Chapter 72: Presidential Government - Guardians of the Revolution (4)
[Pierre de Lafayette, the Commander-in-Chief of the Southern Army, declares!
The illegal occupation of the National Assembly by Northern Army Commander
Raphael Ballian constitutes a clear act of treason against the Republic of
Francia! Those who do not cooperate with his treason are urged to surrender
immediately! Those who do not surrender will be considered traitors!]
The magic-amplified shout vibrated even the air within the National
Assembly.
Raphael Ballian felt a tingling sensation on his skin as he watched a wave
of unrest spread among the soldiers occupying the assembly in an instant.
Nera
Every Northern soldier, including Jerome Morel and Nicolas Nera, was looking
only at him.
“Commander. The National Assembly has been surrounded by the Southern Army!”
As the report reached him, sounding as if it came from a distant place,
Ballian slowly turned his head to look at his subordinates.
In their eyes, the respect and admiration for Raphael Ballian, the guardian
of the revolution, began to waver.
The soil of doubt created by Maximilian Zidor’s blood-curdling scream was
now sprouting with shock from Ballian’s gunfire.
Fear bloomed over the realization that things had gone wrong, and perhaps
even he might be branded a traitor.
It was time to rectify the situation.
If he does nothing now, those foolish and weak will crumble.
Ballian opened his mouth to rally his troops but soon closed it again.
But what could he possibly do to rectify the situation now?
Would he, having lost their confidence, stage a hostage crisis with these
assembly members?
Or would he run away miserably, falling from a hero to a traitor?
Ballian turned his back on his subordinates and began to walk away slowly.
The subordinates left behind looked on helplessly, their commander walking
towards the assembly without providing any answers.
Then, one of them threw down his gun and ran out of the assembly.
This singular act of desertion spread rapidly, and one by one, the Northern
Army turned their backs on their commander and fled.
It took only a few minutes for the forces that had occupied the assembly to
disappear entirely.
Raphael Ballian had never once considered that this coup could lead to his
downfall.
When Lafayette had pushed through a divisive issue in the National Assembly
and left the capital, Ballian hadn’t dismissed the possibility of it being a
trap.
But beyond that, Ballian believed in his own capabilities and had a stable
position.
He had thought that the only worthy opponent was Pierre de Lafayette
himself, and even if it were a trap, he believed he could win.
In fact, by the time Pierre de Lafayette appeared, Ballian’s judgment was
not wrong. It was impossible to physically stop him within the available
time.
Toppling a merely nominal National Assembly and seizing control of the
government would have led the Duke de Lafayette to opt for compromise over
civil war in the face of foreign threats. And in the event of any mishap,
Ballian thought it feasible to simply shift the blame to Richelieu and evade
responsibility.
However, his enemy was not only Pierre de Lafayette.
Richelieu, who was supposed to provide legitimacy and take responsibility if
needed, was eliminated from the start, and Christine Aquitaine seemed to
perfectly block him in the realm of strategy.
Despite this, he eventually triumphed. No matter how excellent a strategist
one might be, stopping him alone was impossible.
What ultimately brought defeat to Ballian, who was confident of victory at
that moment, was...
Raphael Ballian looked down at Maximilian Zidor, who was lying surrounded by
assembly members.
The assembly members, while wary of Ballian with his gun, physically blocked
the space between Zidor and him.
Maximilian Zidor, with a blood-soaked chest, was gasping for breath but
still looked up at him with bright eyes.
“Governor Maximilian Zidor.”
To Raphael Ballian, Maximilian Zidor was nothing more than a hypocrite,
trapped in his own dogmatism and stubbornness.
The National Assembly was a collection of blind and foolish people, who, he
thought, would collapse easily under the slightest intimidation by the
military.
But the reality he faced was entirely different.
Those he deemed most contemptible, those he never considered as enemies,
inflicted a decisive defeat upon him.
Ballian slowly bowed his head to them.
“You have won.”
As soon as Ballian’s words fell, the door burst open, and the army poured
in.
Raphael Ballian turned around to face Duke Pierre de Lafayette, who was
leading them with a sword in hand.
“Duke Lafayette.”
“Commander Ballian.”
Raphael Ballian let out a scoff.
He was confident he would not have been defeated if, from the beginning, he
had ignored the threat of foreign invasion and solely focused on a civil
war, proving his prowess as a general.
But neither Lafayette nor he wanted to destroy Francia itself for their
purposes.
If only he had let go of his attachment to Duke Lafayette and started by
killing that dark witch alongside him.
Regret washed over him, but it was already too late.
Raphael Ballian, the hero, had underestimated the Francia Republic too much
and thus was defeated.
Ballian flashed a relieved smile, threw his pistol away, and raised his
hands.
“I admit defeat. I surrender.”
* * *
Leveraging the division within the National Assembly and vacating my
position to induce their actions was the crux of this perilous operation.
The biggest hurdle was securing Hassan’s approval. No king would be pleased
with the unilateral postponement of a much-anticipated treaty signing due to
their own circumstances.
“King Croxus values the friendship with the Francia Republic highly, but
above all, he has commanded to provide all possible conveniences to the Duke
who made this possible.”
Yet, Hassan agreed so readily that even I was taken aback.
