Hunting the Head Mod (4)
The Cathedral had initiated a violent crackdown against the protests. Inquisitors flooded the streets, dragging civilians away entirely at random. The real dilemma lay in the fact that this was a rogue operation staged purely on the Cathedral's own authority, without an ounce of imperial sanction.
Yet the imperial palace could do nothing but watch helplessly.
Following Crown Prince Frederick's exile, a new emperor had been instated. The problem was that after waves of plagues and the devastation of the Great War, the imperial line possessed almost no living heirs. By the time they combed through distant branches to dredge up a blood relation, the crown landed on the head of a seven-year-old child.
“So the reforms failed miserably, didn't they?”
Nothing had actually changed. All that happened was that a few heads sitting at the very summit of authority had rolled. As a direct consequence, every ounce of imperial power simply shifted into the hands of the Pope. The current imperial throne possessed neither the backbone nor the means to restrain them.
Full-Health Elf: Is it really fine to just leave them alone like this, daeyo?
Right on cue, the assistant moderators watching the unfolding disaster began chiming in. The war was far from over. Reckless butchery needed to be checked, especially when it took the grotesque form of an inquisitorial witch hunt.
Ju-ttak*: Hmm...
Ju-ttak*: It is getting on my nerves a bit, ngl.
Vampire Till I Die: Want me to go pay them a visit?
Yongyong:[Emoticon of a gasping, terrified dragon]
Yongyong:[Emoticon of a shivering dragon]
Yongyong: Cease those preposterous thoughts at once!
Yongyong: Head Mod, there is no need for thee to expend thine own sacred power. I shall descend and handle this matter personally.
The solution was simple enough on paper. I could just dispatch Felici or Soon-to-Die Vampire to wipe the floor with them. But this time around, I couldn't bring myself to pull that trigger.
Ju-ttak*: Nah, don't do it.
Full-Health Elf: Why not, daeyo?
“Because we don't have a justifiable pretext, do we?”
If I sent sub-moderators to stage a physical intervention and purge the Cathedral, it would instantly be perceived as unwarranted interference in another realm's domestic affairs. Back during Frederick's reign, the crown prince had personally mobilized assassins to hunt me down, giving me undeniable self-defense justification. But this situation was murky.
“All they've done so far is troll.”
They had swarmed the gallery as an anonymous mob to post disruptive agitation. Wasn't that just a Tuesday in an online community? Barging into their territory and exterminating them just because their online behavior was irritating would create far too many political complications. People might cheer right now, but who knew how history would view that precedent down the line?
“Well, then all we have to do is manufacture a pretext.”
Justification is entirely in the eye of the beholder. If you need inspiration, just study how the island nations of Earth handled diplomacy back in the day. At the end of the day, the citizens of Adrian were still Gallums. A Gallum's death translated directly into a loss for the Gallery. Not to mention, we were still in the middle of a continental war.
“A way to help them win without actually putting lethal weapons into their hands...”
In that case, you just shield them. And by shield, I mean bash their skulls in with an actual shield.
Boasts exceptional durability and surprising offensive blunt utility.
This item will demonstrate precisely why the word 'riot' was attached to its name.
Shield defense. Literally.
“You motherfuckers! Do you even call yourselves human?!”
“Disgusting pieces of shit!”
Flames soared into the night sky alongside a deafening barrage of curses echoing down the thoroughfares. The spark had been an arrow. A shaft fired without warning from the Cathedral spires had struck a protestor dead on the spot. Almost immediately, Inquisitors burst out from the grand sanctuary doors, indiscriminately hacking down anyone within reach.
Yet despite their overwhelming numbers, the civilian crowd was being pushed back entirely defenseless.
The Inquisitors were equipped head-to-toe with marketplace gear. Dense, industrially forged steel plate armor gleamed beneath their white robes, paired with razor-sharp, precision-cast axes.
“All heretics deserve only death!”
The metallurgical prowess of a medieval empire could never match modern marketplace manufacturing. When pitted against farmers armed with nothing more than wooden pitchforks and rusted scrap blades, the outcome was an absolute slaughter.
• Current situation in Adrian...jpg
• Inquisitor dragging people away...jpg
• Fuck fuck, these bastards have lost their goddamn minds. They just shattered my leg.
The desperate citizens uploaded live updates to the gallery in real time, but the Inquisitors paid no heed. It was as if they felt no need to shy away from prying eyes; if anything, they seemed to be relishing every second of the butchery. Cloaked entirely in dense white vestments, they unleashed unchecked violence upon the unarmed population.
“Aaargh!”
“Mama!”
Amid the spiraling bedlam of the streets, an ordinary woman trying to flee was caught in the carnage. In her panicked scramble with her young daughter bundled in her arms, her ankle twisted violently, sending her crashing onto the cobbles. To make matters worse, an Inquisitor noticed the tumble and immediately adjusted his stride, stalking toward her with measured, heavy steps.
