Chapter 77
Family dinners were rare and hard-won occasions.
And it was no wonder—each of the three members was incredibly busy.
But the Karma family had one unshakable rule: no matter what, they made time to share a meal together on weekends.
“Social life going well?”
“I’ve been getting swamped with invitations. I’m turning down most of them unless they’re absolutely necessary.”
“Cecilia, you really are popular.”
“I like it—it makes reading the trends easier. The political currents between noble families, the flow of capital… There’s a lot I can pick up on. Oh! What about you, Father? That Eleos Group deal—how’s it going?”
As he poured sauce over a lamb steak, Jonathan Karma responded with a smile.
“They’re offering elixirs at prices lower than market rate—what company in its right mind would say no to that? Oh, and come to think of it, Crabton Railways signed the papers this morning.”
Cecilia froze mid-slice, her eyes going wide.
Olivier, seemingly amused by her daughter’s reaction, let out a quiet chuckle.
“You’re serious? Really?”
“Yes. In exchange for supplying elixirs at half the usual price for rail operations, we negotiated a steep cut in logistics costs. They’ll be laying new tracks, and we’re using that infrastructure to distribute elixirs across the empire. If we’re going to take over the distribution channels Tramata has had a stranglehold on, we need to beat them in speed and price. Simple as that.”
“That’s a brilliant move! When you head south for the next round of negotiations, take me with you.”
“It’d definitely help if you could bring in backchannel info from the social scene. Steel, automobiles, pharmaceuticals, heavy industry—we’re almost there. Just a little more, and Eleos Group will no longer be just a vision…”
Suddenly, a sharp, insistent beeping came from the watch on Jonathan Karma’s wrist.
All three family members fell silent.
Only his most trusted aides knew that line of communication existed—and they were explicitly told to use it only in the most urgent of emergencies.
“This is Jonathan Karma. Lord Erfa?”
As he hurried to take the call, a familiar voice echoed from the device.
[Mr. Jonathan Karma? It’s been a while. Do you recognize my voice…?]
“Your Holiness? Where are you? Lilia, oh my god—are you safe?”
[Yes, I’m unharmed. I wonder… Have you heard the news yet?]
“What news?”
[Ah, then you haven’t. I’m… in quite a difficult situation right now.]
The Saint began to speak—slowly, and in detail—about what had happened.
And by the time the explanation was finished…
Jonathan Karma’s eyes gleamed.
With rage.
And the unmistakable glint of a merchant catching the scent of money.
[I’m sorry that my first message after vanishing so suddenly is one like this… but Jonathan, I need your help.]
“Your Holiness. Worry about nothing—just focus on healing the sick where you are. I’ll handle everything else.”
[That puts me at ease. Thank you, Jonathan. And I apologize again for reaching out like this so suddenly.]
“No need for that. Not at all. Stay calm and wait for me. I’ll be there soon.”
[Thank you.]
The magic communication cut off.
The three family members exchanged silent glances.
“I’ll handle legislative groundwork. Let me spread the word through the social circles. The Duke of Lima and the Marchioness of Turentz hold most of the influence in their houses. If we start there, we can steer the broader narrative in our favor.”
Cecilia rose from her seat.
“I’ll check our available retained earnings. This quarter’s revenue is more than triple last year’s—so we’ve got a healthy amount of capital to work with.”
Olivier stood up as well.
And finally, Jonathan Karma rose too.
“The Saint’s given us a golden opportunity. There aren’t many sources of steel and magic metals in the empire, but he’s opening a path to the largest one. We’ve got the justification. We’ve got the firepower. Let’s begin.”
He smiled.
It was a gentle, serene smile.
But to those on the receiving end of his blows, it would feel far more terrifying than anything the Demon King could muster.
The moment the call with Jonathan Karma ended,
lomene, Almeine, the inquisitors from the Black Fortress, and priests from the Pantheon approached me.
“There’s so much I want to say, Your Holiness,” lomene and Almeine said cautiously.
“But now isn’t the time for sentimental reunions.”
“We’ll help you however we can. Just tell us what to do.”
The priests of the Silent Order nodded in agreement.
“We believe your vision must come to pass. If we’re to prevent another day like today—where the resentment of workers across the empire explodes again—we need to show the world a new example. We’ll lend you our strength.”
Even the mages of the Tower, including Erfa, stepped forward.
“We want to see the empire’s largest magic metal mine continue to operate successfully. And besides, the amount of elixirs we’ve received for free from Karma Company… We’ll support you as well.”
“The Mars Tower in the capital is on your side, Your Holiness. If needed, we can mobilize the other regional towers too.”
Religion.
Economy.
Power.
Magic.
These four pillars—practically the very foundation of the empire—were now shifting in response to my words.
Some might feel pride at such a sight.
Others might be drunk on the taste of power.
But I felt none of that.
All it did was reaffirm why Lilia wanted to cast me into hell.
