9th Grade Civil Servant In Another World Chapter 189 - That Summer (1)

“Next month’s final week, a film produced by the Supreme Leader Department will be released. The title is ‘Revolution,’ based on the script written by Secretary Lucas Redan several years ago. Secretary Redan has expressed the Supreme Leader’s majesty and achievements through beautiful descriptions…”

“Damn it.”

I switched off the radio and collapsed onto my bed. I banged my head irritably against the pillow.

“That dark chapter of my past being released to the entire world…”

A hollow laugh escaped me.

About two weeks ago, I think. Kruger suddenly spoke to me.

“Lucas, you know. You said Ossel gave you quite a hard time once.”

“I’m not sure which time you mean, Your Excellency. It wasn’t just once or twice.”

“Ahahaha! That’s certainly true. I meant the first time you were dragged there.”

“You mean…”

I searched through memories that felt so distant now.

“When a play based on your autobiography was performed and I was tortured over some problematic dialogue. Though it wasn’t my fault.”

“Right, that script. I read it and found it quite entertaining.”

“Lies are naturally entertaining. Especially bold-faced lies.”

That autobiography, <Revolution>.

The stories in it were completely fabricated.

Kruger hadn’t grown up righteously under such a loving mother, nor had he ever agonized over the nation’s uncertain future.

From childhood, he was called a demon bastard and suffered such terrible things that he simply wanted to sweep away all the bothersome elements.

To gain power for that purpose.

To reign supreme over everyone for that purpose.

To manipulate public opinion for that purpose, and to write that mendacious autobiography.

Kruger didn’t get angry at my indifferent response.

“Wouldn’t it be a shame to let it stay buried?”

“Where are you planning to perform it? No, you might as well make it into a film and distribute it. Feel free to use it however you like, Your Excellency.”

“Yes, how enthusiastic. It’s good to see.”

“Are you going to make me a film director or something?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lucas. Do you think I’d let you leave this castle?”

“…”

Kruger’s smile felt unpleasant, and I frowned slightly.

Nothing had changed since I looked into that bastard’s memories.

Of course, I neither pity nor underestimate Friedrich Kruger as a human being. Rather, I’ve only become more convinced that he’s a dangerous bastard.

Just because he can’t feel fear doesn’t mean he should plunge this entire world into terror.

From the beginning, there was no point in trying to stop the war or anything like that. My goal had been destined for failure from the start.

Because this bastard has been waiting for this moment since he was fifteen.

The moment he could sweep across the continent so that no one could touch him.

Or maybe something has changed a little.

Gradually, the surveillance and Kruger’s pressure bearing down on me has intensified.

Does he think I really could kill him? Or does he just enjoy tormenting me as I follow him around all day?

‘Or maybe it’s Eve Clothier’s excessive loyalty.’

Her subtle power struggle with me is ongoing.

Anyway, our power comes from Kruger’s favor. The pact or whatever is something only Kruger and I know about. So as Kruger pressures and tests me, more Supreme Leader Department officials are discreetly siding with me.

Without realizing that Kruger’s attention is a sophisticated scheme to keep me neither alive nor dead.

I thoroughly exploited those officials. They also gladly followed my orders. They were eager to attach themselves to the meteoric new power.

For example, I ordered them to revoke Erika’s wanted poster and Oscar’s conscription order.

That was disappointingly simple. It ended with just one phone call.

‘How disgusting.’

Even my play being made into a movie would be seen by the people in this castle as evidence of Kruger favoring me.

How is Kruger planning to use this situation?

***

The war situation has been deadlocked for several months.

People have grown accustomed to both anxiety and joy.

Food is scarce.

It’s commonplace to grind turnips into lumps and bake them as makeshift sweets, or to pick grass and flower petals for children clamoring for something sweet.

Half of the enormous wheat and fruit flowing from the abundant granary regions went to the battlefields. Supply officers delivered canned food and dried meat to soldiers daily.

