Chapter 240: The Expo

[ Viktor Haim : I’m curious where that vicious hatred of yours comes from. We are all the same, are we not? All human. ]

Filty’s workshop. She was ‘peeping in’ on the conversation between Viktor Haim and Maximilian, drawn on the page.

[ Viktor Haim : We feel pain no differently than you do, we yearn for life just as you do. We are the same people. ]

It was a comic she had drawn from what she saw with her Special Ability, Clairvoyance, but since the memory wasn’t actually her own, it amounted to voyeurism.

[ Maximilian : You aren’t human. ]

The Maximilian Filty saw was always certain. He was certain even of things that could not be known for certain. Whenever he faced an Ezenheim, without a single exception, he defined them as “not human”.

[ Maximilian : The Silent Communion. A rite in which they crush the heads of their own kind with stones. The Ezenheim carry out this demonic ceremony, offering up even their own lives……. ]

The gaze of the Maximilian inside the panel grew sharper than ever before.

Below, the dialogue stretched long and vertical down the page.

[ And the purpose— ]

[ of it is to open a ]

[ Di ]

[ men ]

[ sional ]

[ gate. ]

Filty found it uncanny, the certainty with which he spoke such absurd, preposterous nonsense that went beyond madness.

[ Viktor Haim : …Are you insane? ]

He was too resolute to be a deluded man, too clear-headed to be a madman, and had no doctrine whatsoever to be a fanatic.

[ Maximilian : Then let me ask one last thing. It’s a personal question, so I’d appreciate an honest answer. ]

Clack. Maximilian stepped closer, unlocking the man’s cuffs.

[ Maximilian : How did you know Halbert Goering’s pocket watch was a fake? ]

After changing his own appearance into Eli Zella, he tilted his body at an angle and murmured that inexplicable “wave” of his.

[ ──! ]

In that instant, the fingertips of Viktor Haim in the comic were captured. The scene of an unidentifiable black shadow rippling across the man’s skin was caught in fine detail.

Of course, this could be a transformation of mana. There were countless ways to wield mana, after all.

The problem, however, was the eye of the artist named Filty.

Her Clairvoyance did not reflect memory. It left no room for even her own subjectivity to intervene.

Had her emotions been projected into it, she would have depicted Maximilian as the demon and Viktor as the victim.

And yet the brush did not move that way.

Her Clairvoyance perceived some “something” belonging to the Ezenheim as a “something” distinct from mana.

Not mana, but a “something” that only they possessed.

“Ezenheim……”

Filty rolled the word around in her mouth.

Are the Ezenheim truly different from us.

What on earth does Maximilian see in them.

In this way─ Filty guarded against and distrusted herself, gradually being swayed by him.

The root cause is likely Maximilian’s certainty.

The butcher of the age, who had slain countless people and declared he would go on slaying more.

And yet a man who never doubts himself gives off a strange gravity, one that makes you want to watch the path he traces no matter where he goes.

“……”

That was why Filty’s gaze lingered a long while on the Ezenheim’s fingertips upon the page.

* * *

I’d been saddled with the grating task called the ‘World Expo’. Time was tight, too.

I hurriedly mobilized my knowledge from before my  regression and started by recruiting the artists who would become the masters in the future.

“……Is this the place?”

Today, I had come to find the man who would be the linchpin of this project.

His name is Jurian Spehl Becker. A member of the Imperial Guard and a mana stone sculptor.

I sharpened my senses just in case, but thankfully there was no trace of an Ezenheim.

Knock, knock—.

Under the pressure of my knocking, the door swung open on its own. Inside the shabby workshop, exquisitely carved mana stones were emitting light of their own accord.

A source of light that did not flicker or pulse like other mana stones, but radiated with great intensity.

“Er, who might you be?”

Some man appeared from a corner in work clothes.

I smiled and answered.

“A pleasure. Maximilian von Ebenholtz.”

Jurian Spehl Becker’s expression changed completely.

He had been in the Imperial Guard before my regression, and he was now as well. Unlike the other war criminals, he wasn’t treated as a first- or second-class case, and he’d received a prison sentence instead of execution.

“Sir Knight, what brings you here…… ?”

There’s no rule that says no one in the Imperial Guard can have artistic talent.

In fact, Jurian Spehl Becker overflowed with it, which made him exactly the architect this Expo needed.

……

The next day.

I arrived in Prozen straight away. Conspicuous state-guest treatment made me uncomfortable, so I dressed plainly. I threw on a brown trench coat suited to the autumn season.

“You look magnificent, Sir Knight.”

At my attendant’s praise I merely shrugged.

There have been a lot of rather burdensome incidents lately. The coat I wear or the shoes on my feet get featured in magazines and apparently set the trends, or something like that.

“First, this is the Empire’s plot of land.”

The Prozen official showed me around.

For the record, I had brought not only Jurian Spehl but also an entire architectural design team handpicked from Lorenzo Academy, along with a crew of skilled laborers.

