The purpose of the terror attack was simple. To undermine the royal authority at this gathering of foreign envoys and nobles of the United Kingdom.
However, precisely for this reason, the extremity of the terror had to be somewhat subdued. The moment casualties exceeded a certain threshold, the United Kingdom would prioritize anger toward the terrorist group rather than blaming Krasilov.
The important thing here was to maintain that precarious balance.
This was a righteous act. A struggle to honor the souls of the Great King, the Royal Guard, and the sacrificed soldiers during the last war.
Therefore, the United Kingdom could mock and condemn Krasilov, but not express anger toward the terrorists themselves.
It was a precisely organized terror attack, maximally restrained, targeting only Krasilov's military.
"...Is that your excuse?"
Elizabeta Kirillovna Krasilov said, looking down at the square engulfed in chaos.
Pavel kneeling and Ivan Petrovich, who had a gun pressed against Pavel's nape, were silently looking at her.
"And Vanka. No... Lord Ivan Petrovich. Why didn't you carry out the arrest of the remaining culprits?"
Well.
Hmm.
Ivan chose his words carefully, with the bewilderment he always felt when explaining common sense to people of this world.
It was common sense for terrorist attacks to occur at academy festivals.
And according to that common sense, this terror attack should be suppressed by academy students, leading to their combat experience and appropriate rewards.
Here, Pavel, who was probably the boss of this stage, clearly exceeded the appropriate difficulty level, so combat was preemptively blocked.
While events where "protagonists" surpass their limits are certainly necessary, they must occur within quantitatively designed difficulty parameters.
Ivan was a modern person who lived in the scientifically-oriented 21st century. He already knew that people don't grow through sheer willpower. Sustainable growth comes from continuous stimulation within acceptable limits.
Having no way to explain this, Ivan simply stared silently at Elizabeta.
And that gaze fueled Elizabeta's anxiety.
'Father (Kirill) intentionally withheld information from the previous king (Ivan), and with the death of the previous king, almost the entire Royal Guard perished on the battlefield...'
Elizabeta gripped her cup, trying hard to hide her trembling hands, acting as if nothing was wrong. Ripples formed on the clear red tea.
She bit her lip as she looked at her distorted reflection on the surface.
'From the Royal Guard's perspective, that was...'
Being abandoned. Or more precisely, being betrayed. A prince mad with power lust, along with his father, ground down the troops under the pretext of strengthening royal authority.
There could be excuses. The royal family was in such a precarious position then that they had to consider such an evil move as the lesser evil. Slowly crumble, or make a ruthless decision. Now grown, Elizabeta could understand Kirill's mind at that time.
The nobles didn't want any more war of attrition. But without the sacrifice of their forces, Krasilov would have been on the list of fallen nations during the war.
Strong justification and authority to control everyone was needed. Cutting out the previous king and the entire Royal Guard was probably a judgment made in that process.
An unforgivable act, a past that even she found revolting.
But without that past, she wouldn't be here either. Therefore, as one who inherited the royal blood, she couldn't be proud in the face of their anger.
Anger? Of course she was angry too. She remembered her grandfather. She knew what kind of people the Royal Guard were.
But separately, she was a political animal. She had to be. However...
'Vanka. Are you the same?'
As someone from the Royal Guard who was abandoned once,
And as someone from the Annihilation Squad who was forced to die once more.
Can you consider political justification without emotion?
And can you understand that justification, that fancy word? Can you set aside your anger toward this country and devote yourself solely to duty?
Even if that devotion wasn't recognized by anyone in the world?
No one can do that.
Therefore, at this point, Elizabeta could only look at Ivan with empty eyes that had lost the world. With the expression of a cold monarch deliberately hiding her sorrow.
Logically, there was no reason Ivan wouldn't betray her.
'So you abandoned suppressing the terror and brought the terror leader before my eyes.'
Armed before the royal blood. Silently looking at her.
Elizabeta prepared for death. If this was the price, so be it. She smiled sadly.
"Pavel Sergeyevich Orlov. Raise your head."
Pavel looked up at Elizabeta with eyes full of anger and sorrow.
Regardless of the circumstances and intentions, he was a traitor. And he had no intention of denying that fact. He was here on behalf of the departed Great King and his subordinates, and although he lacked ability, his goal was the downfall of the royal family.
That would not change.
However, Elizabeta was looking down at him with sad eyes.
"Your transgressions will be covered by this country's faults. You are free to leave whenever you wish. This country will no longer detain you."
"...Do you think showing mercy to me alone can atone for all the sins of the royal family?"
"Of course not."
Elizabeta smiled and shook her head.
"Atoning for the royal family's mistakes is entirely my right. So Vanka, do what you must do."
"What I... must do, Your Highness?"
"My brother has lost his right of succession, and my father is now old and frail. I am the last heir to this country, so do as you wish. If you wish to punish Krasilov, then do so."
There was no wavering in Elizabeta's eyes. Pressing down her hands trembling with sorrow, she smiled brilliantly, as if about to shatter.
At least her final appearance should be beautiful. It should be dignified. That is the duty of royalty.
