Wasn’t This a Night Game

Concentrated Fire

The family meal was achieved with considerable difficulty.

It couldn’t be helped, as all three of them were terribly busy.

But the Karma family made sure to dedicate time for a meal together, especially on weekends.

“How is your social life going?”

“So many invitations are coming in… I’m mostly declining them unless they’re absolutely necessary.”

“Cecilia is quite popular, it seems.”

“It’s easy to read the trends. The movements between noble families, the flow of capital… It’s easy to grasp various things. Oh! How did it go with Father? The Eleos Group matter, I mean.”

Jonathan Karma smiled as he poured sauce over a piece of lamb.

“What company would refuse an offer to receive elixirs at a lower price than the market rate? Ah! Speaking of which, the Crapton Railway Company signed the papers this morning.”

Cecilia, mid-slice, widened her eyes.

Olivier chuckled, finding his daughter’s reaction endearing.

“Really? Amazing!”

“Indeed. In exchange for providing the elixirs needed for railway operation at half price, we agreed to drastically reduce the cost of cargo transport. We’ll lay new tracks and use them to send elixirs throughout the Empire. If we want to take over the elixir clients Tramata has a hold on, we’ll have to compete in terms of distribution speed and price, wouldn’t you agree?”

“An excellent decision! Please take me with you when you secure the southern deals this time.”

“If you bring back the whispers flowing through high society, it would definitely be helpful. Steel, automobiles, medicine and heavy industry. Just a bit more. Just a bit more, and the Eleos Group will truly become a reality…”

Suddenly, a loud ringing sound emanated from the watch on Jonathan Karma’s wrist.

At that, the three family members ceased their chatter.

This method of contact, known only to their inner circle, was explicitly reserved for emergencies of the highest order.

“Jonathan Karma here. Is this Erpa-nim?”

Jonathan answered with haste, and from the device poured a familiar voice.

[Jonathan Karma-ssi? It has been some time. Do you recognize my voice…]

“Saintess? Where are you right now! By Lilia! Good heavens!! Are you unharmed?”

[Yes. I am unharmed. Have you, perchance, heard the news?]

“What news are you referring to?”

[Ah, you are still unaware. I find myself in a rather precarious situation.]

The Saintess slowly, and with meticulous detail, began to recount her experience.

And when the narration had come to its conclusion…

The eyes of Jonathan Karma shone with a fierce light.

Rage.

And the ecstasy unique to a merchant who has caught the scent of money, intertwined as one.

[I apologize that the first words I speak after my abrupt disappearance must be of this nature… but I require the assistance of Jonathan-ssi.]

“Saintess. Do not harbor a single worry, and simply focus your efforts on tending to the sick. I shall handle all else.”

[Those words bring me immense comfort. I place my trust in you. Once more, I apologize for this sudden request.]

“Nonsense. Not at all. Put your mind at ease and await my arrival. I shall depart immediately.”

[Thank you.]

The magical communication severed.

The three family members exchanged glances in silence.

“The legislation, I shall take charge of it. I will sow seeds of opinion within social circles. The Lima Dukedom and the Turentz Marquisate, their ladies wield considerable influence, so if we can sway these two houses first, we can likely steer the overall tide in our desired direction.”

Cecilia rose from her seat.

“I will ascertain the amount of capital available from retained earnings. Our sales this quarter have tripled since last year, so the available funds are substantial.”

Oliviera, too, stood.

And Jonathan Karma followed suit.

“The Saintess has presented us with a golden opportunity. To think she would grant us a chance to lay our hands on the largest iron and magical metal mining region within the empire, when so few exist. The justification is sound, the ammunition ample. Let us begin.”

He smiled.

A warm and gentle smile, yet one that would undoubtedly strike more fear into the hearts of those destined to feel his fist than the very visage of the Demon King.

*

The magic communication with Jonathan concluded, and almost immediately, Iomene, Almene, the inquisitors from the Black Fortress, and figures from the Pantheon were before me.

“We have so much we wish to say, Holy One.”

Iomene and Almene spoke to me cautiously.

“But it seems this is not a time for leisurely reunions.”

“We will assist you, Holy One. What is it we can do?”

The priests of the Silent Order concurred with the two Princesses.

“To prevent the grudges of laborers throughout the Empire from causing another incident like today… a precedent must be set by ensuring the Holy One’s demands are met. We too shall lend our strength.”

Erfa, along with the mages of the Magic Tower, also approached.

“We desire that the Empire’s largest magic metal mining region continues to operate smoothly. Not to mention, the elixirs we’ve received gratis from Karma Company over the years… We, too, will offer our help.”

“The Mars Magic Tower in the capital is with the Holy One. If necessary, we can mobilize the other towers as well.”

Religion.

Economy.

Power.

Magic.

In truth, all the pillars upon which the Empire rested moved at my every word.

Some might feel pride at this spectacle, others might be intoxicated by the allure of power.

But I felt nothing of the sort.

I merely reaffirmed to myself once again why Lilia sought to cast me into damnation.

Their overwhelming trust, their unwavering faith, only amplified my dread at the thought of it cultivating the authority within me.

