Chapter 63
Chapter 63
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 63
Chapter Title: Returning in Black Attire (1)
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Lumina Holdings Security Division, VIP Special Protection Team 2.
Team Leader Alex Sean.
The man who had guarded the family of a major corporation's chairman for the past twenty years couldn't shake his skeptical gaze as he asked again.
"Are you really saying that this place—no, this 'church'—has that level of firepower at its disposal?"
It was only natural for Alex to voice his doubts.
After all, the story he'd just heard was that absurd.
How could a mere religious group on the outskirts, not even in the city proper, possess such formidable forces?
'No matter that it's the lady's orders, it's still hard to believe.'
Of course, that didn't mean powerhouses never emerged from the outskirts.
Every now and then, a freakish talent would pop up, rewriting the city's legends.
But put differently, that was the limit.
Back-alley mercenaries lived on the edge of a knife. They patched themselves with unreliable secondhand cyberware, never properly maintained, and fought for years like that.
The fates awaiting such mercenaries were only two: succumb to Cybernetic Rage and go mad, or burn out gloriously in some high-risk job before it came to that.
Yes, that was it. Even the famed elites scrambled to earn enough for inhibitors before madness claimed them.
They weren't part of any group sharing mission payouts. The more exceptional the talent, the truer this held. Already pushed to the brink by overmodification, they had no lifespan left to waste—they just burned bright individually, never banding into any meaningful force. Nor was there potential for it.
Individuals ripe to be exploited as disposable pawns by corporations.
"......."
Yet for outskirts mercenaries to form a faction like that—one that could even briefly stun a corporate security team leader?
It was hard to buy. Beyond absurd, it felt like empty bravado.
So the man unwittingly shot back in a sharper tone.
"Apologies, but precise information sharing must come first for smooth protection coordination. No need to hide or deceive us. We know you're not the church's enemy."
The expressionless woman standing across from him merely replied softly.
"Then, would you like to meet them yourself?"
==========
A quiet dawn.
Before morning mass, I sat in the church office reviewing the prayer script.
The silent church in the predawn hush felt naturally reverent somehow.
Then, an alarm shattered the stillness from somewhere.
Ding-!
It came from the terminal in my pocket.
I pulled it out and checked: a deposit notification into the church's account.
I thought absently,
'Oh, right. It's that day.'
The monthly wine delivery payment date.
I habitually scanned the amount, then bolted up from my seat without realizing.
".....!"
An unfamiliar scale of numbers, one I'd never seen before. I rubbed my eyes instinctively, paced the office suspecting an error, then spotted a familiar figure entering the church grounds through the window and hurried down the stairs.
Just then, Rachel pushed open the nave doors—and we bumped right into each other.
Over the past week, she'd come to the church earlier than anyone, spending the whole day with me.
"Oh, Eve. Good morning. But... is something wrong?"
Hearing her now-familiar greeting, I steadied my flustered posture.
"Good morning, Rachel. Yes, something weird happened. The wine payment from the chairman..."
I stammered a bit as I showed her the terminal screen with the deposit.
Rachel tilted her head.
"Did he send less than promised? If so, I'll give him a real scolding."
"No! Not that! It's... too much..."
"Oh..."
She pondered briefly, then nodded as if it clicked.
"Ah, come to think of it..."
"Do you know something?"
"Yes. Last night in our call, he mentioned tithes briefly. Radiance Church followers donate a portion of their income voluntarily each week, right?"
But even as she spoke, Rachel tilted her head in puzzlement.
"Considering his income, though, this seems too small...? Ah!"
Suddenly inspired, she clapped lightly.
"This isn't from income—it's probably part of slush funds from a proxy account. Money leaving the chairman's name to the outskirts could draw eyes from the city financial investigators."
Of course, in Omega Detroit, the city government of all things had no means to meddle in a megacorp chairman's finances, but at this sensitive time, that scrutiny itself was annoying enough to warrant cautious, roundabout methods, she added.
She grinned playfully.
"Think of it less as a grand tithe and more as pocket money from Daddy, my dear daughter."
"I'm not your daughter."
She still hadn't given up on that bit. I dodged her fond gaze with a quick bow.
"Thank you. But we didn't expect repayment this generous..."
The fresh deposit was enough for five—no, easily ten years of the church's budget. No wonder I'd jumped in shock.
But hearing this, Rachel looked baffled instead.
"Huh? Repayment? You're worked up over pocket money? Oh dear... My sweet, kind-hearted, beautiful daughter is just too naive about the world."
"Not your daughter..."
Ignoring my protest smoothly, she smiled faintly.
"You'd better brace yourself from now on. Once he takes a liking to someone, he has zero restraint with money. You'd be shocked at what he showered me with during courtship. It was overwhelming, really."
She let out a laugh that seemed secretly pleased.
Her expression turned wistful with nostalgia.
"Once, when my favorite band canceled a show and I was moping, the next day he flew them all in on a private jet. Honestly, that side of him hasn't changed a bit."
"Wow... The chairman's love really is something else..."
"Not something else—reckless. Listen, sometimes he went as far as..."
'This is the fourth time hearing this one...'
Truth be told, it was a romance tale I'd heard ad nauseam at her side this past week.
But she recounted it so happily I couldn't interrupt, just chimed in routinely.
As her stories flowed on, dawn slipped into proper morning.
The footsteps of arriving parishioners began to echo faintly.
I sighed inwardly in relief and cautiously addressed the still-chatting woman.
"Um... Rachel, mass is about to start..."
Right then.
Urgent footsteps broke the morning quiet.
A priest burst through the church doors and knelt before us.
Panting, he caught his breath, then looked up urgently.
