To Make Matters Worse
"You goddamn—!"
Mayor Bias, alone in his office, slammed his fist on the desk and cursed.
He put a fine cigar in his mouth and lit it.
As the nicotine spread through his body, the fury that had been boiling within him subsided just a little.
"Why the hell did you come to the Scrap Yard out of nowhere and wreak havoc!?"
Saint Amael.
Why on earth.
He couldn't understand for the life of him why the man had suddenly appeared.
What whim had possessed someone who had absolutely no connection to the Scrap Yard to show up, instigate a strike, and obstruct them at every single turn?
With Inquisitors from the Pantheon and the Black Fortress spread throughout the city, he couldn't just freely deploy the police to sweep everything away like before.
He urgently needed to beat or threaten the striking workers and force them back into the factories to work, but he felt like his stomach was burning itself down to a crisp because he couldn't.
The Scrap Yard was home to many businesses, but its main industries were iron production and magic metal production.
And the blast furnaces that produced that iron could not be idled even for a single day.
But because the workers had gone on strike or whatever, and because Mammon Followers had suddenly appeared, the blast furnaces that could not be idled for a single day had already been shut down for several days.
"If the furnaces cool even for a moment, it's a disaster."
A furnace, once cooled, could never be used again.
It would have to be completely rebuilt, which would incur staggering losses.
He was trying to avoid a situation where the furnaces cooled by using the bare minimum of skilled workers, but even that minimal workforce would eventually need rest, wouldn't they?
They were already short-handed, and the few skilled workers were shouldering all the burden alone, leaving him more anxious than ever.
To restore everything to normal, ultimately,
the Pantheon, the Saint, and the people from the Black Fortress had to leave as soon as possible.
Unable to contain his impatience, Mayor Bias finally picked up the artifact for magic communication.
"The Lima Ducal House. And the contact number of High Bishop Rufus of the Sun Order... here it is."
It was time to make full use of the connections he had built in the capital.
"Hurry. Hurry up and answer. Please. Hurry!..."
Just as he was muttering and sucking nervously on his cigar, the magic communication connected.
Immediately, the anxious tone vanished, and a relaxed, leisurely voice flowed from the mayor's mouth.
"Haha! Duke Lima! How are you! Do you remember me? It's Bias from the Scrap Yard."
-Ah, yes! Bias! I remember! I received the gift you sent last time quite well. As expected, a golf club made of mithril feels excellent to swing!
"Don't mention it! If Your Grace is pleased, I can gift you something even finer! Hahaha!"
After some small talk about this and that, the conversation slowly got down to business.
"...So that is why all of the factories are currently shut down."
-Oh, dear! That must be troublesome!
"Hasn't the Saint already captured every Mammon Follower in the city? We are innocent. We cannot allow the largest metal production facility in the empire to stay halted any longer, can we? Duke Lima. I know you hold considerable sway in the Senate and the Supreme Court. Please, use your influence. For the sake of our long-standing relationship."
Duke Lima was someone he had known for a very long time.
He was also someone who had repeatedly helped pass favorable legislation for the factory owners of the Scrap Yard.
He was a very strong connection in the capital.
He was also a major shareholder in many factories in the Scrap Yard, so if the losses continued, the dividends he regularly received would disappear as well. Bias was certain that Duke Lima would intervene this time too.
-I'm sorry, Bias. I won't be able to help you with this matter.
But in a still-cheerful voice, Duke Lima calmly replied that he couldn't.
Bias's smiling expression froze.
"...Pardon?"
-Yesterday, the two Imperial Princesses returned to the capital by airship, teleporting in. And shortly after, His Majesty ordered all the nobles of the Senate to assemble.
"For what reason...?"
-Those Mammon Followers they say came from your town. It seems they touched something they shouldn't have. I hear they intended to intensify the struggle between those Labor Theorists or whatever they are and the capitalists, to ultimately overthrow the Imperial Household, and to create two enormous factions—one of capitalists and one of Labor Theorists—plunging the entire continent into endless war.
Bias felt his blood run cold.
The clean-up of the Mammon Followers was handled by the Pantheon's knights, the White Order's Ketratus members,
and the Black Fortress.
What specific documents the Mammon Followers had possessed, and what plans were detailed within them, had naturally not been disclosed to Bias and the factory owners, except for what the Saint had made public the day before.
-As of this hour, because of a potential rebellion against the Imperial Household, full authority and investigative rights over the incident in your town have been transferred to the Black Fortress. This means the Senate can no longer dictate what the Black Fortress agents there can and cannot do. The matter is out of our hands.
"Y-Your Grace. That is an absurd claim! Rebellion!? Rebellion!? Our Scrap Yard is a model city that has loyally served the Imperial Household for decades, producing steel and magic metals!"
-I know. I know it very well. So I tried suggesting as much to His Majesty... but after seeing that plan document the Mammon Followers drew up, I had nothing left to say.
"They are absurd lies! You believe documents created by demon worshippers?"
-I wish I could. They were far too persuasive to dismiss as nonsense. That was the opinion of all the Senate nobles gathered at the Imperial Palace.
"..."
-It was a plan for revolutionary struggles by Labor Theorists breaking out simultaneously across the empire, the Imperial Household issuing suppression orders, large-scale massacres erupting, and the resulting riots and rebellion intensifying. It envisioned the entire empire convulsing in civil war and revolt for years, ultimately ending with the Emperor deposed by the revolutionary army and the imperial bloodline executed in a public square.
