It was about 7 weeks ago.
In the heart of the Alcyone Federation’s capital.
“Clear the road!”
“The King is passing through!!”
After finishing his mass at the national cathedral on the outskirts of the city, Drake IV was heading back to his palace.
As usual, he was following the wide main road with a grand procession accompanying him.
“Has it finally arrived?”
This was a tradition that had been in place since the reign of the previous king, and now, it was an annual event known to everyone.
For more than sixty years, it had been happening every Sunday.
Even though the war was ongoing, this tradition had never changed, and today was no different.
The king and his family, along with the nobles and officials, had attended the mass together, and now they were heading back to the palace to rest.
Right.
That was definitely the plan.
If they could get back properly, that is.
“Comrade Churchill. Everything is ready.”
“Shall we begin?”
The agents dispatched from the Kingdom of Allein, Winston Churchill and his companions, were watching the procession with cold eyes.
“Those foolish royal bastards. They’re practically advertising that they want to die.”
“Isn’t that good for us? We don’t even need to gather intel or plan for a long time.”
“That’s true.”
The event that took place at the same time every week along the same route was like a golden opportunity for them.
They could pick the ideal spot, prepare everything, and just wait for Sunday.
How simple an assassination this was.
“Comrades, are all the bombs ready?”
“They’re strapped tightly to our bodies, so don’t worry.”
“We can set them off at any time. Just give the order.”
The area had long since been turned into a powder keg by their organization.
The basements of the buildings along the road were filled with barrels of gunpowder, and bombs were buried under the pavement under the guise of repair work.
Directional landmines disguised as barrels and single-use mortars aimed at this location were also scattered around.
No one would be able to escape from here alive.
It would take divine intervention for that to happen.
But still, there was the possibility of the slightest chance, and so they remained here as a last resort.
“If it weren’t for that book, this would have been a much harder task.”
The book written by Ishmael had been incredibly helpful.
Normally, it would have just been a simple bomb burial, but with this thorough preparation, they were able to go all out.
[The method of making a directional bomb is simple.
Attach sturdy metal plates to the back and sides of a container filled with plenty of gunpowder.
On the front, put materials that can create shrapnel, like iron balls.
Then, connect the fuse, and you’ll have an excellent improvised mine.]
[Even if it rains and you can’t use fire, don’t worry. With the right chemicals and ceramic/glass containers, you can create an improvised detonator. The ingredients include alcohol, and—-]
The Anarchist Cookbook contained all sorts of unconventional knowledge.
Not just Winston Churchill, but even the veteran noncommissioned officer who had served previously, found ingenious knowledge that they had never seen before.
It was incredibly unusual, but on the other hand, it was also exceedingly useful.
Since these were techniques even experts didn’t know, no one would think it was dangerous, right?
Even if they placed a claymore made from a whiskey barrel, most people would just think it was a barrel of alcohol and wouldn’t associate it with a bomb.
Of course, as they carried out more operations, the number of people who knew about it would gradually increase… but that didn’t matter.
After all, everyone here would die, so how would the information spread?
“Well then, let’s offer our final prayers. We should ask the Goddess for things to go well.”
After finishing their prayers, Churchill and the agents exchanged farewells and headed to their designated positions.
“Let’s meet again later for a drink, comrades. I’ll survive.”
“Sounds good. Then I’ll buy the snacks.”
“We’re going to drink until our noses are crooked, so no one better back out!”
Though they spoke of the future, everyone knew.
They would never meet again.
From the start, this mission wasn’t planned with the expectation of returning alive.
‘How could I survive with bombs strapped to my body?’
They would trigger all the explosives and tripwires they had buried.
Then, as a final act, the agents, who had bombs strapped to their bodies, would carry out a suicide assault to end the king’s procession.
The probability of success for this tactic was inversely proportional to the probability of survival.
In other words, everyone would die and that would be the end.
Even if, by some miracle, they didn’t die, they would be captured as criminals and subjected to brutal torture.
There was no such thing as a safe or happy ending.
‘But it doesn’t matter. As long as I can get my revenge.’
But that was fine.
Both Churchill and the agents knew what they were getting into when they started.
Lose their lives?
Is life really over?
What does it matter?
Their lives had already been ruined long ago.
‘I’ll repay you all, no, I’ll repay more than I received.’
Drake IV, that damn bastard, was the reason they lost their family.
Their brothers in faith were persecuted and lived each day in a life that felt like a curse.
