Chapter 202
Chapter 202
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 202
Chapter Title: The Mild Revolutionaries
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Sarucho glanced around the basement and spoke.
"Is this everyone?"
"Pardon?"
"I mean, the revolutionaries..."
"Ah, yes. These folks here are all of us."
There were seven in total.
They were all from the races collectively known as Mumi: humans, elves, halflings, gnomes, and dwarves.
Each one looked like they'd just come straight from work, dressed in work clothes.
Sarucho had a feeling he could guess which factories they worked at.
'That apron smells like tar, so leatherworks. The grease on that face suggests grinding gears somewhere. And that one with tools hanging from their belt must be in assembly. Plus, the sawdust smell...'
They were ordinary laborers through and through.
No hint of threat anywhere.
A few eyed Sarucho warily, but more smiled amiably, perhaps hoping to win favor with this priest from the opposition faction.
Sarucho thought of his mother, who had toiled endlessly at hard labor while raising him and his siblings. These were all Mumi, but plenty of oppositionists worked in factories too.
Sarucho mused,
'...No. To them, I'm no different from any outsider. They won't open up all at once. I need to take time to build rapport and draw out their secrets.'
Sarucho cleared his throat and said,
"So, how did this group get started?"
"Pardon?"
Garil looked puzzled as he asked back.
Sarucho belatedly realized his question sounded like prying.
"Ah, no, I didn't mean..."
"We understand. You're worried we might be some shady group, right?"
At Garil's words, a female dwarf grumbled curtly.
"I told you we should've explained upfront."
"We can explain now."
Sarucho said tensely,
"S-so, you all follow the will of the Pantheon Temple..."
The moment "Pantheon Temple" left his lips, Garil hurriedly waved his hands.
"Oh dear, no. Do you think we're heretics?"
The others chimed in.
"It's an easy mistake. Most famous revolutionaries in other cities seem like heretics."
"I've heard the Empire's intelligence bureau stirs them up themselves."
"Especially in the old Garang Kingdom region—word is a revolution succeeded there."
Garil lightly rapped the wall at their words.
"Quiet down, everyone. You're worrying the priest."
Sarucho said,
"So, you're saying you're not connected to those revolutionaries?"
Garil smiled awkwardly.
"We wouldn't say we're completely uninfluenced. After all, we started after hearing some of those groups succeeded. But we're no heretics, and we have no intention of becoming ones."
Sarucho pressed,
"But aren't you ultimately gathering people to spark a revolution?"
"Well, yes, but... the 'revolution' people talk about and ours are a bit different."
The kind of revolution folks whispered about went like this:
Criminals in labor camps rising up to slaughter guards, seize weapons, and defy the Union Kingdom; serfs storming the lord's castle and spearing him; workers torching factories because they couldn't take it anymore.
Garil said,
"But we have no plans for that. Burning factories? Horrifying just to think about. How would we work tomorrow?"
"Garil works at a carpenter's shop making chairs. Without him, we'd all eat standing up and work standing up."
Garil laughed at the joke.
In the slightly relaxed atmosphere, Sarucho asked,
"Then what do you want...?"
Garil raised a finger.
"Ah, we're still ironing that out. Everyone wants so many things, it's hard to agree."
Sarucho thought,
'Of course.'
As far as Sarucho knew, revolutionaries preached egalitarianism.
All races equal in rights regardless of birth, valued simply for existing.
Egalitarianism branded inherited privileges from ancestors as aristocratic tyranny, harsh on descendants.
'Even the Empire doesn't fully embrace such radical egalitarianism.'
Revolutionaries had extreme demands too: dethrone the Union Kingdom's emperor, burn temples of the Wrathful One.
In the major trade city of Shubanel, revolutionary winds hadn't blown yet, but rumors bred unease and vigilance.
Sarucho felt the same.
He asked,
"How many demands do you have?"
One laborer said,
"First off, we'd like meal breaks doubled."
"...Meal breaks?"
"Yes. Right now, it's only 15 minutes. By the time you wolf down the rations, it's over. Otherwise, even going to the bathroom feels awkward..."
Other laborers added,
"Shorter work hours too. I switched to night shift, and my days and nights are flipped. Haven't seen my kid's face in days."
"Better compensation for injuries at work. I came because of a friend—his hand got crushed at the ironworks, ruined. No factory will hire him now, so he's scavenging streets without startup cash..."
Garil cleared his throat and interjected,
"And wages, of course."
As Sarucho looked interested, Garil explained.
Wages weren't just low or high.
Factory profits dwarfed the split between owners and workers.
These city laborers were third- or fourth-generation descendants of peasants drawn to modernizing cities.
From "unsuccessful" labor families, they paid steep urban rents.
But wages barely covered rent and essentials.