Thanks to him, I, who had gone down to Verri, could ride alone at night
towards the capital, arriving in Lumière by late afternoon, and immediately
upon return, lead a counterattack with the forces at the Southern Army
headquarters, guarded by Christine and Gaston.
* * *
In the National Assembly.
Raphael Ballian, having declared his surrender, did not resist the soldiers
who were restraining him at all.
The one who made me believe that only by siding with the revolutionaries
could I survive.
The one who, as a guardian of the revolution and hero of the Republic, had
been praised by the people of Francia, now being dragged away under hateful
gazes as a traitor to the revolution and the Republic.
I do not know what became of his fate in the future after my execution.
Would he have followed the same path in a Francia, in a Republic, without
me?
As I watched Ballian being led away, I turned away.
The surrendered Northern Army soldiers spoke candidly about what had
happened inside the National Assembly, and I immediately ordered Eris to be
brought to me.
However, Eris was tending to the injured from the suppression of the
Northern Army. Even if I asked for her immediately, it would take time for
her to arrive.
Could she make it in time?
Looking at Zidor’s pallor and the amount of blood loss, I thought it
unlikely.
Maximilian Zidor was lying on the floor, breathing laboriously with a
completely pale face.
As if holding onto the last flicker of life with sheer will, in a body that
wouldn’t have been surprising had it been dead already.
Zidor’s lips slowly parted, letting out a faint sound.
“Make way, please.”
“Governor.”
A young assembly member, trying to dissuade him, was met with a weak smile
from Zidor, who spoke again.
“Please, Talleyrand.”
Talleyrand glanced at me for a moment, then bowed to Zidor and stepped back
with the other assembly members.
Zidor gestured to me, and I bent down to approach him closer.
“Duke.”
“Governor.”
Zidor’s lips, now completely pale, twitched as if trying to speak, but for a
long time, he made no sound.
“Governor, I’ve asked for the saintess to be brought here...”
Perhaps my words acted as a signal. Even on the brink of death, he calmly
opened his mouth.
“I believed that the Republic must be morally impeccable.”
The voice that came from the man who had been shouting to protect the
revolution until the end was so weak, it seemed as though it would
extinguish at any moment.
“I thought sacrifices were inevitable for that cause, and I believed that
such actions would ultimately lead the Republic down the right path.”
Zidor coughed dryly but continued speaking with a strained voice.
“I was wary of you. I feared you, who in your very existence shook the
foundation of the revolution, you who could not be controlled by the laws of
the Republic.”
Zidor laughed hollowly.
“Yet, those who fervently debated reforms ended up harming innocent citizens
and Countess Aquitaine with the help of demons, and the very person whom my
loyal revolutionary comrades and I brought forth as your adversary attempted
to hijack the revolution.”
Tears flowed from the eyes of a man who believed that he was moral because
he had never harbored self-interest, and that he was justified because he
was moral.
“Duke, was I a hypocrite?”
“...”
On the day Christine fell and I unleashed the boiling hatred, staining my
hands in the process, I called him just that.
Engaging in actions no different from theirs, with hands stained with blood,
I grabbed him by the collar in anger and denounced him as a self-righteous
hypocrite.
He was undoubtedly self-righteous, convinced that only his beliefs were
correct, ready to sacrifice those who deviated from his convictions under
the guise of necessity.
But how could I, who unleashed the same anger upon them and engaged in the
same actions, dare to call him a hypocrite, especially when he fell
protecting the Republic, unwavering in his beliefs until the end?
I slowly shook my head.
Upon hearing my answer, Zidor slowly raised his hand and grabbed my arm.
Feeling the tremble from his arm, I harbored a question.
This man is afraid.
“Duke, the Republic...”
“What about?”
“…Was our revolution worth protecting?”
-If the order must be maintained through such means, it’s better off
crumbling.
Only then did I realize the heavy significance of the words I had spat out
in anger, how they had weighed on him.
To me, their so-called revolutionary government was merely the lesser evil.
A contradiction-filled group reluctantly chosen due to the lack of
alternatives, barely tolerable only when I deceived even myself to defend
it.
I feared those who, under the name of revolution, stained even the innocent
with blood.
I despised those who were ready to sacrifice anyone branded a
counter-revolutionary for not complying with their demands.
I hated those who spoke of justice with their lips but committed evils
without hesitation.
Liberty, equality, philanthropy. I loathed those who raised these noble
banners but failed to uphold any.
Yet, they have continuously evolved.
Choosing to compromise with us nobles, they accepted us as members of their
assembly.
Even when their notion of justice was outright denied in the vote, they held
onto their beliefs and accepted defeat.
It was because of such individuals coming together to form a government that
an alliance with Croxus was possible.
The future they faced, the present, was always slightly better than the
past.
“…Was I able to prove it?”
The man who had sentenced me to death in my past life gasped for breath,
seemingly about to extinguish, yearning for an answer.
Despite being threatened with guns and swords, I looked at the members of
the National Assembly who had kept their places and now stood a bit away,
watching Zidor and me.
I slowly answered Zidor’s question.
“…If they do not betray the spirit of the revolution, I will continue to
protect them.”
The trembling in Zidor’s hand, which was gripping my arm, ceased.
I watched as his hand, now devoid of strength, slowly slipped away.
Did he hear my answer?
When I turned my gaze back to Zidor’s face, his lips were forming a smile.
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