Because of those who believed in false faith, they had lost their wealth, rights, and were now screaming under oppression.
This was the perfect opportunity to avenge that grudge.
What did it matter if the price was death?
If they were to die along with their enemy, then that wouldn’t be a bad death.
At least they could face their family in purgatory with pride.
They could say, “I avenged you.”
Whoosh!
The sound of a whistle could be heard.
It was the signal.
The signal that it was time to begin.
Churchill steeled his resolve and took a deep breath.
One, two, three.
He counted slowly in his mind, and then threw the Molotov cocktails he had been holding in his hands.
“Take this, you damn tyrant!!”
With the sound of glass shattering, flames spread across the street.
Immediately, oil and fire seeped through the cracks in the paved road, triggering the gunpowder buried beneath.
Boom!!
“Ahhh!”
“Te, terrorism!”
“Military police! Call the military police right now! The king’s life is in danger!!”
A single carriage exploded in an instant.
The bodies of the horses and people were thrown into the air.
Torn clothes, blood, and chunks of flesh splattered everywhere.
Amid the sudden chaos, screams and shouts filled the air.
Thanks to this, the attention of the public was completely diverted.
Taking advantage of this opening, Churchill lit the fuse of the gunpowder pouch strapped to his body and ran.
“God is great–!”
The moment he grabbed the king’s carriage.
The fuse burned all the way down.
With a tremendous explosion, the king, the heir to the throne, and Churchill’s soul left this world.
*****
“Wow, this bastard is amazing.”
I sincerely admired it.
It was all because of the clumsy young man’s success.
“He really killed them all at once. I thought at least one or two would survive.”
Everything exploded.
The royal family of Alcyone, the nobles, the streets, even the future of the nation—everything.
They must have been incredibly thorough in their preparations, as it seemed like an entire city block had been wiped out.
The destruction was so severe that even identifying the remains and confirming their identities was a struggle.
The damage was so immense that the mastermind was still unidentified.
There were testimonies that a bomb had been thrown, but no one knew the face or affiliation of the perpetrator.
In other words, it was a perfect crime.
“Miss Kalia, how many personnel did we mobilize?”
“That’s up to the local branch, so I don’t know exactly, but it couldn’t have been more than a few dozen, right? If we’re talking about the field execution personnel alone, it was probably around 10.”
“To destroy an entire royal family with just 10 people…”
“That’s a very lucrative business.”
Kalia, who had been feeding me grapes one by one, answered with satisfaction.
It seemed even she thought it was an impressive result.
“Even among them, most weren’t even part of our organization, right? At this point, the only loss we’ve really had is the cost of buying gunpowder.”
Well, the personnel used in the terrorism were mostly civilians who had been secured by the Alcyone branch locally.
They shared the same faith and had a strong grudge against the royal family.
They had been trained for a few weeks, but they weren’t part of our organization.
In the end, the only ones we lost on our side were Winston Churchill and one other person.
Compared to the usual operations our organization runs, this is an extremely minor loss.
Normally, when such terrorist operations fail, local bases are often wiped out.
“So, what happens to the order of succession to the throne now?”
“Count Louis is probably the highest in line for succession… but he’s ranked 17th.”
That’s low.
Being 17th in the class means you’re a decent student, but being 17th in the class means you’re just in the middle-low range.
Within the narrow scope of royal blood, being 17th is almost no different from being 20th or 30th.
In other words…”There’s going to be a lot of bloodshed for the time being.”
“It’s a good thing for us, isn’t it?”
“That’s true, but…”
From now on, the legitimacy will be contested by a bunch of fools, and they’ll happily engage in a civil war.
And what if other factions get involved?
It’ll be a chaotic mess.
Exactly as we expected and hoped for.
“If the Charter of Civil Rights is revealed at the right time, it will stir up more debates and factions because of its contents…”
The Charter of Civil Rights, a work I created by mixing the Magna Carta and the Bill of Rights.
Once we appropriately set the stage for the civil war with this, there won’t be a need for further intervention.
At least for the next few years or even decades, they’ll be too busy tearing each other apart.
“Instead of that, shouldn’t we focus on other matters?”
“Has another issue arisen?”
“It’s not really a problem, but a shift in the political situation. Take a look at this.”
Kalia handed me a piece of paper while munching on a cream bun.
The paper had the following written on it:
[Signs of invasion by the Navre Kingdom and the Artium Empire in the Great Plains region.]
Are they expanding their frontlines again?