“As you can see, it’s an excellent location.”

The World Expo grounds were divided into plots by nation. Each country was allotted its own space in the heart of Prozen’s capital and set up its National Pavilion there.

“Show me the map.”

At those few words the Prozen official looked surprised, then even let out a startled laugh.

“Here it is…… But you really do have an exceptional talent for languages, just as they say.”

I smiled faintly and spread open the map of the Expo grounds.

The Empire and the Eastern Alliance had claimed the choicest spots, and the host nation, Prozen, well, that went without saying.

Powerful nations like Valkania, Volska, Atelik, and Highland had secured decent positions of their own.

The Canilan Independent State was right about in the middle, and Zerpha, on account of its civil war, had been pushed slightly out from the center, but compared to weak nations like Mekerel and Finnomia, it was well off.

“The promise was kept, I trust?”

“Yes. It’s a very wide and excellent plot.”

With the central ‘Essential Bridge,’ the heart of the Expo, between them, the Empire and the East stood facing each other.

The Eastern Alliance was a coalition of several nations, but within the Expo grounds they participated as a single camp.

“The plots themselves are exactly equal in area. Neither side is any larger than the other. Truly.”

The Emperor had sulked over being assigned the same area as the likes of the Eastern Alliance, but the Expo committee’s diplomacy had done the trick.

Flattery along the lines of, “The Eastern Alliance can only become the equal of a single Empire by combining all its nations together.”

At any rate, that was why the Empire’s participation had been confirmed so very late.

The other nations had apparently begun construction months ago already.

“Yes. Understood.”

Sometimes I think the Emperor is a petty little man.

His participation had been delayed by his own caprice, and the construction before my regression had failed because of the cramped schedule, yet the Emperor had held the people involved responsible for it and had every one of them beheaded.

……Does even thinking this count as treason?

“Um, if I may…….”

The Prozen official inquired cautiously.

“What form is the Imperial Pavilion going to be built in?”

Curiosity flickered in his eyes as he trailed off, unable to bring himself to finish the sentence.

“It’ll be the tallest.”

He tilted his head at my answer.

“The tallest……?”

“Yes. The tallest here. Perhaps.”

I smiled and gestured with my eyes toward the distance.

Prozen Tower, hundreds of meters high, visible far off. Made entirely of mana stone steel, it radiated a faint blue even in the dead of night, the symbol of Prozen.

“It might even be taller than Prozen Tower.”

“Ah…… hahaha. Yes~ that would be quite something.”

As I was strolling across the plot like that, all of a sudden.

I felt a gaze watching me from afar. It was a rather intense stare, so I turned to look for a moment.

A woman blended into the crowd.

A familiar face.

It was Clara Magal, leader of the 「Crystal Society」, followers of the Empire’s will.

There was a strange glint in her eyes as she gazed at me from a distance. The same was true of the Crystal Society members beside her.

Bzzzzzt-

Looks like lasers are about to shoot out of their eyes.

“……”

This is exactly why I can’t neglect my outward appearance, fashion and cleanliness included.

As I’ve said again and again, it’s an undeniable fact that this face is my strong point and an outstanding talent of mine.

Everything I do is made to shine thanks to my looks, becoming an object of admiration.

To become someone’s ideological idol and manipulate their heart, there’s no tool more perfect than a fine-looking shell.

“Let’s start with the fence. Make it high.”

A National Pavilion is strictly confidential until it’s completed.

This design, which I peered into and brought back from the future, must not have its information leaked.

No, in truth, a leak wouldn’t even matter. From the outside alone, no one could so much as guess at the essence contained within.

“Then, I’ll leave the construction to you, as per the design.”

“Yes, sir!”

Jurian Spehl and the others set to work at once, and after leaving the site to the field staff, I turned away.

Now…… I intend to go blow off some stress.

As I always say, maintaining my mental health is also a very important part of the job.

* * *

Zerpha’s National Pavilion.

In the very center of it, construction halted and nothing but dust settled thick, a man was painting an oil painting across a vast canvas.

He had come to take part in the Expo with his nation’s support, but perhaps owing to his homeland’s circumstances, the supply of materials had long since been cut off, and the site was thoroughly in disarray.

“……”

Every laborer who passed by stole a glance at his work.

Living there and using the place as a makeshift studio, his frenzied brushwork…… no, it wasn’t even brushwork.

The sight of the painter sweeping a roller back and forth across the canvas, and the painting itself, was somehow grotesque.

“Hey, what on earth is that? I can’t make out what you’ve even painted.”

A passing laborer, unable to hold it in, asked.

The painter tossed out an answer without stopping the roller.

“What else would it be but a painting.”

“That’s a painting? The shapes are all warped and downright bizarre.”

Back home in Zerpha he was one of the most famous painters, Pablo Suarez Sobakin. But to the laborers’ eyes his painting was, well, like a wall some kid had thrown a tantrum on.

“You wouldn’t happen to have been looking at my son’s scribbles, would you?”

