I Became The Leader Of A Revolution In A Romance Fantasy

< Chapter 11: The Approaching Storm >

I rose resolutely.

And suddenly, I asked everyone around me.

“Who are we?”

“…”

Silence followed.

They didn’t know who they were themselves.

So, I would tell them.

“We are warriors. We are the approaching storm. We are the men who survived through a hail of bullets in hell.”

As my low yet powerful voice continued, the men, who had been hanging their heads, began to lift them one by one.

“We risked our lives and fought for this country. In the king’s and nobles’ war, you bled and fought. But the corrupt old era refuses to reward your sacrifice.”

I wasn’t speaking to Frank Smith.

I was speaking to all the men gathered here.

To the men holed up in the beer hall, reenacting the culture of their military days.

I was appealing to the identity of the group, not the individual.

“They say a new era has dawned, yet why haven’t your lives improved? I simply can’t understand. The country you protected with your lives is now trying to sever those very lives, and I cannot! Understand! This!”

A shout erupted from deep within my chest.

I heard the clattering sounds from all around.

Whether chairs toppled over or not.

More and more men sprang up like they were on springs.

“Colonel! I can’t understand it either!”

“I can’t understand it!”

“How long do we have to live like this!”

I covered my face with a look of grief.

And under the palm covering my jaw, I briefly smiled.

‘To be blunt, your lives are miserable not because the country abandoned you. They were always going to be like that.’

We live in a time when the term ‘veteran’ doesn’t even exist.

The country never promised you any compensation.

You are not free citizens but subjects of a kingdom ruled by a monarch.

The kingdom’s conscription system was discriminatory.

Nobles weren’t conscripted unless they volunteered.

Does that mean everyone below the nobles was conscripted equally? The answer was ‘no.’

After status, wealth was the next measure.

‘So, every veteran gathered here was once lowly and poor.’

And a hundred years ago. And a hundred years from now.

There will never be a country where it’s good to live as a lowly and poor person.

It’s arithmetically impossible, you see?

But if you take a handful of those lowly and poor people and bind them with a single identity.

Then you can stand before them and say, ‘Your lives are ruined because of them!’

Ah, this is exactly what we call ‘divide and conquer.’

**A Global Trend Leading 21st Century Politics**

In the 20th century, this strategy was systematized and became a global trend leading 21st-century politics regardless of left or right.

Even conspiracy theories used to justify hatred paled in comparison because it was based on undeniable facts, making its power 0.8 times that of what I saw and learned on Earth!

(The reason its power is lower despite its superiority is that divide and conquer works better when it’s mindless. You need to stoke hatred and a sense of victimhood.)

As a hero from another world, I shook the hearts of the natives with this advanced strategy ahead of its time.

“Are you aggrieved?”

“Yes!”

“Are you resentful?”

“Yes!”

“So am I. If you hadn’t protected this country, there would be no kingdom or republic! I can’t bear this reality where no one respects your sacrifice!”

I broke a chair.

The legs of the beer hall chairs, ordered to just the right size, turned into batons when detached.

And inside the bar, there were even black hoods?

Oh my, how amazing.

This is such an incredible coincidence.

“When they first came, I remained silent.”

“?”

“??”

At my sudden words, the fervor of the warriors simmered and wavered.

Wait a moment, you bastards.

“When this country ignored the fallen warriors,
I remained silent.
Because I had returned alive.”

“When this country ignored the wounded warriors,
I remained silent.
Because I had returned uninjured.”

“Then, when this country ignored me!
There wasn’t a single comrade left to fight for me!”

I raised both hands.

In one hand, a baton.

In the other, a black hood.

“Today, Frank was victimized. Tomorrow, it will be Otto’s turn! Will you just stand by and watch that?”

“No!”

“Listen to these bastards! Is that how you’re supposed to respond?!”

“No, sir!”

Sometimes I think.

The reason this romantic fantasy protagonist’s stupid lines often left ripples in the heroine’s heart all night…

If it were a game, his charisma stat must be maxed out.

‘Maybe the romantic fantasy protagonist is the ultimate demagogue?’

While my mind entertained such foolish thoughts, my body moved passionately.

“Then let’s go!”

“Where to, sir?”

“To the place that oppressed our comrade!”

“!”

A moment of silence.

Then the sound of chairs breaking followed.

‘Damn it, just break the chairs.’

Why are they breaking my intact table and glasses?

* * *

**If you think the concept of quitting time exists in this era, you’re too naive.**

Two-shift system.

That means working 24-hour overnight shifts followed by a day off and then right back to another 24-hour shift.

This is what they call an advanced and labor-friendly new work system.

Before that, both children and adults had to work 16-18 hours a day.

And today just happens to be the day Frank’s shift is working.

* * *

I kicked open the factory door.

“Hey, who are you?”

“Guardians of the Republic.”

“What the fuck is this shit…!”

The relationship between the Republic and the factory was hierarchical.

I demonstrated this hierarchy with a blazing slap to the factory guardian.

Smack!

When they saw a person spinning and crashing into the ground, even the few workers who were burning with company loyalty hesitated and stepped back.

“Foreman, get out here.”

“You can’t just barge in like this…”

“It’s a problem because we barged in? Fine.”

I nodded.

Then I proposed again in a language this heart of predatory capitalism could understand.

First, I smashed a machine with a baton.

Bang!

“Foreman! You bastard, get out here!”

