I Became The Leader Of A Revolution In A Romance Fantasy

< Chapter 4: The Revolution Wasn’t Over Yet >

Broken bricks flew through the air, caught between the densely packed barricades. The commander chewed his lips anxiously. He was frustrated by this tedious standoff. Having secured his position through revolutionary merits instead of a police career, he proudly displayed the red armband of the revolutionaries rather than police insignia, even on the front lines.

“Damn it. This won’t end like this.”

“We have no choice. If we maintain the siege for just a day or two more and cut off all their supplies, those vagrants will collapse. That’s when we can move in.”

“A day or two? Are you kidding me?!”

Smack!

“Ouch!”

The commander’s baton struck his lieutenant’s cheek like a bolt of lightning. Gasping for breath, the commander spoke.

“I heard that our beloved leader has scheduled a visit to my jurisdiction. He could arrive at any moment! Do you think we can let those vagrant bastards loiter around?!”

“Th-the leader… Do you mean Congressman Hastings?”

“Yes! The heart of the revolution! The one true leader of the people! He cannot be greeted by such wretched scum! Riot squad! Charge at once!”

The lieutenant was horrified.

“Charge? If we enter now, the casualties will be enormous! Congressman Hastings would never support such a decision!”

But the commander just sneered.

“What do you know about him? I witnessed his great awakening. The day when the fallen prodigy of feudalism was reborn as the greatest revolutionary in the flames of revolution!”

The commander’s eyes turned towards that day, the ‘Red Morning.’

It had been a chaotic explosion, burning everything without a unified front or goal, but under his leadership, the disorganized ‘revolutionary army’ was reborn as a unified force. The commander had been part of that revolutionary army.

“Power comes from the barrel of a gun! Our primary objective is the arsenal!”

With an intimate knowledge of the capital’s nobility, he began with easily seized private arsenals and then progressed to taking over military units, one after another.

The ragtag mob of reckless rioters, under his leadership, unified as if enchanted. They ran and ran with all their might, and the spears and clubs they carried were replaced with guns. Nobles knelt, military units surrendered, and the capital and the royal palace lay at their feet.

The commander recalled the thrilling sense of unity he had felt at that moment! The sense of becoming part of something far greater and more powerful than a single weak individual under the flames of revolution!

And to the noble who cried out, ‘If the revolution is for freedom and equality, why is my freedom being trampled?’ our leader coldly declared:

– There is no freedom for the enemies of freedom!

The commander, enveloped in a shivering thrill, woke from his recollection.

Then, inspired by revolutionary fervor, he shouted.

“There is no freedom for the enemies of freedom! Riot squad! Advance! Advance! Push them all out!”

The armed young police officers stepped forward.

Axes for destruction.

And iron clubs for suppression.

The riot squad, divided according to their mission, revealed their glinting weapons in broad daylight.

The riot squad members all wore expressions that screamed, ‘Ah, shit, this isn’t right,’ but the police of the republic were an organization where orders had to be followed.

And more than anything, the red armband on the commander’s arm.

In these times, offending that red armband given by the ‘Revolutionary Committee’ was on a completely different level than merely being marked by a superior.

In the capital, from housing to rationing, the Revolutionary Committee controlled everything.

“Damn it.”

The squad leader barely swallowed his curse.

“If they say go, we go. Let’s move, guys!”

The riot squad charged at the barricade.

“The riot squad is here!”

“Aaah! They’re going to kill us all!”

Chaos erupted.

As the riot squad climbed and tried to break through the barricade, the impoverished people swarmed over it, throwing filth and swinging bamboo spears.

Police officers, their heads smashed and foreheads split open, were carried out one by one, while people on the barricade who stuck their heads out were struck down by clubs.

Just as the scene was about to explode into full-scale bloodshed, a plainly dressed man in a modest suit came running from somewhere.

“Stopppp!”

It’s like he was saying, “Life is precious!”

It was a voice that resonated in the heart.

* * *

The power of the golden badge is truly wondrous.

Both the impoverished and the police actually stopped.

“E-Eugene Hastings?”

“Leader!”

“Congressman, what are you doing in a place like this!”

Or was it the power of my well-known face?

Either way, it didn’t matter.

As long as people stopped mentioning ‘Edmond Dantès’!