"Absurd! This is absurd!"
-If you had seen those documents yourself, you wouldn't say that. Those Mammon Followers. Their analysis was chillingly sharp. If not for the Saint, there is a very high probability things would have proceeded exactly as the documents described.
Mayor Bias felt a headache flaring up.
-I'm sorry, Bias. It's beyond the scope of what I can help with.
"Y-Your Grace."
-The newspapers in the capital are already writing banner headlines about the situation in the Scrap Yard. Probably the day after tomorrow, reports will start reaching you as well. I've also sold off all my stocks in the Scrap Yard. The dividends are a shame, but they'd become worthless paper soon enough anyway.
"Th-this can't be... this can't be!"
-Still, out of consideration for our long acquaintance, I'll give you one piece of advice. The Black Fortress will be launching a massive tax investigation soon. His Majesty is furious. He shouted openly, asking just how a company was run to make the workers' lives rot to the point of exploding into revolution.
"Ah... aah..."
-Hold on well, Bias. Good days can't last forever. Once this matter is settled, let's play golf again sometime. The golf club. Thank you again. It suits my hand perfectly.
The communication was cut off unilaterally.
With a look as if he were losing his mind, Bias crushed the burnt-out cigar into the ashtray.
"The S-Sun Order. If it's High Bishop Rufus of the Sun Order..."
He didn't give up.
A charge of rebellion.
This was insane.
He had to inform the Imperial Household through the Pantheon.
That the factory owners of this city had absolutely nothing to do with Mammon.
That they had merely operated their companies legally.
Since the Sun Order mainly treated the upper echelons in the capital, he believed they could surely convey his words to the Imperial Household as well.
Bias believed that.
-The first saint publicly recognized by the Pantheon in three hundred years was nearly killed by a Demon King who manifested in the world. You want me to pull the Pantheon's forces back? The Heresy Inquisitors of the Pantheon will be going there. This is no ordinary matter. Until all suspicion is cleared—whether there are more demon worshippers in the Scrap Yard, whether there is any contamination—there will be an extremely thorough investigation.
As soon as the communication connected, skipping even the small talk, Mayor Bias launched straight into business.
And thanks to that, his belief was shattered in less than thirty seconds after the call began.
"Your Excellency! Your Excellency! If that happens, the factories of the Scrap Yard will be ruined!"
-Are factories the issue now? Beyond demon worshippers, a Demon King personally manifested in the world, even if only briefly. Even if a few factories have to shut down, a thorough investigation is only natural. Otherwise, the remaining contamination might spread across the entire empire once more.
"W-we are innocent! Your Excellency! We are innocent, I tell you!"
-Then do not resist, and quietly submit to the investigation. A massive heresy inquisition across the entire city will be carried out. This is no joke. If even the slightest hint of heresy is found... it will be summary judgment.
"Your Excellency. Why are you doing this? Don't you know the situation of the Scrap Yard well?"
-Rather, why are you acting this way? A Demon King has personally manifested. You're not a man who doesn't understand what those words mean.
"..."
-Submit to the investigation as courteously as possible. Everyone in the Pantheon is on edge right now. The Saintess of the White Order will personally lead the Heresy Inquisitors there, so do as she says, whatever it may be. Understand? Do not offend her.
The communication ended.
Mayor Bias slumped into his chair.
The thought of lighting a cigarette didn't even cross his mind.
He wanted water.
His throat was burning dry.
An investigation?
Fine.
A heresy inquisition?
Fine.
A tax investigation?
It was crap, but he could endure it.
But if the forces of the Pantheon and the Black Fortress continued to control the city, he couldn't force the workers into the factories to work.
How could he let the Holy Knights and Inquisitors see the police beating workers with clubs and threatening them with guns to drag them into factories, as they had always done before?
"I'm going crazy!"
Mayor Bias agonized for a long while before pulling out a bottle of expensive whiskey from deep inside a drawer. Without even thinking of pouring it into a glass, he gulped it straight from the bottle.
After drinking for a while, he felt the intoxication creeping up his spine.
'Fine. It's not the worst yet.'
The days of the police openly beating the workers were over.
But conversely, that also meant the Labor Theorists couldn't openly engage in violence either.
And most of the workers in this city were very poor.
How many days had it been since the strike or whatever began?
How would hungry, poor people fill their stomachs if they didn't riot?
'Those poor pigs and dogs don't have many options. They'll have no choice but to return to the factories in the end.'
It was only a matter of time.
The workers would get hungry, unable to bear seeing their children starve, and they would have no choice but to return seeking work once more.
Leave for somewhere else?
Other places had similar conditions.
There was no paradise to which they could flee.
And did they even have the money for the expenses to travel far and find a new home?
Ultimately, to earn money, they had no choice but to return to the factories and work.
It would be filthy and full of blood and tears, but only by working in a factory could they at least get a single meal.
'Let's see how long you can hold out. Karl Lenaro. And you Labor Theorists. Let's see if you can still be so righteous standing over a starving corpse...'
"Mayor!!!!"
Just as Mayor Bias was making those calculations internally,
without even knocking, a factory owner burst through the door.
And before Mayor Bias could even blame him,
"The blast furnace has cooled!"
he blurted out the one line Bias had least wanted to hear.
Mayor Bias spat out the whiskey he had been drinking.