Wasn’t This a Night Game

Word-Speech Magic

“What are we to do? Mayor? What in the world are we supposed to do…? ”

After Jonathan Karma and his wife vanished from the room, the factory owners stammered their questions, but Mayor Bias hardly had a clever answer. Still, he couldn’t afford to show weakness, so he straightened his posture with effort.

“Who are we? We are people who have lived in this land for no less than a century! The history of the Scrap Yard has been with us all along! We will not stand idly by and watch the Karma Company’s tyranny! Never! Let’s fight somehow! We must fight and endure!”

“The day we have to pay interest is only two weeks away. We’re in trouble if we don’t get paid.”

“If the South and even the Magic Tower have turned their backs, we’re in trouble in many ways.”

“Ha! Why are you all acting like this! All the other clients haven’t cut us off, have they?! Our deals with the North and East are still solid! We can pay with the money we receive from them!”

“But what about the blast furnace that’s gone cold?”

“We’ll just build it again! Besides, the ordinary steel blast furnace has stopped, but the arcane furnace for smelting magical metals is still intact, isn’t it? We can endure it! Why are you all speaking so weakly!”

Mayor Bias desperately raised his voice, but the factory owners already knew this was a lost game.

No.

More than anyone else, Mayor Bias knew it best of all.

“First, we need to gather the workers again. Let’s gather them again and get the factories running. We must resume the production of magical metals first. That’s the only way to slowly rebuild the blast furnace after gathering capital again.”

“Do you think the workers will even try to gather again?”

At the words of one factory owner, Mayor Bias clenched his fist tightly.

He would never have said such a thing under normal circumstances.

But with the situation as it was, he had no choice but to concede.

“Let’s raise the wages of the workers. If we do that, they will gather again. What choice do they have? Will they abandon a job they’ve grown accustomed to their entire lives and go settle somewhere else?”

“…Will they, really?”

“Of course!”

He said it that way, but Mayor Bias was beyond uneasy, he felt like he was going mad.

But he desperately suppressed his anxious heart and tried to look at things in a positive light.

If he crumbled, everything would crumble.

“Let’s endure! We can endure it!”

At the very moment he shouted those words.

Someone knocked urgently on the door again.

Mayor Bias did not like that urgent knocking at all.

The nuclear bomb Jonathan Karma had dropped just now was already a big enough blow.

He really didn’t want any more burdens added on top of that.

But reality didn’t flow the way he wanted it to.

“Mayor Byers!! A man from the constabulary!! Mayor!!”

The near-hysterical shout forced Byers to finally concede, inviting the intrusion.

“Enter…”

“Mayor!!”

Before the word was even complete, the door burst open, and a police officer, clearly agitated, stumbled inside.

“The Inquisitors from the Black Fortress, they’re en route here!!”

Expected.

He’d been anticipating an intense tax audit.

A tax audit, and, of course, an inquiry into how followers of Mammon had surfaced, even among the factory owners.

But then came Chief Georg’s next pronouncement.

“And the Inquisitors of the Pantheon are searching the constabulary itself!! All of the precinct’s confidential files are about to fall into their hands!!”

“Ah, bloody hell!! Really!!”

Mayor Byers had to unleash another curse.

The clandestine, all-too-cozy connection between the police and the factory owners.

The reality of the force being leveraged as a personal security force for factory owners, instead of protecting the rights of imperial citizens and eradicating crime, was about to be laid bare at the worst possible moment.

*

The manifestation of a Demon Lord.

The Pantheon’s response to this extraordinary event was dazzlingly swift.

In less than a day, experienced and talented Holy Knights and Priests, drawn from various orders, were dispatched to Scrap Yard with the authority of Inquisitors.

The Black Fortress, too, dramatically increased the number of Inquisitors it sent to Scrap Yard.

And what these two organizations had in common was that they were under the command of Iomene.

And Iomene was, at the moment, furious.

“Otto.”

“At your service, Princess.”

“The Black Fortress will be responsible for auditing the factory owners.”

“As you command.”

“The Silent Order will infiltrate the city and investigate for any lingering contamination caused by black magic and sorcery.”

“It will be done.”

