After finishing their meeting with Killian Gore Hanover, Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels returned by carriage in a half-dazed state, as if they had just encountered a ghost.
They had wanted to speak with him at least once, but after actually doing so, it felt as though they had met someone who had lived in an entirely different world.
"…Following his suggestion… that was the right decision, wasn't it?"
"We already said we would," Friedrich replied. "It's a bit late to take it back now."
"That's true. Still… I never imagined things would unfold like this. What about you, Karl?"
"You think I feel any different? Your feelings right now are exactly the same as mine."
In all his life, Karl could not remember a day that had shaken him as much as today.
Being driven out of Prussia, moving to France, and then from Paris to London had certainly been difficult journeys.
But none of that had caused such an intellectual shock.
"Friedrich," Karl said slowly, "what exactly is the difference between the British Empire and France?"
"Isn't everything different?" Friedrich shrugged. "Just compare King Louis Philippe I of France with the Prince Consort we just met. You immediately understand why their countries are so different."
"Perhaps that's true. At the very least, judging from our conversation today, he may be the most clear-headed royal in Europe right now. What other monarch would think that deeply about communism?"
"That part surprised me too," Friedrich admitted. "And it wasn't superficial either. At times it felt like his insight was even sharper than yours—or mine, even though I helped organize your ideas. What do you make of that?"
To be honest, Karl had never seriously considered the dangers inherent in communist theory.
It wasn't that the thought had never crossed his mind.
He had simply believed it didn't matter.
But hearing that the ideology he had constructed might one day justify a dictatorship that oppressed the workers themselves—
that was not a pleasant thought.
Worse still, the argument had sounded so convincing that he could not easily refute it.
"Still," Karl said at last, "he told us confidently to observe him from the side. Let's do as he said for now. He promised to prove through action that he's not merely a man of words."
"To complete capitalism and bring about a communist paradise…" Friedrich murmured. "Do you think we'll live long enough to see such a thing?"
"Why not?"
Even at this very moment, the world was advancing at astonishing speed.
Only a few years ago, it had been normal for children and women to work sixteen or seventeen hours a day until they collapsed from exhaustion.
But things were already beginning to change.
Children and women were now guaranteed minimal rest periods.
Soon, adult men would likely receive the same protections.
And although the timing was still premature, plans were already being discussed to introduce universal primary education within the next decade or so.
Karl strongly supported that idea.
After all, if communism was ever to emerge, the proletariat would first need the education required to make rational and informed decisions.
"By the way," Friedrich said suddenly, "if things continue like this, doesn't that mean the Chartist movement will lose its momentum?"
"Probably," Karl nodded. "The Prince Consort promised publicly to expand workers' rights, and the Prime Minister agreed. That alone changes everything."
"Speaking of which, didn't George Julian Harney ask us to see him as soon as we returned?"
George Harney, one of the leading figures of the Chartist movement, had looked utterly lost after the meeting with Killian.
Should the movement continue its struggle?
Or should they pause and observe the situation?
For a leader responsible for an entire movement, such a dilemma was inevitable.
But Karl had long believed that Chartism itself had inherent limitations.
To him, the movement was already finished.
"Most revolutionaries so far have merely interpreted the world and proposed ways to move within the existing structure," Karl said. "But what truly matters is transforming the world itself. In that sense, George cannot be called a true revolutionary."
"You're right," Friedrich agreed. "Their thinking suits philosophers more than revolutionaries."
True change would never occur unless one was prepared to shatter the existing world entirely.
That had always been the belief Karl and Friedrich shared.
And yet Killian was difficult to categorize.
Listening to him speak, one might wonder whether he was truly a royal who ruled above the capitalists.
His ideas sounded almost radical.
Yet at the same time, his perspective was extremely practical, like someone viewing society from far above.
Most people who tried to combine those two viewpoints would end up as colorless moderates.
But Killian had promised to prove himself through action.
So for now, they would watch.
If he proved to be nothing more than a man of empty words, they would simply leave without regret and return to the continent.
But for the time being, they would remain in Britain and observe how the country changed.
And if they became convinced that Killian Gore was truly capable of transforming the world and bringing about the conditions for communism—
then they would devote all their abilities to helping complete British capitalism.
With that decision, Karl ended his long wandering across Europe and resolved to settle in the British Empire for the foreseeable future.
Suddenly finding myself responsible for playing the roles of both the champion of capitalism and the heavenly demon of communism was giving me a headache.
