"At any rate, Lieutenant Colonel Jaeger, you certainly are blessed with people. You have subordinates everywhere who fix your tank for you and even nurse you through the night."
Erika's gaze shifted to Hanna, who was glued to my side, then shot back to me.
"So? What exactly are all these close-knit comrades planning to do together? Throw a party to celebrate arriving in the capital?"
The air above the dining table froze. The battle of nerves between the three women was so oppressive that even a passing waiter turned pale and detoured around us.
If I left things as they were, this would become not a meal, but an inquiry.
I gave a faint laugh and raised a hand.
"A party? Everyone's been through a lot, so I thought we'd simply have a proper meal with some dignity. Isn't that right, Lieutenant Aiden?"
I summoned our "S-rank administrator," who had been waiting in the corner of the dining car.
Tap, tap.
Arthur—no, Lieutenant Aiden Hunt—approached with flawless steps. He came to a stop behind me in perfect attention.
"You called, Lieutenant Colonel?"
*
Arthur—no, Lieutenant Aiden Hunt—felt cold sweat trickling down his back.
He was, without question, a veteran spy who had crossed the line between life and death dozens of times. He was a man who would not so much as blink with a gun barrel pressed to his forehead, who could drink champagne with a smile in the heart of enemy territory.
And yet the atmosphere in this first-class dining car was more suffocating than any torture chamber.
'Is the Imperial Army... insane?'
Arthur could not make sense of the scene before his eyes.
At the head of the table sat the so-called war hero, brazenly crossing his legs. Surrounding him were four female officers.
On the surface, it was an elegant meal. But to the eyes of an intelligence officer, he could see it—the sharp glances exchanged beneath the tablecloth, and the subtle distortions in the air.
'...That woman isn't even trying to hide it.'
The blatant atmosphere radiating from Hanna made Arthur want to turn his head away on instinct. To carry on an affair with a superior officer and then shamelessly sit beside him in public—the military discipline here had rotted to the core.
'They called her an ice witch, but she looks ready to kill someone with her eyes.'
Seraphina was gripping her wineglass as if she might shatter it, glaring at Hanna. She pretended to be lofty and aloof, but the look in her eyes was that of a female anxiously afraid her male would be taken from her.
'This one is the most serious.'
Frederica von Kessel. The woman they called the ace of the armored forces flinched and blushed at a single touch from Max. Had he found some weakness of hers? Or... gaslighting?
'An inferiority complex... and a strange sense of expectation.'
Lastly, Erika. She despised Max, yet constantly craved his attention.
Arthur felt dizzy.
'This is an army...? In the middle of a war, no less...'
An animal kingdom unfolding around a single male named Max Jaeger.
'To think a womanizer like this is the Empire's hero. The Empire's future isn't merely dark—it's pitch-black.'
Disgust surged within him, but Arthur maintained a perfect poker face.
"You called, Lieutenant Colonel?"
Max turned his head and looked at Arthur. His gaze was chillingly clear, as though he meant to drag Arthur into this chaos and enjoy himself.
"Ah, Aiden. Say hello. These are the core forces of our combat group."
Max pointed at the women with his finger and chuckled. Arthur clenched his teeth and bowed his head. Max smiled in satisfaction and lifted his wineglass.
"Good. Now that introductions are done, go to my room and sort out 'that bag.' I'll check it as soon as the meal is over."
For the first time since entering the dining car, Arthur rejoiced inwardly. It was a chance to legally dig through the bastard's slush fund.
"Understood. Please enjoy your meal."
He fled the dining car as if escaping. Behind him, he heard Erika's sharp voice.
"Wait, Jaeger! You cleared your schedule tonight, didn't you? You were supposed to review the report for Father with me...!"
"Oh? The Lieutenant Colonel was supposed to revise the tank maintenance manual with me today."
"Hah, everyone certainly dreams big. Do you think the Lieutenant Colonel has ten bodies?"
"Attending to the Lieutenant Colonel at night is rightly the adjutant's duty..."