At that moment, several vagrants who had been camped out in ‘my’ building came charging like madmen.

“Congressman!”

“Damn it, get those bastards!”

If the idol of the National Assembly got stabbed right in front of their eyes, it would be a catastrophe.
The riot squad members, their eyes turning, hurriedly climbed up the barricade.

‘No knife, no gun. If it comes to it, I can beat them.’

I completed the body scan of the vagrants with the superhuman physical abilities (including *their substantial and excellent attributes*) that could be considered the privileges of a male protagonist in a romance fantasy novel. I then looked at the riot squad members with a mix of composure, compassion, and pity.

There wasn’t any special reason; it was just an angle that would be well visible to the reporters.

Shaking my head with a poignant smile, I stopped the riot squad members.

“Don’t stop the citizens from coming to me. I am a servant of the Republic, and the Republic belongs to the citizens.”

“!”

“Con, Congressman!”

I had momentarily hesitated between using ‘people’ or ‘citizens.’

– Congressman Hastings is honestly too extreme.

– That man. Isn’t he a communist? They say he stabs a doll labeled ‘bourgeois’ every morning.

– He’s someone who would demonize all the wealthy!

Recent public opinion polls suggested that I was considered too ‘ideological.’

So today, I chose to go with citizens.

Anyway, the vagrants, without being stopped, approached me and collapsed at my feet as if they were about to faint.

At that very moment, I had been clenching my fist hidden in my pocket. But only when I confirmed that the eyes of the vagrants, instead of being filled with malice, were brimming with tears, did I loosen my grip.

“Please, Count! Please save us! The police are beating us up and trying to kick us out!”

“It’s not Count, it’s Congressman…”

This person was saying something dangerous!

I could already hear the reporters’ cameras clicking away!

“No matter how ignorant we commoners may be, do we deserve to be chased around with no place to live? It’s so unfair. Please save us, Count!”

“It’s not commoners but citizens…”

“Couuunt!”

Damn.

If there’s even a slight opportunity to exploit this situation, tomorrow morning’s newspapers will be flooded with articles referring to Hastings as a ‘Count,’ and I could bet my badge on it.

I took a short, deep breath.

The reason you’re being chased around without a place to live is because this isn’t your home. If you’re aggrieved, go to a homeless shelter.

You live here because it’s shitty to live there, and in this stylish building, which the aristocrats of the old days used to enjoy (for free, *not*), if you search well enough, you can still find nice clothes and luxury items popping out. Isn’t that the thrill of living here?

The freedom declared by the revolution is the right not to be violated by others, not the right to live wherever you please without getting punched.

‘If I said that out loud, I’d be headed straight for the guillotine, wouldn’t I?’

The symbol of the rampaging revolutionary army that I personally destroyed would be custom-made just for me.

‘Shit.’

Kim Yujin had greatly curbed his temper.

Suppressing the bubbling emotions within me, I once again put on a benevolent smile.

“I’m sorry.”

A sudden apology declaration from the idol of the National Assembly!

Some wore shocked expressions.

Some looked puzzled.

Everyone focused on my mouth.

“The revolution has cleared away the old era and opened a new one. However, I realize again today, at this place, that our task is not yet complete.”

My voice, though it seemed natural and unaffected, was actually resonant and imposing, refined through daily morning breath control exercises.

Maintaining a gaze as if looking at a distant place, I rose from the barricade at just the right pace.

(If I stood up too abruptly, the photos wouldn’t come out well.)

“I have witnessed a tragedy. Citizens and police officers attacking each other.”

At that, the reporters began shouting as if they had been waiting for this moment.

“Congressman, the police, who are supposed to protect the citizens, attacked them! Please give us a comment!”

“How could such a red commie… These vagrant bastards violated private property without obeying the Republic’s control! Those damn beggars don’t even pay a single cent in taxes!”

“You bourgeois feudalists!”

“What did you just say, you punk? Are you done talking?!”

Shit.

I never expected that calling reporters from all sides would turn out like this. Now the reporters were grabbing each other by the collars and fighting.

‘If I take a side here, the morning papers tomorrow will… (to be continued)’

Anyway, I was sure to be screwed.

I closed my eyes tightly and shouted.

“Revolution!”

These days, the people of the Republic are suffering from a sort of epidemic.