No savings meant no class mobility—just cogs in smog-belching machines until death.
Sarucho said,
"Have you told the factory owners?"
"Of course. But laws let them fire us, and sacked workers often starve without new jobs. Laws protect owners, so complaining's useless."
"What about the mayor's office?"
Garil smiled awkwardly.
"In times like these, Mumi like us get dragged off by guards near city hall. Mistaken for hardliners? Straight to labor camps."
From their talk, these revolutionaries sought persuasion over violence—self-styled moderates.
"Hardliners struggle for agreement anyway—no one consents. So we thought, let's at least make our voices heard..."
Sarucho found it bewildering.
Revolutionaries were painted as heretics slaughtering nobles and selling the Union Kingdom to the Empire.
But they weren't.
'No, wait. High Priest said never fall for deceptions. The Demon God's plot might lurk behind it all.'
Sarucho said,
"Hearing you out reassures me. Still, one thing puzzles me."
"Puzzles you...?"
"Revolutions spark in other cities, but someone must have started it all. You wouldn't just jump in without that—yet you're moderates, not hardliners..."
"Ah, I see."
Sarucho thought he'd finally caught something.
Returning empty-handed from infiltration? No face for the High Priest.
Garil said,
"One friend got fired from a factory. Sitting despondent on the street, a Lizardman approached and counseled him."
"A Lizardman? See its scale color?"
"Too dark at night. Anyway, it advised gentle ways to voice concerns everyone could accept. These folks agreed."
Sarucho wondered,
"Isn't that the 'Wandering Lizardman' tale?"
"Haha. Exactly."
A longstanding Union Kingdom folktale.
In tough times, a hooded Lizardman emerges from shadows to help and vanish.
Few believed in a real one. Similar tales featured orcs on roads or elves in mountains.
"Just coincidence, probably."
Sarucho agreed.
When he first reported this meeting to the High Priest, he got laughed off.
The High Priest figured they were lulling Sarucho for a bigger revolution. Sarucho half-suspected too.
Using temple funds and power, Sarucho supported the tiny group.
Printed pamphlets explaining moderate revolutionaries, funded distribution, even shielded from guards.
Of course, content reached beyond guards to temples and Tooth agents—but to snare bigger fish, Sarucho's acts were tolerated.
Sarucho initially dismissed the group as harmless, but it snowballed daily—exponential growth.
From seven at the first meeting, within a month, dozens per factory.
Nearly a thousand laborers joined.
The High Priest took it in stride.
"Knew it. That Garil hid the numbers."
"Maybe, but our temple-printed pamphlets helped..."
The High Priest scoffed twice, then said,
"Hmph, doesn't matter. We've identified future revolutionaries."
Sarucho worried: at this rate, most city workers would join soon.
"Don't fret, Sarucho. They'll act soon with bigger numbers. We just catch that."
And so it went.
At the next meeting, Garil told Sarucho,
"Priest, the time has come."
"Time for what?"
Sarucho said,
"The mayor speaks at the plaza for Unity Day."
Sarucho tensed.
Open plaza—anyone could approach the mayor.
From the grand podium, easy target for shots.
'Guards will protect, but three or four actors? Tough.'
Sarucho said,
"Assassination, then?"
Garil laughed.
"Oh, Priest, such jokes. What separates us from radicals? Who runs the city if the mayor dies?"
"But isn't that the biggest show of influence?"
"If so, we'd buy guns with your money, not print pamphlets. We just need people to hear and agree."
"...So what will you do?"
Garil said,
"Then we can raise our voices and declare our will to the mayor. He'll hear clearly!"
Ultimately, Garil meant a demonstration.
Hoisting signs and placards demanding higher wages or longer lunches, shouting noisily—but just that.
When they asked for funds to make those signs, Sarucho harbored final doubts.
But on Unity Day.
Seeing Garil and revolutionaries gather on the boulevard, Sarucho knew it was real.
He frequented their hideout—no new faces, no changes.
Not a single long sword, let alone guns.
About three hundred— not everyone, but eye-catching.
"Think it'll work?"
"Yes. With letters this big, the mayor can't miss it."
Before the main Unity Festival, the street protest began.
Sarucho trailed at a distance, citing his priestly robes.
'High Priest and Tooth agents get egg on their faces. All that effort and money for this.'
He'd already tipped off the High Priest about the protest.
As expected, they'd shout at the mayor, then get dispersed by guards.
'If Garil's ideas get even a little traction, great.'
Garil seemed a fine young man up close.
Shy for himself, but boldest advocating for others.
Sarucho still disliked revolutionaries, but hoped their modest demands succeeded. He planned to suggest it to the High Priest later.
A line of figures approached the protesters ahead.
Sarucho spotted them from afar.
'Guards already? Quick.'
But they weren't guards.
Soldiers with rifles.