Chapter 156
Chapter 156
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 156
Chapter Title: Paul Carver (1)
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Coincidence.
Surprisingly, everything was just a coincidence.
As Arthur had said, Willes had holed up in the incinerator plant to hide his tracks.
Not only that, but he'd also begun gathering the remnants of the Kell Free Independence Army scattered throughout Randa, scheming to rebuild his forces. It was a situation that could easily threaten the city's autonomy.
Anti-government rebels assembling in a city granted self-rule, after all.
Yet making a fuss now by deploying police or the city defense forces wasn't an option.
It could draw unwanted attention and escalate things further.
So the city had turned to retired soldiers turned fixers—ones with proven skills and credibility—to handle the problem quietly.
Arthur and his crew, in other words.
But what was this?
In a twist worthy of some cruel joke, just as Arthur launched his attack on Willes, the man himself struck the city prison alongside his elite troops. All to rescue his imprisoned comrades.
Again, pure coincidence.
Still, it was too much bloodshed to brush off with a single word like that.
Even with beefed-up security due to the tense political climate, the attackers' firepower had exceeded all expectations. Three out of the prison's five sections lay in ruins, spilling petty criminals and hardened felons alike onto the streets.
The city scrambled police and parts of the defense forces to round them up, but plenty still slipped away. Randa found itself plunged into unexpected chaos.
"Whether inside or out..."
Forrest gathered up every newspaper published in Randa and plunked them down on the desk.
There were so many that it wasn't just a thud—it was a proper thunk.
Rustle. Rustle.
Forrest flipped one open and spoke again.
"Fresh off the press from today's The Talker. Let me read the front-page story. 'Late last night—or rather, early this morning—the city public prison came under terrorist attack. Officials have labeled it a planned operation and are pointing fingers at the Z-District Development Opposition Committee as prime suspects.'"
"...?"
Oliver cocked his head.
Development opposition committee? Suspects? None of it made sense.
"Sorry, Forrest, but wasn't it Willes from the Kell Free Independence Army who hit the prison?"
"Truth is, yes. Here's another one, from No Credit. 'An anonymous tip claims a black magician cabal was behind this morning's prison raid, aimed at freeing a member nabbed by police a few days back. A stark reminder of just how dangerous these black mages are, blah blah blah...' The writing's trash, but they nailed the photo."
Forrest slid the paper toward Oliver to show the picture.
It was indeed well-shot.
The crumbling outer prison wall, inmates pouring through the breach. The black-and-white contrasts amplified the sheer gravity of it all.
But the doubts lingered.
"You're right—the photo's spot-on. Even so, I can't shake the questions. Wasn't it Willes who attacked? You said so yourself yesterday over the communicator."
"I did."
"So why are the papers spinning a different tale?"
"Because the city asked them to. Admitting Kell Independence Army remnants—hiding out here in the city—raided the joint? That'd be humiliation on a whole other level."
"Isn't getting raided in the first place humiliating enough?"
"Don't hit me with the brutal truth like that. Leaves nothing for me to say."
Forrest replied with a light chuckle. He seemed oddly accustomed to this sort of thing.
He poured Oliver a glass of fine liquor and continued.
"...Frankly, you're spot-on. A raided prison is embarrassing from the jump. But the blood's already spilled. From the city's view, best to staunch the flow as much as possible now."
"I'm not quite following... Mind filling me in, if it's no trouble?"
Forrest paused, then nodded.
"...Yeah, you deserve to know. First off—you know Randa's a free city, right?"
Oliver nodded.
Randa belonged to the United Kingdom, sure—but it bowed to neither the royals nor the central council. A free city through and through.
Or maybe more than that. Some called it a nation within a nation.
"Freedom don't come cheap, though. Randa's very founding was a miracle of odds. The Great Catastrophe leveled the old city, so politicians, capitalists, and mages banded together to rebuild. Sounds simple, but every step was a nightmare."
Oliver nodded again. He got it on an intellectual level, even if it hadn't hit home yet.
"But founding wasn't the end. That was just the start. Randa keeps its free-city status by forking over massive taxes. And get this—the more they pay, the greedier folks get."
"Greedier how?"
"Yup. The royals want to fold it back into direct crown territory. Central council wants to strip the free status and make it a standard admin district. Everyone itching to cage that golden goose."
Oliver could see where this was headed.
He'd heard shades of it before.
