Even if the Dawn Abandons You - Chapter 18

Beginning of April 1891, according to the Continental Calendar.

An ideological book had been brought over from the Republic of Wisteria by Prince Henri and his suppression troops, who took the lead in quelling the revolutionary army composed of young intellectuals and college students. Though lacking military power, they were branded as rebels by the emperor. These students formed secret reading clubs to study the book. However, five college students were arrested while reading it.

The captured students, however, had no affiliation with the revolutionary army. Recognizing that there was no further information to be gained, the crown prince deemed these five “useless” students as first-degree criminals and executed them on the spot without trial.

This incident marked the beginning of the student uprising in April, as the youth of Léans, influenced by the republican ideology, grew increasingly furious like lava.

? ? ?

On that night, Ariane Champollion, a third-year student at the Faculty of Magic at Beauharnais University, sat atop a barricade in the Seine 2nd district, in front of her favorite bar. With her characteristic unsentimental face, she fired magic bullets at the riot forces. She skillfully aimed her shots, confident in her ability. The bullets, conjured by her spells, exited the silvery-shining muzzle without the need for reloading. They were not as deadly as normal bullets, only capable of disabling an opponent’s gun or causing paralysis in their legs. Tonight, Ariane had no intention of taking lives. Though she may become a killer someday, tonight would not be that night.

Unlike other comrades at the barricades who had already been subdued and arrested, the students in this district were still holding their ground. However, that did not mean they had a chance of victory. Once more than half of their comrades were incapacitated, the uprising’s chances of success would be gone. Ariane reluctantly admitted this bitter reality. It was at that moment that Edmond Lambert, in an uncharacteristically urgent tone, shouted from below.

“Ariane, something is wrong! Close the barricade and run!”

There’s no need to shout, Ariane thought as she jumped down from the barricade. She furrowed her brow and pulled back the barrier. Leaving behind the magic formula could lead to a reversal of the pursuit from the other side.

After abandoning the barricade, the students scattered in groups of twos and threes, fleeing for their lives. Most of them were students from Beauharnais, familiar with the second district of the Seine where the school was located. They knew it better than anyone else, but they also knew that there was nowhere to escape within the district itself. There was only one place nearby where they often sought refuge—a place that somehow seemed safe, despite lacking any reasonable explanation. Many students and a few young revolutionaries instinctively headed towards the school.

However, Ariane Champollion, always prioritizing reason over instinct, believed they were headed in the wrong direction. She thought so, but she didn’t grab someone and ask, “Wouldn’t it be better to go somewhere else?” There truly was no alternative. No one was opening their doors to provide shelter for these frightened young students, and running away like this tonight would only lead them to the torture chamber or leave them as lifeless bodies on the ground.

Adding the university to the equation made no difference.

Ariane, a pessimist driven by self-interest, firmly held this belief.

As they arrived at Beauharnais University, passing by the bodies of their fallen comrades and carrying the wounded, they realized they had relied too heavily on their instincts. It was already past curfew, late into the night.

“Guys, for now…,” Enjolras Remicourt, a lawyer who had risen alongside the students, cautiously suggested that they go elsewhere. Just like a lie or a miracle, the massive doors of the school creaked open. Ariane thought she might be hallucinating. Common sense dictated that the doors would never open at this point. Yet, standing in the doorway was a figure, a person who seemed to be waiting for them.

“Hurry, come inside and do not dawdle!”

It was Frédéric Belmartier, the President of Beauharnais University.

? ? ?

Following Frédéric Belmartier’s command, Ariane discovered that all the buildings within the school were veiled by curtains, concealing the lights within. Professors from the medical and nursing departments were present in each building, as if they had known the students would seek refuge here.

Ariane guided one of her injured comrades into an auditorium. Inside, where most students had sought shelter, three medical professors and four nursing professors awaited their arrival. Some faces resembling medical or nursing students caught Ariane’s attention, and she noticed Frédéric Belmartier moving around the auditorium, attending to the students’ needs.

It was as if they had anticipated the students would seek refuge at Beauharnais University.

After ensuring her injured comrade was in the care of a medical student, Ariane searched for a place to sit and rest for a moment. She spotted Frédéric, who seemed to be catching his breath in a corner. She had observed him tirelessly wandering around the auditorium before, but now he appeared somewhat drained of energy.

Ariane had no personal acquaintance with Belmartier. She had already expressed her gratitude to the point of exhaustion earlier, making further words of gratitude pointless. However, the opening of the iron doors, which they had believed would never yield, had taken them all by surprise. Ariane wanted answers. She approached Professor Belmartier, who was resting in the corner.

“Professor, excuse me, but may I ask why you opened the door?”

“Champollion from the Department of Magic, that’s an interesting question. Especially since you know it’s the wrong question.”

Ariane was momentarily taken aback by Frédéric’s recognition of her. She was not a law student, and besides joining the Revolutionary Army, she had never done anything remarkably notable. It was surprising to be called out. Ariane was not foolish enough to dismiss it as a mere lapse in her memory.

“…Why were you waiting for us?”

When Ariane altered her question, Frederic smiled benevolently, as if he finally received a question he could answer.

“You are my students. Both Remicourt and Germain are my students.”

Remicourt, in particular, was remarkable. Not a day went by without him igniting a fire within him. Frédéric glanced at Enjolras Renicourt and Auguste Germain, offering them a smile and a handshake. Enjolras, tending to the injured Auguste, nodded with a serious expression.

“I’m ashamed to call myself a mentor when I cannot fight alongside you. So, allow me to do this much.”

“Professor…”

“We don’t dare claim to be your allies. We want to be your friends.”

“We.”

These words encompassed the professors and students who had awaited them in the auditorium.

“Sometimes, even while walking with comrades, one can’t help but feel lonely.”

Frédéric tapped Ariane’s shoulder, as if he could discern her thoughts without her uttering a word. Ariane silently gazed at Frederic’s kind smile. Loneliness. Even when walking together, the path could be a solitary one. Surely, this journey they called a revolution was one such path. Despite raising their voices and toasting as if they would be together forever, they would eventually find themselves at odds, confronting each other as enemies. Many times, this confrontation seemed to be the future awaiting them once this was all over. Thus, camaraderie had its limits. Ariane believed so. While she anticipated a future with them, she did not expect a future alongside them.

“Alain! No, Alain…!”

In one corner of the auditorium, Charlotte Bernard cried out as she embraced her fallen fiancé. Ariane observed the girl standing beside them, providing comfort to Charlotte while shedding tears herself. She was a silver-haired girl who had been tirelessly assisting the injured and exhausted students, running errands alongside a tall man with a worn hat. Ariane Champollion could surmise the girl’s identity.

“Isn’t she your daughter?”

“Ah, yes. It’s dangerous, but despite advising her to stay home, she insisted on coming.”

The girl, small and slender in stature, appeared a few years younger than her actual age. She was Anais Belmartier, the eighteen-year-old daughter of President Belmartier. She was the sole surviving child of Frédéric Belmartier, who had lost his son six years prior.

Reflecting on it, something seemed peculiar. Wasn’t Marcel Belmartier, President Belmartier’s son, shot and killed by a radical republican? The humans Ariane knew were easily swayed beings. Thus, if a Republican like President Belmartier—who remained incredibly reserved about his own political stance—were to undergo such a transformation and change his ideology completely, no one would find it particularly odd.