Even at the scoffing jibe the painter glared at the canvas, unbothered.

“Get back to your work. And don’t talk to me.”

“I couldn’t even if I wanted to. We’ve got nothing to do because the materials aren’t coming.”

“Then get out!”

Tsk. The laborers shot him sidelong looks as they passed by.

In the space where silence settled once more, only the sound of the roller scraping against the canvas rang out.

Then, at some point.

──Thud. Thud.

The sound of footsteps approaching.

Did he hear it?

Probably not. Buried in his canvas, the painter’s ears were shut off toward the outside world.

Yet a single strand of a clear, solemn voice softly knocked upon that closed door.

“May I ask the title of the work?”

It was not a bystander’s curiosity.

It was a courteous question that paid the painter his due respect, and before he knew it, Pablo found himself drawn into answering.

“……Zernica.” [TL: A play on Picasso’s Guernica.]

The thing that had made him settle on the subject was the “Jeronika Mine Incident”.

The mine that had once been like a symbol of Zerpha, collapsed under the Imperial army’s shelling, and the shooting of prisoners carried out in that wreckage.

Accurate or not.

Exaggerated or not.

The mine had collapsed, and the prisoners had been shot, and because that was fact— Pablo was in the midst of reconstructing that history according to his own vision.

The man murmured quietly.

“……So that’s how it changed.”

A strange thing to mutter to oneself.

Pablo did not answer, only continued his work.

The presence at his back did not disappear.

Time passed, the roller went back and forth any number of times, yet that sense of presence remained like a shadow hung on the wall.

“But why are you working here instead of in an atelier?”

Pablo chuckled and painted over a warped shape in the corner of the canvas.

“Perhaps because my nation isn’t wealthy and powerful.”

At those words, the other fell silent for a moment.

But he did not leave.

He kept on watching him.

“……Are you still there?”

“Yes.”

A sudden spite welled up in him. The critics, the patrons, even his fellow painters, lately they all did nothing but roll their eyes in front of his painting before leaving.

So this time, Pablo asked first. Half of it was a test.

“Can you actually see it?”

“Yes. I can.”

The answer came back without the slightest gap.

“Shellfire really does do that to forms. The sound comes first. Then the walls fold like sheets of paper, and the outlines of people buckle. The absence of color is right, too. Dust erases every color.”

The man went on calmly.

“You’ve simply painted ‘what happened’.”

A strange sensation brushed Pablo’s fingertips. It felt as though he’d met a real viewer for the first time, but Pablo tried not to let it show and moved the roller again. The unnamed man’s gaze quietly followed its path as well.

“……Everything that happened that day comes back to me. Vividly.”

Pablo listened to his words as he pushed the roller across the massive background.

“And like this, it will remain as a record.”

Heh. A smile rose at the corner of the painter’s mouth.

“You talk as if you were there?”

The man was silent for a while.

Wheeeeeee…….

Suddenly, in the instant a chill wind swept down the corridor.

“Because I was the one who did it.”

Pablo did not understand the words. Or rather, to be precise, they scattered before they reached his ears. His brain, absorbed in the canvas, folded them away as exaggeration and dismissed them, and his hand drew the next stroke.

That was all.

The man’s shadow stretched long along the sun’s arc, then vanished abruptly without a sound.

And so…… how much time had passed.

Around the time thick dusk had blanketed all of Zerpha’s National Pavilion.

“──Pablo! Pablo!”

The manager came running in, out of breath, and grabbed Pablo by the shoulder.

“……Why are you at it again, you crazy bastard! You want to die?!”

Pablo swung the roller and lost his temper, but the manager shouted with a face that looked about ready to faint.

“Who did you just meet? What in the world did you say to him?!”

“……What are you talking about. Who?”

“No─! You, do you not know who you just met?!”

A twitching smile spread across the manager’s lips. It was an expression of terror and elation mixed together.

“Just now?”

The one he’d just met…….

No, had he even met anyone?

Pablo groped after that memory, half dreamlike from being so absorbed.

“Who was it?”

Swallowing hard, the manager spat out his name.

“Maximilian.”

“……?”

Pablo’s brow furrowed.

He tilted his head, assembling in his mind that vaguely familiar name, one he had read in a newspaper somewhere.

“What…… who?”

“Argh! Maximilian, I’m talking about Maximilian Ebenholtz!”

“……”

“He says he’ll fund your atelier and our entire Expo project, Pablo! With no conditions at all!”

The manager babbled on endlessly about something or other, but every one of those words had already scattered into noise.

The strength drained from Pablo’s hand.

The roller he had not let go of for a dozen-odd hours, thunk.

Fell to the floor.

Maximilian.

The Knight, of the Empire.

Pablo slowly turned his head and looked at the canvas.

The collapsed shaft. The gaping mouths. The broken outlines. The forms of prisoners being beheaded.

Inside his ears, a certain man’s voice repeated like a broken radio.

‘──Because I was the one who did it.’

~~~

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