Chapter 80
“What are we supposed to do, Mayor? What do we even do now…?”
After Jonathan Karma and his wife disappeared from the room, the factory owners began hesitantly asking questions. But it wasn’t as if Mayor Bias had any clear answers. Still, he couldn’t afford to show weakness, so he straightened up, forcing himself to speak with conviction.
“Who are we? We’ve lived on this land for over a hundred years! The history of the Scrap Yard is our history! We will not stand by and let Karma Company run rampant. Never! We fight! We must endure through this!”
“The interest payment is due in just two weeks. If we don’t receive the money owed to us, we’re done for.”
“If the South and the Mage Tower have already turned their backs on us, we’re in serious trouble.”
“Ha! Why is everyone panicking? Not all of our clients have abandoned us! We still have solid business with the North and East! We can use those payments to cover our dues!”
“But what do we do about the blast furnace? It’s gone cold.”
“We rebuild it! Sure, the standard ironworks furnace has stopped, but the Arcane Furnace for magical metal refining is still intact, isn’t it? We can hold on! Why is everyone sounding so defeated?”
Despite Mayor Bias’s desperate attempt to rally them, the factory owners already knew—it was over.
No…
No one knew that better than Bias himself.
“First, we need to gather the workers again. Restart the factories. We have to begin with the production of magical metals. Once we secure that capital, we can slowly rebuild the main furnace.”
“Do you think the workers will even agree to come back?”
At one factory owner’s question, Bias clenched his fist tightly.
Ordinarily, this was something he would never have said.
But with things the way they were, he had no choice but to concede.
“We’ll raise the workers’ wages. If we do that, they’ll return. What else can they do? Abandon the job they’ve known their whole lives and start over somewhere new?”
“...You think that’ll work?”
“Of course it will!”
That’s what he said. But inside, Bias was terrified—on the verge of a breakdown.
Still, he desperately fought to suppress that fear, forcing himself to look ahead with optimism.
If he collapsed now, everything would collapse with him.
“We can endure! We will endure!”
Just as he shouted those words, someone began banging urgently on the door.
Bias didn’t like the sound of that knock one bit.
The metaphorical bomb Jonathan Karma had just dropped was already more than enough. He couldn’t afford another disaster.
But reality didn’t care what Bias wanted.
“Mayor Bias! It’s the police! From headquarters, sir!”
The near-hysterical shouting left Bias with no choice.
“Come in—”
“Mayor!”
Before he could finish his sentence, the door burst open and a senior officer came running in, completely out of breath.
“T-The Inquisitors from the Black Fortress are on their way here!”
It was expected.
They had anticipated a high-level tax investigation.
They were likely coming to look into both the financials and the recent revelation that some factory owners were Mamon cultists.
But what Commissioner Georg said next chilled the room.
“And the Heresy Inquisitors from the Temple of All Gods are currently searching the police headquarters! At this rate, all our classified documents will fall into their hands!”
“Ah, fuck! Seriously?!”
Bias couldn’t help but curse again.
The web of secret connections between the police and the factory owners…
It had never been about protecting the rights of Imperial citizens or upholding justice. The police had essentially been operating as a private security force for the wealthy elite. And now, that dirty truth was about to be exposed—at the worst possible moment.
The Incarnation of the Demon King.
It was no ordinary matter, and the response from the Temple of All Gods was blindingly swift.
In less than a day, experienced and elite paladins and priests from various orders were dispatched to the Scrap Yard as Heresy Inquisitors.
The Black Fortress also drastically increased the number of inquisitors they were sending.
What the two organizations had in common was that both were under the direct command of Iomene . And right now, Iomene was furious.
“Otto.”
“Yes, Princess.”
“Assign the Black Fortress to oversee the factory owners’ tax investigations.”
“As you command.”
“Have the Silent Order investigate the city for any lingering traces of dark magic or curses.”
“It shall be done.”
“The other Inquisitors are to investigate the Labor Advocates. Do it thoroughly! I want to know everything—what caused this, who’s responsible. Report to me via magical transmission the moment you learn anything. Dismissed!”
With most of the workers gone, the Scrap Yard had become a ghost town, allowing Iomene to set up her investigation headquarters right in the central plaza.
And it wasn’t long before the first reports started coming in.
There are no signs of dark magic or curse contamination among the Labor Advocates.
The worker side has high numbers, so it’s taking more time. We’re using wide-area detection spells, but so far, nothing—no dark magic, no curses. It’s clean.
There were no Mamon cultists left.
From the moment the Pillar of Saintly Light was invoked, most cultists had been exposed right away. The Ketlatrus forces deployed immediately, neutralizing the threat and cleaning up afterward with ruthless efficiency. At this point, it would be strange if any cultists were still left.
And just as expected, Your Holiness…
- The workers are living in extremely poor conditions.
- Child labor is routine, and many are severely malnourished.
- Numerous reports describe routine beatings and threats from the police.
- They used “rooting out Labor Advocates” as a catch-all justification. Unthinkable exploitation, disgracefully low wages, and any protest demanding accountability for industrial accidents ended in arrests and internment camps under that excuse.
- This isn’t isolated. Holy Maiden, the situation is dire. There’s a reason Mamon gained a foothold here.
After reviewing the reports thoroughly, Iomene had reached her limit.
“Al Madai!”
From among the ranks of the Ketlatrus guarding her, Al Madai snapped to attention with disciplined precision.
“Yes, Your Holiness.”
Iomene turned toward him with a serene smile.
“I trust you had a lovely time with High Priest MiroMel, didn’t you?”
At those words, Al Madai closed his eyes tightly.
Let’s rewind a bit—before returning to the Scrap Yard, when Al Madai had briefly gone back to the capital to report to the Emperor. In that short time, Iomene returned to the White Order and personally taught the Ketlatrus who had defied her on the field exactly what that defiance would cost them.
