The Little Prince in the Ossuary

Chapter 26: # Executive Order 9066 (2), Camp Roberts

No significant events took place for quite some time, at best, a few small procurement missions that posed no particular danger. Having completed his officer training, which wasn’t anything novel either, Gyeoul used this period to focus on strengthening the unity of his community.

Gyeoul headed to a tent in the refugee area that was crowded with people. The surrounding people, having already failed to get inside, were crouching or roaming around the entrance of the tent. When the boy approached, the crowd started flocking around him. They were people who either had a request for him or had come with other bad intentions. Gyeoul quickly brought his hand to his pistol and flashed his other palm at them.

“I’m sorry, but I’m gonna have to stop you all right there.”

Most people feared his reaction, but at the same time understood where it was coming from. They knew very well that in a place like this, the approach of a stranger wasn’t something to welcome.

Despite there being a lot of murder cases, no one would be able to get away with killing a person in broad daylight, but this boy was a different case—at least that was what the refugees thought.

“I knew it was you out there. Welcome, little boss.” Waiting at the entrance, Hyuncheol welcomed the boy with a bright smile.

Little boss. It was the nickname everyone in the community now called Gyeoul by. Not that he hated it.

The interior of the tent hadn’t changed much, but the people inside looked noticeably different. For instance, their expressions were brighter than before. Not only did they smile a lot, but their complexions were now much more healthy and ruddy, and most importantly, they all looked neat and tidy.

Aside from that, they also treated Gyeoul differently. If previously he had been, so to speak, still off the center of the circle, now he was the very center. The members had acknowledged his leadership and respected his authority.

As Gyeoul stood in front of them, the whole tent fell silent. A slight air of tension permeated through the crowd.

“So, did you all have a good breakfast? I heard there was something special today.”

But despite the tension, the tent soon grew clamorous as people began chatting with broad smiles hanging on their mouths.

After engaging in some chit-chat with the people, Gyeoul went straight to the point.

“By the way, do you guys still remember the question I asked you a few days ago? Regarding our faction’s name. I think it’s about time we talked about that.”

Their lifestyle had become a lot more stable and Gyeoul now had a high approval within the community. The system now deemed him qualified to establish a faction with his people. But in order to do so, he had to come up with a name for their faction.

Of course, he could just come up with a name on his own and notify his people unilaterally, but that wasn’t what he wanted. Also, the name of the faction itself could hugely influence its members’ psychology, as well as the characteristics and the public image of the faction, so deciding everything on his own was too risky.

“So, does anyone want to share their opinion?”

And as soon as the boy finished speaking, people began pouring out their ideas in a disorderly fashion. Gyeoul quickly shushed them before things went out of control.

“Okay, sorry. I wasn’t expecting so many opinions. Those who want to speak, please raise your hand.”

Then, everyone raised their arms at the same time. Gyeoul noticed from their eyes that most of them seemed eager to speak out not because they had a good idea, but rather because they wanted to be noticed by the boy. It was an ugly thing that power brought, but for now, it wasn’t something to worry about.

Gyeoul first picked a man sitting in the very front row.

“I suggest 「Provisional Government of the Republic of Korea」 for the name of our proud faction!”

People broke into laughter and applause. It wasn’t a mockery, it was a wave of approval. It was too big of a name for a group consisting of less than a hundred people, but the nostalgia of the people who were stranded in a foreign land must have diluted their resistance to it.

“Provisional Government of the Republic of Korea… Isn’t that too grand for our faction? And I heard the Korean government is still operating. I’m afraid others might laugh at us.”

“Man, we gotta dream big if we want to grow bigger! Hmm… then what about 「Korean People’s Party」?”

Though the man had said it as if it was a new proposal, it was another name for the Korean independence movement organization founded by Kim Koo in the Japanese colonial era.

Both names actually weren’t bad ideas, as names with strong national or ethnic characteristics were effective for attracting Korean refugees and forming bonds between the Korean members of the faction. However, Gyeoul was against this idea, as it would make it difficult to recruit refugees of other nationalities and they would be easily antagonized by other nationalistic actions.

“I think it’d be better to avoid using those kinds of names since they will restrict the scope of our faction. We need as many people with a strong sense of responsibility as possible for our faction to be stable, and those kinds of people are pretty hard to come by, right? And if we do find someone with those characteristics, I think we need to be ready to accept them regardless of their nationality and ethnicity. I don’t want to reject them for their different nationalities, hate them for their different skin colors, or ignore them for their usage of a different language. I want to create a community where we welcome anyone willing to help each other through these difficult times.”

The boy caught his breath for a moment and went on with his speech.

“Of course, there’s nothing I can do about it if you all really want it, but I hope you can understand where I’m coming from.”

Gyeoul wasn’t good at giving speeches when he first experienced this game. When he gave his first speech, he was just an inexperienced, immature young boy.

But it was different now. The boy had lived through dozens of playthroughs in this virtual reality. It was a merrymaking imitation of reality. Given that it was a well-made copy of it, what one could learn in the real world should also be attainable in this fake world. In other words, the accumulated experience in virtual reality should be equivalent to real-life experience. And the boy had spent enough time here for his thoughts to ripen, to the point where he didn’t have to worry about embarrassing himself when putting his thoughts into words.

The boy had also studied different things in his runs leading to his stream. Many different things.

And as if to prove his efforts weren’t in vain, the people showed positive reactions. Some even had teary eyes as though they were deeply moved by his speech.

‘I don’t think it was that touching,’ he thought.

Viewers were also sending compliments about the boy’s speech. Of course, some were also saying it was a bit corny and cringy.

