Elansia, Presidential Office.
At the sound of the “La Marseillaise” chorus drifting in from beyond the window, President Georges yanked the curtains shut in irritation.
“Damn bastards… Day and night, this madness.”
He downed his cognac and surveyed the office with haggard eyes. The place that had once symbolized the glory of the Republic was now no different from a prison.
“What is the situation, Marshal?”
An old man buried deep in the sofa slowly raised his head. It was Marshal Albert, Commander-in-Chief of the Republican Army.
His white hair disheveled, he was an old lion who now appeared to have more wrinkles than medals.
“It is the worst, Your Excellency.”
Marshal Albert reported dryly.
“The Imperial Army’s 1st Armored Division has advanced to the gates of Fort Saint-Denis. And standing at its vanguard is the ‘Jaeger Combat Group.’”
“Jaeger… You mean that damned ghost.”
President Georges ground his teeth.
The Empire’s monster who had blocked the 2nd Corps’s fierce offensive at Rosenheim, bloodlessly occupied Soissons, and now had overturned the international conference.
Had it not been for Max Jaeger, the Republican government would never have been driven into such a corner. The entry of the United States and the United Kingdom into the war had been imminent. If the United States and the United Kingdom had declared war on the Empire, the situation would have been far better than it was now.
But by whatever means Max had used, after the tripartite talks at Badenburg, the United States had halted its support, and even the United Kingdom, which had seemed ready to intervene at any moment, began watching the Empire’s mood.
“Those bastards… Traitorous scum…!”
Even now, President Georges shuddered with rage whenever he recalled this. He drank straight from the cognac bottle and spoke.
“How much interest we paid to those United States bankers! How much in bribes we fed to those United Kingdom nobles! And they sold us out for a mere forty million gold?!”
“Please calm yourself, Your Excellency.”
The President seemed to barely compose himself when Marshal Albert intervened.
“…Yes, you are right, Marshal. Trembling here changes nothing. …So, can we hold?”
“Fort Saint-Denis is impregnable. The concrete alone is three meters thick, and the underground bunkers hold six months’ worth of food and ammunition.”
The Marshal spoke flatly.
“But that is only if the soldiers inside the fortress follow our orders.”
“What do you mean?”
“The soldiers are agitated, Your Excellency. Because of the leaflets the Empire scattered.”
The Marshal produced a crumpled piece of paper from inside his coat and placed it on the table.
[To the soldiers of the Republic.]
[Your government has abandoned you. But the Empire will pay your debts.]
[Guarantee of overdue wages. Promise of post-war pension transfer.]
[—Imperial Army High Command—]
President Georges’s hand, which had barely steadied, began to tremble again.
“Th-this… It’s fraud! A deception tactic!”
“But to the soldiers, it is a tale sweeter than bread. The government has been unable to pay wages for the past three months. And with the news that the Empire will assume the Republic’s debts spreading from the conference results, the contents of these leaflets are gaining credibility.”
Marshal Albert smiled bitterly.
“Furthermore, revolutionary army scum wearing red armbands are rampant in the city. The soldiers on the front lines are confused about whether they should fight the Imperial Army or turn their guns on those Reds trying to stab them in the back.”
They were caught between a rock and a hard place.
In front, the Empire’s elite armored forces; behind, the Revolutionary Committee erecting guillotines.
“The Chairman of the Revolutionary Committee, Valeri, has requested an audience.”
The chief of staff cautiously entered and reported.
“That madman Valeri?”
President Georges’s face turned pale. Valeri. The head of the radical faction leading the Elansia Commune.
“He will tell us to all die. Talking about fighting to the death and a last stand, trying to burn all of Elansia to the ground!”
“If we refuse their demands….”
Marshal Albert drew a finger across his throat.
“The mob will storm the palace. The Presidential Guard that would protect us has already been disbanded or absorbed into the Revolutionary Army.”
“Damn it!”
President Georges hurled his cognac glass at the wall. With a crash, shards flew everywhere.
It was then.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Heavy military boots echoed from the hallway outside the office. The gazes of the President and the Marshal fixed on the door.
The door opened, and men wearing red armbands burst in. Between them, a man in worn people’s clothes walked inside.
It was Chairman Valeri.
“Comrades. Is the cognac to your taste?”
Valeri crushed a shard of broken glass beneath his military boot and smiled sardonically.
“Outside, the people are bleeding, while so-called leaders do nothing but drink. This is why the country is in this state.”
“Wh-what is the meaning of this! How dare you, this place is…!”
Georges shouted, but his voice trembled pitifully.
“I won’t waste words.”
