Chapter 933: This Is the Ruler!

The thunderstorm came quickly and left just as fast—only ten or so minutes passed before the curtain of rain vanished, as if the entire world had been tossed into a washing machine and scrubbed clean.

Looking at the empty naval port, now only dotted with tugboats, the painter’s expression grew heavy.

He waited a moment, left his home, and walked to a nearby phone booth, dialing a number.

“I’d like to ask if your art museum has any vacant dates—I want to rent it for a personal exhibition,” he said, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

He rarely smoked; as an agent, a spy, he avoided anything that could leave a mark on him.

Smoke was one such thing.

Of course, he didn’t abstain entirely—he sometimes smoked, like before a shower, standing on the balcony with a cigarette, waving to girls by the roadside in the glow of sunset, completely at ease.

Now he smoked in the phone booth because his mission was over—he could be himself again.

This job wasn’t romantic at all, though movies today painted it as such; in truth, it was anything but.

Every day he lived in unease; every whisper or rustle made him hyperalert—he feared that if nothing happened soon, he’d drive himself mad.

Sometimes his paintings turned wildly chaotic, signaling his mental state had clearly deteriorated; he knew his mind was slipping, but he had to hold on.

Fortunately, everything ended here, at this moment.

The call wasn’t placed directly to the Federation—the Federation or Dantela still lacked the technology to lay a transoceanic cable across the entire East Ocean.

This call went to Ande; the person handling his contact was currently there.

He didn’t care how the message ultimately reached the Federation—he only cared about his own condition.

The phone was answered quickly: “This is Good Helper City Rat Control. If you’re plagued by rats, cockroaches, or termites, we’re your absolute best help!”

“How may I assist you?”

The painter wanted to laugh, but he stuck to protocol—even if this person was his contact.

If he broke protocol, the other side wouldn’t log the message—and might even withdraw immediately.

He grew slightly more serious. “Do you handle wild boars?”

The man on the other end didn’t reply right away. After about ten seconds, he answered uncertainly: “Sir, wild boars are outside our scope.”

“I’ll pay extra.”

“It’s not about money…”

“All of it.”

Another few seconds passed. The man still refused service: “If you’re sick, go to a mental hospital. Are you insane?”

The painter took a drag, exhaled slowly—as if releasing all his frustration and misfortune—“The world is insane!”

The other side hung up. The painter slowly replaced the receiver. He knew—his mission had finally ended.

The operator at Ande’s rat control company hung up, then dialed another number, transmitting a prearranged message in code.

Soon after, another group sent the message via telegraph into Slade’s territory; by the next day, it appeared on the desk of an official in the Ministry of Defense.

Still in coded format—only the painter, his handler, and the operation’s supervisor knew what the message truly meant.

The supervisor consulted his codebook, deciphering the meaningless text until he uncovered the core message.

Minutes later, only a handful of people—including the President—knew the message.

Dantela’s Combined Naval Fleet had been fully mobilized.

Senator Cleveland, fully absorbed in his meeting, suddenly saw his chief of staff enter silently, glide to his side, and whisper a few words in his ear.

Senator Cleveland nodded slightly, then raised his hand.

The person reading the documents fell silent; all eyes turned to him. “I have something to attend to. Carry on—I’ll hear the results when I return.”

He offered two brief apologies, then rose and left the office with his chief of staff.

Soon after, he arrived at another location—a private estate.

The President was already there, along with the Minister of Defense and two Army generals.

Four others from Congress were also present; they greeted Senator Cleveland as he entered. He apologized as he sat on an empty sofa.

“Here’s the situation: they’ve been underway for a day. According to our estimates, they’ll reach the easternmost edge of Yalan in about a week, and appear outside Jingang City nine days from now.”

“In other words, we have eight days to hit the abort button.”

The speaker was another senator. Neither Senator Cleveland nor the President spoke. Neither did anyone else.

This plan… didn’t need an abort button.

