Wasn’t This a Night Game

Adding Insult to Injury

“Bloody hell, for real?!”

The mayor’s office stood empty, save for him.

Mayor Bias slammed his fist on the desk, spewing curses.

He stuck a luxurious cigar between his teeth and lit it.

As the nicotine seeped through him, the fury bubbling inside subsided, if only a little.

“Why in damnation would you come to Scrap Yard and stir up such a mess?!”

Saint Amael.

Why, of all people?

He couldn’t fathom what could possibly bring them here.

Someone with no conceivable connection to Scrap Yard suddenly appears out of the blue, inciting strikes, and meddling at every turn.

With the Pantheon and the Inquisitors of the Black Fortress swarming the city, he couldn’t simply sic the police on them like before.

He desperately needed to get the striking workers back into the factories, even if it meant cracking a few heads or issuing threats, but his hands were tied. It was driving him mad.

Scrap Yard housed a variety of businesses, but its lifeblood was steel and enchanted metal production.

And those steel furnaces couldn’t be allowed to cool, not for a single day.

Yet, thanks to the worker’s revolt and the sudden intrusion of these Mammon-worshippers, the furnace that couldn’t stop had been idle for days.

“If the crucible hardens, it’s a catastrophe.”

A crucible cooled was a crucible ruined, beyond repair.

It would have to be rebuilt from scratch, a loss of staggering proportions.

They were fighting to keep the furnace hot with a barebones crew of veteran workers, but even they needed rest eventually.

Manpower was already stretched thin; those few skilled hands were bearing the entire burden alone, and the situation was precarious, to say the least.

To restore order, they needed those from the Pantheon, the Saint, and the Black Fortress to depart, and fast.

Unable to contain his impatience, Mayor Bias finally reached for the magical communication artifact.

“Duke Rima… and High Bishop Rufus of the Solar Order… their numbers are here.”

It was time to call in every favor he had stashed away in the capital.

“Pick up, damn you. Please. Pick up now!…”

Muttering through clenched teeth, he puffed anxiously on his cigar. Then, the magical connection was established.

The frantic tone vanished instantly, replaced by a measured, almost indolent voice.

“Ah, Duke Rima! Good day to you! I hope you remember me? Bias, from Scrap Yard.”

-Ah, Bias! Of course, I remember! Enjoying the gift you sent. There is nothing like the feel of a Mithril golf club.

“Think nothing of it, Your Grace! If the Duke is pleased, I could offer even more!”

After some small talk and the usual pleasantries, the main topic was finally broached.

“…and so, currently, the factories are all at a standstill.”

-Good heavens! That sounds rather difficult!

“Hasn’t the Saint already apprehended all of the Mammon’s followers in the city? We are innocent. We cannot allow the Empire’s largest metal production facility to remain idle any longer! Duke Lima, I understand you hold sway within the Senate and the Supreme Court. I implore you, use your influence. For the sake of our long-standing acquaintance.”

Duke Lima was someone he’d known for a very long time.

Moreover, he had repeatedly ensured the passage of favorable legislation for the Scrap Yard’s factory owners.

A reliable connection in the capital.

Bias, as a major shareholder in several Scrap Yard factories, knew that accumulating losses would inevitably lead to the disappearance of the dividends he’d grown accustomed to. Therefore, he believed Duke Lima would intervene once more.

-I regret to say, Bias, I am unable to assist you in this matter.

Yet, still with a jovial tone, Duke Lima matter-of-factly refused.

Bias’s smile faltered.

“…Pardon?”

-The two Princesses returned to the capital via teleportation aboard an airship yesterday. Shortly thereafter, His Imperial Majesty summoned all the nobles of the Senate.

“For what reason…?”

-Those Mammon’s followers from your district, they meddled with something they shouldn’t have. Apparently, they sought to exacerbate the conflict between the proponents of labor theory and the capitalists, ultimately aiming to overthrow the Imperial Family and create two colossal factions of capitalists and proponents of labor theory, plunging the entire continent into endless war.

Bias felt the blood drain from his face.

The clean-up of Mammon’s followers was the responsibility of the Pantheon Knights, the White Order’s Ketratu,

and the Black Fortress.

Naturally, beyond what the Saint had revealed yesterday, neither Bias nor the factory owners had been privy to the specifics of the documents the Mammon’s followers possessed, or the schemes they contained.

-As of this moment, the incidents in your district are now under the full authority and investigative powers of the Black Fortress, on the grounds of potential rebellion against the Imperial Family. This means the Senate can no longer interfere with the Black Fortress operatives stationed there. It is a matter beyond our control.

“D-Duke Lima, that is an outrageous claim!! Rebellion?! Rebellion?! Our Scrap Yard has been a model city, a loyal servant of the Imperial Family, producing steel and magical metals for decades!!”

-I am aware. I am *very* aware. So, I presented your case to His Imperial Majesty… but after seeing the plan those Mammon’s followers had devised, I found myself speechless.

“These are preposterous lies! Are you believing documents created by devil worshippers?”

-I wish that were the case. However, the persuasiveness was simply too high to dismiss it as mere nonsense. All the nobles of the Senate who gathered in the Imperial Palace agreed.

“…….”

