Chapter 21

The Approaching Storm

A small publishing house somewhere in San Francisco.

Unusually, the place was buzzing with activity, the loud clatter of the rotary presses echoing noisily through the building.

“Ha, hahaha! Hahahaha!!”
“The boss is grinning from ear to ear.”
“Well, how could he not? What a jackpot this is!”

The publisher beamed as he gently stroked the freshly printed book.

[The War to End Everything – Volume 1]
Author: Dwight van Bradley

He had no idea where this Van Bradley fellow came from—some washed-up noble, perhaps—but what did it matter? The man was a golden goose bringing in a fortune.

When some Asian guy first showed up and submitted the manuscript, he hadn’t thought for even a moment that it would make money.

But the man insisted, saying, “I’m only here on behalf of someone who wishes to remain anonymous but wants to publish a book.”
And one of the editors who read the manuscript practically begged him to publish it, so he printed a tiny test run—barely more than a token.

The initial sales went exactly as the publisher had expected, given his long experience in pulp fiction.

The book didn’t follow the usual pulp fiction formula. It wasn’t an exciting adventure story, but a tragic mess filled with madness and death. Every page felt suffocating, packed with frustration, and characters dropped like flies—so much so that you could barely tell who the protagonist even was.

Who on earth would buy something like this?

The editor who had insisted on publishing it wrote a tearful apology, and the publisher magnanimously forgave him.

And so, as the memory of the book slowly faded away—

War broke out in Europe.

“Boss!! Boss!!”
“What is it?!”

“The German army! The German army has crossed the Belgian border!”
“So what? Are giant squids and dolphins going to ferry them across the Atlantic next?”
“No, no!! That book we published before—it’s exactly the same!!”

When he read it again, it really was.

At that moment, the publisher’s mind spun wildly with the power of capitalism. Without hesitation, he launched an aggressive marketing campaign, starting with sensational newspaper headlines:

“Foretells the Great War in Europe!!”

And now—

The publishing house was flooded with desperate pleas:

“Please! Even a single copy is fine—just supply our bookstore with that damned book!”

Why did I only print a handful of those gold nuggets?! If I’d filled an entire warehouse, I wouldn’t be suffering like this!

The publisher cursed into the air before snapping his head toward the editor.

“…Hey.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That… uh… author of ours—does he have any plans for Volume 2?”

“I’m currently in contact with that Asian intermediary, but due to the author’s circumstances, it’s difficult for him to provide a manuscript for Volume 2 right away.”

“Damn it. Does he think pulp fiction writes itself? He needs to churn out the next volume day by day like a dog to ride this momentum. All he has to do is write—what’s so hard about that?”

“H-ha… haha…”

“Writers are all lazy. They never pick up the pen until the deadline is breathing down their necks. Did he hire a proxy just to avoid being nagged? Is that it?!”

Under the publisher’s rapid-fire rant, the editor could only stand there helplessly.

Then—

BANG BANG BANG!!

“Is anyone here?!”
“Wh-who is it?”
“Police. We’ll be coming in.”

Police? What are they doing here?

Rough-looking officers stomped inside and picked up copies of [The War to End Everything] as they rolled off the press.

“Now see here, this is clearly private prope—”
“We’re looking for the author of this book.”
“Hah! You think I’d just tell you? Bring a warrant!”

A true publisher always resisted the evil hand of government censorship first and foremost.

Even if it was a place printing cheap, third-rate pulp fiction, any proper American—especially one full of frontier spirit—knew that when the government started poking around, the appropriate response was to raise a middle finger.

“We have a search and seizure warrant. Please cooperate.”
“W-what?! Why?! What’s wrong with this book?! Is this really something that warrants a search?!”
“Take it up with Washington, D.C.. We don’t know the details either.”
“Those damn federal bastards… why the hell…!!”

Ignoring the publisher’s grinding teeth, the unfortunate editor was surrounded by officers and spilled everything he knew.

Across the Atlantic, in London.

Captain Richard, a member of the prestigious Royal Navy of the British Empire, had been fortunate enough to briefly return home.

When he stepped inside, he was surprised to find his younger brother—who worked as a merchant ship navigator—there to greet him.

“Hey, how did you end up back home? What about the war?”
“I had some business. I’m more surprised to see you—did you leave your ship?”

“Not really. I’ll be heading back in a few days to deal with the Yanks again. There’s chaos these days with importing supplies.”

As they chatted and he dropped into a chair, a rather cheap-looking book caught Richard’s eye.

“What’s this?”
“Oh, that? It’s a book the Yanks are going crazy trying to get their hands on. I got lucky and managed to snag one.”

The War to End Everything…

“People in Europe are dying to kill each other, and those Yanks are laughing like it’s none of their business? Ignorant bastards…”

“No, look at the publication date.”

He flipped through the book carelessly and checked.

Then his eyes widened.

“What… this was before the war?”

“Exactly. They printed very few copies, so book lovers and occult nuts in America are desperate to get it.”

“…What the hell…”

This made no sense.

After the war broke out, people everywhere started claiming, “I knew this would happen! Didn’t I say so back then?”—boasting about their foresight.

