Editing Tytania:Volume 1 Chapter 4 (section)

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There was in fact absolutely no reason to overestimate Fan Hyulick’s political convictions. It wasn’t for the sake of principles or ideas that he was brought to rebel against Tytania’s oppressive rule but because of his temperament. This was, of course, a rather simplified way of putting it, but one cannot ignore the impact on history that Fan Hyulick’s temperament had, namely his aversion to subordination.

Until his mid-twenties, there was no trace of such a temperament in Fan Hyulick. He was a perfectly ordinary clerk that served on merchant ships or kontors, doing desk work or attending after travellers in the way his superiors had instructed. It was evident from his life’s trajectory that he wasn’t biding his time with grand ambitions after his return from the Tytanian detention centre and his enlistment in the City Fleet. He had no intentions of actually becoming a soldier.

Military talent is maybe one of the hardest of human talents to uncover. An artist may leave behind him tangible works of creativity and gain posthumous fame that eluded him in life. But what about military talent? A man who was hailed in times of war as a peerless general might in times of peace end up as an incompetent, mediocre official. An outstanding person who could have become a fleet admiral might end up earning a meagre pittance selling hot dogs in the back streets.

In that sense, Fan Hyulick might be called a fortunate man. His talent lay in military affairs, and he indeed had no other talent of note. He didn’t harbour any ideals about alternative ways of life or professions either. If he hadn’t failed in his attempt to desert and hadn’t been thrown into his homecity’s army, it is highly likely that he would have led an unproductive life. Obviously, whether it would have been a source of happiness or misfortune from his perspective is an entirely different matter.

It was true that Fan Hyulick always had a natural tendency to rebel against overwhelming authority, which was fuelled further by bitter experiences that led him to develop a thoroughly contrarian attitude by the age of 28. That was evident from the way he used Weigert cannons, which was simply impossible for someone with conventional thinking and lacked the critical thought to assess the status quo and bring reform.

At the Battle of Cerberus, Fan Hyulick dealt a defeat to the previously undefeated Tytania. The victorious city of Euria utterly failed to realise that this act had “kicked away the pillow of a sleeping history” and was instead consumed by fear of Tytania’s strength and banished Fan Hyulick who had been the architect of their victory. Far from leading to a strategic victory for Euria, the colourful triumph of the carrot-headed young man had, in fact, the opposite effect.

Had the city of Euria appointed Fan Hyulick with the intention of defeating Tytania and tried to capitalise on that tactical victory to achieve diplomatic strategy, it would have played a significant role in the subsequent course of space history. But the reality is that the name of the city of Euria would be buried in the sands of history only to be marginally remembered as Fan Hyulick’s birthplace.

Well now, Mr Fan Hyulick, an unemployed person on the run, spent the first half of June on planet Ementhal. That wasn’t because he had taken a fancy to the place, but because of His Grace Count Arses Tytania, a powerful figure on that planet, who had stationed men in grey uniforms at key locations, including the spaceport, to ensure he couldn’t leave the planet.

In the end, it was a young woman by the name of Lira Florentz who took in this homeless and unemployed carrot-headed youth. Having realised that she was backed by an anti-Tytania underground movement, Fan Hyulick tried to distance himself from her, but once photos of the tall carrot-head youth had been distributed to hotels and appeared on TV screens, he found himself a sudden celebrity with nowhere to go.

Furthermore, and importantly, Lira’s talent lay in making omelettes. The herb omelette he tasted in the morning after his first overnight stay was absolutely fabulous. More precisely, it suited Fan Hyulick’s palate perfectly. And so, it was her omelettes that ultimately persuaded him to stay.

Lira’s grandmother was said to have once served the Princess of Casabianca as her lady-in-waiting. Though she may once have been a graceful courtier, today she was an old woman with lifeless skin and weathered like old oil paper and appeared to be half-fossilised.

She tried to produce to her guest a stereograph of her in her youth, but Fan Hyulick politely declined. If she looked in that photo exactly as Lira did now, it would remove any dreams and hopes he had.

The old woman then tried to appeal to his ears rather than his eyes. She tried to capture his interest with tales of the days of yore.

“Back when I was a lady-in-waiting, you know, …”

“Sorry, but I’m not interested in things that date back to the time dinosaurs were alive.”

Fan Hyulick wasn’t entirely devoid of the common virtue of respecting the elders, but he had no interest at all in the courtiers' life on what he arbitrarily decided was some small frontier principality. His interests only lay in two things: the taste of Lira’s omelettes and when he might be able to leave this unpleasant planet arrogantly ruled by Arses Tytania. He wasn’t really in the mood to make the best of living reluctantly in hiding.

He considered Lira to be a diamond in the rough that would shine if polished, as her rhythmic movements and lively facial expressions were extremely attractive, but she kind of lacked a certain allure. As for her grandmother, it was just unthinkable.