-Revolutionary struggles initiated by proponents of labor theory simultaneously erupting across the Empire. Imperial orders for suppression. The outbreak of massacres. Resulting in escalated riots and rebellion. The entire Empire writhing in civil war and upheaval for years, until finally, the Emperor is deposed by the revolutionary forces and the Imperial Family’s bloodline is executed in the public square. That was their plan.

“Absurd! Utterly absurd!”

-If you had seen those documents yourself, you wouldn’t be saying that. Those Mammon’s followers. Their analysis was chillingly astute. Had it not been for the Saint, the events would likely have unfolded precisely as outlined in the document.

Mayor Bias felt a headache brewing.

-I regret to say, Bias, it has exceeded the limits of what I can assist with.

“Ah, Your Excellency.”

– The newspapers in the capital are already making a grand spectacle of what happened at the Scrap Yard. Expect the reports to reach your side within a day or two. I’ve offloaded all my Scrap Yard shares, too. Shame about the dividends, but those stocks were bound to be worthless soon enough.

“N-no… this can’t be happening!”

– Still, considering our history, I’ll give you a piece of advice. The Black Fortress is about to face a major tax audit. His Imperial Majesty is quite displeased. He openly roared, asking how a company could be run so poorly that the lives of its workers festered to the point of revolution.

“Ah… ah…”

– Endure it well, Bias. Good days can’t last forever. Once this is settled, perhaps we can play a round of golf. Golf clubs. Thank you again. They suit my grip perfectly.

The comms abruptly cut off.

Bias ground the burnt-out cigar into the ashtray, his face a mask of near-madness.

“The, the Solar Order. If it’s High Priest Rufus of the Solar Order…”

He refused to surrender.

Accusations of insurrection?

It was absurd.

He had to reach the Imperial Family through the Pantheon.

The factory owners of this city had nothing to do with Mammon.

They were merely operating their businesses within the confines of the law.

The Solar Order, which primarily treated the elite in the capital, could surely relay his message to the Imperial Family.

Bias desperately clung to this belief.

– A Saint, acknowledged by the Pantheon for the first time in three centuries, was nearly killed by a demon king who manifested in this world. You want the Pantheon’s forces withdrawn? The Pantheon’s Inquisitors are heading there. This is no ordinary matter. A thorough investigation will be conducted until all suspicion is cleared regarding whether there are demon worshippers, and pollution in the scrap yard.

As soon as the connection was established, bypassing all pleasantries, Mayor Bias went straight to the point.

And thanks to that, his belief shattered less than thirty seconds after the call began.

“Your Eminence!! Your Eminence!! If that happens, the Scrap Yard’s factories will collapse!!”

– Are you concerned about factories at a time like this? A demon king himself manifested in this world, albeit briefly. It is only right that there be a thorough investigation, even if a few factories are to shut down. Otherwise, the remaining corruption might spread throughout the empire.

“W-we are innocent!! Your Eminence!! We are innocent, I tell you!!”

– Then do not resist, and quietly cooperate with the investigation. A large-scale inquisition of the entire city will commence. This is no jest. If even a hint of heresy is found… there will be summary executions.

“Your Eminence, why is this happening? You know the circumstances of the Scrap Yard!”

– Why are *you* acting this way? A demon king has manifested. Surely you understand the gravity of this?

“……..”

– Cooperate with the investigation as respectfully as possible. Everyone at the Pantheon is on edge right now. The Saintess of the White Order will be personally leading the Inquisitors, so heed whatever she says. Do you understand? Do not provoke her.

The comms went silent.

Mayor Bias slumped back in his chair.

Didn’t even feel the urge for a cigarette.

I wanted water.

My throat was parched, burning.

Investigations?

Fine.

Inquisitions?

Even better.

Tax audits?

A pain in the ass, but survivable.

But if the combined forces of the Pantheon and the Black Fortress keep a stranglehold on the city, there’s no way to drag the workers back to the factories.

Couldn’t very well have the cops beating them with clubs and threatening them with guns to force them into the factories, not with paladins and inquisitors watching.

“Damnation!”

Mayor Byers groaned for a long while before pulling a bottle of high-end whiskey from the back of his drawer and gulping it down without bothering to pour it.

After a long swig, he felt the liquor burning its way up his spine.

‘Alright. It’s not the worst.’

The police can’t just openly beat the workers anymore.

But that also means the labor advocates can’t get away with blatant violence either.

And most of the workers in this city are dirt poor.

How many days has it been since the strike, anyway?

What other choice do the hungry and impoverished have other than to riot to fill their bellies?

‘The poor, ignorant swine don’t have many options. They’ll have to come back to the factories, eventually.’

Soon.

They’ll get hungry. Workers who can’t stand to watch their children starve will have no choice but to return to find work.

Leave for somewhere else?

It’s all the same story everywhere else.

There’s no paradise to run to.

Besides, where would they get the money for travel and a new home?

In the end, they’ll have to come back to the factory to earn a living.

It’ll be dirty, and they’ll shed tears of blood, but working at the factory is the only way they can afford a single meal.

‘Let’s see how long you can hold out, Carl Lenaro. And you labor advocate scum. Let’s see if you can be so proud in front of a starved corpse…’

“Mayor!!!”

When Mayor Bias was lost in calculations like that,

a factory owner burst through the door, skipping the courtesy of a knock.

Before Mayor Bias could even scold him, he blurted out,

“The blast furnace has cooled!”

Words he least wanted to hear.

Mayor Bias sprayed the whiskey he was drinking.