Chapter 150: A Visit to Progen (4) I think of assassination.
I consider the method.
A bomb is the best tool—at least for this occasion. The target expects the device to be a dud, after all. I am simply a new variable, inserting myself into a script that has already been written.
"...It won't be difficult."
Early dawn. Starlight settled over Commer Avenue in Progen.
Soon, Minister Louis Marceau would pass along this route. I stood on the very path he would take. Before my regression, an assassination attempt had occurred on this road leading to the council chambers.
I pulled the bomb from my pocket.
It was a mana bomb, personally crafted by Yukia. Though only the size of my palm, its destructive power—concentrated from several high-purity mana stones—was comparable to a standard artillery barrage.
"..."
I scanned the area for witnesses, then crouched down. Using a dagger, I chipped away at the asphalt and planted the bomb beneath the surface.
I turned away in silence and began to circle the area, observing the preliminary security checks.
—Hey! Get up!
—Get out! Scram!
From dawn, police and soldiers moved through the streets, chasing away vagrants, but there was no further security.
In the meantime, morning broke.
People slowly began to gather along the avenue. They were likely the welcoming crowd arranged by Minister Louis Marceau himself.
Thump—
My heart pounded.
Thump—
The number of Izenheim the virus was reacting to exceeded several hundred.
Thump—
Suppressing the frantic beat, I calmed my consciousness and my mana.
I utilized a movement technique unique to the Ebenholtz: Concealment—the art of completely erasing one's presence, including breath and body heat.
Thump—
From within the crowd, I surveyed the surroundings.
Plainclothes security personnel were stationed on the rooftops of nearby buildings and at various points along the road, but there were no 'experts' of a Knight's caliber who could detect the flow of mana.
It was a hole in the security detail, intentionally left by Louis Marceau's side. This, too, was necessary to complete the script of a failed assassination.
Blaaaaaare—
From the distant port, a warship's horn blared. The crowd gathering on the roadside swelled with every passing minute. Eventually, the avenue and the surrounding area became a tangled, chaotic mess.
Thump—
On a distant hill, those holding signs welcoming the visiting dignitary and those with signs denouncing the Socialist Party's tax policies hurled insults at each other.
It was a pandemonium where people and ideologies collided.
And in this suffocating sea of people, 'he' finally appeared.
The Izenheim who was the lead actor in this fake assassination—Thomas.
Thump—
My heart pulsed unpleasantly, pinpointing his location.
Thump—
In broad daylight, in the middle of a city packed with tens of thousands of people, how does one kill a man?
The Ebenholtz know the answer.
Even murder must be performed in the most elegant, aristocratic manner. Silently.
Thump—
I pulled the wide brim of my hat low and let my body drift naturally with the tide of the angry mob. I simply flowed like the current. Leaving no trace, not even a hint of my presence, I approached my prey from behind.
Rustle—
In the fleeting moment our clothes brushed past each other, I struck.
I discharged mana in rapid succession at two precise points: the lumbar ganglion below his spine and his upper cervical vertebrae. His lower back and his neck.
—.
There was no gunshot. There was only the mana surging from my fingertips, severing his internal connections.
With his spine and neck severed simultaneously, he couldn't even register his own condition. There wasn't even any bleeding, as my mana still lingered within his body, cauterizing the path.
His left knee gave way, and he collapsed. The severed ganglion prevented him from moving; the pierced vertebrae prevented him from making a sound.
Completely paralyzed, he died where he fell.
Thud.
The man collapsed, limp as a rag doll. But the countless people in the crowd masked the fall naturally, and I slipped away quietly. I hid myself in the shadow of a distant bell tower.
Waaaaaah—!
The cheers grew louder. I watched the motorcade carrying the Progen minister and the Yursled prime minister approaching from the far end of the avenue.
Clutching the detonator in one hand, I pulled my hat down deeper.
Their script had been torn to shreds.
Now, it was time for everyone to witness a new ending.
*
"...Do not displease him in any way. The state guest arriving today is extremely important."
Minister of Defense Louis Marceau repeatedly warned his aides.
The Prime Minister of Yursled was arriving shortly. It was a momentous occasion to discuss a military alliance between the West and the East to check the Empire's expansion. Only by successfully negotiating with him could they achieve their goal: forming a defensive line to halt the Empire's ambitions.
—He is arriving.
The voice of the head of security crackled through the radio from the port.
Beyond the horizon, a warship of the Kingdom of Yursled was approaching.