But when I thought about it calmly, the amount of work I had to do hadn't actually doubled.
After all, I had already half-succeeded in winning over Karl and Friedrich.
For the time being, communism would not be used as a tool for revolution.
Because the birth of communism required the completion of capitalism.
Anyone who misunderstood that formula was nothing more than a budding dictator hoping to exploit communist ideology for personal power.
With that guideline firmly established, the chances of red revolutionaries running around shouting about cutting off the heads of corrupt capitalists and building a socialist paradise were close to zero.
After all, I was the leader.
And Karl—the grand theoretician—would be writing the sacred doctrine.
But for this to work, Karl and Friedrich had to truly trust me.
So far, I had not yet shown them anything through action.
Naturally, they were watching to see whether my words matched my deeds.
To begin implementing the plans I had already prepared, I summoned Prime Minister Charles Wellesley to Buckingham Palace.
"You want to move the schedule for introducing the Factory Act forward?" Charles asked.
"Yes. As you know, the Chartists are currently split in half and arguing among themselves. If the government moves quickly now, the faction demanding immediate universal suffrage will become isolated."
"But the factory owners will strongly oppose it."
"They already know the law will eventually pass. We can simply introduce the bill now and delay its implementation. After all, the world has a wonderful word for such things—a grace period."
"Ah… so we pass the law first and enforce it later."
It might be a bit of sleight of hand.
But simply knowing the law had passed would already have a powerful psychological effect on workers.
If the grace period had a clear deadline, people would feel patient enough to wait.
"The factory owners will protest," I continued, "but eventually they will realize that squeezing workers too hard carries risks."
"Hmm… I'm not so sure," Charles said. "Factory owners are extremely sensitive about profits. If the cost becomes permanent rather than temporary, they will resist even more."
"I know. That's why the grace period will be three years. Until then, they only need to comply with the already-passed restrictions on child and female labor, and provide minimal facilities for workers who sleep at the factories."
At the moment, many factories didn't even send workers home.
They simply made them sleep inside the factory itself.
Did they provide beds?
Of course not.
Often they merely hung ropes across the room and made workers sleep while leaning against them.
It saved space.
Truly a brilliant idea.
Nineteenth-century capitalism could be terrifying when completely unrestrained.
"If the grace period is only three years…" Charles frowned. "They'll demand at least five."
"Three years is enough. They'll complain, but after three years they'll understand."
Charles still looked unconvinced.
But in three years, revolutions would erupt across Europe.
The British Empire, however, would remain calm—watching the chaos from across the river.
Unlike in the original timeline, the Chartists would not rise up like a swarm.
Britain would pass through 1848 peacefully.
And when newspapers attributed that stability to Britain's mature capitalism, anyone with a brain would notice.
Even if they didn't notice immediately, I would make sure they did eventually.
Capitalists who wished to keep their heads attached to their bodies would learn one simple lesson:
workers must be allowed to breathe.
"There may be complaints from the middle class now," I said, "but when the grace period ends, everyone will praise your foresight. When have I ever been wrong? Just trust me."
"…Very well," Charles sighed. "I still don't fully understand it, but you've never been wrong before. I'll push it through."
"Excellent. In that case, I'll publicly praise the government and Parliament for their bold decision. That alone will improve public opinion."
Under normal circumstances Parliament would never pass such legislation.
But right now they were desperate to manage public opinion.
After finishing his calculations, Charles nodded and stood.
"I'll instruct our members to introduce the Factory Act immediately. If we promise a sufficient grace period, opposition should be minimal."
"Good. Oh—and Charles. One more thing. Please arrange a meeting with the French ambassador."
"…The French ambassador?"
"Yes. I have something important to discuss with France. If I say it concerns French national security, they won't refuse."
"But this will be a transaction between the British royal family and France. I'd appreciate it if you could handle the political side."
"Understood. If it's a matter between the royal families, the government and Parliament will not interfere."
Perfect.
Neither Parliament nor the government could possibly guess what I intended to discuss with France.
In truth, I genuinely intended to help them.
It was well known that the Revolutions of 1848 would force the French king to abdicate and establish a temporary republic.
But if Karl and Friedrich witnessed a revolution overthrowing a government…
who knew how that might influence them?
So scenes of revolutionary chaos were temporarily banned.
Of course, this favor would not be free.
If the British royal family saved the French monarchy—
then naturally, the price would be substantial.