Chapter 453: Chapter 450: The Meaning of Terror
The smell of blood made Caroline feel faint. But what truly unsettled her wasn’t the smell itself, but the onlookers.
When the condemned was pushed onto the platform, the onlookers began to cheer and jeer. The crowd’s bloodthirsty excitement peaked as the person’s neck was locked into the groove. The deafening roar would only subside after the head rolled to someone’s feet, was held aloft, and paraded through the streets.
And perhaps that quiet was just the crowd losing interest in the "performance" now that it was over, before they all dispersed.
What unsettled Caroline was how the crowd reminded her of her final days in the Imperial Capital. Their fanaticism made her deeply uneasy.
Only a few people remained in the square, including an ashen-faced Caroline and the other Mages. Rorschach remained perfectly calm, his gaze fixed on the blood-stained blade as if admiring a watchmaker’s crossover design—and his final creation.
"Let’s go," Snow urged them. "If we linger too long, the Guard will start asking questions. Then I’ll have the pleasure of convincing them that you two are friendly individuals who pose no threat to the Republic."
Caroline had completely lost any interest in revisiting the city. The four of them boarded a carriage and left the square. The Alchemy Department’s carriages were much plainer and more understated now. All ornamentation was gone, and the sigil of the Tower of Stars was larger, though crudely daubed on with white paint. It was the only thing that made the troublemakers lurking in the streets and alleys back away.
The carnivals of public lynching had not improved the security in Valuva. On the contrary, with so many adult men conscripted, the remaining ruffians acted with even more impunity. Of course, if they were caught by a Guard, there would be no formal trial or prison sentence waiting for them either.
The carriage didn’t head back to the Starlight Torch Tower, stopping instead before a mansion in a more secluded area.
"I’m taking you somewhere else to eat."
The owners of such standalone mansions had either fled or been executed. Their properties were then acquired by the "nouveau riche" or requisitioned as clubs by factions from the National Assembly.
In these times of scarce resources and even higher tensions, these places were worlds unto themselves, maintaining Valuva’s usual high standards for art, cuisine, and fine wine.
Melodious music drifted from the second floor. The waiters were impeccably dressed and graceful, carrying food that was in no way inferior to the sky restaurant at the Starlight Torch Tower. When they entered a private room, Rorschach saw that Kano was already seated.
The Great Mage addressed Caroline first. "I’ve been relying on you for so much. Now that you’ve finally had a chance to walk around the city, what are your impressions?"
"You can still manage a smile..." Caroline shook her head. "It’s dreadful. Executions everywhere. And many in the crowd know the condemned don’t necessarily deserve to die. The whispers are all about who offended whom, which faction they belonged to, and how they were overthrown. There is no order, no justice to speak of."
The tales from places like Bayern, and the message the National Assembly wanted to spread across the continent, were all about wonderful words like progress and equality... But what Caroline witnessed firsthand was nothing but terror. And nearly everyone was using that terror to attack and compete with each other.
"And what do you think?" Kano finally turned to Rorschach.
The young man’s reply was startling. "I believe the current situation is both inevitable and necessary for the Republic."
He sat down and went on, "Before I left Valuva, the promises made to the people by the great revolution had not been fulfilled. On the contrary, I saw many on the streets who were still not well-fed or warmly clothed. Meanwhile, the National Assembly is consumed by infighting. It’s only natural that the populace is furious with the current state of affairs. They need a straightforward, comprehensible way to vent that anger and attempt to change their situation."
"And what makes it ’necessary’?"
"This is the only way for the Republic to gather enough strength to face the Empire." No matter how much turmoil there was in Valuva and elsewhere, they had to find a way to mobilize their power, to extract every ounce of strength through conscription and the reallocation of resources.
The greatest obstacle to this was the old guard: those who controlled the populace and hoarded resources and wealth. Some were willing to cooperate with the Republic and the National Guard, but many were not. The simplest and most efficient method was to cut them away.
The simpler and cruder the process, the more miscarriages of justice. But clearly, Valois had no leeway to moderate itself, to let the various factions gently grind against each other until they reached a compromise and could present a united front to the outside world.
It was like a boxer in the ring, needing to gather his strength and exert every muscle to its limit to face a much larger foe. From the perspective of the grand narrative, the current "bloodshed" and "terror," even with the inhuman atrocities they entailed, were nothing more than side effects—like burst capillaries and muscle spasms.
For the sake of victory, they could be ignored.
The National Salvation Committee had to be sufficiently "terrifying." Terror had to permeate all of Valois. Only then would the opposition cooperate and become "reasonable." The process had to be brutal enough to shatter the old logic of commerce and wealth accumulation, to break the old order. This "terror" and the people’s fanaticism were the "boxer’s adrenaline."
"You truly have... the detached ease of an observer. I’m almost envious," Kano said with a laugh, though there was no joy in the sound.
Caroline, however, felt a sense of déjà vu regarding Rorschach’s attitude. The young man’s current state was strikingly similar to how he’d been when they spoke after Prime Minister Otto’s visit.
Suddenly the door opened, and two unexpected men joined the conversation. The one in the lead had a heavy, aggressive presence. He cut in, "This Mage is right. The Republic needs to ’become terrifying.’ But this terror should be controlled. Or at least, we must now find a way to end it at the lowest possible cost."
The newcomer was Maxim. The fierce, ugly fat man behind him was no Bodyguard, but George Jacques, the War Commissioner for the National Salvation Committee—a mad dog loyal to Valois.
Maxim neither sat nor partook of the food. Instead, he declared to the Mages in the room, "Order is beginning to take root across the land, but the bloodshed continues. This gentleman here was right—this is how we must mobilize amidst the chaos. But it also means that many are using the name of justice to enrich themselves, engaging in graft and corruption. They feast on the corpses of the old Nobility and the fat of the people. A portion of their spoils is turned over to the state, but the rest fattens their own purses."
"More importantly," Maxim sighed, "the nouveau riche, who’ve made their fortunes through illicit means, are now seeking pardons and protection. They actively curry favor with the Committee and the National Assembly, polluting our ranks. They exploit the rampant terror to attack their personal enemies and use their newfound status to conceal their own crimes."
The Maxim from before the revolution’s success would have passionately and vehemently denounced such things. But the Maxim of a year later simply stated the facts to the Mages with weary resignation.
The temperature in the mansion wasn’t particularly warm, but when Maxim finished speaking, George Jacques, standing behind him, couldn’t help but take out a handkerchief to wipe away his sweat.
The handkerchief he used was exquisitely fine.
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