The Secret Society Utopia (2)
The radiant sun sank, marking the close of another day, and as always the inevitable veil of night descended. Though layers of polluted dust blanketed the world, the sun that had shared its life-giving light beyond those layers faded, and the hour of silence arrived when all things sank into sweet slumber. The residents, still lively from the reconstruction of the Demon Lord Castle, returned to their homes to end the day. Two figures, carrying neither torch nor lantern, melted into the darkness and slipped quietly down the stairs. It was one of the many entrances leading to the sewers beneath the Demon Lord Castle.
Even after descending halfway, they paused and scanned their surroundings. Vigilant to the last, they stood motionless for a long while, confirming repeatedly that nothing was amiss before finally entering the sewers. Yet they never noticed the watchers who had already encircled them from a distance.
“Demons and goblins. So that is why Her Majesty summoned only the orcs. A secret society with no regard for race—truly, no one can be trusted.”
“Their purpose remains unclear, but they are united by an absolute will. They make no distinction between races or even ranks. It is shameful, but even my own Black Knights cannot be trusted.”
“Please, do not speak of shame. The truly shameful ones are those who hold such clandestine meetings despite the Demon Lord’s boundless care and kindness.”
Beriberi’s mood grew darker. Though the organization’s purpose was still unknown, any secret gathering struck him as inherently suspicious. The fact that Artis—whom he had befriended at the recent banquet—was behind it only deepened his sense of betrayal. His orders to his troops carried a cold edge.
“The scouting party will enter with us. Once their location is confirmed, relay the information to the main force immediately so every member can be surrounded. The main force will split into two groups: one to encircle them from multiple sewer entrances, and another to seal all exits and block their retreat.”
At Beriberi’s command the orc army divided without hesitation. The infiltration team consisted of Neromeltia, Lusteria, Beatrice, Beriberi, Nella, and the orc scouts. Every key figure entered to secure information on the spot, while the scouts accompanied them to relay positions. Crawford had been excluded at Neromeltia’s order, and Oun and the ogres had been kept entirely ignorant of Utopia’s existence, lest their lack of subtlety compromise the operation.
“I will begin spatial perception and target tracking using the sonic sensors.”
“Follow Beatrice and enter as the vanguard.”
The underground passage was dark and labyrinthine. Though the sewer had been thoroughly cleaned as part of the Demon Lord Castle’s reconstruction, the damp, musty scent of mold rising from the wet earth could not be erased. The lanterns carried by the orc scouts were designed to cast light only in a narrow forward cone; when angled toward the ground, no light escaped sideways. They were perfect for a covert operation, and to Beriberi, Nella, and the scouts—who could see nothing in the dark—they were indispensable.
“What could they possibly be doing in such a dark, gloomy sewer? Does Master know?”
“…I have my suspicions, but I only hope it is not what I fear.”
“As expected of Master! Please tell me!”
“…Honestly, I… I did not want you to come here. I was afraid you would be shocked…”
Lusteria’s eyes sparkled as she questioned Neromeltia, but the Demon Lord answered only with her own heavy concern. The thought that her master was worried—even though she could annihilate any rebellion in an instant—made Lusteria deeply uneasy. Knowing that worry was for her sake only intensified both her anxiety and her curiosity, yet she held her tongue, knowing they would soon reach the site and see everything for themselves. Because Beatrice’s sonic sensors were tracking their quarry from behind, they maintained a safe distance, but Lusteria decided it would be wiser to avoid unnecessary conversation that might interfere with the sensors.
“We have arrived.”
“Well done, Beatrice.”
“…Someone appears to be giving a speech.”
The location was not what Neromeltia had expected. She had imagined a vast cavern once used by goblins as a dwelling. Instead, they stood in an expansive space directly beneath the Demon Lord Castle’s grand plaza. Yet according to her memory, this area had contained nothing but a tangle of narrow passages. Neromeltia lowered her gaze at the unfamiliar sensation beneath her feet. The sewer floor, once pale stone, was now tinged reddish-brown. When she looked down, the others followed suit. The strange texture was loose soil that had been tracked across the stone.
“It seems they dug an entirely new space.”
“…Artis… What could possibly be worth going to such lengths?”
Nella examined the soil and immediately understood: the goblins had excavated the sewer walls to create a hidden chamber. The displaced earth had been carried away, yet traces remained on the floor. Beriberi’s face darkened further. The scale of Artis’s scheme was larger than he had imagined, and the future it suggested looked grim.
“Comrades! This morning, the Sand Mole was arrested! He was released quickly, but Sir Crawford declared that he knows of ‘Utopia’ and will be watching him at all times!”
The entrance was so cleverly disguised that anyone passing by would never suspect it led anywhere. It resembled nothing more than an ordinary drainage channel, narrow and trickling with a thin stream of sewage. Yet it was tall enough for an adult orc to walk through upright. Had they not already been guided here by Beatrice and heard voices from within, they might have dismissed it as a simple waterway. Now there was no doubt: Utopia’s gathering lay just beyond.
The speaker’s resolute voice echoed softly through the tunnel. He referred to the arrested member, Edmund Wilson, as the Sand Mole. Even among themselves they used aliases rather than real names, guarding their secrecy with obsessive care. Beriberi sent the scouts back to the main force, and Neromeltia’s party advanced silently into the narrow passage.
“If Sir Crawford’s net tightens, it is only a matter of time before our meetings are discovered! Therefore, after today’s gathering, we must suspend all assemblies for the time being and lie low!”
“Krrgh! How frustrating!”
“This world that refuses to understand our dream is hateful!”
As they drew closer, the speaker’s voice grew clearer, and recognition came without effort. The goblin standing before the crowd, delivering the speech, was none other than Artis. Quick-witted as ever, he was already urging the members to halt future gatherings and go into hiding. Had today not happened, they might never have found another chance to raid Utopia’s meeting. Watching the scene, the party looked at Neromeltia with renewed respect for her precise planning and swift judgment. Neromeltia herself found the admiration faintly uncomfortable.
Beyond the cramped entrance, the hidden chamber opened before them. It was not as vast as the old goblin dwelling beneath the plaza, yet still a wide cavern. Several large rocks, presumably unearthed during the excavation, had been stacked to form a crude podium. Upon it stood a figure addressing the crowd with commanding eloquence. Every word sent ripples of emotion through the gathered members—some wept, others clenched their fists in fervor. A prophet ruling the underground world beneath the ruins. The leader of the secret society Utopia. Goblin King, Artis T. Painter, stood upon the dais.