#19. But God Will Save (15)
Pakistani Pashtun Gohar Rawal accepted my proposal. It was a perfectly predictable outcome. From the recipient's perspective, there was nothing to lose in the deal.
The final decision would come from the Father of Beauty, but I was all but certain it would be positive. As one of the top factory owners in Dara Adam Khel and an elder of his tribe, he would have at least heard rumors of my organization. By sending one living person and three special cargoes, I had demonstrated our capabilities while saddling the tribe with a debt. In tribal society, debts must be repaid—no exceptions. Tradition alone would force him to seriously consider my offer.
'Pakistan's ISI is a bit concerning... but even those slippery bastards would struggle to penetrate the closed-off tribal communities. Unless the tribes cooperated willingly.'
If I had to compare difficulties, screwing over the CIA would actually be easier. Pakistan's ISI had done it to the CIA multiple times before. They were world-class on their home turf.
But the tribal leaders of Dara Adam Khel and the ISI didn't share aligned interests. And even the ISI and the government often clashed. In the worst case, my subordinates would have time to extract and erase traces.
Setting that aside, from a business perspective, the Father of Beauty was in a tricky spot. His frontline technician Gohar Rawal had spoken of holy war to punish the destroyers of the mosque, but that was just motivational rhetoric. The Pashtun technicians' overseas expansion was a desperate move to salvage the local arms industry amid shrinking tribal autonomy.
That choice had backfired, costing the technicians dearly. With global tensions rising, ignoring the potential revival of their traditional business was getting harder. To soothe tribal sentiments, the Father of Beauty needed more achievements—proof that his decision had been sound.
That's where my proposal came in. Sharing the business across all five major factories in Dara Adam Khel would drastically reduce his political burden. If things went south, it wouldn't be solely his fault. What a relief that would be for someone facing tough calls.
'So I won't even need to step in personally to avoid haggling.'
He'd aim for compensation that satisfied all five factories, but he wouldn't price it so high that the whole deal collapsed. That was my basis for leaving negotiations to the cargo-hauling subordinates.
And I had a good way to drive the price down: insurance. Once serious talks began, they'd have confirmed our transport capabilities. Offering escape routes for their technicians in emergencies would surely win favorable reactions. Lower business risk meant lower risk premiums.
There was an added calculation. To be ready to haul cargo anytime, I'd need to know where it was. Thus, insured technicians would have to inform me of their 'shipment points'—which would match Black Sea Party strongholds. Declaring shipment points meant building a network, one I could exploit in various ways.
For instance, passing on military-police operation intel from communist nobles and discipline inspectors to earn Black Sea Party trust and validate the network. Or occasionally leaking strongholds to feed the inspectors' careers.
Sharing intel didn't guarantee failure—my Private Hunter Corps could swoop in to claim the glory. To the technicians and Black Sea Party, I'd explain: my network only tracked official movements, not rogue private hunters.
Extracting captured technicians would be the finishing stroke. True business means creating your own demand—constantly bleeding clients while earning their goodwill and trust. Just like that American IT giant.
"Mmmph! Mmmph!"
The test subjects, bound hand and foot with restraints and gagged, knelt staring at me with wide eyes. Their gazes brimmed with pure terror. The muffled pleas through the gags were surely begs for release, mercy, or promises to talk if spared torture.
Kyung-tae, watching with hands clasped a short distance away, spoke up. "What're you thinking about so deeply, hyungnim?"
"Just... this and that."
I glanced at the staff in my hand. I'd meant to review the prior animal tests before human trials, but my thoughts had drifted to business viability.
"Not much of a show, but you wanna watch anyway?"
"I'm just curious about that sword's effects. Even if nothing shows visually, maybe we'll sense something—like changes in the mana field."
"...Do whatever."
Click.
Twisting the ebony staff revealed the ivory blade. The three subjects' muffled outcries intensified—though it amounted to futile thrashing and drooling against the gags.
I plunged the Ritual Sword's tip into the first subject's shoulder, gripped their crown with my free hand, and began interfering with their soul's circuit.
Vrrrrmmm—!
The stabbed subject convulsed violently. The wound alone was agony, but forcibly shaping a mana circuit—impossible under normal conditions—pushed it to extremes. Eyes rolled back, foam bubbled from their mouth. Swelling muscles and veins, spiking temperature and blood pressure, nerves flashing in vivid colors—it was suffering visualized.