Even so, the domestic rationing system hasn’t completely collapsed. The government is clearly using even stockpiled food to feed the people.

The gradual appearance of starving people is due, as always, to bastards who embezzle through corrupt means.

Even with Ossel and police watching with fire in their eyes, catching and beheading one or two people every day, corruption doesn’t disappear. It just becomes more cunning.

The materials siphoned off flow into someone’s underground warehouse, into the luggage bundles of families secretly crossing the border, and into taverns operating lavishly even in these times.

“Another beer here!”

“There’s an extra charge, sir.”

Ameli smiled brightly as she set down a beer mug on the table.

“What? Why is it so expensive?”

“We’re barely scraping by with our business.”

She pointed to the window that was blocked not with curtains but with wooden boards. The customer who looked obviously wealthy sighed helplessly and pulled out his wallet.

At the next table, drunks were gambling.

“Let me win something today!”

“Well, will it be that easy?”

A pleasant-looking young man with red hair swept it back and grinned slyly.

“Whatever, shuffle the cards!”

The cards spun dazzlingly in the man’s hands.

Exactly thirty minutes later, the drunks started wailing.

“This is rigged!”

“You’re all working together, aren’t you?!”

“Come now, how could that be? Who shuffled the cards?”

Oscar stepped back, avoiding the man trying to grab his collar, and signaled to Ameli.

“Gentlemen, you’re too drunk.”

Ameli approached and gently grabbed the man’s shoulder. While she distracted him, Oscar swept the scattered paper scraps from the table into his pocket.

Ration tickets.

Issued according to family size, you could take these to the district office each week to receive food and daily necessities.

Those drunk men had somehow obtained hundreds of these tickets and were using them for gambling.

After Oscar helped Ameli chase out the men, he went upstairs.

“Done with work today?”

Erika, who had been writing something by faint candlelight, looked up. Since they started hiding in the ‘Golden Fox’ tavern, they’ve been gathering information through Emma.

A few days ago, they learned from Lucas’s call that they were free.

Lucas had called suddenly without warning. In the middle of the night, too.

“Hello, Ameli. Are Oscar and Erika there?”

“Lucas!”

When the two nearby jumped up in surprise, he chuckled softly over the phone.

“Lucas, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Erika. You guys haven’t had any trouble, right? Ah, don’t explain in too much detail.”

“Yeah… Everything’s going well. But what’s this about?”

“Nothing much. Just calling to tell you guys you can move around freely now. I pulled some strings.”

“Pulled some strings?”

When Oscar asked without thinking, another chuckle came through.

“There’s that kind of thing. Anyway, Erika, your wanted poster has been withdrawn. Oscar, I got your conscription exemption reversed too. But that doesn’t mean you should run around wildly, you know? Especially you, Erika—your face is already known, so be extra careful. Well, I’m hanging up now.”

“Wait, Lucas!”

Erika shouted, then looked lost for a moment.

“…Never mind. You take care of yourself too.”

“I’m always healthy. See you later.”

After the call ended, the three of them stayed silent for a long time. Then Ameli quietly asked.

“Should we have a drink?”

Even after drinking all night that day, Erika and Oscar’s daily routine didn’t change much.

Richard and Georg started visiting more frequently, and Oscar occasionally went out or came down to the tavern to join the gambling.

Erika still stayed locked in the upstairs room due to public attention, organizing information. Perhaps inheriting Lucas’s role.

“Emma can handle this, right?”

Erika held up a ticket.

“Right. Then it’ll get back to the owners. Or if not that, it’ll reach people who need it.”

Oscar was making the most of his ability to move freely in the tavern, using his specialty to help people.

Sweeping the gambling tables to collect tickets and money, then helping people through Emma.

“But aren’t we maybe going against our goal? We’re supposed to draw out people’s anger. To do that, we shouldn’t be stopping the injustices that provoke the public.”

He’d been casually combing Colin’s fur when the thought occurred to him, but Erika snorted and replied.