The speaker shrugged. “Looks like we’ve all chosen the other path.”

Even within the military, there were factions, cliques.

In the past, their conflict was about money.

The Federation’s annual defense budget was fixed; without war or imminent threat, spending remained minimal.

If the Army got more, the Navy got less.

Yet both branches’ equipment were money pits.

For example, those battleships—each one cost more than the Army could stomach.

They’d argued, even fought, over funding at congressional hearings—not once or twice.

Soldiers, after all.

When tempers flared, they’d grab their belts and whip each other.

After the Tanfet War broke out, relations improved briefly—but only briefly. Now, as the Army kept scoring victories, the Presidency, the Ministry of Defense, and Congress all favored letting the Army lead the war, granting it greater command authority.

The Navy was to support the Army—the initiative lay entirely with the Army.

From the Presidency, the Ministry of Defense, and Congress, the Tanfet War was seen as primarily a land war, rooted in historical and ethnic disputes between Slade and Dantela.

There were rivers, but battleships couldn’t enter them; even larger vessels couldn’t pass. The Navy could only play a minor coastal role—the war would be led by the Army.

But the Navy disagreed. We’re all equal Federation soldiers—why should the Navy obey the Army?

And how are war merits calculated?

Everyone knew the truth: the Army would claim the lion’s share of credit; the Navy would get at best a supporting role.

If luck ran bad, they might not even get that—since their contribution was indirect, less visible.

Yet the Navy kept seeking ways to gain advantage. Just one year after the Federation entered the war, tensions between Army and Navy had already surfaced.

The two generals present were both Army generals. They knew the message—but hadn’t told the Navy side.

To them, only if the Navy suffered a massive humiliation would they realize how foolish their desire to lead the war truly was.

So they had no qualms about pushing them further.

Seeing no one agree or oppose—only silent acquiescence—the President swirled his wineglass, took a small sip.

These were the finest wines, from private cellars; ordinary commercial bottles never entered this estate.

“So why are we here?” he asked the Congress members. “Better to be out on the lawn, taking a few swings.”

He meant golf—he loved golf. He even had a short indoor putting green in his office, enough to satisfy him between meetings.

The Senate President shook his head. “We still need to discuss next steps. As planned, we can use this as justification to increase war spending and seize control of Star Island and Yalan.”

Everyone nodded.

Though the Federation publicly claimed total battlefield dominance—as if it had never lost—a public appetite for war remained high, yet that didn’t mean citizens would support further war spending.

It was a damn messy problem.

If the front faltered, people would fear continued investment—losing wealth and young men; Federation families couldn’t bear it.

But if the war kept winning, Federation citizens still refused to increase spending—they felt current costs were sufficient. Why spend more?

Federation citizens might struggle with addition beyond twenty, but they were hypersensitive to government conspiracies.

This meant the Federation government had neither justification nor public support to escalate war spending.

Yet the war situation was favorable; the Federation was now trying to gain greater influence within the Slade Military Alliance.

Once the Federation took command, it would seek greater gains from the war.

It could demand more resources, technology, and population from Dantela—and possibly station troops there, creating a springboard to threaten the entire Tanfet Continent.

Even if less ambitious, if the Federation led the war, postwar reconstruction contracts across Tanfet nations would flow to it, along with sales of Federation industrial goods.

Because of this still-undeveloped market, the Federation’s domestic economic troubles eased immediately.

The economic depression economists predicted would last ten to twenty years hadn’t even fully revealed itself before it began to recede.

This wasn’t due to the President’s policies, nor the governors’ competence—it was pure damn luck.

Even a pig, placed in charge, would see the economy improve—as long as it didn’t interfere with the free market.

To sustain this, they needed command authority, greater influence, and the power to set new rules.

So how to make the public agree to increase war spending?

Simple: make them feel pain.

Not pain from defeat—but pain from being betrayed by a treacherous little sneak.

This was outrage.

