Traitors who betrayed their own side and defected to the enemy had always existed, across all times and places.
And those who used such traitors to break the enemy's morale were just as common.
But staging a sudden "confession of conscience" in front of a massive gathering of journalists—essentially a betrayal performance—was something rarely, if ever, seen before.
Before mass media had fully matured, the very concept of "propaganda" wasn't even widely used in this sense.
Without radio, it would be difficult to achieve the kind of impact Goebbels once did—but that wasn't my goal.
All I needed was a decisive blow to the already collapsing morale of the Russian army.
And for such a modest objective, this stage was more than sufficient.
"C-Commander Gennady! What… what are you saying right now…?"
"Oh? Earlier, you told me not to interrupt and to wait my turn. Why are you trying to stop me now?"
"No, but this—!"
"So when you thought it would benefit you, you insisted on hearing everything. But now that it might not, you want to shut me up? I clearly said it would be better not to speak beyond what was agreed upon. You were the ones who insisted we hear everything. At the very least, you should be consistent."
Under normal circumstances, the moment Gennady started spouting nonsense at a repatriation ceremony, the Russians would have shut it down immediately.
But as I'd said—they were the ones who insisted on hearing him out.
Now they couldn't back out.
They should've just kept their mouths shut from the beginning. In the end, this was all self-inflicted.
As I quieted the Russian side, Gennady continued, steady and deliberate.
"Everyone, I am a defeated general. A criminal who suffered a humiliating defeat in Asia and was taken prisoner. But I am not here to make excuses. I speak because I do not want those who risk their lives for our country to suffer the same fate I did."
"Gennady, Commander! What kind of disgrace is this at a repatriation ceremony?! If you have something to say, you can say it back at the fortress!"
"That would defeat the purpose. This only has meaning if our nation's journalists are present. I am not doing this to save myself. To be clear—I have already resolved myself to die. That is why I can speak like this."
The unspoken thought—you were going to die anyway—hung on everyone's lips, but no one dared say it aloud.
A pity. If they had, the chaos would've been even more spectacular.
Still, as the Russians began clashing among themselves, journalists from every nation fell silent, their hands moving rapidly across their notebooks.
The Russian reporters were no exception.
"What is this… what is he even talking about?"
"Has Gennady gone insane? How is he going to deal with the consequences of saying something like that in public…?"
"If he wants to die, he should've done it alone. Why drag everyone into this?"
Their words sounded rational—but their hands were the fastest of all.
As expected, the body speaks more honestly than the mouth.
At last, a young journalist, unable to hold back any longer, spoke up.
"Commander Gennady! Then what exactly are you trying to say?!"
"How many Russian soldiers are here in Crimea right now? One hundred thousand? Two hundred thousand? All of them came to this battlefield ready to give their lives for the motherland! But what, exactly, have we gained from this war? No—even that is fine. You say it is for national interest. Very well. But what is happening now is anything but normal! His Majesty the Emperor is prolonging this war purely for his own pride!"
"And what proof do you have of that claim?"
"Prussia and Austria have declared war on our homeland! They are advancing toward the capital! To defend it, Russia is concentrating every available force there! The soldiers here—fighting desperately against the allied armies—have been completely abandoned! The same was true in Asia! We were told to fight—but how was the Primorye garrison supposed to stop the British navy? From the beginning, we were nothing more than sacrifices, ordered to fight to the death and lose!"
He conveniently left out how he'd been humiliated by Japan, Qing, and Joseon in succession—but the core of his statement wasn't wrong.
With Russia's capabilities, defending the Asian front had been impossible from the start.
Even if they had allied with the three Northeast Asian nations, they would've stood no chance at sea. Instead, they antagonized them all.
There was never any hope.
"A soldier should—"
An officer tried to interrupt, but Gennady was faster, his voice rising like a cry of blood.
"We are prepared to die for our country! But if we give our lives for the nation, then the nation must honor that sacrifice! Tell me—what is your purpose here?! To die as mere meat shields so the allied forces cannot threaten the capital! Nothing more, nothing less! Where is the patriotism in that? Where is the honor? If anyone here knows, then speak!"
"If this is merely an attempt to shift blame for your defeat—"
"As I've said repeatedly, I have already abandoned any desire to preserve my life. You will soon understand what that means. I will not argue further."
At his ominous words, the officers fell silent.
Even among the lower-ranking officers, those beneath the high command, unease began to show. Doubt and dissatisfaction were surfacing.
Just a little more pressure, and cracks would form.
I turned to Gennady, my tone deliberately uneasy.
"Commander, why didn't you inform me beforehand that you intended to make such a revelation?"
"If I had, the British Empire would have used it as political propaganda. Everyone! I am not doing this to benefit a foreign nation. I stand here for one reason only—that no more of Russia's young men bleed meaningless blood."
Even the Russian journalists, who had remained silent until now, began hesitantly asking questions.