"Saintess! There's news you must hear...!"
==========
To the priest who'd rushed into the church, I blurted,
"What? Terrorism on 1st Street?"
His face was etched with bewilderment.
"Yes. Reports say over ten dead. The whole outskirts is buzzing..."
I asked gravely,
"Any leads on the perpetrators?"
"W-Well... Rumor has it... the culprits are our Radiance Church..."
I protested in panic,
"What?! That's impossible!"
A dark premonition hit, and I pressed,
"Someone impersonating us, right?"
The priest shook his head.
"No reports of fake churches or cults cropping up nearby."
That made sense. The church had crushed even the notorious mafia and gangs, seizing the area in a flash through sheer force.
No one with a brain would dare impersonate us.
If someone was provoking us deliberately, they'd be at least a cut above mafia level.
"But who...?"
The priest's answer cleared it up.
"Those claiming the 1st Street terror was Radiance Church's doing are the private security firm 'Asecure Corporation.'"
At the unexpected name, I muttered blankly,
"A private security firm...?"
Corporate cops, in other words.
In this city where the public ODPD slacked off from chronic underfunding, demand for paid safety was massive.
Hence, private security firms offering guard and protection services.
Dubbed corporate police, they partially supplanted ODPD in maintaining order—but only for their paying clients, not citizens at large.
Demand spiked in rough areas, especially the outskirts beyond public reach.
Most slums couldn't afford it, but 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Streets—home to high-earners commuting from the city despite killer housing costs—subscribed heavily, boasting superior security over other outskirts.
"So that security firm is picking a fight with us?"
"Yes. The targeted shop was in our marked 1st Street zone, and the slain owner was a recent convert."
"....."
I squeezed my eyes shut. My heart sank cold.
After a beat, I asked heavily,
"...Why? What's the point of killing innocents for this?"
The priest answered simply.
"One principle drives all corporations: money."
He hit the nail on the head. Private security firms touted protection as their mission, but at core, they were businesses.
And businesses existed for one reason: profit.
No customers to boost revenue? Create them.
'No way...'
Puzzle pieces clicked.
Outskirts affluent areas had shelled out big for private security against rampant crime.
Then Radiance Church arrived: gangs and thugs vanished, peace reigned. We protected shops for token tithes, never threatening or attacking.
Outskirts security improved naturally; firms lost clients en masse.
Huge losses.
So they manufactured "security demand" via terror on the richest 1st Street, fingering new rival Radiance Church to smear and stoke fear.
Innocent casualties? Collateral for profit.
I clenched my eyes shut. Something bitter boiled in my chest.
"....."
A familiar name, come to think.
Asecure Corporation.
'Right, we have an old score there.'
Shortly after arriving in this city.
I got caught in a street shootout between a gang and Asecure troops—my first brush with real death.
Whatever shady op they were running, they tried wiping witnesses too. Even innocent bystanders...
I was one.
That firm, casually repeating such atrocities: Asecure Corporation.
The memory lingered vividly.
["Leave no witnesses."]
The black gun barrel closing in, the flat voice echoing.
["Tough luck. Regrettable."]
The moment I first grasped this city's brutality, how powerless individuals get crushed. If Esty hadn't shown up then, I wouldn't be here.
"......."
No pity for the soldier who emotionlessly tried to kill me.
He'd just grown numb carrying out company orders repeatedly, becoming a machine blind to right and wrong. No anger even for such a machine.
But those still issuing the horrific orders without remorse...
Still unchanged, repeating the same...
That alone pissed me off.
My fist clenched unwittingly.
'Back then, I could do nothing. I was too weak.'
But now, I was different.
No—we were different.
"...."
Stepping out the church doors, countless figures waited, pre-summoned from diocesan outposts.
The "saved ones."
Assembled post-incident: exactly 276.
All former top-tier mercenaries, names once legendary.
"......"
"........"
Their faces meeting mine were familiar—I'd personally reclaimed their lives from the brink.
I gazed at them; they at me.
In the silence, I spoke calmly.
"Sorry, but I have a favor to ask."
I said "favor," not "order." We weren't that kind of relationship. Orders compel. They prod those who don't grasp their duty. Thus, they can be harsher than anything.
But everyone here had joined the church by choice.
All understood their roles and missions fully.
Just as they'd been saved by pure goodwill, no strings.
Not ignoring the innocents dying, living humanely.
So I knew they'd stand with me, no order needed.
"It might be dangerous, but... may I ask?"
As I finished, one stepped forward from the crowd.
A familiar face: once a "supernova" elite merc, drug lord's slave, now vowed to live shamelessly.
Speaking for all, he replied without hesitation.
"Please don't hesitate to use us. Your will is our life now, Saintess."
No sooner said than the entire throng dropped to one knee in unison.
Not a hint of doubt.
"....Thank you, always. Everyone."
==========
On the way back from the church, Rachel murmured worriedly.
"Really... you don't need to contact him?"
She asked the girl beside her repeatedly, but got only "It's fine."
Still, the ominous incident she'd overheard wouldn't let her anxiety fade.
Her fretful tone drew a reassurance from escort team leader Alex.
"Ma'am, no need to worry at all. As explained, it'd be unnecessary help for them."
"Still... it's too dangerous."
"Let's just observe half a day first."
Comforting his employer, Alex thought inwardly.
Corporations ruled this city for clear reasons.
Capital, influence, force—all unified under one will via the "collective."
No individual could surpass that.
In this era where only "capital" bound people—not ideals or ideologies—firms wielding consolidated power as world dominators was inevitable.
That assembled force, though...
'Not a corporation in name only, but in fact...'
Alex swallowed dryly.