“Ah... n-no...”
As the white-robed executioner drew nearer, the woman's face drained of all color. His eyes bulged with intoxicated euphoria; splatters of fresh crimson soaked his pristine fabric. He looked less like an agent of divine judgment and more like a depraved demon reveling in bloodsport.
“I wasn't taking part in the protest!” she shrieked desperately, clutching her child as she looked up at the executioner looming over her with an unsheathed blade. “P-Please! My daughter and I were just walking by...!”
“Silence.” A hollow grin parted the Inquisitor's lips, his bloodshot eyes narrowing. “Heretics know only lies.”
“T-Then just take me! Please, spare my daughter...!”
“Save your pleas for God.”
“A-Ah...”
Gazing into those madness-drenched pupils, the woman realized the horrifying truth. From the very beginning, he had closed in with the singular intent to kill them both. Whether the mother and child had marched with the crowd was utterly irrelevant. Under the pious banner of eradicating heresy, he raised his heavy marketplace axe high into the air and brought it hurtling down toward her neck.
CLANG!
A dull, bone-jarring impact echoed down the alley.
“...What?”
It didn't feel like cleaving through warm flesh and bone. Instead, a violent tremor traveled straight up the Inquisitor's arms, rattling his teeth and shooting through his entire frame like he had struck an immovable granite cliff. Utterly bewildered, he cast his gaze downward, only to find a colossal shape crouching directly over the trembling mother and daughter.
“A... a rock?”
No, it wasn't stone. The massive silhouette slowly unfolded its limbs, rolling broad shoulders as it stood upright. In a heartbeat, the figure towered a full head and shoulders above the Inquisitor. The zealot's gaze was dragged skyward, tracing the impossibly wide frame blocking out the midday sun.
“Children born of error.”
An overwhelming, suffocating pressure crashed down onto the street. Hidden behind a curved raven mask, the behemoth clad in a pitch-black trench coat glared down at the executioner.
“Do you appreciate a satisfying impact?”
“A... a Gallery Doctor?”
Before the stammering zealot could process the absurdity of the sight, the enforcer in black delivered his verdict.
“Always be grateful.”
Those words were the last thing the Inquisitor heard before a giant, transparent slab boldly stamped with the word POLICE expanded to fill his entire field of vision.
CRUNCH!
The Gallery Doctors had officially entered the field, armed with riot shields.
Only marketplace goods could counteract marketplace goods. And so, the care package had been prepared: modern riot shields engineered specifically for the occasion. Heavy steel shields might offer decent protection, but ordinary civilians lacked the sheer physical conditioning to lift and wield them effectively. Riot shields, however, were built differently.
Unimpeded visibility. Astonishingly lightweight poly-carbonate composition. And an unyielding defensive barrier that absorbed kinetic force like a sponge.
Just as predicted, the Cathedral immediately pulled the domestic sovereignty card. There was only one fatal flaw in their accusation.
Justification was whatever you wanted it to be. This wasn't an unauthorized deployment of armed forces meddling in imperial sovereignty. This was simply a selfless humanitarian expedition of unarmed 'physicians' stepping onto the front lines to defend innocent human lives.
The Gallery Doctors operated like predatory stadium kiss-cams. The moment an Inquisitor stepped into their field of view, they snatched him up and introduced his face to an intimate kiss with a riot shield. After pounding three-dimensional zealots into two-dimensional pancakes, the doctors struck hulking bodybuilder poses, sending the remaining zealots scrambling in frantic panic.
When an unprovoked witch hunt lacked any moral legitimacy, it was bound to trigger internal collapse sooner or later.
Fissures were inevitably spreading throughout the Cathedral's own ranks. Browsing through the mounting posts of regret left by disillusioned holy knights, an anomaly suddenly caught my attention.
“Come to think of it, where were the Cathedral Knights during the crackdown?”
The primary armed forces of the holy faith were divided into two main branches: the Cathedral Knights and the Inquisitors. Yet in every recording of the street massacres, only Inquisitors appeared on camera. I rewound the uploaded clips to examine them more closely, and the truth became undeniable.
Whenever a Cathedral Knight appeared in the background, they merely hesitated or looked around in stunned confusion. None of them drew their steel against the populace. The ones swinging axes with bloodthirsty frenzy were exclusively Inquisitors.
“Something isn't adding up.”
There was a critical piece missing from this puzzle. The moment that suspicion crossed my mind, I started compiling the media uploads and tracing the network IP addresses one by one. No matter how thoroughly someone disguised their face or hid in the shadows, under this sky, every living soul connected to the network was a Gallum.
[Posts authored from this IP address.]
“Well, well. Look what we have here.”
Let a snake drag its tail long enough, and it will eventually step into a snare. I had finally unearthed the dark secret the Cathedral was so desperately trying to conceal.