Do Your Own Revolution-Chapter 133

#133

A grand mansion located on the outskirts of the Empire.

This frequent retreat for nobles was now swarming with countless carriages, automobiles, and armored trains.

“Duke Nachtval, Your Grace. And Young Master Feilun. Identity confirmed. Please proceed inside.”

Screech-

The two entered as guided by the knight guarding the mansion’s entrance.

Upon seeing Duke Nachtval’s seal on their chests, the nobles who had been muttering among themselves immediately bowed their heads in respect.

Duke Nachtval, second seat of the Empire’s Magic Noble Houses.

The Empire’s absolute ruler who stood shoulder to shoulder with Buckenheim, the first seat, muttered with a faint sigh.

“What an absurd scene. A knight bearing three stroke imprint, reduced to a doorkeeper…”

“Losing the initiative was a grave mistake. However, what we need now is a solution.”

“That’s why this meeting is all the more crucial. Make sure there are no disruptions to our plans.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

A casual exchange of words.

The Duke glanced at Feilun’s face and asked him in a slightly softened voice.

“How is the state of your sixth imprint?”

“While I haven’t yet drawn out all the magical formulas, the imprint adaptation is progressing smoothly.”

“Hmm. At this rate of growth, you could have the succession ceremony before you turn forty.”

Nodding his head, the Duke placed his hand on Feilun’s shoulder and spoke.

“Even Zeplant, who died before his time, couldn’t achieve this much. You may be proud, Feilun.”

“Thank you, Your—”

“When it’s just the two of us, call me father.”

A stern yet affectionate father’s voice filled with warmth.

While Feilun nodded with a faint smile, upon seeing the Duke’s face, he had to suppress the urge to retch.

‘How laughable. Playing the caring father right after Zeplant’s death.’

If Buckenheim was the aloof absolute ruler who showed no interest in others, Nachtval was a deceiver who manipulated others’ psychology while maintaining the facade of an honorable noble. ȑÄΝ𝙤ΒÈṢ

The moment Zeplant’s death was confirmed, he called back Feilun, whom he had banished to the frontier, and named him heir.

He executed several knights and servants under the pretext of avenging his mother’s poisoning.

Then he quickly erased Zeplant’s existence by even divorcing his primary wife, the Countess Gephardt.

‘When you yourself were likely the one who poisoned mother.’

The natural way he changed the succession structure while keeping his own hands clean throughout the process.

And all the innocent people who were sacrificed in that process.

Witnessing all this, Feilun steeled his resolve.

The Magic Nobles were tumors in the Empire.

A disease that needed to be eliminated.

“You are the heir to the proud Duke Nachtval. Always move forward with that awareness.”

“I’ll keep it in mind, father.”

“Good. I like hearing you call me that.”

A facade masking rising anger.

However, Feilun, having long operated in noble society, could easily deceive the Duke’s eyes.

‘Though shameful, I am your son after all.’

Hiding emotions and acting was something he had done countless times before.

No, thinking about it, it was slightly different.

The only time he had shown his true emotions was during that brief period spent on the frontlines.

Eugene. And those cheerful companions.

Walking among these nobles made him miss those days even more—crouching in the trenches together.

“This way.”

Feilun’s thoughts were interrupted.

As Nachtval’s faction arrived at the conference hall, Duke Buckenheim, who had arrived earlier, gave a slight nod and commenced the round table meeting.

‘The most crucial agenda of this meeting must be the current war.’

More precisely, the rise of the Imperial faction due to the war.

The Empire was in a festive mood with the daily reports of Kalhyram Army’s victories, and Imperial citizens residing in Magic Noble autonomous regions were increasingly trying to relocate to areas under direct Imperial control.

Though the Magic Nobles had tried to appease public sentiment by accepting some civilian demands, the psychological gap between them—nobles by nature—and Imperial citizens was far too wide.

For those who viewed domain residents as noble property, the very notion of having to protect residents’ rights was unwelcome.

“Domain tax revenues are plummeting. At this rate, bankruptcy is certain!”

“Even after tax reductions, residents are fleeing. Isn’t this all because those lowborn populists are stirring things up?!”

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“Just look at how they excluded the Knight Order from this war—the Emperor’s intentions are clear! The Empire is trying to abandon us!”