I clenched my fist.

Only until the living conditions of the Scrap Yard’s workers improve.

This is just a temporary measure.

Once it’s stabilized, I must leave immediately.

“Iomene, Almene. Return to the capital. Inform the Pantheon and His Imperial Majesty of the current situation, and persuade the Senate to swiftly enact a new law.”

“Understood, Holy One.”

“That we can do.”

This time, it was the Magic Tower.

“Erfa, and esteemed mages of the Magic Tower. As I understand it, you are the Empire’s largest buyers of magic metals. Persuade the Magic Towers throughout the nation to cease purchasing magic metals from the Scrap Yard.”

The mages of the Magic Tower nodded.

“We cannot halt it entirely, but we can persuade any towers contemplating additional purchases to postpone them.”

“Releasing the Mars Magic Tower branch’s surplus magical metals at a low price would be beneficial, wouldn’t it?”

Next was the Pantheon.

“Focus on maintaining the city’s public order. Help ensure that no violence erupts between paladins and priests, or between the police and the workers. And I would be grateful if you could also tend to the sick.”

“We will.”

Finally, it was my turn.

“I cannot do anything alone. I need your help. I ask for your assistance.”

“We shall deliver it as you wish.”

With those reassuring words, the people left the conference room, dispersing in their own directions.

Before long, only I and the labor activists, including Karl Renarow, remained within the conference hall.

“What are *we* to do, without capital or power? Oh Holy One?”

I shrugged at his words.

“Each of you should do what you do best. I will heal. And you… continue the general strike.”

At the word “general strike,” the eyes of the labor activists flashed with fire.

“The narrative that the Great Holy One used capital and power to save the workers is simply insufficient. We need a narrative where the workers themselves take up arms and fight for their rights, and seize them! So, continue the strike.”

I smiled at the labor activists.

“Instill in the workers the fighting spirit to clash with the factory owners. As long as you don’t use guns or bombs, you can do whatever you want.”

Karl Renarow burst out laughing at that.

“Do not worry, Holy One. We will show them… what kind of men we are.”

It was a fearsome declaration from professional rabble-rousers who had spent their lives agitating and protesting.

*

Here, there are two people.

One is the leader of the Black Fortress.

Otto Delmarck.

“Operating the company legally, you say? Legally? *Legally?!* How dare you raise your voice to my Amael!!”

He stood before the enraged princess.

It was a rare sight to see Almeine, usually so gentle and kind, gnashing her teeth and venting her fury, and Otto, though he did not show it, was quite astonished inwardly.

Finally, Almeine turned to Otto.

“Since they so dearly love the law, let’s hit them with it. Otto.”

“As you command.”

“It’s a corporation that was entangled with Mammon’s followers, isn’t it? We clearly need to look into its backstory. Now that we’ve secured the justification, begin an intensive tax investigation. We need to find out if they were truly operating the company legally and properly.”

Otto glanced at the Inquisitors under his command at those words.

All of them nodded in silence.

A direct order from the Emperor’s own daughter, touched by the heavens.

How could they refuse?

“As you command.”

“And until the tax investigation is complete, keep the factory owners—especially that b*stard, Bias of the Marketplace—from escaping the Scrap Yard. There’s a clear flight risk.”

“Of course. We will execute your order as given.”

Silently, Otto offered a prayer for the factory owners’ misfortune.

And then there was another man present.

Sir Johann, Commander of the Knights of Grace, found himself facing High Priest Yodel, consumed by rage once more, verging on another Mozgus.

“Commander.”

“Speak, High Priest.”

“It seems these factory owners in this city have forgotten that the South, where the Grace Order is based, is one of the Empire’s largest consumers of steel.”

The South.

The Empire’s breadbasket, a land overflowing with fertile and vast plains, though not all Southern soil was suitable for cultivating crops.

A massive wasteland bordering the Empire’s center remained unsuitable for growing crops, a somewhat ambiguous piece of land where the Empire’s largest factory complex arose thirty years prior.

And the majority of the people at that enormous factory complex were adherents of Lilia.

“Using the problems with material deliveries caused by the strike as an excuse, delay their payments.”

“…Understood.”

“And these laborers in the Scrap Yard. Let’s move them all outside the city. House them and feed them out there. Use the Order’s funds to bring in grains, vegetables, fruits—everything—in bulk to the Scrap Yard. I don’t want to see these workers go hungry.”

“That will also be done.”

“Until the factory owners yield, or until Karma Company consumes this place entirely, let’s allow these workers to experience the Grace of the Saint, where even if they do nothing, food appears. Let’s see if their necks remain so stiff when their trading partners are all gone and there’s not a soul left to run the factories.”

High Priest Yodel wasn’t the only one.

All the priests and knights of the Grace Order were consumed with fury at the insult to the Chosen of Lilia, a gift granted to humanity by the Goddess herself.

Sir Johann, Commander of the Knights of Grace, silently offered a prayer for the factory owners’ demise.

‘They’ve messed with the wrong people.’

They’d chosen the wrong people to cross. So very wrong.