"So you're saying this was done entirely on your own, without coordination with Britain?"
"Of course. You all saw how flustered His Highness Killian was earlier. If you believe a royal and a soldier could act so convincingly, like seasoned actors, then go ahead and suspect it. But that will not change the truth."
If it were a hardened politician, perhaps.
But I was a royal of the most powerful empire in the world, and Gennady was a soldier.
Who would believe that he had spent the entire journey from Asia memorizing a script I wrote and practicing his performance day and night?
No one questioned it—not the Russian journalists, not even the officers.
"Soldiers are not tools. Every man here on this battlefield is a precious individual—someone with loved ones, with family. They are not lives meant to be sacrificed in a war we cannot win, simply to preserve the appearance of defending the capital!"
"..."
"And you all must feel it too—the supply lines are faltering. No matter how strong an army is, without supplies, it cannot continue fighting. What will you say to your men? Those poor patriots who still believe in their country, their superiors, and are ready to give their lives—what words will you use to send them to their deaths? I… I have already done so. And the regret consumes me. Please… do not make the same mistake I did."
This time, no one responded.
It wasn't just deflection—they could feel the sincerity in his concern for the soldiers.
The atmosphere was ripe.
Time to deliver the final blow.
Gennady slowly rose to his feet, swaying slightly. He bowed deeply.
"To be honest, I had a drink of vodka before coming here. Otherwise, I wouldn't have had the courage to say all this. I do not mind if I am condemned. But I hope you will remember my sincerity. My words may have been disorganized, but I gave everything I had. I hope my sincerity reached you. Thank you."
With that, he staggered toward the weapons storage chest.
The soldiers instinctively raised their weapons, startled, but he moved slowly, retrieving his pistol and raising it toward his chest.
"C-Commander Gennady! What are you doing?!"
"What right does a defeated general who led countless soldiers to their deaths have to return home alive? Your Highness Killian… I am unworthy of being buried in my homeland. Please… cast my body into the Black Sea, so that I may become food for the fish."
The Russian officers sprang to their feet—but before they could take a step, Gennady lifted his gaze to the sky and shouted:
"Long live the Russian Empire! May God grant that its soldiers return safely to their homes!"
Bang!
The gunshot rang out.
A split second later, crimson spread across the left side of his chest, and his body collapsed to the ground.
"W-what…?"
"H-he actually shot himself…?"
No one had expected him to pull the trigger on himself.
As shock froze everyone in place, I moved immediately, calling out to the soldiers.
"Medics! Get Commander Gennady to the infirmary immediately! Call all medical staff and begin surgery!"
"Yes, sir!"
The waiting soldiers quickly formed a wall, shielding his body from view as they carried him away.
No one spoke until they had disappeared into the distance.
At last, someone muttered in disbelief:
"When he said he had abandoned all attachment to life… I had my suspicions, but to actually shoot himself here…"
"Y-Your Highness… is Commander Gennady… dead?"
"He'll be taken into surgery immediately, but… a pistol shot to the left chest… you should prepare yourselves."
"But why? Why would he gather all these people just to commit suicide…?"
"Judging by his final words, I believe he wanted to completely eliminate any claims that he was merely shifting blame. To prove that his words came not from self-interest, but from concern for Russia's soldiers… he chose the most extreme method."
Of course, what Gennady fired was a blank.
And the blood soaking his chest was animal blood prepared in advance.
Still, even a blank fired at close range could cause injury, so he had been layered with protective gear beneath his clothes—that was why his movements appeared so stiff.
Originally, we planned to naturalize him and later stage an "accidental death."
But that would invite suspicion—that he had betrayed his country for personal gain.
This… was far more convincing.
The Russian officers, unaware of the truth, lowered their heads in shame, and a solemn silence filled the tent.
But while they mourned, the journalists—bound by duty—were already scrambling.
"Hurry! We need to get this story out immediately!"
"A Russian commander condemns the Emperor and refuses repatriation—shoots himself!"
"'Cast my body into the Black Sea.' Why did a Russian commander leave such a tragic final message? Good—this will be the headline…"
As the allied journalists rushed out, the Russian reporters clenched their eyes shut and closed their notebooks.
"Damn it… I can't do this anymore."
"Ah, screw it! I'll just publish it and deal with the consequences! If I get arrested, so be it!"
"I'm done being a journalist. I'll just write it all and serve the prison time."
Adding anything now would only backfire.
"An unforeseen incident has occurred, so we will have to end proceedings here. In accordance with Commander Gennady's final wishes, we will continue treatment on our side for the time being. Repatriation will proceed once he regains consciousness."
I deliberately hardened my expression and left.
Among the stunned Russian officers, sighs escaped.
Curses filled the air from the journalists.
If there was ever a scene that could be called utter chaos—this was it.
Even without eating, I felt completely full.
Heh.