Chapter 65

Mammon gaped his mouth wide open.

Such a skillful act of incitement.

And the things he was saying didn’t sound like they were prepared in just a day or two.

It was as if there had never been a more thoroughly prepared agitator.

In the end, everything veered toward the worst-case scenario Mammon had most feared.

The Saint bastard not only refused to step down from the stage—he’d inserted himself squarely among its central figures.

Generally, Saint refers to someone chosen by God—likely clueless about worldly affairs and wholly dependent on divine will.

And so, if their actions caused those around them to suffer or be harmed in any way, most Saint or saintess would be tormented by it, flee from the people, or become flustered and fall back on praying to God, only to make everything worse in the end.

That would have been the normal outcome. Yet this Saint bastard once again refused to act as Mammon intended.

Mammon agonized for quite a while, clutching his head.

Then he looked down upon the city.

The laborers who had once been merely a few thousand had now swelled to tens of thousands, soon even hundreds of thousands, all joining the strike under the Saint’s banner.

It was a scene he had hoped for.

Mammon knew labor theory inside and out.

He had already read *On Capital*, the text revered by labor theorists as though it were scripture, more than hundreds of times.

Because of that, Mammon also understood very well the fundamental limits of the labor theorists’ ideology.

Though they were enraged at capitalism and clamoring for revolution, ironically, their philosophy had the potential to become corrupted far faster than any capitalist’s could.

When labor theorists stage a revolution and seize power, they gradually become corrupted by their own lust for power, ending up no different from the capitalists they once opposed. In the meantime, countless poor and penniless masses keep shedding blood, writhing in agony between the greed of both capitalists and revolutionaries.

That was the spectacle Mammon wanted.

He planned to devour all the souls and grudges that would spill forth during that violent process.

But the variable called the Saint had appeared and derailed his plans right from the start.

Before long, Mammon changed his mind.

Yes, the Saint’s arrival had introduced an unexpected variable, but there was still a way to exploit it.

Thanks to that Saint brat, the revolution was now burning even hotter than Mammon had anticipated.

So why not make use of that?

Most of the factory owners, the scrap yard’s capitalists, and the upper class were already marionettes dancing on Mammon’s strings.

Likewise, there were plenty of his puppets hidden among the labor theorists, too.

When the revolution broke out, the capitalists would thoroughly oppress the revolutionaries, and the revolutionaries would become more radical in their struggle, spilling even more blood—that was the plan.

If, for Mammon’s sake, people died en masse and a mad era of terror and assassination were unleashed, how would that annoyingly righteous punk react?

Surely Jericho Amael had no idea what kind of danger lurked in labor theory.

He simply appeared to fight and struggle for the poor and oppressed.

But Mammon knew all too well: a good intention doesn’t always produce a good outcome.

Mammon let out a sinister laugh.

It was said that the population of the Scrap Yard was close to a million.

Being such a huge city, it was home to hundreds of thousands of laborers.

And a general strike meant uniting all those hundreds of thousands of laborers under one direction at once.

Obviously, I couldn’t do that alone.

I needed help.

And before long, the people who could help me came looking for me.

“I’m Karl Lenaro.”

A group who identified themselves as labor theorists approached me, then guided me to a small building’s basement in some corner of the city.

There, I saw a rough-looking middle-aged man—probably in his mid-forties—take off his disguise and step forward.

It was a familiar face.

He was featured daily in the newspapers, so there was no way I wouldn’t recognize him.

He was the leader of the labor theorists.

Karl Lenaro looked at me with a face brimming with excitement.

“Would it be all right to call you comrade  Amael?”

I nodded, and Karl Lenaro began delivering an impassioned speech, looking like a crazed fan meeting their idol.

“‘Workers of the city, unite!’ Those words still ring in my ears. Magnificent. No one among our comrades could have delivered a speech more impressive than yours. I watched you with suspicion at first, but there’s no longer any reason to doubt. You are one of us—a labor theorist. You are the greatest revolutionary comrade of all.”

Karl Lenaro grabbed my hand firmly.

“A general strike! Normally, it wouldn’t come about so easily. But Comrade Amael, because of you, we were able to pull it off effortlessly. The entire city is looking to you.”

The middle-aged man was smiling as brightly as a child,

but despite that smile, the look in his eyes was terrifying.

“I’d like to ask one thing, Amael. What is the purpose of this strike? This revolution? I want to confirm exactly why you’ve taken this stand.”

Karl Lenaro and the labor theorists around him all looked excited.

But along with their excitement, there was a hint of unease.

A revolutionary  Saint born in a city that rejects religion—

they likely wanted me to clarify my position more definitively.

“It’s to save the people of this city. Even if I heal them over and over again, if society itself is rotten at its core, they’ll just fall ill once more.”

“And the improved society you want—who is it meant for?”

“A society where the poor can live like human beings.”

“Even if they don’t believe in  Lillia, the goddess you worship, does that matter?”

Now I understood what  Karl Lenaro was really trying to ask.

They must have heard how this city rejects religion, and they suspected I was doing all this just to spread my faith.