Arthur shook his head as he walked down the corridor.
'Madmen.'
*
Thirty minutes later. Max's first-class compartment.
Arthur had opened the bag of gold coins on the desk and was organizing the ledger.
'7,450 gold coins... An insane amount.'
Even seeing it again, it was shocking. A mere lieutenant colonel had fought one war and secured enough money to live idly for the rest of his life. If Arthur reported this as it was, Max would be executed by firing squad first thing tomorrow morning.
But Arthur restrained himself for the sake of a more perfect ruin.
Click.
The door opened, and Max entered. The sly expression he had worn in the dining car was nowhere to be found; his eyes were cold and sunken.
"Is the sorting done, Aiden?"
"Yes. I have finished the classification. Gold coins with identification numbers have been set aside, and the jewels have been arranged in order of highest appraised value."
Arthur presented the perfectly organized ledger. Max did not even skim through it before tossing it aside.
"You know the numbers better than I do. There's no need for me to check."
'Arrogant.'
"Then how shall we handle these funds? Shall we rent a secret vault, or convert them into government bonds to launder them?"
Arthur suggested the safest and most conservative methods—in other words, the ones most likely to be discovered.
Max stared into the air for a moment, then gave a faint laugh.
"No. Look at these documents first."
Max pulled a crumpled bundle of papers from his inner pocket and tossed it over.
Arthur unfolded them. They were certified copies of land registrations and copies of stock certificates.
"What are these...?"
"Things I invested in before the war broke out. Land in Districts 9 and 10 of the capital, and shares in Hahn-Metall and Rotem-Werke."
Arthur's eyebrows twitched.
District 9 was a slum adjacent to a garbage landfill, and munitions companies like Hahn-Metall were third-rate firms plagued by chronic deficits.
'He picked out and bought only this garbage? His investment sense is terrible.'
Arthur sneered inwardly, but outwardly he feigned surprise and asked,
"Are you asking me to manage... these assets?"
"Not just manage them. Take thirty percent of the gold coins we brought this time and buy more. Especially in District 9—sweep up even the plots held by the holdouts. As for Hahn-Metall, buy enough to make it look like I'm aiming to become a major shareholder."
"...Understood. I'll handle it that way."
Arthur nodded. If the bastard wanted to dig his own grave deeper, there was no reason to stop him.
"And."
Max's eyes flashed.
"Put the remaining seventy percent entirely into this."
He circled a corner of the map with a ballpoint pen.
"Sternberg Trading Co."
Arthur searched his memory for a moment. It was a name he had heard before. A mediocre small-to-medium trading company that sold expensive suits and imported radios in the capital's downtown district.
"Lieutenant Colonel, forgive me, but... isn't that just a tailor shop? At best, it's a little storefront importing phonographs and the like..."
"For now, yes."
Max grinned.
"But soon, they'll become the Empire's greatest octopus. Construction, shipping, and later even defense—they'll devour them all."
"......"
Arthur was at a loss for words.
A company that sold suits would swallow up technology-intensive heavy industry? Even a passing dog would laugh. They called him a war hero, but it seemed he had been caught by some swindler and filled with hot air.
'Sternberg...'
In wartime, a trading company selling luxury goods was first in line to go bankrupt. And yet he wanted to pour seventy percent of his slush fund into it.
'Perfect.'
A scenario took shape in Arthur's mind.
Max would blow the embezzled funds into thin air with this reckless investment. Then, when he was penniless and despairing, Arthur would hand over the meticulously recorded "ledger of slush-fund embezzlement and investment failure" to the military police.
A perfect ruin in which he lost his money, his honor, and even his life.
The young wolf of the Empire whom Intelligence Director Sydney Wellesley and Admiral William had feared would destroy himself in precisely that manner.
"Understood, Lieutenant Colonel."
Arthur bowed his head with apparent respect.
"I will trust in your foresight and invest the full amount. I will split the funds across dozens of borrowed-name accounts and design it so we gradually eat away at Sternberg Trading Co.'s shares."