Bwoooooooh—
The ship's horn echoed as it docked at the pier. Prime Minister Bernard disembarked. Minister Louis Marceau, accompanied by an honor guard and cavalry befitting the highest honors, greeted him.
"A sincere welcome to the Progen Republic, Prime Minister Bernard."
"A pleasure, Minister Marceau."
Bernard of the East, and Louis Marceau of the West. The two men shared a light handshake.
"A luncheon and a grand welcoming ceremony have been prepared for you in the capital. Shall we?"
Guided by Minister Marceau, they boarded a bulletproof vehicle side by side.
"Haha. I am honored by such a fervent welcome," Prime Minister Bernard said, smiling with satisfaction.
"It is only natural. The honor is all mine."
Cavalry soldiers rode alongside their vehicle as an escort.
"As you know, the Empire's recent behavior is highly suspicious. Their intervention in Zerpa, the fact that all their labor is focused on munitions... What are your thoughts, Prime Minister?"
Marceau began the negotiations right there in the car. He was a man who couldn't afford to waste a single second.
"I share your sentiment," Bernard agreed, his expression equally grave.
Meanwhile, the procession entered the capital's main thoroughfare, where citizens of Progen filled the streets, waving the flags of both nations and cheering.
"Hoh... To think Yursled would be welcomed so warmly."
Prime Minister Bernard watched them with a pleased expression. Marceau let out a sigh of relief. The undesirable elements had already been cleared out using hired thugs.
"As you can see, Progen is very fond of Yursled."
Minister Marceau, observing the Prime Minister's reaction, spoke to the driver.
"...Can you slow down a bit?"
He checked his wristwatch, confirming the appointed time.
"I'd like the Prime Minister to enjoy the warm welcome of the Republic's citizens for a little longer."
"Yes, sir."
Minister Marceau gave a hand signal out the window. In response, the escorting procession slowed, and the formation loosened.
"Still, I never dreamed that Progen, the pride of the West, would be the first to extend a hand to us in Yursled."
Prime Minister Bernard suddenly smiled faintly. There was a slight jab in his words, but Minister Marceau willingly endured it.
"Indeed. There is no longer any reason for conflict between the West and the East."
The continent was currently divided into three major factions: the West, the Empire, and the East. Among them, Yursled was a small but powerful nation that directly bordered the Empire's eastern frontier, making it the perfect partner for the 'Great Imperial Containment Network' that Marceau was advocating.
"With the Empire's blatant expansionist ambitions so obvious, we cannot remain shackled by the old quarrels of the past. As times change, must we not march forward in step with them?"
Minister Marceau's expression turned resolute. Even so, his eyes constantly scanned the view outside the window.
Soon, the arranged event would take place.
"For the peace of humanity. And for the survival of humanity."
As Louis Marceau spoke of humanity's survival—
"The Empire is an axis of evil that must be stopped—"
The moment he uttered that determined assertion—
—!
In the middle of the square, an explosion erupted from beneath the asphalt road, directly under the passing vehicle.
KRA-KOOOOM—!
The shockwave blew the vehicle's undercarriage to pieces. Steel shrapnel scattered, tearing apart the bodies inside.
Ruuuumble—
The vibration of the blast tore through the air. A deafening echo reverberated through the entire space. The face of Louis Marceau, who had just spoken of an 'axis of evil,' split vertically. Torn flesh and bone fragments from his body were instantly engulfed in the inferno.
Leaving behind only a trace that he had once been human, he was reduced to ashes.
*
Five minutes earlier.
Clara Magal watched the Socialist Party minister's procession from a distance.
"Filthy bastard."
Louis Marceau. One of the greatest enemies of the Revision Society and a core member of the Socialist Party. He was a piece of human trash who clamored for tax hikes, stealing money from the workers only to hand it over to the freeloaders.
If she could, she would have killed him with her own hands, but they still lacked the power. The Revision Society was still insignificant—frankly, not much more than a student club.
"This is seriously pissing me off. Look over there."
A member in front of her scowled and pointed. A sign reading [Down with the tax hikes that suck the blood of the common people] had just been smashed to pieces. Thugs had appeared and were beating the protesters.
"...Damn them all to hell," Clara muttered, clenching her fists. A deep sense of powerlessness washed over her.
From this far away, there was nothing she could do. Nothing but watch. Nothing but rage and curse—
KRA-BOOOOOOM!
In that instant, a sudden thunderbolt struck.
Or rather, an explosion erupted from the ground.
Clara and her members flinched backward at the bizarre, eardrum-shattering roar.
