The Light's Unequal Burden
Mortus sometimes haunted my dreams. Dreams of the first wanted criminal I'd ever killed.
"……."
The bounty hunter just stared down at me silently, doing nothing at all. Blood dripping steadily from the skull I'd bashed in.
It terrified me so much I bowed my head and whispered desperately.
"I was wrong… forgive me…."
Please, just stop looking at me.
Tak!
I sensed something approaching and bolted upright. Instinctively, I groped around the floor for my weapon.
Nothing came to hand, and cold sweat started beading on my skin.
"Hik!"
A startled gasp cut through the darkness, revealing a pair of glowing orange eyes. Eyes mixed with bewilderment and pity.
"……."
"Y-You were sweating and mumbling something…."
I started to reply, then stopped myself.
"It's nothing."
Dang—!!! Dang—!!!
The morning bell announcing the start of the day echoed across every district of Mortus.
Hmm, was it my imagination? It felt earlier than usual. Sure enough, right after the bell faded, the announcement broadcast crackled to life.
Announcement. All residents of Mortus, please gather immediately in the central district.
What the fuck?
In my two years here, I'd heard announcements plenty of times, but never like this. A bit suspicious, but I geared up just in case and headed to the central district.
Kiara fumbled into the clothes she'd bought yesterday on the way back.
Her bikini had been nice, though.
The central district of Mortus was swarming with people. Considering how many were still out in the Erosion Zone, it was a decent survivor count for an apocalypse.
On the towering platform in the central district stood people in pristine white robes—probably the church.
After a bit, a guy who looked like the Mortus Management Council rep and a high-ranking church priest stepped to the center of the platform.
"Ahem, good morning."
Some boring speech incoming?
"The Church of Light, devoted to the great Arnis, has decided to put down roots here in Mortus."
What? I doubted my own ears. The Church of Light settling in Mortus?
The church normally toured cities on a one-year cycle, trading Magic Stones for a year's worth of food. Settling here?
What about the other cities?
Obviously, these weren't all their people, but likely the core members. A force capable of 'divine descent' that could wipe out nearby monsters.
"And, regrettably, taxes will be increasing slightly."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd at the mention of taxes.
"Fuck!"
"Goddamn council bastards."
"So that's their real goal."
Not great news, honestly. I'd been thinking of picking up work at a restaurant or smithy to celebrate escaping slavery… but higher taxes?
"The exact figure will be around a 10% increase…."
Was their mom fucking dead? As soon as the number dropped, curses exploded around me.
"Fuckers!"
"Shitty council pricks!"
"No mom, huh?!"
A 10% tax hike was insane. Even cutting three meals to one, it'd be hard to save Magic Stones.
But this was the apocalypse. Mortus protected us from erosion and monsters. No monasteries, no monks—you couldn't just leave if you hated it.
Think of it as life insurance….
Then the church's high priest, who'd been listening quietly, stepped forward and continued.
"But the Church of Light is a faith for humanity. For humans, the tax increase will only be 8%."
What? Something off about that wording. This world had more than just humans—about 10% other races, by proportion.
"In the merciful name of Arnis, we've decided to lighten the human burden. The shortfall will have to come from the other races, those blessed by the gods with sturdy bodies, including the Kardin. Starting today, taxes for non-humans will rise fivefold. If it's too much to bear, there's only one way: step beyond the barrier and bring back more Magic Stones."
What the actual fuck? I barely held back a shout.
The other six races, including Kardin.
And me, with my black hair, counted as Kardin. This tax hike meant one thing: in a world with limited money sources, head to the wide-open Erosion Zone.
"Um, excuse me…."
Kiara, sensing something wrong, tugged cautiously at my clothes.
"……."
[Among the seven races, the most inferior being is 'human.' But the one with the most paths open is also human.]
The line from yesterday's library book floated up. Humans, denied blessings from the seven gods, were the freest race in exchange. Conversely, all other races were blessed.
Elves, dwarves, beastkin, demons, barbarians. And finally, Kardin—once classified as human.
Fuck….
My head spun wildly. Non-humans were now trapped starving inside safe walls.
Goddamn religious fuckers. Senile old prick. Shitty church bastards!
Back to slavery?
Slaves didn't pay taxes. They covered them with labor.
…….
No, think calmly. This tax bullshit would turn tons of people into slaves. Places like the south sewer and arena weren't infinite.
That left….
The north.
No, this declaration was basically shoving non-humans into the Erosion Zone. They could force slaves there too.
Why the hell?
The Erosion Zone was once part of old Mortus. Called the land of opportunity because alchemy-era relics slept there. Not just the current shabby magic tower—there was one from the glorious past too.
The council had always wanted that tower.
But it sat at the Erosion Zone's edge, practically unreachable. Were they slowly pushing people in? Starting with the minority non-humans?
Short on supplies? Or Magic Stones? Questions flooded my mind.
One thing was clear: the teeming crowd here would thin out noticeably.
Mortus's population was mostly 12th Grade. Most barely scraped by on taxes. Already an apocalypse—scarce food, few shops. But people avoided the Erosion Zone.
Haha….
A hollow laugh escaped me. No rebellion possible. The platform held the untouchable might of the church.
Mortus's A District. Inside a lavishly decorated building, two men sipped tea.
One was a high-ranking church priest in pure white priestly robes adorned with golden jewelry. The other was a man called Alslin from the Mortus Management Council.
"…I figured Elbus would come."
The priest smirked at the man.
"The lord's busy."
"Fair enough. So, what do you need from our church?"
At the priest's question, the man handed over a box brimming with Magic Stones, as if he'd been waiting.
"We're hitting limits. Mortus's residents keep growing, but fewer venture into the Erosion Zone."
"Kids get born even in war. And more refugees crawl in than die off."
"Mortus is finite space. And for the next cataclysm, our current barrier falls short."
"So, the bottom line?"
"The magic tower says we need at least 20 million Alchemical Coins or 500 explorers of 5th Grade or higher."
"Kuk, absurd numbers."
"The latter's iffy, but the former's feasible."
The man unrolled a map and pointed.
"The old central bank of Mortus, where they made Alchemical Coins."
"The depths, huh."
The labyrinth's deepest layer, the depths—where the dungeon break pushed erosion past a certain point.
"So, short on Magic Stones or manpower?"
"Both."
With that, Mortus's gates would no longer close.