“To cast aside those who saved the continent from the Rifts like this, what could the Imperial family be thinking…”

“We thought our time would come after annihilating the Revolutionary Army, but at this rate, isn’t it no different from the Emperor voluntarily starting a revolution?!”

Complaints and angry shouts erupted from all around.

The only exception was the Raikard family, which had started from humble farming roots.

Feilun’s eyes grew cold as he surveyed the murmuring conference hall.

‘In the rapidly changing Empire, the dissatisfaction of Magic Nobles and traditional nobility who hold regional power continues to build.’

With war already underway, their anger must have reached its limit.

The Magic Nobles were like a bomb about to explode.

“I understand your… passionate concern for the Empire.”

After much commotion.

One of the two families at the center of the round table.

Karl Buckenheim, head of House Buckenheim, spoke up.

“The Kalhyram Empire is a nation not yet healed from the scars of war.”

“……”

“In such circumstances, the Imperial family cries for revenge against the Republic and sends our precious youth to the battlefield.”

This cannot continue.

Muttering thus, the Duke addressed the nobles gathered around.

“Currently, His Majesty the Emperor has reached his limit due to continued assassination threats. I believe he is no longer fit to handle state affairs.”

“I agree.”

“All-out war with the Republic? No matter how strong our military is, how can we handle such vast territory!”

“Therefore!”

Drawing attention once more, Duke Buckenheim looked at the Magic Nobles watching him and spoke.

“I, Karl Buckenheim, as a member of the round table, propose to place Crown Prince Meldir on the throne.”

The voice continued evenly.

However, its content was anything but.

Even in the ensuing silence, everyone understood the meaning.

He was now speaking of treason.

‘If Meldir, supported by Buckenheim, takes the throne, Buckenheim will control future politics.’

This wouldn’t sit well with Nachtval.

Though Feilun thought this and looked aside, Duke Nachtval listened without any particular reaction.

“Duke Nachtval. What do you think?”

Buckenheim’s question followed.

Hearing this, Feilun immediately understood.

“…In the current situation, dealing with our common enemy, the Kalhyram Army, should take precedence.”

Rising from his seat, Duke Nachtval extended his hand toward Buckenheim.

“Nachtval agrees with Buckenheim’s decision.”

With those words, Duke Buckenheim and Duke Nachtval clasped hands.

The alliance of two giant houses supporting the Empire’s Magic Nobles.

Witnessing this, the other nobles responded with thunderous applause.

They were now plotting treason.

***

Clank- Clank-

On the train returning to the mansion after the meeting.

A cup of coffee was placed before Feilun, who sat gazing out the window in his private compartment.

As he lifted the cup, a small spider appeared.

The spider, containing trace amounts of magical power, spun threads from its abdomen to form white text.

[Two watchers. Next room.]

Feilun’s eyes narrowed as he read the note.

Should he be impressed by the Duke’s thoroughness in having him followed even here?

Or should he be shocked by the capabilities of the Imperial Intelligence Department, which had planted people even in the round table meeting?

Being caught in the middle made for an exhausting situation.

[Your business?]

“There is something you need to know.”

The spider blinked after moving its legs a couple of times.

Feilun nodded as he read the magical power signals directed at him.

Silently, only with lip movements.

Facing the spider watching him, Feilun slowly opened his mouth.

“The round table is preparing for rebellion.”

***

“Emperor Franz. You’ve accomplished the impossible.”

A dark space.

The war situation shown on the operation map illuminated by electric lights was nothing short of desperate for him.

“With the capital’s fall, the central front has collapsed. The north and south are just a matter of time at this rate.”

The Kalhyram Army advancing like an unstoppable tide, and the Republic hanging by a thread.

Countless defeat reports and endless casualty lists piled on one side of the desk.

Yet on Secretary General Vladimir Brezhnev’s face, no emotion like anger or sadness could be found.

“Hmm~ Hmm hmm~”

The Secretary General hummed while reading defeat reports and savoring the rising coffee aroma.

He appeared relaxed, as if everything was proceeding according to plan.

“Secretary General, sir.”

“Hmm?”

When his coffee cup was nearly half empty.

A man, accompanied by a group of armored infantry, bowed toward his back.