“It doesn’t matter if they don’t believe. I just don’t want anyone to be hurt or suffer anymore. Once the system is fixed, I’m leaving.”

From the start, I never intended to stay in this city for long.

Things happened to turn out this way, but what I want, in the end, is for the workers to live with dignity—not to remain here, set up a church, and convert everyone.

“You’re leaving…?”

“I never planned to remain in this city. All I want is for the workers’ living conditions to improve.”

A satisfied smile appeared on  Karl Lenaro’s lips.

“You’re not just some religious figure who’s only interested in proselytizing. I’m impressed. I never imagined someone like you would still be left in the the Pantheon. I understand your genuine concern for improving the workers’ situation.”

Karl Lenaro whistled.

In response, a group of people who had apparently been hiding outside the room came in.

All of them were armed with rifles, pistols, and what looked like bombs.

“We already know the locations of the police stations, the size of their forces, and what weapons they carry. Come with us. With your powers, you can greatly raise the morale of the revolutionaries. Please use that power—the one that can regenerate severed limbs—for our cause.”

Their eyes were dangerous.

They looked like people who could kill or commit violence without the slightest hesitation.

“As you said, those capitalist pigs and the factory owners’ dogs will soon be terrified of our revolution. The general strike is only the beginning. We’ll shut down their factories and freeze their mines. We’ll choke off their capital and start a war. Until blood flows from those pigs’ hearts—until they shed tears of fear and horror—we won’t stop!!”

Karl held out his hand toward me.

“Join us, Amael!! Let’s make the revolutionaries the rulers of this city! Let the vanguard and the revolutionaries seize the means of production so that they serve no capitalist, but only the workers! With your help, we can do this!!”

I just looked silently at Karl’s extended hand.

I see. So this is how it is.

If you speak of ‘red’ things, then the ones dyed in red will naturally come.

I didn’t take his hand.

As soon as I didn’t respond, the once-fiery atmosphere began to turn strange.

Karl extended his hand a bit further toward me.

“Amael? Is there some problem?”

I gently took his hand and lowered it, then shook my head.

“No, I’m not going to do it that way.”

“…What did you just say?”

“This general strike will be used merely as a means to bring the city’s ruling class to the bargaining table. After that, I’ll borrow capital from the Karma Company in the capital and buy up the factories here. Then, just like Jonathan Karma has done in the capital, we’ll operate them so that the jobs in this city become fair and stable. That’s how I plan to do things.”

Karl Lenaro’s expression went rigid.

The labor theorists who had gathered began to mutter in confusion.

“Also, I’ll bring in healers from the Order of Grace to open clinics here and treat the sick. They won’t proselytize; they’ll only heal.”

“…”

“And finally, I’ll have the imperial family enact laws to protect the workers, so that nothing like this can ever happen again. That’s the plan. I have no intention of picking up guns and bombs to commit murder. I can’t accept your method,  Renaro.”

Upon hearing this, Karl Lenaro looked shocked, falling heavily back into his chair.

Several of the more hotheaded labor theorists glared at me as if they wanted to kill me.

“So you were a lapdog of the capitalists all along?”

“He’s worse than some preacher hoping to convert us—he’s a pig trying to swallow the entire city for his own church!!”

“Comrade Renaro! Why are you just sitting there? He’s a spy!! This so-called  Saint never cared about building a paradise for the workers!! He’s just spewing propaganda for the capitalists!!”

A few of them, their faces filled with rage, hovered their hands near their holstered pistols.

Some were nineteen, some were fifteen.

They were brimming with a youthful energy fueled only by hatred and anger, without any real thought for the consequences.

Seeing them, I worried not for my own life but for theirs.

A simple handgun can’t kill me.

Don’t underestimate time-stop or my transformed body.

I’d be all right, but the moment they pull those triggers, the Empire will never forgive them.

Please don’t do that.

In the midst of this tense atmosphere, where they looked ready to draw and fire at any moment,  Karl Lenaro raised his hand and motioned his raging comrades to hold off.

“Why?” Karl asked again, his voice trembling.

“You led this strike with the most labor-friendly speech anyone’s ever heard. How could someone like that suddenly start spouting the nonsense of capitalist pigs? Why? Were your claims of protecting the workers all a lie?”

“…”

“I’ve seen you cut back on sleep and meals just to keep treating the sick. If anyone knows how brutally capitalists and factory owners exploit human beings, it would be you!! Then why are you talking like this? I feel like I’m about to lose my mind here, Amael. So explain. I deserve to know.”

Ah, so he wants a spoiler.

Very well.

You do have the right to hear it.

Besides, I have a title that lets me drop spoilers without being doubted.

“I’m recognized as a Seer by the Pantheon. I’m sure you already know that. Because of this, I know exactly how your revolution will end. And I’ll share it with you now.”

I knew perfectly well what these passionate, hot-blooded individuals would eventually become.

“You’ll wind up massacring more of your fellow workers than any capitalist ever did, all ‘for the sake of the workers.’”

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