I kept them alive with Life Incantations when death loomed, defibrillating and reviving when hearts stopped. After ten-odd minutes of circuit forging, I clicked my tongue.
"Already dead."
Cause: circuit rupture. Biological death was fixable, but soul-circuit collapse scattered the spirit—irrecoverable.
Releasing the crown and withdrawing the sword, the corpse toppled with a thud. Yellowed teeth scattered from the impact—gums pulverized from gnawing the gag amid tissue breakdown.
Blood droplets pattered from the crimson blade.
One takeaway from the experiments: interspecies differences couldn't be ignored. Human circuits were best tested on humans.
Half an hour later, having killed the remaining two, I sheathed the sword amid lukewarm dissatisfaction.
'Kinda works, kinda doesn't.'
Meriyam's group still had six unbaptized. They'd decide on final baptism by tonight. I'd left it to them: the power I offered could kill, so choose freely. Rejection wouldn't change their status as mine.
Their immediate response? All six unanimously demanded baptism without hesitation. I urged them to think until my return, but their desperate expressions made flip-flops unlikely.
This dodged responsibility, but if any died—though not blood-related, siblings in her eyes—how would Meriyam react? A useful tool rusting before full use left me uneasy.
Still, no delaying the baptism. Postponement offered no guarantees. Their circuits, inefficient in structure, would grow stronger and tougher over time regardless.
My own strengthening abilities might offset that, but doubtful. Circuits I designed from scratch would be easier due to rational structure. Tampering with wild ones was messy, laborious.
These unfortunates had subpar structures even among average Natural Awakenings. Baptism success rate: barely fifty percent.
"Hyungnim. Want me to grab a few more kidnappings?"
Meeting my gaze, Kyung-tae added quietly, "Test subjects, I mean."
"No."
Risking Meriyam rusting further to polish subordinates would be shortsighted. Even diligent maintenance wears a blade down eventually—never as sharp as new.
Misusing a prized blade just because it served well? Look at America's special forces command. Elites crippled by guilt and PTSD, or degenerating into thrill-kill psychos beyond control.
Learn from others' stones. undisciplined crime syndicates never last.
"You seem unsatisfied. If kidnapping's unappealing, we could fake-lure some failed hunter recruits—"
I shook my head, cutting Kyung-tae off. "I said no. Clean these up."
"Got it."
At my order, Kyung-tae directed his underlings to remove the corpses.
Afterward, I moved to the university city, overseeing hunter selection until sunset—a mere formality for alibi, as chaff was already culled. My real work: unobtrusive mage self-training. Had to show Gao Xusen sincerity.
Post-sunset, I headed to the uninhabited island at the river-sea confluence—the same one where I'd first opened Meriyam's circuit. The baptism candidates and Meriyam awaited.
Descending from the chopper, saluting subordinates nodded; Muslims and Muslimas prostrated in respect. Surrounding waters were cleared as always.
Gao Xusen and Hu Sugwang, knowing my trade, saw sea control as routine Nameless Company smuggling. They suspected but couldn't voice it.
"Rise."
Meriyam and the unlucky six straightened.
"Any change of heart?"
Silence from the six.
"Final confirmation: it'll hurt beyond words, and some may not survive. This isn't even mandatory for my subordinates. Yet you still seek baptism from me?"
After a pause, one spoke. "We do."
Steadying their breath, the trembling voice continued. "We've steeled for the pain. And death. Alive or dead, we'll be reborn. We entrust our lives to the Holy One."
It showed deep thought. Like zealots offering themselves as sacrifices? Tense yet eerily calm, unlike facing death.
'Impressive young ones...'
Oldest: twenty. Youngest girl: fifteen. Post-empowerment, they'd barely qualify as adults.
I envisioned them aiding the London assault under my command.
Responsibility deferred enough. Meriyam might rage at Allah's cruelty, but trials are universal in faiths.
I nodded at one youth. "Restrain them."
Subordinates gagged and gripped the youth's arms and shoulders. Drawing the blade, I seized their upturned crown.
"Survive, if you can."
The blade tip pierced flesh. The stifled scream from the gagged mouth echoed like a beast's howl.