“Dr. Lavrenti. If you’ve returned, that means…”

“It’s as you expected, sir.”

The man pushed up his glasses with a bright smile.

“In the ruins of the capital Viselgrad, we found the ‘material’ you mentioned.”

At his gesture, the infantry in black powered armor silently set down the life support device they had brought.

Whoosh-!

As the rectangular capsule slowly opened with a mechanical sound.

Seeing what was inside, the Secretary General’s face immediately brightened.

“Eugene Lorentz, was it? I should send a letter to the Empire’s hero.”

“Ah… Aah…”

The Republic’s hero, Georgi Petrenko.

A horrific sight—missing all limbs except the right arm bearing the imprint, with only half his face remaining alive.

“To think you’d kill Kalinin, who constantly eyed my position, and deliver his son Petrenko to me.”

“At that time… Nng…!”

Petrenko’s half-remaining mouth gaped as if recognizing his face.

The Republic’s Secretary General.

His father’s political rival and the old monster ruling the Republic.

The Republic’s tumor he should have overthrown was smiling sinisterly at him.

“What… do you… want… from me…”

“Hmm? No, no. It’s not what I want from you, but what you should want from me.”

The Secretary General said this while bringing his face closer.

Just as Petrenko considered biting that face off.

“Oh, OH!”

Engineers wearing complex mechanical devices gathered around his capsule in groups.

“A seven stroke imprint mage. The Republic’s hero!”

“To obtain such a core…”

“With this much power… there’s a possibility. Secretary General, sir! We can activate it!”

Core? Power? Activate?

What are they talking about?

While wondering about this under their stares gleaming with madness and greed.

“…!”

As Petrenko gathered his thoughts, he finally realized where he had been transported.

Numerous powered suits lined up in the massive munitions factory.

Poison gas being mass-produced along the production line, and monster biomaterial being placed in test tubes.

He turned his jaw to look at the faces of the armored infantry who had transported him.

‘These ones…!’

Empty eyes without focus, blackened dead skin.

And the monster tumors growing all over their faces.

They were no longer human.

And beyond their shoulders.

Something was watching him from darkness as deep as an endless abyss.

A massive steel body dozens of meters long.

Hundreds of mana cores installed throughout the machine, and golden decorations engraved on that heavy frame.

And in the center, a capsule interwoven with mechanical devices.

“Ah…! Aah…! Ah……..!”

A sound that could have been either exclamation or scream escaped his mouth.

Massive eyes that seemed to be watching him.

Meeting that red gleam, Petrenko realized what Secretary General planned to do to him.

A munitions factory located at the western edge of the Republic.

The Republic’s ultimate weapon being created there.

Colossus.

“Listen here, Petrenko.”

“?!”

At that moment.

A chilling voice emerged from the Secretary General’s mouth as he drew near.

“Don’t you want revenge?”

“…!”

“The one who killed Kalinin, killed your comrades who shared your cause, and finally reduced you to this state.”

A voice like the devil’s whisper.

The Secretary General’s voice spread like a brand in the dying Petrenko’s mind.

“The Empire’s detestable hero, Eugene Lorentz. Don’t you want to kill him…!”

“Ugh…! Uggh…”

“I’ll make it happen, Petrenko. If you cooperate, that will become your new body!”

A new body.

A new capsule.

A new tomb.

Tears flowed from Petrenko’s remaining eye as it twitched.

So this is how it ends.

You’ve finally turned the Republic into hell.

Vladimir Brezhnev.

You’ll never stop this war.

Just like Eugene Lorentz who reduced me to this state.

“Heh… Heheh…! Heheheh…”

Madness is contagious.

The Secretary General’s madness was carved into the brain of a hero who had lost everything, and now only one thing remained for him.

Revenge.

“Sec… retary… Gen… eral…”

Petrenko’s half-mouth moved with eyes wide open.

“Speak, Petrenko. I’m listening.”

The Secretary General leaned in to listen.

When he finished speaking, the Secretary General smiled, showing his teeth.

“…Indeed. You truly are the guardian deity of revolution and hero of the Republic.”

“Heh… Heh…”

“Don’t worry, Petrenko.”

Along with a benevolent voice, the smile on the Secretary General’s face grew deeper.

“The Republic’s hero will protect the Republic even in death.”

Author's Thoughts

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