“The Inquisitors from the other Orders will investigate the Laborites. Investigate thoroughly! What was the truth of it all? Why did this situation arise? Inform me via magical communication the instant you uncover anything! That is all!!”

With most of the workers gone, leaving Scrap Yard practically deserted, Iomene was able to set up a brazen investigation headquarters in the city’s central plaza.

And before long, the investigation results began to trickle in.

– No one among the Labor Theorists was tainted by black magic, nor did any bear traces of sorcery.

– The laborers, due to their large numbers, will take a bit more time. We are investigating using area detection, but so far, no traces of black magic or sorcery have emerged. They are clean.

No remaining followers of Mammon were found.

The pillar of the Saint’s light had exposed most of them from the very beginning, and the immediately deployed Ketrathus had disposed of the majority. The cleanup was so thorough that it would be stranger to find any survivors.

– And as expected, Holy Saint.

– The laborers’ living conditions are severely impoverished.

– Child labor was commonplace, and many laborers are malnourished.

– There are also numerous accounts of sustained assault and intimidation by the police.

– They wielded the justification of eradicating the Labor Theorists like a family heirloom. Unconscionable exploitation and excessively low wages. Anyone who protested, demanding responsibility for industrial accidents, was immediately thrown into the camps, labeled as a Labor Theorist.

– They are not isolated cases, Holy Saint. The laborers’ condition is dire. There was a reason Mammon gained a foothold.

After receiving sufficient reports, Iomene could no longer restrain herself.

“Al Madai!”

Al Madai, who had been among the Ketrathus members guarding her, snapped to attention with a rigidly disciplined expression, swiftly stepping forward.

“Speak, Holy Saint.”

Iomene looked at him and smiled faintly.

“I trust you had a pleasant time with High Priest Miromel.”

Al Madai squeezed his eyes shut at those words.

Turning back time, to before descending back into Scrap Yard.

That is, during the brief return to the capital to report to the Emperor.

Iomene had returned to the White Order to show the Ketrathus who defied her orders in the field what the price would be.

“High Priest Miromel.”

“Speak, Holy Saint.”

“Shall I tell you a diverting tale?”

“What is it?”

“While commanding in the field, the Ketrathus refused to obey my commands. It seems they lacked faith in me.”

“……..”

“They declared they would prioritize the Codex Prolillium over my orders. Is this righteous? Especially when the 7 Commandments of the Codex clearly state that they must obey my orders absolutely. Is this not a contradiction?”

“……..I will rectify this, Holy Saint.”

“There’s no need for rectification. It is my fault. Of course they’re wary of a Holy Saint deployed to the frontlines for the first time, after only three months of training. Good heavens! To lack faith in a Chosen of Dulanair! It sounds as if one lacks faith in Dulanair herself, does it not?”

“My, my deepest apologies. This will never happen again.”

“Indeed. I trust it won’t.”

The conversation concluded, MiroMel summoned Al Madai at once.

“Al Madai.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Strip off your armor and stand at attention.”

The brutal noise of a kick to the shin, followed by the chilling sound of a slap, erupted in the High Priest MiroMel’s chambers.

“Do you find the Saintess amusing? Eh?”

“Ah, no, that’s not it! Ah, she’s still inexperienced, never having known battle, so we acted in her stead according to the Codex Prolilium…”

“Absolute obedience to the Chosen of Dullanear is what the Codex demands, you cur!!! If even one more report reaches me that the Ketratu have disobeyed the Saintess, I’ll lock you all in the Punishment Cells for a year! Understand!!!”

Al Madai, limping, emerged from MiroMel’s room and returned to the Ketratu.

“Round up everyone. Ah. Tell them to come without their armor.”

And it is said that a similar whirlwind of shin-kicks and slaps ensued.

And now, currently.

“No one is to be killed. No indiscriminate firing or knifing simply because of suspicion.”

At the sight of Iomene’s bright smile, Al Madai snapped to rigid attention, every bit the soldier.

“Of course. We will obey the Saintess’s word absolutely.”

“We must subdue the police of Scrap Yard.”

“The police, Saintess?”

“They are using means of violence for personal gain rather than law enforcement. Mob lynchings. Arresting innocent citizens solely for being Laborists, then extracting confessions through methods bordering on torture. Subdue them all and confiscate their weapons.”