Their overwhelming trust and faith would only continue to amplify the divine power sleeping within me—
—and that realization filled me with nothing but fear.
I clenched my fists.
Just until the lives of the workers in the Scrap Yard improve.
This is only temporary.
Once things stabilize, I’ll leave without hesitation.
“Iomene, Almeine, I need you two to return to the capital. Let the Pantheon and His Majesty know the current situation and persuade the Senate to expedite the passing of a new law.”
“Understood, Your Holiness.”
“We can handle that.”
This time, it was the Mage Tower’s turn.
“Erfa, and mages of the Tower. I believe you’re the empire’s largest buyers of magical metals. Please persuade the regional Towers to halt any purchases from the Scrap Yard mines.”
The mages nodded in agreement.
“We may not be able to completely stop them, but we can definitely convince those considering additional purchases to put them on hold.”
“The Mars Tower branch can release its surplus magic metals at a discount if necessary.”
Next was the Pantheon.
“Please focus on maintaining public order. Have the paladins and priests work with the police to prevent violence between workers and authorities. And if possible, continue treating the sick and injured.”
“We’ll see to it,” they replied.
And lastly—me.
“I can’t do any of this alone. I need your support. Please… I’m asking for your help.”
“We’ll make it happen, just as you ask.”
With those reassuring words, everyone exited the meeting room, heading out to take up their assignments.
Before long, only I remained—along with Karl Lenaro and the other labor activists.
“So what about us, Your Holiness? We’ve got no capital and no power. What are we supposed to do?”
I shrugged.
“Do what you do best. I’ll handle the healing… and you all continue the general strike.”
At the mention of a general strike, the labor activists’ eyes lit up.
“It’s not enough to say the great Saint swooped in with capital and influence to save the workers. We need a different story—one where the workers rose up, demanded their rights, and won them through their own hands. So keep striking.”
I smiled as I looked at the activists.
“Rally the workers. Stir their spirit so they’ll fight back against the factory owners. As long as you don’t use guns or bombs… anything goes.”
Karl Lenaro burst into laughter at that.
“Don’t worry, Your Holiness. We’ll show you exactly what kind of people we are.”
It was a terrifying promise, made by professional agitators who’d spent their entire lives rallying protests and stirring rebellion.
There were two people in focus now.
One of them: the head of the Black Fortress—Otto Delmarc.
“Running the company legally? Legally? Legally!? And you dare raise your voice at my Amail!?”
Before him stood a furious princess.
It was rare—almost unheard of—for Almeine, who was usually gentle and composed, to bare her teeth in rage.
Otto didn’t show it outwardly, but internally, he was taken aback by the intensity of her fury.
At last, Almeine turned to him.
“If they love the law so much, let’s see how they like it when it turns against them. Otto.”
“Say the word.”
“These companies… they were once swarmed by Mammon worshippers, weren’t they? We need to take a close look at their backgrounds. We’ve got our justification—so let’s begin a full-scale tax investigation. Let’s find out just how ‘legal’ their operations really are.”
Otto glanced toward the inquisitors standing behind him.
They all nodded silently.
When the Emperor’s own daughter gives a command, there’s no choice but to obey.
“As you wish.”
“And until that investigation is complete, don’t let any of the factory owners flee. Especially that buyer, Bias—don’t let him slip out of the Scrap Yard. He’s a flight risk.”
“Understood. It will be done.”
Silently, Otto offered his condolences to the factory owners.
Elsewhere was another man:
Johan, the Knight Commander of the Order of Grace.
Before him stood High Priest Yodel, who had become so consumed by rage, he seemed ready to transform back into Mozgus himself.
“Knight Commander,” said Yodel.
“Speak, High Priest.”
“These factory owners seem to have forgotten one thing. The largest steel consumer in the empire? It’s our Order of Grace, based in the South.”
The South.
While it was known as the empire’s breadbasket, filled with fertile fields and plains, not all of that land was arable.
A vast stretch of wasteland near the empire’s center was unsuitable for crops—and so, thirty years ago, it had become home to the empire’s largest industrial complex.
And most of the workers in that complex?
Followers of Lilia.
“Use the strike as a pretext. Delay payment for all outstanding deliveries.”
“…Understood.”
“And get the Scrap Yard workers out of the city. Move them beyond the walls. Feed and house them out there. Use church funds to bring in grain, vegetables, fruit—whatever you can. I won’t sit by and let them starve.”
“That will be done as well.”
“Until the factory owners yield—or until Karma Company outright consumes this place—let’s show the workers what the Saint’s grace really means. Let’s see how long those bastards can keep their heads high when their buyers vanish and there’s not a single soul left to run their factories.”
It wasn’t just Yodel who felt this way.
The entire Order of Grace—priests, paladins, all of them—were furious that anyone would dare insult the one chosen by the Goddess Lilia herself.
Commander Johan silently offered his own condolences to the factory owners.
They messed with the wrong people.
Spectacularly, tragically wrong.
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