In other words, Fan Hyulick’s life in hiding was lacking emotional depth, though he wasn’t sure if such a thing as an emotionally filled life in hiding even existed. Still better than life in the Tytanian detention camp, he thought. Food was good, and he could stretch on the sofa bed. He could take a shower and stay clean. At first, he was reasonably satisfied, but he lately began to feel that his sense of confinement from a mental point of view might actually be more severe than during his time in the detention camp.

Ementhal was a wealthy place, and outside, there were women and drinks fluttering their wings to entice men. If he were inclined to do so, he would have no problems finding pleasures. Fan Hyulick was more than willing, had funds to buy these pleasures, and yet was locked in a shabby apartment in the lower districts, unable to go out. Arses Tytania was certainly no miser, since he had placed a bounty of 100,000 dakars on the unemployed youth’s head and was on the lookout for him.

Fan Hyulick felt like holding himself by the scruff of the neck and walking towards Tytania, demanding, “Here, hand over the 100,000 dakars.” It wasn’t even a great joke, but what shocked Fan Hyulick was the reaction of Lira’s grandmother when she heard about the sun of 100,000 dakars. The half-fossilised-looking old woman looked like her eyes buried in wrinkles were glistening like fake jewels. However, the glimmer immediately faded, leaving him to wonder if it had been a mere illusion.

He also met Lira’s acquaintance. Or would it be more accurate to call him a comrade? He was told that he was the child of the orphaned son of the former Minister of Finance and Economy of the Principality of Casabianca.

In other words, Fan Hyulick concluded that they were simply the second-generation children of those who used to live in the principality, who were now fancying themselves as revolutionaries. He could think of no other explanation.

This second-generation child, Florimond de Boer, was a man in his early thirties and the very stereotype of a scholar in the bad sense of the word. He prioritised theory over reality and refused to acknowledge the existence of vested interests. Since his theory wasn’t about humans but only the restoration of the Principality of Casabianca, Fan Hyulick wanted to sneer at him. He himself was a clear-cut advocate of quantitative vitality whenever it came to nations and organisations and believed that rebuilding a fallen country was going against the flow of history.

“Still, the Tytania clan has quite the line-up of handsome men. I wonder if good looks are a prerequisite to being a ruler?”

Considering this to be the root of evil in Tytania, Fan Hyulick glared intently at the three-dimensional photographs of the Clanner and the Four Dukes that de Boer had brought with him.

Among them, Jouslain Tytania gave less of an impression, though he certainly could be considered a handsome man. He wasn’t comparable to Fan Hyulick, who is bordering on the line. Still, Fan Hyulick’s tastes differed entirely from those of Count Arses Tytania, and the presence of many handsome men didn’t particularly please him. He voiced his concerns aloud.

“So, any three-dimensional pictures of Tytanian ladies?”

‘None’ was the unequivocal answer. The reason, he was told, was that not even the Tytania clan would target women in terror acts. Fan Hyulick could only mutter, “Ha, I see.” While he shared the views of his discussion partner that women shouldn’t be the target of terrorism, he was still interested in them as objects of aesthetic appreciation or physical contact.

De Boer launched a passionate speech while Fan Hyulick looked at the stereoscopic picture. Over 99% went through one ear and left through the other, completely bypassing Fan Hyulick’s brain, but in a nutshell, he was requesting Fan Hyulick’s assistance to restore his principality. Though he had a reservation or two, Fan Hyulick remained silent, not wishing to be mistaken for showing interest.

De Boer seemed to be the kind of man who spoke his mind without hesitation. Or maybe it was all an act. There was fact, perception of fact, and how to express that perception. It was rare for the three to coincide perfectly without any discrepancy.

Pretending to gaze at the stereoscopic picture, Fan Hyulick was observing de Boer while examining his thoughts in his mind. He had already reached something resembling a conclusion. Fan Hyulick couldn’t bring himself to trust as a comrade a person who, on their first meeting, would launch a five-page monologue like the character of some cheap novel. If it were an act, he couldn’t trust him emotionally, and if it were his true nature, he couldn’t trust his capabilities. There were probably a hundred million times more revolutions in rhetoric than there were actual revolutions.

Eventually, de Boer’s tongue, which had boasted of its driving force, grew weary and ceased to wave, so Fan Hyulick calmly informed him that he had no interest in restoring a principality. Upon that, de Boer’s tongue started moving again:

“But if we stand idle and let Tytania’s rise pass us by, we’d be nothing but imbeciles.”

“Nothing but imbeciles. Still better than harmful imbeciles.”

It goes without saying that it was sarcasm. But Fan Hyulick was exasperated to see de Boer lost in deep thought, as if he had been presented with a deep philosophical declaration. His following advice was, as far as he was concerned, motivated by nothing but good intentions.

“You guys aren’t cut out for revolution or rebellion. It’s not as if you were living in poverty, right? Stop dreaming about principalities and ministers, and just get on with your lives. This planet is, after all, one of the most comfortable in the universe.”

That sermon was out of character for him. But his conversation partner remained entirely unconvinced.