"Randa wouldn't like that, though."
"Bingo. So every year, it's an invisible war—Randa versus the council and crown, all to safeguard that autonomy. Now imagine the headlines if Kell Independence Army pulls off a prison break here. What happens?"
"Uh... Gives 'em an opening, I guess."
"Right again. Here's your prize."
Glug glug.
"...That's why they flood the streets with those tabloids. Bury the truth under a pile of lies, buy time. Newspapers and radio? Same page as the city, so they play ball. Rare unity—commit it to memory."
Oliver nodded and scanned the others.
Liar chalked it up to a crime syndicate rescuing members. Gibberish blamed a trendy cult.
All noise, but a few mentioned the Kell Independence Army.
When he asked about that, Forrest explained:
"Can't make it all lies—too obvious. Sprinkle some truth to really muddy the waters."
"Ah, got it... But is it okay to drag in total outsiders like this?"
"No sweat. Those were planted on purpose. All rivals to the city or ones under watch. Perfect chance to tighten the leash. Laying groundwork, you see. Higher-ups pulling this amid the mess? Impressive, old dogs or not."
"Ah..."
Come to think of it, every group named was crawling with black mages or crooks.
Not random picks at all.
"This city's free as they come—but that freedom demands ironclad control."
"Think I get the gist. Just..."
"Just?"
"Didn't realize Randa had this many outfits lurking. The Z-District Development Opposition especially—what even is that? Tons of stories on 'em."
"Z-District nesters. Been protesting redevelopment since day one. Even the brokers barely know 'em. Fanatics or doomsday cult, they say. Quiet most times, but they stir trouble now and then."
Oliver nodded without much thought.
The city matched its massive scale and skyscrapers with endless variety in its people.
"One last question?"
"Fire away."
"Any special reason for the deep dive?"
Forrest grinned, like he'd been waiting.
"...The city's asking to commission you directly."
Forrest had warned that Randa's underworld and upper world alike would enter a state of emergency for a while.
Mass prison break? Obvious fallout.
Police would mobilize, with city defense forces on call if needed. Even the Brokers' Guild pledged full cooperation until the immediate fires were out.
Which meant fixers like them would be roped in, semi-mandatory.
Generous pay, sure—but no saying no. Oliver included.
"Still not clicking."
Oliver sat in the back of a car driven by Al, the restaurant waiter, and asked Forrest beside him. The man was nose-deep in a book.
"What part?"
"Randa's in crisis, fixers get called up—I get that. And me working? Makes sense."
"Good. So?"
"Then why head to city interior ministry instead of combing back alleys like the rest?"
"Because before the gig, a city official specifically requested you. Wants face time for the commission. No details on what, sadly. Said they'd fill you in once you're there. Apologies—city bureaucrats aren't the flexible sort. Best to play nice."
"No, that's not the issue. Just curious what it's about."
"We'll be there soon. Hang tight."
Forrest wasn't exaggerating.
Minutes later, they rolled into B-District, the urban core.
First time here—left quite the impression.
Oliver had toured the slums of X-District, worker zones, culture-packed J-District, even polluted areas. But administrative B-District? It exuded a whole different aura of authority.
Neighborhoods felt like clustered fortresses, every building towering and imposing, dwarfing passersby.
Yet the streets held an inexplicable air of dignity and order, filled with sharp suits and crisp uniforms.
Everyone looked relentlessly busy, zero slack.
"Never not suffocating. Take notes—this is where the city's elite flock."
"They all seem swamped."
"Yup. Tax thieves, sure—but they grind. Might be your future haunt."
Al chimed in from the driver's seat.
"Sorry to interrupt, boss. Pulling up to Interior Ministry now."
"Got it."
With that, Forrest fished something from his coat—an ID, by the looks.
They passed hulking buildings until the car veered toward one spot.
A somber gray rectangle, ringed by brick-and-steel walls like battlements.
A guard stepped out, signaling a halt two paces off. Al complied.
The guard peered at the driver and muttered low.
"Red skin?"
Dripping disdain. Then Forrest called from the back.
"Just the chauffeur, officer."
The guard whipped around. Seeing Forrest, the faint scorn from eyeing Al evaporated.
"My apologies, sir. State your business?"
Forrest flashed the ID.
"Here to see Paul Carver, Interior Ministry."
The guard radioed a quick exchange, then nodded.
"You're expected. Proceed. My mistake."