“No matter how much money and ration tickets we distribute, the broken rationing system won’t recover. Compared to the many suffering, we can only help a few lucky ones.”

“That’s true, but it feels bad somehow, Erika.”

“Can’t be helped.”

Erika answered coldly and returned to her work. Her nerves had grown sharper since Lucas left.

Oscar decided he shouldn’t disturb her and kept quiet, but the silence lasted only a minute.

“Oscar? A customer is looking for you.”

Ameli called him carefully.

***

Going downstairs, he found a short man standing limply in the darkened hall after closing.

“Who are you—Ian?!”

Oscar’s eyes shook violently at the unexpected appearance.

“Did you get discharged? On leave? How did you end up here? How did you know I was here?”

At the flood of questions, Second Lieutenant Ian Keller, who had been hanging his shoulders weakly, smiled faintly.

“How else would I know? When they describe a red-haired monster who sweeps gambling tables, there’s only Oscar Fisher. It took some effort to find you though.”

He staggered over and extended his hand to Oscar.

“It’s been a while, friend.”

“Yeah, really long time. It’s the first time we’re seeing each other since the war started.”

Oscar finally relaxed and shook hands with him.

“What happened? You look unwell.”

With Ameli’s consideration, they sat in the quiet hall drinking precious beer. Ian stared at his beer mug, opening and closing his lips repeatedly as if struggling with something.

“Oscar.”

He quietly called his friend’s name, his eyes bloodshot as if he’d stayed up for days.

“I’ve sinned against you.”

“What?”

“I.”

Ian’s voice seemed like laughing, or crying.

“I killed your brother.”

The words that flowed from his pale lips felt unreal.

***

“…Ah.”

Second Lieutenant Ian Keller lay dazed, floating on the churning seawater.

“Screeeech!”

The dragon’s cry was terrible.

“Screeeech!”

And mournful too.

Just minutes ago, the pilot who had been fighting with him was now a corpse slumped in the cockpit. Blood poured from his neck like a waterfall, flowing endlessly down the dragon’s body.

In the blood-reddened seawater, large fish swarmed frantically.

The splashing of the swarming fish tickled his body. Ian floated looking up at the azure sky, then closed his eyes.

The sun’s final burst of energy at summer’s end. The sea of this distant southern island nation was warm.

As he dozed off, he suddenly remembered around this time last year.

When he first participated in the invasion of Batalland.

Lucas Redan, who had become commander, secretly called Ian out. Then they snuck into Batalland’s capital Orhim hidden in ammunition crates.

The Batalland king committed suicide and the prime minister surrendered with a white flag.

He was inwardly curious about what Lucas had done there to make things unfold that way. But somehow he’d forgotten. No, now he couldn’t think about anything.

Before returning to the unit that day, Lucas looked at Ian with a worried expression and advised him.

“Don’t try too hard. This war—we can’t win no matter what we do anyway.”

“…Because you’re here?”

When he asked blankly, Lucas burst into laughter.

“No, not for that reason. It’s just predetermined that way. Because Schufaben’s capacity is insufficient. We don’t have the population and production to swallow the continent in a single war.”

Ian didn’t know what to do with Lucas’s confident words.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“You’re my friend, aren’t you? I’d be sad if a friend died in this meaningless war. Though I don’t mean you should die with meaning either. Anyway… take care of yourself.”

Ian doesn’t really understand the human being called Lucas Redan.

He says they’re friends, but they’ve barely met alone.

Even when he visited his tavern daily, they just drank cheerfully without ever having serious conversations.

So he can’t even imagine what Lucas Redan is aiming for or how he rose from a lowly civil servant to Supreme Leader’s secretary.

But floating in this sea of blood under the hot sun.

Ian felt like he could grasp some vague truth.

Lucas Redan despises war.

“War is… horrible.”

Ian muttered meaninglessly, thinking of the past twenty-four hours.