As Ivan was choosing his words in this situation, Pavel asked in a low voice with burning eyes.
"That is hypocrisy, Princess. You said you would atone for the royal family's sins with your life, but to me, it just looks like you're running away."
"Then tell me what you desire."
"What I desire is..."
Pavel looked at Elizabeta's face and swallowed his words.
What do I desire?
To drag the royal family's honor through the mud, to punish Kirill's outrageous sins, to end the royal bloodline with his own hands.
Only revenge.
That was all he had most desired.
This country has no right to exploit the Great King's name or praise the heroes of the past era.
However, Pavel thought as he looked up at Elizabeta's face. She too, was of the Great King's blood.
Perhaps she was this country's last hope, perfectly embodying what the Great King had so desired.
He wanted revenge. That was certain. But that couldn't dim the loyalty he had felt for the Great King.
Because in those days, the Royal Guard were those who had gathered admiring the brilliant figure of the Great King.
"You called it hypocrisy. Your words are right. I am a hypocrite. I hold all the power in this country in my grasp and can dismiss all the royal family's rights with a gesture, yet I am praised by the people as the first monarch to accept the constitution. Could there be greater hypocrisy than this?"
Elizabeta looked beyond the window.
The square was still in chaos, but the terror was being suppressed with the active intervention of the counterintelligence headquarters.
"All information in this country flows to me. All gun barrels in this country move by my will. Therefore, everything I say and do is inevitably hypocrisy. Is not power the most vicious vice that the Lord has allowed to humans?"
"..."
"So I pride myself on being a hypocrite, and I will not deny my hypocrisy. If my hypocrisy makes this country prosperous, I will rightfully pay the price for that hypocrisy."
Elizabeta reached out and grasped Pavel's arm.
When Ivan flinched and tried to restrain her, Elizabeta pushed him back with a gentle gesture.
She helped Pavel stand up. She led him to the window.
The square of Pritzenkaya, the park, and in the distance, the streets and downtown were visible.
Apart from the military gathered due to the university's chaos, peaceful streets still stretched beyond the barricade created by the military.
The chaos here was peripheral. Pritzenkaya was one of the top cities in the United Kingdom.
Numerous people were walking the streets. Even though only 4 years had passed since the end of the war.
This city is rising. It will rise. It must rise.
Humans were never made to collapse.
"Look, this is the scenery that the previous king desired, and the peace completed by his death. This is a city built by the previous king's virtue. Transfer the royal family's faults to me, and live in this city that you and your comrades have achieved. That is my hypocrisy."
In the desk drawer of the office, there was an ivory-colored pistol.
Elizabeta took the pistol from the drawer, placed it in Pavel's hand, and turned around. She wanted to take in the city's scenery one last time.
"Do what you wish to do. I have ordered many to 'die' until now, so I will never hide behind others in the face of death."
Pavel held the pistol with trembling hands, flinched, and then dropped his head with a deep sigh.
Click, the pistol rolled weakly on the floor.
Pavel quietly bowed his head and slowly knelt down.
-There is only one thing I ask of you all. Die standing! Do not flee from death. Stand and accept your death!
-I am not a king who preserves your lives and safety. You may call me a tyrant if you wish. That is right!
-I am already overwhelmed with just protecting your families, your homes, and the subjects of this country. I am such an incompetent king. So stand and die!
-But remember. I will never die behind you. I want your lives. In return, I will give my life. For this country, give your lives to me!
-I and you will perish here today, but Krasilov will never fall. Will you follow me? Will you willingly march toward death?
What did they answer to those words?
Pavel fell into a daze.
-Yes, let's go. Today I die with the greatest men of this country!
Ah yes, that's what they said.
Long live Ivan the Great. May Krasilov be eternal.
Lord, protect our king!
On his massive warhorse, Ivan the Great shook his head and laughed heartily.
-Lord, protect humanity!
If you have the power to protect an old man who is about to die, instead.
So that children yet to be born can look up at the sky in their own country.
Saying so, the king charged. Charged toward the face of the Seven Dragon Generals.
Charged toward the concept that had come to reality. Charged toward the monsters called gods.
Because if this front collapsed, there would be no forces to stop the enemy's army from reaching Pritzenkaya.
He charged, saying there was nothing to regret if he could bring even a few days' reprieve to this country's death.
Even as the men marching with him disappeared one by one, he charged, holding the military flag and shouting his name to the whole world.
Look here. Look at me, your king is here.
As if promising the falling soldiers that they would not die alone.
As if to say that his empty words—that he would not die behind them—were not lies.
Yes, the hero died. But the royal blood continues.
"Lord, protect Krasilov."
Pavel said, bowing his head deeply.
Elizabeta asked Ivan.
"Where does your loyalty lie?"
"Only to the heir of this country."
"Even if your devotion receives no reward?"
"We were taught to consider loyalty itself as our reward."
Ivan calmly knelt on one knee and bowed his head.
Elizabeta looked down at these men for a long time, then gazed at the distant view of Pritzenkaya.
Crying, she laughed.
"How heavy my shoulders are."