Chapter 0:

Chapter 0: When the Gala Becomes a Courtroom

That Time I Tried to Destroy a Kingdom and Everyone Thanked Me

Military trucks screeched to a halt in front of the theater, a building that, only moments ago, was overflowing with light and laughter.

The rear doors swung open.

The soldiers of the Rabenlegion – Feldtruppen leaped down one by one. Dark coats fluttered, and combat boots struck the cobblestone pavement with a heavy, rhythmic thud. In their hands, MP38s were cocked and Kar98ks were leveled forward—without hesitation, without emotion.

The main doors of the theater were kicked open.

The music died instantly.

The nobles and officials, who had been laughing just seconds before, froze in their tracks. Wine glasses shattered on the floor, shimmering gowns felt suddenly worthless, and fake smiles vanished in a single breath.

The soldiers immediately trained their weapons on the guests.

"What is the meaning of this?!"

An old general stepped forward, his face flushed with rage. His hand still gripped a glass of wine, but his fingers were trembling.

"On whose authority are you here?" he muttered, his voice choked with suppressed fury.

Footsteps echoed from the entrance.

Calm. Steady.

"Mine."

That single word plunged the room into absolute silence.

A man walked in. His black hair was disheveled, and his blue eyes were piercingly clear. His attire was immaculate—too neat for a situation like this. In his hand, he held a wine glass, as if he were merely a guest who had arrived fashionably late.

Everyone knew him.

And everyone knew—if this man appeared, disaster had already struck.

"H-Herr Ferdinand...?" The general’s voice wavered. "What are you doing here? Weren't you stationed at the Eastern Front?"

Cold sweat beaded on the old man's forehead.

The man drew closer. Too close.

He leaned in slightly and whispered into the general’s ear.

"Don't tell me you were planning to kill me again," he said softly, "just like last time?"

The general swallowed hard.

Before he could utter a word, the man’s hand clamped over his mouth.

"Ssssh."

The man stood tall and surveyed the entire hall.

"Very well," he said in a flat tone. "Because of your actions today—for harming my younger brother—you shall all face the consequences."

He raised his voice just a fraction.

"Soldiers."

The Feldtruppen snapped to attention in unison.

"Arrest them all."

In an instant, the hall descended into chaos. Nobles were dragged away, officials were forced to their knees, and screams filled the air.

"H-Hans Friedrich! What is the meaning of this?!" the old general shrieked as he was being apprehended. "You should know your place, you insolent br—"

His mouth was abruptly stuffed with an apple.

"Good grief," Hans sighed softly. "Old man, you’re far too noisy."

Amidst the arrests, several panicked guests drew their pistols.

A shot rang out.

But Hans moved faster.

Bang.

A single bullet struck the assailant dead center. Without needing a command, the Feldtruppen immediately opened fire on anyone who dared raise a weapon. There was no mercy.

Cries of terror echoed—witnessed live by the media crews who had just arrived at the building’s entrance.

A soldier approached Hans.

"Master Hans, the media has arrived. What are our orders?"

Hans turned, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"Leave them. They have a right to know," he said. "After all, I wish to deliver the truth."

Hans stepped out of the theater.

Camera flashes erupted. Microphones were shoved toward him.

Before the press, Hans spoke with chilling composure.

"What you see today is a sacred duty to the state," he declared. "A cleansing."

Questions were fired at him from all directions.

Hans’s smile widened.

"I simply wished to clear the rats out of my backyard," he said nonchalantly.