Kwoooosh—!
Clara's eyes widened as she stared into the distance.
Kuuuuuuung—
Through her wide-open pupils, the image of the minister's vehicle, crumpling like paper and flying into the air, registered in slow motion.
It soared high into the sky. As if it had sprouted wings…
CRUUUUNCH—!
The world snapped back to its normal speed. The vehicle was instantly obliterated. Clara gasped for breath. The cavalry guards in the escorting procession coughed up blood and collapsed. The screams of the citizens who had been cheering moments before mingled with the shouts of the security guards, creating a scene of utter chaos.
Fwoooosh—!
Scarlet flames blazed from the shattered avenue. The fire quickly turned into acrid smoke, and people began to push and shove one another, desperate to escape.
"..."
Clara looked down upon the scene with unwavering eyes.
Minister Louis Marceau. A man of power in the Progen Republic, the right-hand man of the Socialist Party's leader.
On the surface, he used the Empire as an excuse, raising his voice as if he cared for the Republic. But behind the scenes, he condoned the exploitative financial capital that preyed on the people's livelihood, driving countless commoners to their deaths with repeated tax increases.
"...Ha."
That beast of a man had met his end.
A smile spread across Clara's lips, but then, a thought occurred to her.
—Chief. Would you be willing to hear my story?
The voice of a man who, just a few days ago in her cramped apartment, had looked her straight in the eye and spoken with a chilling tone.
—I am preparing to make a major move.
The memory of Felix Renoir's voice blossomed in her mind like a dark flower.
*
[Unprecedented Terrorist Attack in the Heart of the Progen Capital!]
[Shocking! Minister of Defense Louis Marceau Killed in Explosion]
[Yursled Prime Minister Bernard Also Killed... Kingdom of Yursled Issues Stern Warning Over Security Failure]
[Who is the Culprit? Far-Right Groups Suspected]
[Public Fury Over Murderous Tax Hikes Finally Erupts in Terrible Explosion...!]
The streets of Progen were littered with news bulletins from every outlet.
The assassination was a success. Bernard and Louis Marceau were definitely blown to bits, and the guards, in their frenzy, had opened fire on innocent civilians. Thanks to them, the scene—including any residual mana traces—was completely compromised. I returned to my room without a care.
An expected guest was already there waiting for me.
"..."
Clara Magal. She glared at me with sunken eyes.
"Was this your doing?"
I silently raised an eyebrow and took off my coat. I sat down leisurely in a chair. For a moment, I considered my response.
"...Yes. It was something that someone had to do."
Clara despised the Socialist Party and the Izenheim. Before my regression, that ideology had developed further, and she had become active in an armed group that followed the Empire.
In other words, she was a person who would be useful to the greater cause.
"..."
Clara's fingers twitched. She licked her parched lips, a reaction that seemed to be an effort to suppress her emotions. It was understandable. She was nervous, standing before an assassin of unprecedented scale.
"What are you going to do now? The entire Republic has been turned upside down."
"I plan to leave for a while."
"The borders will be sealed. The police and military will be searching for so much as a single rat."
"Well, there's always a way." I smiled nonchalantly and asked, "Chief. This should be enough to pass the entry test, right?"
"..."
Clara was silent for a moment. She stared at me for a long time, then let out a hollow laugh, as if in disbelief.
"I feel like I should be giving you my position."
"I don't have a talent for gathering people. Being a member is enough for me."
"...Fine. I grant you entry."
I became an official member of the Revision Society. It was a cause for celebration, but I made my expression serious again. I sharpened my gaze.
"Chief. I deeply agree with the cause of the Revision Society. Progen is rotten to the core. At this point, it might be more beneficial to be occupied by the Empire. Therefore, this act of terror is only our beginning."
She listened to my words without wavering. She nodded as if in natural agreement.
"What position do you want?"
"...I'll tell you later."
"Understood. For now, get yourself to safety. We'll meet again when things quiet down."
Clara extended her hand to me.
"Yes," I said, taking her hand. "Let's meet again."
Felix Renoir.
I have no intention of wasting this deadly new identity—the assassin of Louis Marceau, a powerful minister of Progen and a key figure in the Socialist Party. On the contrary, I will refine it and use it even more meticulously.
"Right."
Clara Magal would grow into the leader of an armed group that was well worth using. Many people might die in the process, but if the result is good, the ends justify the means.
When the goal is 'the survival of humanity,' it truly does.
"Let's be sure to meet again, Comrade Felix."
In the heart of the West, I had gained an ally.
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