Gyeoul heard people talking in whispers just outside the tent. His augmented hearing sense even caught every word they said.

The boy didn’t care about the eavesdroppers. He was going to discuss many things other than just the name of their faction, but they wouldn’t be discussing anything so great as to worry about others overhearing. No, it would actually be beneficial if he could let the other factions know that he was the pivot of this small faction through these eavesdroppers.

“If that’s what you want, what about 「Union」? It’s pretty simple and easy to understand. There’s no ethnic overtone either.”

“That’s a good idea. I’ll put that on the list. We’ll decide after we listen to some more suggestions.”

At their leader’s first positive reaction, the people still waiting for their turn raised their hands even higher. Even so, there was nothing they could do except to raise them higher, and Gyeoul found it quite funny to watch.

Some came up with some quite good names, such as 「Kvieta」, an Esperanto word meaning calm, placid, or quiet, and 「Chicago Abyss」, the name of a fictional place described to be the last city with human civilization in a post-apocalyptic novel. And there was also someone that suggested a name that left Gyeoul baffled.

“「Winter Alliance」?”

Gyeoul tilted his head asking if he had heard it correctly, and the well-advanced-in-years man gave him an enthusiastic nod. To have the leader’s name in the faction’s name, just like how cops named small gangs after their boss’s name, Gyeoul thought it was too cheap, almost insincere, but the man that came up with the idea explained that he had other reasons for his suggestion.

“Every human in the world is going through a hard time. I’d call this time, the winter of humankind. A period in which every living thing strives to survive, knowing that spring will return someday. So I wanted to name ourselves 「Winter Alliance」, in hopes that we will survive this cold season until there’s peace back on Earth.”

The man then lifted his broken pair of glasses.

“Of course, I do enjoy watching our little boss’s reaction too.”

The crowd exploded in cheers and laughter whereas Gyeoul covered his face with both his hands.

Gyeoul quickly glossed over the situation and resumed the discussion, but everyone knew it was meaningless. Young or old, male or female, everyone looked at Gyeoul with glittery eyes, and fewer and fewer people continued raising their hands.

“Okay, okay.”

The boy raised his hand and admitted his defeat.

“You guys won. If you all want it that badly, 「Winter Alliance」 it is.”

Then, the applause poured forth. The viewer’s messages log was also being filled with cheers and laughter. Some even donated stars to tease Gyeoul.

Although the faction came to have a very embarrassing name, things weren’t too bad after all. From today onward, the members would recall this moment and endure the harsh days.

“Everyone, I need your attention for a moment,” the boy said, clapping his hands to grab everyone’s attention.

‘Now this is the hard part. I just hope I’m not too rusty.’

Gyeoul had spent a long time preparing this speech. He ran over the 「Textbook」 so many times, ran a lot of simulations in his head, and revised the lines multiple times. The taut feeling of nerve-racking tension afflicted the boy, but he didn’t let it show.

After a few seconds of silence, Gyeoul began his speech.

“Now that we have our name, I think it’s time for us to talk about another important issue. It’s about the decision-making process of our faction. Now, we just tried a discussion where everyone gets a say, where everyone gets to participate in. But as much as we’d like to maintain this system, we know that things will not always work as we want them to. There might be situations where it is simply impossible to consider everyone’s opinion.”

The boy continued as he took a quick glance at the holographic screen displaying the community status.

“So, here’s what I want to say. I need you all to agree that I’ll have the final on everything.”

The majority of the crowd nodded in agreement, but some people also looked skeptical about this.

“I know. It’s dictatorial, isn’t it? But I need you to know that it’s practically impossible to gather everyone’s opinions every single time. Again, not difficult, but impossible. It’s very unlikely that every single one of us will be there every time we have to make choices.”

More people conceded to the boy’s words. The approval rate displayed in the community status window showed a slight upward movement. It would be okay to start the vote right now, but the boy decided to give it a final push.

‘I’m gonna have to use some provocative words… What should I use?’

Among all the assistance keywords unfolded before his eyes, one of them stood out.

“As you all know, the U.S. military takes us, refugees, as nothing but meat shields.”

Meat shield. As expected, that word shook the crowd and they started to stir up. Giving them no rest, Gyeoul hit them once more with the cold, cruel facts of the reality they were in.

“The mercenaries that only need a can of food, the foreign workers that need no hazard pay… Think about it. Why do you think they are so busy sugarcoating my story and telling it to everybody like I’m a hero? Because I saved their people? Because I saved their asses? No! All they’re interested in is to make an idol out of a refugee! So that they can brainwash the others! So that they can use us, refugees, to their liking!”

Gyeoul recalled the famous politicians he had studied and endeavored to mimic their speech as if he was acting their role.

“The people up there don’t care about us as a community. They’ll just put me on the fence, hustling me to make a choice. And there’s just no way I could possibly ask you all for your permission each time.”

He stayed conscious of every movement he made, ranging from his facial expression and hand gestures to each breath he took and every blink he made.

“So I’m asking you in advance, whether or not you will trust me on the choices I will make in the future. Without it, I won’t be able to keep my end of the bargain. If you still do not have trust in me, if you think I will lead you to a miserable end, just tell me now and we’ll end this right here. But if not, just take it on faith.”

Gyeoul put more emphasis on words like choice and trust and explained the inevitability of the situation. Then he gave them a clear indication of what they were about to choose.

It was now time to pin everything down. Those that he had watched and studied always ended their speech with emphatic statements.

‘But I’m gonna have to do it my way.’

“Could you all do that for me?” Gyeoul asked with the most gentle, kindest smile he could make.