At those words, the Ketratu soldiers straightened their shoulders.

“How far are we permitted to go?”

“Weapons are forbidden. Only fists and Miracles. Only non-lethal restraint is authorized. If they employ firearms, then you may use weapons to defend yourselves. Once a facility is secured, hand over field command to the Inquisitors from the Obsidian Fortress. They will oversee the review of the police officers.”

“Understood.”

“Al Madai.”

“Yes, Saintess.”

Iomene smiled at him.

“Do not kill them.”

“Yes. As you command.”

“Just…do not kill them.”

“…….”

“These cops here. A real low-down bunch. If you meet resistance, or they get mouthy… just don’t kill ’em.”

A similar smile touched Al Madai’s lips.

“As you wish.”

With that, the Ketratu dispersed, save for a small detail left to guard Iomene, scattering to the various police facilities scattered throughout the Scrap Yard.

Not that many were needed.

Two or three Ketratu were more than enough for each station.

“Disarm yourselves completely and bring all weapons before us. This is the order of the Holy Iomene, Emissary of the Emperor.”

Muscle-bound behemoths, easily topping two meters in height.

Armor that would laugh at a hail of heavy machine gun fire.

Handguns that were closer to cannons, and melee weapons that could probably cleave a bear in two.

And that single pronouncement, delivered with unwavering authority, was often enough to have most cops meekly gathering every weapon in the facility, or even the precinct, and handing them over.

Of course, there were those who refused to disarm so readily.

The Scrap Yard Central Precinct proved rather… recalcitrant.

“Stop them!! You b*stards!! You *have* to keep them from getting inside!! If the files in here get exposed, we’re *all* screwed!! Shoot them if you have to!! Do anything to stop them!! *Stop them*!!”

“Y-yes, sir!”

The police chief was desperately trying to prevent the Ketratu from breaching the building.

Too many incriminating documents and items, things that shouldn’t be seen, remained within those walls, not yet burned or destroyed.

Following the chief’s orders, the police armed themselves and blocked the entrance.

They erected barricades and formed a human wall, trying desperately to mount a defense.

But to the Ketratu, the cops’ actions were merely… quaint.

They wouldn’t even need to use their fists to break through this pathetic resistance.

“This… this is blatant trespassing!!……”

“You gonna shoot? Because if you do, I’ll shoot back.”

“………”

“Put them down.”

Al Madai’s word-magic, pure and simple, was more than sufficient.

“Stop them, no matter what! Stop them…….”

“Stop you?”

“…….”

“Step aside.”

With a single command, Al Madai disarmed the police and dismantled their human barricade. He casually shoved aside the flimsy barricade and headed straight for the Commissioner’s office.

“Stop him! I said, stop him! Sto-…”

The Commissioner desperately issued orders to his men until Al Madai stepped inside his office, at which point he too fell silent.

Instinctively, he understood that stopping him was impossible.

“Come on, let’s take a little walk. Give me the grand tour, Commissioner.”

Al Madai casually hoisted the Police Commissioner up with one hand, tucked him under his arm, and began to stroll through the precinct.

Al Madai’s linguistic magic was absolute.

“Oho! A vault here, is it? Commissioner, open it up for me.”

“I, I can’t possibly…”

“Open.”

With that one word, he performed the miracle of opening every vault and secret archive as he leisurely traversed the precinct, completing his tour in short order.

“Thanks for the tour! Commissioner!!”

In the lobby, among the disarmed and huddled police officers, Al Madai set the Commissioner, whom he’d carried under his arm, back on his feet and gave him a pat on the shoulder.

“Alas, we must be on our way. But don’t be too sad!”

“…”

“The Black Fortress will be here to play with you soon! Ah! And here they come now! Have fun!!”

With a hearty wave, Al Madai departed, taking all of the Ketratu members with him.

And in his place…

“Otto Delmarck of the Black Fortress.”

Otto entered the precinct, smoking a cigarette and betraying no emotion whatsoever, followed by dozens of Black Fortress Inquisitors.

“We’d rather not resort to truth serums or torture. So we hope you’ll cooperate with the investigation.”

Otto’s voice was far more polite and quiet than Al Madai’s, but that only made it all the more terrifying.

The Commissioner wanted to weep.

There was nothing he could do.