the talent that had only come into bloom behind bars before my Regression, had this time flowered into the world a step ahead, through me.

And yet it became wholly my own 'autobiography'. Nowhere in the work did the name Johann appear. He firmly refused even the title of ghostwriter.

He was nothing more than a scribe who had taken down my great will, he said, and he earnestly begged to remain a shadow.

「Under the Moonlight」 became the best-selling book in the Empire the very year it was published. And that was not all. In no time it was translated into several languages and spread across borders, all over the continent.

Some called it a political and ideological treatise, or a manifesto of imperialism. This was especially true in the West. Scholars, professors, and intellectuals of every sort attacked my arguments, pouring out countless papers as though the veins were standing out on their necks.

For what it's worth, in the Eastern Alliance it could not so much as be released.

And now......

A night, the darkness settled deep and thick.

I gaze quietly down at the book stamped with my name, and all at once I feel a pressure, as if the breath is being squeezed out of me.

The countdown to that unseen day is drawing nearer, slowly but surely.

To save humanity, I would have to kill my fellow human beings in countless numbers──

A war that is mine alone, whose true nature no one knows, that no one could ever understand.

I spread an ideology through the Empire.

But ideology must never become the purpose of life. For it is, in the end, nothing more than a means to live and to sustain that living.

Survival. There exists in this world no value that stands above the simple act of being alive and drawing breath.

And that is precisely why this ideology of mine must take precedence over all others.

“.......”

I buried myself in the deep silence of my office. A nameless fear and doubt rose up from beneath my feet, but I quietly steadied myself.

This is something only I can do.

A destiny laid upon me by the scenes of ruin I once witnessed.

Just as Johann lauded me, I must, without fail, become their North Star.

Even if every last light within me shoul⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠d burn away, until in the end I crumble into pitch-black ash.......

* * *

Spring came.

It was now my fourth year since I returned to this world from a ruined future. What was I doing with my life around this time, before my Regression?

It's a wretched past I'd rather not call to mind at all, but if I grope through my memory a little.

Back then, I lived obsessed with 'auctions'.

Auctions. Auction houses, that is.

It was around this time that the Imperial Guard began plundering and exploiting the property of various minority races, Subspecies and Merin among them, and auctions were the main route through which such goods were turned into cash.

To launder the money, the bastards sold off their stolen goods in 'Selvia', the continent's most famous neutral nation.

The me of those days was, perhaps, rather endearing. Kno⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠wing nothing, I'd be as delighted as a child whenever I won some item cheap.

Bringing them back into the Empire and reselling them at a markup, I'd even get a bit smug about it. Was I maybe some genius merchant? Did I have the makings of a great trader? Something along those lines.

But it was a trade made possible only because, by position, I am a 'knight'.

Thanks to a knight's privilege as a watcher of the Empire, personal goods could slip past the finicky tariffs and inspections of the Imperial customs.

In any case, on a certain day around this time of spring.

A single jewel of great value had come up as a lot at a Prestige Auction in Selvia.

Not plunder, not stolen goods, but a rare jewel put up by some unknown party, the [Shiver Diamond].

I had meant to have it worked into a top-grade artifact and give it to Ezell, for whom, even then, I still could not let go of my lingering feelings.

It was a mad idea.

By some great mercy, I never got my hands on that jewel. I won the bid, but I was swindled.

No, more than a swindle, it was an outright robbery.

The instant the auction ended, some unidentified bastards stormed the auction house, made off with every last winning lot, and fled.

Thanks to the auction house's insurance I got my payment back, but at the time the sense of loss was great enough that I even shed a few tears.

As for which faction had been behind that incident...... I only came to know long afterward.

“......It's been a while since I was last here, too.”

I arrived at the entrance of 'Luchen', the finest of Selvia's Prestige Auction houses. Before my Regression, I had once spent nearly a whole month living in the hotel right beside it.

This time, though, I had not come as myself. The name and face of Maximilian Ebenholtz had grown far too famous across the whole continent.

I needed an identity that could move discreetly through the shadows.

“One moment, please.”

As I stood at the entrance to Luchen, a well built security guard approached politely and asked.

“Your invitation. Do you have it?”

“I do.”

I handed over the invitation. The guard shone some sort of flashlight artifact on it and checked it with rigorous care.

This identity, the financier of「Crystal Society」, the far-right group of the Republic of Prozen. The man now all but worshipped among them as the hidden hand behind the curtain.

The true culprit who had blown Prozen's Defense Minister, Louis Marceau, to pieces.

“A pleasure, Mr. Felix Renoir.”

The security guard bowed deep⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ly and opened the way.

'Felix Renoir.'

He had returned once more.

~~~

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