“High Priest MiroMel.”
“Yes, Holy Maiden?”
“Would you like to hear a funny story?”
“What is it?”
“While I was issuing commands on the field, some Ketlatrus refused to obey me. It seems they didn’t quite trust me.”
“……”
“They insisted that the Codex Prorilium takes precedence over my orders. Isn’t that strange? Especially when the Seventh Commandment of the Codex states absolute obedience to the Chosen of Dulaneor.”
“……I will rectify this, Holy Maiden.”
“No need to apologize. It’s my fault, really. I suppose it’s natural to distrust a newly anointed Saint who hasn’t even seen real combat yet. Can you imagine? To think the Chosen of Dulaneor isn’t trustworthy—it’s like saying Dulaneor himself can’t be trusted.”
“F-Forgive me. I promise this will never happen again.”
“I’m sure it won’t.”
Shortly after that, MiroMel summoned Al Madai.
“Al Madai.”
“Sir.”
“Take off your armor and stand straight.”
The sounds of boots slamming into shins and the crisp crack of slaps echoed throughout MiroMel’s chambers.
“You think the Holy Maiden’s a joke, huh?!”
“N-No, it’s just—we thought since she hadn’t seen combat yet, we were supposed to follow the Codex and—”
“The Codex requires absolute obedience to the Chosen of Dulaneor, you jackass! If I get one more report about you idiots disobeying her orders, I’ll throw your entire squad into solitary for a full year! Got it?!”
Limping out of the room, Al Madai returned to his unit.
“Get everyone together. And tell them to come without armor.”
What followed was another round of bruised shins and ringing slaps.
Now, in the present.
“No killing. I don’t care how suspicious they look—don’t shoot, don’t stab, don’t kill.”
Al Madai straightened like a steel rod as Iomene smiled sweetly.
“Understood. I will obey without question.”
“We need to subdue the police stationed in the Scrap Yard.”
“The police?”
“Yes. These men used state authority as a tool of personal violence. They lynched civilians. Threw innocent people in internment camps simply for being Labor Advocates. Beat and tortured confessions out of them. Arrest all of them. Seize their weapons.”
The Ketlatrus stiffened, their posture tightening with purpose.
“How much force is permitted?”
“No lethal force. Fists and miracles only. Non-lethal takedowns only. If they fire first, you’re free to use weapons. Once the area is secure, hand over control to the Black Fortress Inquisitors. They’ll oversee the investigations.”
“Understood.”
“Al Madai.”
“Yes, Holy Maiden?”
She smiled again, this time with razor-edge sweetness.
“Don’t kill them.”
“I will not.”
“Do not kill them.”
“……”
“The police here... they’re absolute scum. If they resist or get snippy…”
She tilted her head, still smiling.
“…just don’t kill them, okay?”
A similar smile crept across Al Madai’s face.
“Understood.”
With that, all Ketlatrus—except a small group left to guard Iomene—spread out across the city, targeting every police facility in the Scrap Yard.
They didn’t need many. Just two or three per station.
“Disarm immediately and hand everything over. This is a direct order from Saint Iomene , representative of His Majesty the Emperor.”
Towering over two meters tall. Armor that could shrug off machine gun fire.
Hand cannons more like artillery than sidearms. Swords that could cleave a bear in half.
When those mountains of flesh and steel issued a command, most police officers obediently retrieved their weapons and handed them over—no questions asked.
Of course, not everyone complied.
The central precinct of the Scrap Yard resisted.
“Block them! Don’t let those bastards through! If they get in and see those documents, we’re screwed! You and me both! I don’t care if you have to shoot—just keep them out!”
“Y-Yes, sir!”
The commissioner was desperate to stop them.
There were too many damning documents still inside. Things that could never see the light of day.
Following his orders, officers took up arms and blocked the entrance—forming barric
ades and human walls.
But to the Ketlatrus, it all looked laughably amateurish.
They didn’t even need to throw a punch.
“This is illegal trespassing!”
“You gonna shoot? Then I’ll shoot too.”
“……”
“Put it down.”
Just one command from Al Madai, bolstered by his Word of Power magic, was enough.
“Hold the line—do not let them through—”
“Gonna stop me?”
“……”
“Move.”
With just a few words, Al Madai dismantled the resistance and pushed through the flimsy barricade, heading straight for the commissioner’s office.
“S-Stop them! Do something! Anyone—”
The commissioner was still barking frantic orders when Al Madai entered the office—and instantly fell silent.
His body understood what his mouth wouldn’t:
There was no stopping this.
“Let’s go on a little tour. Lead the way, Commissioner.”
With one hand, Al Madai casually lifted him up and tucked him under his arm like a sack of potatoes.
As he strolled through the building, his Word of Power unlocked every vault, every secured archive.
“Oh ho! A vault, huh? Open it.”
“N-No, I can’t—”
“Open it.”
And with that one word, locks yielded and secrets spilled.
Once his tour was complete, Al Madai dropped the commissioner among the now-disarmed officers huddled in the precinct lobby.
He patted him on the shoulder with a grin.
“Thanks for the tour, Commissioner!”
“……”
“Don’t be too sad. It’s not over.”
He turned and waved cheerfully.
“Now the Black Fortress gets to play with you! Oh—look, they’re here!”
And with that, Al Madai and his unit departed.
The man who took his place was Otto Delmarc of the Black Fortress.
Expressionless, cigarette between his lips, he stepped into the precinct with several dozen Inquisitors at his back.
“We’d prefer not to resort to confession extractors or torture. So please cooperate with the investigation.”
His tone was polite. Calm. Collected.
But that’s what made it all the more terrifying.
The commissioner wanted to cry.
And there was nothing left he could do.
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