The baton wielded by the superhuman strength of the romantic fantasy protagonist was no longer just a baton.

With a feel like hitting a balloon, the iron machine crumpled instantly.

High-speed rotating parts collided and shattered inside, causing a raucous spark and steam explosion.

“Aaah!”

The factory instantly turned into chaos.

Not only the workers who were working, but also the people of the next shift who were sleeping in the factory started to appear one by one.

In fact, Frank finding a separate boarding house because he had to take care of a baby was a rare case.

Usually, dozens of people would be tangled up in one room near the factory.

And the majority of workers who couldn’t even afford the lodging fee?

They would enter makeshift shelters built from broken wood near the factory grounds and sleep on the dirt floor.

“Aaah! What is going on?”

“First, do something about the pipe!”

Finally, the foreman ran out.

Seeing him rush over while still tucking in his pants, he probably had a whore over for a round.

“Who are you guys!”

“Guardians of the Republic.”

Having to introduce ourselves twice.

But the foreman’s reaction was intense.

“What the hell are you doing! Gangsters. If you’re here to extort money, you’ve come to the wrong place, you bastards!”

The foreman pointed all around the factory.

Wherever his finger pointed, there were revolutionary slogans written.

“This factory was assigned by the Revolutionary Committee. Our boss even has meals with the revolutionary committee member!”

The warriors with black hoods who had run from the beer hall were there.

**Many of them flinched, though I could sense it without seeing it, but to me, it was just being informed of something I already knew.**

It might seem strange when you think about it.

How can spicy 18th-19th century capitalism still survive in this country where the revolution succeeded?

The answer is simple.

‘The Revolutionary Committee divided it all among themselves.’

From the start, that “revolution” wasn’t even a full-blown red revolution.

There was only a small faction genuinely advocating those ideas.

Most of the people who rose up were fed up with the war and the antics of the king and nobles.

This is why you shouldn’t judge by 21st-century standards.

‘Even in a real red revolution, the leaders end up dividing the spoils, so it’s not much different.’

The leaders of the reds aren’t truly red.

Anyway, if they were trying to use the Revolutionary Committee as a shield, they had come to the wrong place.

I knew this.

“Did you cut off our brother’s leg?”

“Bro-brother? Cut off a leg? What… Did that Spinich or whatever send you guys? Oh, there he is! That crippled bastard being carried over there! Do you think I wouldn’t recognize you just because your face is covered? I can tell just by looking at your legs!”

I intercepted the foreman’s pointing hand.

“Smith.”

“What?”

“Our brother’s name isn’t Spinich. It’s Smith.”

Crunch!

“Aaaaaargh!”

With the strength of a machine, I crushed the foreman’s right hand.

Blood spurted as bone and flesh mixed.

I then aimed my baton at the foreman’s knee.

Crack!

The sickening sensation of a knee shattering.

Beating up one guy thoroughly is the best way to minimize bloodshed.

“Ugh, ughhhh.”

The foreman was writhing and crying like an insect.

While breaking his hand and leg was severe, the rest of the beating was just noisy enough to make him bleed.

He would be in excruciating pain, but he wouldn’t die.

As for his hand and leg…

I was sorry about that.

“Doing… doing this… and you still…”

“If you’re upset, get a lawyer.”

I tossed aside the foreman and raised my finger instead of my baton.

I could feel the black-hooded warriors behind me tense up.

“Hoo, evacuate all the workers.”

“Yes!”

I gave the go sign with my hand and spoke.

“Turn everything upside down.”

“!”

* * *

**It felt like releasing a pack of starving wild dogs.**

A spectacle of suppressed resentment and violence bursting forth all at once.

All the factory machines were destroyed, and soon flames engulfed the building.

We watched the conclusion from atop a hill.

Each of us had a bottle of liquor, requisitioned from the boss’s office, stuck to our mouths as we watched the rising smoke.

Frank was sobbing beside me.

It was a cry mixed with bewilderment and relief.

“Th-thank you. Thank you. Colonel, you were the only one who listened to my grievances.”

Sipping on the dubious homemade liquor, I spoke to everyone gathered.

“You are the guardians of the Republic. But before protecting the Republic, you must first protect yourselves. Our comrades, our brothers.”

That’s how they became my private soldiers.

Even the current Republic, with its rampant red and white terror, would be considered a golden age compared to the near future.

To navigate the great storm of the second part of the original story, a loyal armed group was essential.

You will become the dagger I wield.

I stood up and said,

“No one will protect us. No one will fight for us. So, don’t you think we should fight for our comrades and brothers?”

“The Colonel is right!”

“We will follow you! Please, let us follow you!”

I smiled.

And then, I named the newly born private army.

Warriors to fight in the approaching storm.

And, by the standards of 21st-century Earth, humanitarian warriors who only fire warning shots without hitting the enemy.

Hoping that not too much blood would be stained upon this name, I christened them…

“Sturm… Ah, damn it.”

That mustache ghost keeps lingering.

“My Stormtroopers.”

That’s what I named them.

* * *

“This is a riot!”

A congressman shouted, veins bulging in his neck.

And not just any congressman, but a revolutionary congressman who ordinarily wouldn’t dare raise his voice at me.

“Political thugs employed by a sitting congressman have destroyed Revolutionary Committee property and injured people! What is the meaning of this?!”

Yes.

I was now dragged into a hearing.