And outrage would make old Federation citizens back their government, to teach Dantela—a disobedient little runt—a lesson.

The Senate President had merely voiced what they’d already agreed upon; no one had other thoughts—it served everyone’s interests.

Many commoners believe the ruling class is evil, corrupt.

But if judged by who truly wants the nation to grow stronger, the ruling class unquestionably desires it more than the masses.

Because it means controlling more resources, more wealth, more power.

“The north has been restless lately. Intelligence from behind suggests they’ve secretly contacted Dantela.”

The Minister of Defense distributed intelligence files; Senator Cleveland received one.

He pulled out his reading glasses from his coat pocket—he’d been in meetings and reading documents nonstop, and his vision had slightly declined.

The doctor said it was just fatigue; if he rested his eyes, avoided dim lighting and prolonged staring at text, his condition would improve.

But the problem is, this is precisely what he cannot do.

Whether in his office or back at home, he must process piles of documents or review materials; he cannot allow himself to fully relax for “a period of time,” unless he is no longer a senator.

He frowned at the documents in his hand—recent troop movements by the three northern nations.

They have begun conscription, and even their once-nearly-obsolete border lines now host military units.

According to intelligence gathered, the northern three nations’ primary focus remains “preventing invasion,” not seeking war with the Federation.

But for the gentlemen here, even a defensive posture means they are no longer safe.

Some clench knives in their hands to avoid being hurt, yet end up turning those knives into weapons they themselves wield to harm others!

“When you carry a weapon, murderous intent arises”—this is no joke.

Whether a man or a nation, as soon as their weapon gives them a sense of security, they soon develop desires for aggression.

“This matter truly demands serious attention. Perhaps we should talk to them.”

“Diplomacy first, then deterrence,” Senator Cleveland offered his view, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes.

The Speaker of the House shared the same opinion: “Regardless of whether the Dantelans have lobbied them, we need to conduct some public relations on these issues.”

He added, “If you all hold the same view, we should arrange this as soon as possible.”

“I worry that if we send troops to the Yalan region, these northerners will refuse to negotiate with us.”

Others understood why he said this—after all, aggressors inspire greater fear.

At this point, the President raised the issue of Yalan again: “Would it be too… direct if we send troops to occupy their territory?”

“After all, these lands will ultimately become Federation territory, and the people living there will become Federation citizens. If we are too brutal and unreasonable, it will greatly affect our future rule.”

“It might also have some impact on the north.”

The Majority Leader of the Senate, also a member of the Social Party, responded: “But it’s hard to deal with the people of Yalan using gentle methods. If we don’t completely eliminate the local indigenous regimes, they’ll become a nuisance!”

They already regard the Yalan region as part of the Federation, and they intend to wave the banner of “freedom” to help the Yalans achieve liberation!

Then let them hold a referendum, letting the people raise their voices loud and clear!

Of course, this referendum isn’t about overthrowing their current system, but whether they wish to join the Federation’s warm family.

Surely, they would be delighted!

So we must remove the current rulers—and preferably in a non-violent, informal way.

Senator Cleveland pulled out a cigarette; they had discussed this before—the original rulers must not be spared.

But the problems caused by slaughtering Federation natives still haven’t been resolved, even after rewriting history, because some people are still alive.

As long as these people live, their personal museums will continually remind others how the Federals treated the indigenous inhabitants of this land.

For example, turning them into wallets, boots, leather coats, and so on.

So this time, they don’t want to carry out large-scale massacres against Yalan’s local regime—it would make them seem less righteous.

Senator Cleveland already had an idea: “We don’t need to do it ourselves. We can get someone else to do it—the result will be the same, and that’s enough.”

Others turned to him. The President tapped the tip of his crossed foot. “Tell us your idea.”

Senator Cleveland quickly organized his thoughts: “We can use unofficial forces…”

He recalled the chilling impact of the Lans family’s uniformed appearance—he thought perhaps the Lans could surprise him in this matter!

(End of Chapter)