But this—

This was different.

…were countless.

But this book—what on earth was it?

The first gunshot in the Balkans.
The Austrian army advancing to crush Serbia.
The Kaiser, burning with ambition to set the world ablaze.
And to him, Belgium was nothing more than a passageway to Paris—

Richard swallowed unconsciously.

“Hey.”

“What is it, brother? That look in your eyes is weird. It’s like when you used to take my toys—”
“I’m taking this.”

“What?! Are you crazy?! Do you know how much that would sell for to the Yanks right now?!”
“No. This… I need to show this to my superior.”

His mind was made up.

There was no time to sit around resting at home.

June 12, 1915

The day I graduate from United States Military Academy at West Point is approaching.

But strangely enough,
even before receiving my diploma, I was already being bombarded with requests for handshakes.

“Cadet Yujin Kim.”

My history instructor wore an extremely sour expression.
I thought he was just going to brush things off, but maybe he’s trying to save face by at least doing something…?

“I’ve looked into it from every possible angle, and I believe I can offer you a very good opportunity.”

“What might that be?”

“Although your academic ranking is around 40th, you’ve demonstrated leadership among your peers, successfully completed the curriculum at West Point despite racial barriers, and above all, shown outstanding achievement in certain training areas such as field fortifications—”

What is this.

What is this.

Why does what comes next sound so ominous?

“I’m considering recommending you for the Corps of Engineers. What do you think?”

Aaaaaaaargh!!

You bastard!!
How the hell did this damn instructor figure it out?

If this was meant to screw me over, then well done—this is the kind of persistence worthy of a supervillain.

“While I deeply appreciate the opportunity, I would prefer to be evaluated fairly as a cadet of the United States Army, according to established principles.”

“This is the result of that fair evaluation.”

“No, it isn’t. This is a result that would never have occurred if we hadn’t made that bet. Even if my classmates accept it, with a ranking around 40th—not even top 10—being assigned to the Engineers would never be accepted by higher command.”

“Ghh…!”

Get lost.
Damn it… I feel like throwing salt at him. Maybe I should swing by the cafeteria and grab some.

Even after fending off that terrifying scheme, the approaches continued.

Artillery? No thanks.
Cavalry? Absolutely not.
Just send me quietly to the infantry. Infantry! Plain old infantry!!

If I want to be deployed to the Great War, infantry is the only way. Riding was my weakest subject to begin with—cavalry is out of the question.

Same goes for artillery. If I want to become a war hero, I have to roll around in the trenches myself. Artillery just doesn’t feel right.

Besides… our superintendent came from artillery. That alone makes me uneasy.

“Nice to meet you, Cadet Yujin Kim.”

“…Uh, excuse me, but who are you?”

“Ah, my apologies. I haven’t introduced myself.”

A middle-aged man I had never seen before handed me a business card.

“Ford Motor Company? Why would a car company be looking for me?”

“I understand that you are the author of this book.”

What is that?

I had never seen this book before—
and yet, it was incredibly familiar.

[The War to End Everything – Volume 1]
Author: Dwight van Bradley

Well, of course I came up with the title.

And the pen name? I just mashed together three losers’ names. I still remember James complaining, “Why do I only get ‘van’ and that’s it?!”
He sulked for quite a while.

“Uh… I’m not Mr. Van Bradley. I’m sorry, but—”

“Haha. Please don’t underestimate our information network. We’ve already verified your personal connections. You used your friends’ names, didn’t you?”

What is with this guy? That’s creepy.

How the hell did they even check a cadet’s personal relationships?

“We’ve confirmed everything—this is where you wrote the manuscript, and that you passed it to your younger sibling to have it published. Frankly, many suspected that this work might have come from someone with access to ‘confidential channels’ regarding European affairs.”

Right. This is America.

For a giant corporation, it wouldn’t be strange if they could practically fly.

“In fact, most other parties have already figured it out as well. As you know, Washington, D.C. has already completed its investigation into how this book was published… and naturally, companies like ours receive certain… hints.”

Don’t say so casually that you piggybacked off a government investigation. I can’t tell if this era is insane or if I am.

“I’ve also heard that many of your predictions within the academy were correct.”

“…Looks like you already know everything. Let’s skip to the point.”

“You are not suited for the military. Someone with the foresight to see the future belongs in the world of business—leading America forward. We are prepared to offer you compensation beyond anything you could have imagined.”

He briefly outlined the “compensation,” and even I—who had no interest at first—felt my eyes waver at how extraordinary it was.

But I had already told myself this countless times.

Money doesn’t matter.

“Unfortunately, I’ve decided to devote myself to the United States. Working for your company may also be a form of patriotism, but I wish to contribute by shedding blood for my country.”

“What if you could save the soldiers currently dying in Europe—in the name of Ford?”

“What do you mean?”

“Among the ideas you proposed, I heard there was one about an ‘armed tractor capable of moving through battlefields devastated by artillery fire.’”

Wait—that wasn’t even in the book.

Before I could respond, he smiled faintly.

“So—what do you think?
Would you like to dominate the battlefields of the future… with us?”