Whenever someone shouts “revolution,” they instinctively straighten up and pay attention to that person.

“This tragic conflict we just witnessed. And the argument among you reporters. I believe all of this is the fault of the revolution. The revolution has left divisions in our society.”

I heard gasps from all around.

Criticizing the revolution was practically considered a social suicide.

Even now, children flood the Revolutionary Committee, saying, “I think my dad is a feudal lord. He said ‘damn commies’ while drinking alone.”

An era of betrayal where you couldn’t trust neighbors or family.

In such an era, someone who could be considered a symbol of the revolution was claiming that all of this was the revolution’s fault!

‘Of course, it’s something I can say.’

If I said, ‘Well, the revolution sure is going well,’ would the Revolutionary Committee dare to mess with me?

Or should I shout, “Kkyeeeek! The leader has whispered to me through the starlight!” and dive into self-criticism?

This is why power is essential for survival.

It’s absolutely not because I’m obsessed with power and money, okay?

“Although the old era was collapsing under its own contradictions, the corrupt leaders refused to acknowledge change and were solely focused on satisfying their own greed. As a result, the revolution inevitably came in the form of destroying the old era.”

Even I, who said all this, am somewhat scared of those ‘true far-left’ people who don’t listen to me at all, so I’ll add a pinch of MSG and claim that the revolution isn’t at fault.

“The revolution was the product of the times and an inevitable outcome, but ultimately, it was carried out by people. By all of us, the citizens of the Republic. And anything done by humans is bound to be imperfect.”

Yeah, yeah, the revolution isn’t to blame.

The revolution is innocent; human error is the cause of today’s minor failures.

“In the process of destroying the old era, other things were also destroyed. From material things like this once splendid street to the virtues of trust, solidarity, and order that our people once had. As a revolutionary, I too feel a deep sense of responsibility for this.”

Right, right, did I blame anyone else?

I admitted my own fault too, didn’t I?

As I said this, I bowed my head deeply.

But I bent my waist only to gain momentum.

“But precisely because of this, the revolution is not yet over! The old era has not yet been eradicated, and the new era has not yet arrived!”

My thunderous declaration snapped people back to attention.

Until now, it was like a principal’s admonishing speech, but now the real part begins.

I tightened my abdomen and began shouting in the voice of an agitator.

“A country where no citizen has to live hidden in the ruins. A country where police officers and soldiers who serve our Republic receive only respect, honor, and love!”

Without attacking anyone and embracing everyone.

In other words, truly irresponsible words that began to ignite fires in people’s eyes one by one.

I once again channeled my inner Nazi mustache, fervently waving my fist as I shouted.

“A country where the majority doesn’t have to sacrifice for the minority, but where everyone prospers! A country where everyone is happy! That is the Republic, everyone!”

Woo, wow!

The cheers erupted so loudly that the barricades seemed to shake, if I could exaggerate a bit.

Honestly, I think these irresponsible slogans are a scam, only meant to siphon off popularity. As long as no one tries to verify them, they’re unbeatable.

I began pointing at each citizen and shouting.

“Do you want a home?”

“Yes!”

“Do you want a job?!”

“Yes!!”

“All those opportunities are here! I declare a leap towards that new future right here! Today, on this tragic land stained with the blood of citizens and police, tomorrow, a new hope will bloom!”

The reporters finally broke through the control line and rushed forward.

“Congressman! Congressman! You mentioned new hope. What exactly do you mean by that?”

I desperately suppressed a smile from breaking out.

Just one more step to go; don’t screw it up like an amateur, Yujin.

“I propose to the National Assembly that we revive these ruins scattered across the capital! Jobs for the unemployed! New vitality for our stagnant nation! Now is the time for the Republic to implement ‘public works’!”

“Jobs for the unemployed! New vitality for the nation!”

Lize Carter perfectly understood the slogan, conveniently split for easy chanting, and led the shout.

Then, people began to cheer and shout after her, one by one.

Jobs for the unemployed!

New vitality for the nation!

A reporter who had climbed up to the barricade finally shouted the last question almost at the top of his lungs.

“Congressman! What is the name of that policy?”

What else?

I reverted to the confident face of a young politician. A face that seemed to see the future clearly, like that of a prophet.

With that face, I said the name I’d borrowed from Earth’s writer.

“New Deal.”