Mage? Magic Engineer!

The weapon of criticism cannot replace criticism by weapons.

The foundation of peace is violence.

Public support is the key to success.

These were the three tenets Valon tried to drill into the heads of the young noble scions. In truth, their family studies, the Empire’s military doctrine, and their political and economic education all expounded similar views. However, hearing something and knowing how to act on it are two different things.

Valon, the handler, had to show the members of the National Salvation Alliance how to put these ideas into practice—most importantly, how to shed their naivety.

Valon complained in a letter to Rorschach:

"Most of the people I’ve dealt with are far too naive... This isn’t to say that the descendants of the Empire’s Nobility are all useless. After careful consideration, I’ve realized it is precisely those filled with wishful thinking about the nation, its history, and its future who would join such a fanciful Alliance.

"It is like a wooden frame, and we are the ones who must replace it with steel rebar and pour the concrete. Otherwise, the ’wise and mighty’ William II might just huff and puff, and this fragile organization will fall to pieces."

And Valon’s proudest recent achievement had taken place in Pomerania.

「Time rewound to the dawn of the day Valon wrote his letter—Pomerania, in Duke Crook’s Palace.」

Libus awoke, her face pale, and rang the Bell by her window.

"My Lady..." The maid on duty rushed in.

"What time is it?"

"Five... five-oh-three."

Libus scrambled out of bed, her bare feet landing directly on the carpet. "Quick, dress me! I must see my father."

"My Lady, it’s five o’clock..." The maid tried to remind Libus. She not only repeated the time but also drew back the curtains—in winter, it was naturally pitch-black outside in Pomerania at five in the morning.

But Libus was already walking to the wardrobe herself, picking out her day clothes amidst the maid’s alarm. "You don’t have to tell me again. Ever since the war began, Father has been waking up with the roosters."

Sure enough, when she pushed open the Duke’s study door, Duke Crook was there, a pipe clenched between his teeth and his brow furrowed with worry. Libus got straight to the point. "Father, I had a terrible dream."

"You’re nearly old enough to be married; you shouldn’t be running to your father over a nightmare. Why not write it down in a letter to your suitor?" For some reason, the Duke’s tone was tinged with jealousy.

However, he quickly set down his pipe, opened a window to let the cold wind rush in, and then draped the fur coat hanging by the door over Libus’s shoulders.

"You were worried the smoke would bother me, so you opened the window. But then you worried I’d be cold, so you draped a coat that reeks of smoke over me. Thank you ever so much, Father."

The Duke was always flustered by his daughter’s teasing. Thankfully, she immediately moved on, rubbing her temples. "Gods, I shouldn’t be rambling... Father, something terrible happened in my dream, and I fear it’s going to happen for real.

"I dreamed that at the moment between night and day, a volley of gunshots echoed through our home. There was blood... I saw our family, and my cousin. Pavel’s expression was terrifying."

"You think your Prophetic Talent has manifested again?" the Duke mused, considering Libus’s words. When his daughter had claimed to use her talent before, her visions were always vague. This was the first time she had ever described a scene so clearly.

’A prophecy manifesting as a dream?’

Pomerania had no proverb for ’what one thinks by day, one dreams by night,’ but the Duke certainly understood the sentiment. His first thought was that he had been letting Libus sit in on his official business and listen to war reports. ’Have I brought the horrors of war into her dreams?’

’And Pavel has been distant with her lately. Is it because they’re at odds over the succession?’

Duke Crook comforted his daughter. "Perhaps it was just a nightmare? Don’t be frightened."

Whether it was because he believed Libus’s prophecy or simply to comfort her, the Duke spoke with gravity. "Wake the butler and my wife. Have them go to the entrance of the secret passage.

"Notify the Guards inside and outside the castle to be on high alert. Have them check their Firearms and patrol with vigilance."

After giving the orders, he hugged Libus. "There now. We’ve made our preparations. Do you feel a bit safer? Don’t be afraid. Can you try to recall any more details...?"

"I can’t see clearly... Later, there were so many people standing behind Pavel, but I couldn’t make out their faces." This was what frightened her the most. Among the blurry figures, one was strikingly familiar. She was terrified her suspicion was correct—terrified that "he" was also among those standing behind Pavel.

"No... It’s too late. Too late." The girl who had been teasing her father moments before was suddenly seized by a great panic. She grabbed her father’s hand and pulled him out of the study, but just as she reached the doorway, Libus collapsed without warning.

The Duke’s face paled. He helped his fallen daughter up, only to see her eyes squeezed shut in pain, tears of blood streaming from the corners.

"Libus! Libus! Stop! Don’t look anymore... whatever you’re seeing...!"

Before the Duke could finish, a volley of gunshots tore through the dawning sky.

Fighting erupted both inside and outside the palace. A trail of blood and bullet holes stretched from the garden entrance all the way to the castle’s main gate.

The attack was launched by Pavel Crook and his supporters. Earlier, just as day was breaking, they had seized the key institutions of Pomerania’s capital. As if following a walkthrough for a game, they acted on the instructions of a mysterious backer, taking out the City Hall, the post office, and the urban Security Team’s headquarters in succession. Finally, Pavel personally led his forces to capture the home of his own uncle.

As the first shot fired by the Alliance, Valon had supplied Pavel’s stormtroopers with a great deal of equipment—new model Firearms, ammunition, and valuable Scrolls.

The insurgents wore the same uniforms as the Duke’s Guard—they were, after all, Pomeranian soldiers themselves. But as they drew near, they ignored the Guards’ challenges and suddenly brandished their weapons.

The new Firearms had thick, heavy barrels. They didn’t require a ramrod to load; the user only had to work the long lever beneath the trigger back and forth, and the weapon was immediately ready to fire the next round.

The ammunition was a matching-caliber shotshell. Propelled by smokeless powder, the projectile shattered in mid-air, bursting into a cloud of small steel pellets that tore into the Guards’ bodies with the kinetic energy imparted by the high-pressure gas.

Fire, work the lever, fire again. There were twenty-three assailants, and each could make his Demonic weapon spit fire seven times. Because the Guards failed to challenge the identically-uniformed attackers in time, the distance of engagement was pitifully short—the perfect range for the shotguns to wreak havoc.

In moments, Pavel was striding into the Duke’s residence, his boots treading through the streams of blood on the marble floor.

The Duke’s study was on the third floor; the entrance to the secret passage was in the basement. The Duke, protecting Libus because of her condition, started heading down. They had been on their way for only a few minutes when they were intercepted by the National Salvation Alliance’s stormtroopers.

The Duchess had boarded a carriage as soon as the shooting started, but she had not waited for the Duke and her daughter. Even as the CRACK-POP of gunfire went on for some time, she remained at the entrance to the secret passage, refusing to depart. In the end, Pavel found her there as well.

And now, the whole family was together. The Duchess cursed her nephew with a string of profanities from the Northern Lands before her face drained of all color and she fainted.

"Pavel Crook, are you trying to usurp the title?" Libus asked, her voice surprisingly calm now that she was bound. Even without her sight, she was certain who stood before her.

Pavel stammered, "No, I’m not doing this for a title... I’m doing this for Pomerania. For the Empire..."