Valeri pulled a pistol from inside his coat and placed it on the table with a heavy clack.
“Place a call to Colonel Louis, the commander of Fort Saint-Denis.”
“…A call?”
“Tell him: if he surrenders to the Imperial Army, I will hang the President and the Marshal in the public square immediately. Order him to fight and die to the last man. Do you understand?”
Valeri’s eyes gleamed with madness.
“Elansia may become ashes, but it shall never become the Empire’s slave.”
*
Imperial Army, Western Front Command Reception Room.
I was watching Henri’s retreating figure as he walked away with unsteady steps.
“What do you think, Ellie?”
“…He is wavering. But he has not completely broken.”
Henri had not immediately fallen for my persuasion.
“The pride of being the Republic’s hero is keeping him standing. The moment he admits that the homeland he dedicated his life to has betrayed him, his ego will collapse. He is holding on because he fears that.”
“But a crack has formed. If I keep injecting the poison of doubt into that fissure, the dam will burst eventually.”
I rose from my seat and approached her.
“That aside.”
“…….”
When I approached, Sydney’s shoulder flinched slightly.
“Good work. It was a perfect service.”
“You overpraise me… Master.”
I circled behind her and placed my hand atop the tightly stretched hem of her skirt.
“Hnh…!”
I could feel the glute muscles stiff and hardened against my palm. Mischievously, I pressed my finger firmly into that tense mound.
“Hnng…! S-stop…!”
“You were keeping it in properly, I see. Good girl.”
I lifted her skirt slightly. Between her pale thighs, black lace panties were visible, and beneath the thin fabric, the silver metal base protruded conspicuously.
An anal plug decorated with a purple gem.
That cold metal had kept her rear hole stretched open all along.
[Name: Sydney Wellesley]
[Status: Disgust, Resistance]
“Hoo, it seems you’re still not fully tamed.”
“Hngh…!”
As my fingers headed toward her genitals, her sharp hand moved to block them. There were no openings, befitting an intelligence chief.
But I pulled my hand away without hesitation. Instead, I took out a document envelope and tossed it onto the table.
Thud.
“Tidy your clothes and look at this.”
“……?”
Sydney fixed her disheveled skirt while picking up the document envelope.
“This is….”
[Draft on the Transfer of Autonomy of the Southern Colonies of the Republic and the Delegation of Maritime Trade Route Administration]
The moment she read the title at the top of the document, Sydney’s eyes narrowed sharply. It was not the gaze of a maid acting, but the gaze of Intelligence Chief Sydney.
“What do you think? It’s a draft I scribbled on the train from the capital. The completion level is still likely low.”
“…….”
Sydney swallowed dryly instead of answering. Her gaze quickly swept down the page.
The rubber plantations on the southern continent held by the Republic, and the ‘Santa Barbara Archipelago,’ a strategic chokepoint on the route to the East.
Each and every one was prime land that the United Kingdom, her homeland, had coveted for decades.
Status Analysis.
[Name: Sydney Wellesley]
[Status: Shock, Greed, Calculating]
[Emotion: Irresistible]
The Empire is a continental power. Though it possesses tanks and cannons to rule the continent, its naval power to administer colonies across the distant seas is at a toddler’s level compared to the United Kingdom.
Moreover, the days when overseas colonies were called ‘treasure chests’ had long passed. Modern colonies were nothing but white elephants that were not cost-effective, requiring suppression of fierce indigenous resistance and enormous maintenance costs.
Lands that would only give us indigestion and a stomachache if we tried to eat them anyway.
In that case, we might as well.
“Master. Might I suggest a method like this?”
Sydney finally opened her mouth after a long while.
“Santa Barbara is the gateway to the East. It is especially famous as something the United Kingdom covets. Rather than the Empire trying to administer it directly, we could borrow the form of leasing it to them….”
I inwardly cheered. Sydney had taken the bait beautifully.
[Name: Sydney Wellesley]
[Hidden Desire: She must revise this clause and bring the effective dominion over the Santa Barbara Archipelago back to her homeland.]
I pretended to ponder, stroking my chin.
“There is some merit to your words… but I don’t know. My head aches a little. I cannot judge clearly.”
I buried myself deep in the sofa and spread my legs.
“I need time to organize my thoughts.”
At my obvious signal, Sydney’s eyes trembled briefly.
She was the intelligence chief. She would instinctively know that this very moment was a golden opportunity to steer the negotiations in the direction she had induced.
Swish.
Sydney silently fell to her knees.
Her skirt hem dragged on the floor, and beneath her bowed head, her pale nape and deep cleavage were exposed.
“May I… cool your head, Master.”