"Good. I'm counting on you. My retirement is in your hands."
Max smiled in satisfaction and patted Arthur on the shoulder.
Arthur sneered inwardly.
'Retirement? You'll be spending it in prison, so you won't need any money, you fool.'
At that moment, the train whistle sounded long and loud.
Bwoooooo—!
Huge lights began pouring in through the window. Through the rain, majestic stone buildings and spires soaring as if to pierce the sky came into view.
It was Eisenburg.
*
Londinium, the capital of the United Kingdom of Victoria.
The Queen's greenhouse within the splendid palace.
Pat, pat.
The sound of rain striking the glass ceiling echoed through the greenhouse. Though it could easily have sounded gloomy, it did not—perhaps because of the warm, moisture-laden air, the brilliantly blooming roses in every color, and because this place was cut off from the dreary gray city outside.
At the center of that paradise stood a tea table.
"The tea is excellent, Lord Wellesley."
The woman's hand as she set down her teacup was as white as polished jade, and on her finger was a ring engraved with the royal crest.
Charlotte, sovereign of the United Kingdom of Victoria.
Her face was elegant yet expressionless, making it difficult to guess her age. With her silver-streaked hair neatly pinned up, she was as still as a wax doll.
"It is an honor that Your Majesty is pleased."
Seated across from her was a beauty no less striking than the Queen. Intelligence Director Sydney Wellesley bowed her head with impeccable posture.
The Queen slowly stirred her tea with a teaspoon and opened her mouth.
"Admiral William was quite angry. He said the dignity of our kingdom was damaged because of one 'young hero' of the Empire."
"My apologies, Your Majesty. There is no excuse."
"I did not call you here to hear excuses."
Queen Charlotte's gaze turned toward a red rose blooming in the corner of the greenhouse.
"A garden is truly honest. If you neglect a single weed, even the most beautiful flower bed is ruined in an instant. ...Is this man named Max Jaeger the weed in our garden?"
"No, Your Majesty."
Wellesley drew a thin report from her breast and placed it on the table.
"He is a poisonous plant. He destroys the logic of the front lines, makes impossible logistics possible, and above all, plants the false hope in the Imperial Army that they can win."
Wellesley paused briefly to choose her words.
"According to our analysis, if he is left alone, there is a high possibility that not only the Western Front, but the state of the entire continent's war will be distorted. That is why... I deployed Arthur."
"Arthur..."
The Queen's eyes narrowed.
"You sent the sharpest pair of shears. So, do you intend to bring me his head?"
"No."
Wellesley shook her head.
"When heroes die, they become myths. The Imperial bastards would hold up his corpse like a holy relic and cry for revenge. That is not the picture we want."
"Then?"
"We will corrupt him."
A cold, fishy smile touched Wellesley's lips.
"He is greedy. He is using the war to fill his own pockets. Arthur will dig into that point and turn him from 'the Empire's hero' into 'a traitor who sold the war.' We will make the citizens of the Empire throw stones at their hero with their own hands."
Queen Charlotte was silent for a moment. She lifted her teacup again and savored its fragrance.
Silence.
Only the sound of rain filled the greenhouse.
At length, the Queen spoke in a low voice.
"How cruel, Lord Wellesley."
But there was no reproach in her voice—only a strange satisfaction.
"I like it. A broken flower is pitied, but no one wishes to keep a rotten flower nearby."
The Queen rose from her seat. She picked up the garden shears and stood before the most beautifully blooming red rose.
"I permit it. Drag that arrogant Imperial lieutenant colonel... down into the foulest gutter. Make him abandoned by his honor, his fame, and the homeland he claims to love."
Snip.
With a single cut of the Queen's shears, the red rosebud was severed in vain.
"I will await your report."
"Of course, Your Majesty. For the glory of the United Kingdom."
Wellesley bent deeply at the waist in salute.
Queen Charlotte did not trample the severed flower. She merely passed it by indifferently and reached for her teacup once more.
To her, Max Jaeger was nothing more and nothing less than a weed ruining her garden.
At least for now.