Starting from South America, speeding through the world

Chapter 285 The Loser Valkyrie

Germania, center.

The building retains its pre-war colonnade and triangular roof on the facade.

The setting sun casts its rays through the gaps between the pillars, cutting the evening glow into even strips.

In the corridor, half-length statues are placed on both sides in niches.

The lamp was a modified version of an old style; the chain was yellowed, and the lampshade was covered with a thin layer of dust, yet it was still dazzlingly bright.

The meeting room is located at the far north end of the second floor.

The gate is tall and thick, standing at least 2.5 meters high, and is made of solid wood with copper edging.

There was no clock in the room.

The space on the wall where portraits used to hang is now empty.

The nails are still there, but the painting is gone, now showing only a mottled outline.

A gray-green felt cloth was laid out in the center of the long table, with papers, ballpoint pens, and teacups neatly arranged.

They've been sitting here for over ten minutes.

The chair was not comfortable; the backrest was deformed from years of use, and it would make a slight creaking sound if you leaned back even slightly.

As a result, no one relaxed, as if the room would collapse if they made any larger movements.

"So what do you plan to do? Let the madness escalate?"

The man who spoke was from the labor bureau, and his tone was full of exhaustion.

He didn't look at anyone, but looked down and flipped through two pages of the newspaper before suddenly stopping.

“I’m not trying to refute your suggestion,” said the thin, middle-aged man opposite him.

"I just feel that the schedule is too tight, and the failure rate is too high."

Upon hearing this, the man from the labor bureau twitched his lips involuntarily.

It was an expression somewhere between mockery and sorrow.

“But if we keep waiting, he will only eliminate us one by one.”

"And we were powerless to resist; Himmler had built that machine too perfectly."

“It’s not just him,” a representative from the Four-Year Plan Office interjected at the opportune moment.

His cheeks were sunken, his stubble was unshaven, and his eyes were dark circles.

"You should know this better than I do."

“Every purge order issued in the past few weeks has been with that person’s tacit approval.”

"Those who oppose him, those who support him, damn it, even those who haven't expressed their opinion, are all included."

The thin, middle-aged man immediately frowned.

"You could say he's senile, or out of balance."

"But you can't say he did it voluntarily. That would put us in the worst position."

"Are you still worried about your stance?" The head of the labor bureau couldn't help but sneer twice.

"Excuse my bluntness, but perhaps tomorrow, none of you here will be here anymore."

“Klaus—” He suddenly turned and stared at the man at the far end of the conference room.

“I remember you made some ‘incorrect remarks’ in 1943.”

"Upon closer examination, it is not impossible for him to be interpreted as a 'rebel sympathizer'."

"I"

The man whose name was called opened his mouth, but his face turned pale, and in the end he said nothing.

The room fell into dead silence.

A fly buzzed around the roof beam a few times before landing on the edge of the carpet.

The representative from the Four-Year Plan Office stared intently at its trembling wings.

“The past period of time,” he began, his voice hoarse.

"What we are seeing is the entire empire, held hostage by fear."

"Last week it was the Ministry of Transportation, and the day before yesterday it was the Ministry of Industry."

"The only reason we're sitting here now is that our turn on the list hasn't come yet."

"This is not cleansing, this is a plague."

"It will continue to spread until no one is left uninvolved."

"We will die. We will die sooner or later," someone murmured in the corner.

"The day after tomorrow," the man from the labor bureau finally spoke again.

"That person's speech is the day after tomorrow."

This time, no one asked "which speech", and no one asked "who gave the speech".

"Himmler was also there at exactly 10:00 a.m.

"This will be the first time in two months that we have had the opportunity to get close to him."

"Hopefully, by then, everything will still be in time."

"What if we fail?" The thin, middle-aged man swallowed nervously. No one dared to answer.

The silence continued, one second, two seconds.

The next instant, ripples suddenly appeared in the white porcelain cup on the table, spreading out in concentric circles.

Almost simultaneously, a series of hurried footsteps came from the other end of the corridor.

More than one person.

It's a team.

Leather boots with hard soles.

The man turned his head sharply, his face growing even paler.

"No, no, that's impossible—"

His hands were trembling, and his legs were shaking.

Then his whole body sprang up from the chair like a spring, and he staggered toward the back door of the conference room.

The chair was knocked to the ground with a loud bang.

"Let me...let me—"

However, before the door was fully opened, a black gun barrel was thrust inside.

In an instant, several dark figures crashed into the house.

Before the man could react, he was violently thrown over.

Less than three seconds.

The muzzle of the MP40 was pressed against his head.

He was pinned to the ground, the leather gloves pressed against the skin of his neck, cold and professional.

The man struggled incessantly, trying to utter some words of rebuttal, but ultimately remained speechless.

The entire conference room fell into an eerie silence.

No one cried out, no one struggled.

Because everyone present understood—it was all fucking over.

A dozen seconds later, the last person walked in.

Black uniform, silver ribbons, and a mocking glint in his eyes.

"To be honest, this isn't a good plan."

He casually picked up a document from the table and glanced at it briefly.

"They didn't do it as well as their predecessors, at least they had the support of the military."

"And you? Empty talk, lists, a pile of worthless paper."

As soon as he finished speaking, the document was thrown back onto the table, and with two loud clatters, the papers scattered everywhere.

"take away."

Then came the brutal detention.

With the butt of a gun pressed against their shoulders, one by one, the people at the table were handcuffed.

Some people gritted their teeth and remained expressionless.

Many more collapsed to the ground, or were dragged away in a disheveled state.

The officer in the black uniform remained standing, bending down to pick up the fallen newspaper from the ground.

He opened it up, his gaze falling on the headline of the newspaper's front page.

The words, written in bold and black, read:

The Führer will personally deliver an important speech in the Imperial Hall.

—Reaffirm loyalty, solidify ironclad rules, and rebuild the sense of mission of the empire.
"Sir, is this speech really still going to take place?" a voice asked from beside him.

The young man sounded somewhat hesitant.

The purge so close to the central government made him feel uneasy.

"There are far too many traitors."

"Why not?" The officer smiled and rolled up the newspaper.

“That’s why we exist.”

The old louvered blinds were half-closed.

He walked over calmly and gently parted the curtain.

It was dusk, the western sky was low, and the sunset glow, like blood, poured down from the clouds.

In the distance, the Imperial Hall stood in the twilight, its dome towering high, solemn and imposing.

The stone steps are stacked one after another, the base is wide and thick, and the columns are lined up like a forest, as if a group of gods are standing.

At the very top, an eagle spreads its wings as if about to take flight, its feathers sharp, with oak leaves and a scepter tightly held in its claws.

The flags hung between the arcades, fluttering in the wind, their red, white, and black colors trembling incessantly.

(End of this chapter)