LOTM: Traveling between epoch

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Chapter: Doctrine of Desire

"Living Corpse" Jason and "Werewolf" Thale had no objections to their superior's directives.

"Sir," Jason asked after a moment's reflection, "are you intending to operate the Hui Li Party as both an intelligence organization and a long-term foothold?"

"That's correct," Eli Walker nodded. "Since we've come to Backlund, we must leave something behind."

The two were so obedient, he didn't need to let them taste the feeling of suffocation again—at least not today.

"As long as we don't disrupt the broader order in East Borough, Loen's authorities generally won't intervene in gang conflicts."

Thale, who had lived in various slums, had some understanding of the law's blind spots.

He thought this arrangement was quite agreeable. Taking over a gang dealing in prostitution meant not only could they fight freely without needing an excuse, but they could also indulge themselves at will. And rather than aimlessly roaming the streets for leads on Maric, they could have underlings gather intelligence.

"Since neither of you objects," Eli said, "I'll add a few more stipulations."

Without formal training, he had nonetheless mastered the true talent of a leader—the ability to ramble endlessly with conviction.

"Those women—nightingales, if you will—are working to survive. They turn over a portion of their earnings to the gang. I don't care if you sleep with them. But if either of you loses control—cripples, maims, or kills them—I'll personally ensure you learn what hell feels like. You've seen my methods."

"If outsiders harass them, injure them, or extort them, deal with those problems yourselves. I don't need to teach you how."

"If you're that desperate to earn more coin, target outsiders. Don't touch our own. What money do you expect from women who can barely feed their families? A few copper pence?"

"To be blunt, those girls are part of our assets. If they're mistreated, they'll grow sickly and thin. Will that still interest you?"

Eli's tone was cold, methodical, almost like a priest reciting liturgy. He was instructing the Indulgent, one of the most dangerous factions of the Red Moon Pathway, to manage vice with restraint.

"Instead of devouring our own," he continued, "think about how to exploit the external world to benefit our own people."

"For example: mandatory sales of protective items. If they refuse, charge five times the rate."

Eli was aware these orders danced on the edge of criminality. He didn't care.

He couldn't change the world.

But if he could improve the lives of the most vulnerable in just a few streets—

Why not?

"Prostitution in East Borough won't bring you wealth. Do you even care about that measly income?"

"If you want real profit, pivot: become intermediaries, leverage our channels, explore domestic labor, or even material trade."

"Anyone who brings us money—protect them. Handle their problems. Clean up their messes."

"And those who make our lives easier? Do as you will with them. No one expects a gang to be virtuous. But if a Sequence 6 and a Sequence 7 can't even manage a street gang... then go back to West Balam and stop making fools of yourselves."

The deep green light in Eli's eyes flickered. He was not "The Fool." He couldn't change reality by rearranging fate.

He couldn't erect a textile mill overnight to offer better wages.

He couldn't reform the bureaucratic machinery of Loen in a fortnight.

He wouldn't mortgage his future to play the philanthropist for people who would never even know his name.

But words? Words could change lives.

Within three days, the Hui Li Party's women would earn more, live better, and perhaps—just perhaps—see a way out.

Eli owed them nothing. And he would never be guilt-tripped into believing otherwise.

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"Sir, we accept your conditions," Jason said cautiously.

"But… sometimes, we may not be able to restrain ourselves."

He wasn't opposing Eli's ideology. He agreed—exploit outsiders, protect one's own.

But among their kind—those aligned with the Libidinous Brothel—complete self-control was often an illusion.

"Sir," Thale added bluntly, "we're strong… sometimes we just tear them apart on instinct."

Eli didn't react with anger. Instead, he slowly rose from his chair.

"Then during the full moon, I'll supervise you myself."

"Or you may leave East Borough and slaughter others who indulge their lust and sin under the veil of night."

"If, outside of that, either of you kills one of our nightingales, I'll sacrifice you to the Red Moon. Once."

"With your regenerative abilities, even if your flesh is flayed, you'll live—and remember it."

"So long as you retain fear, you'll resist."

"But if either of you disobeys again… I'll replace you."

He raised his hand slightly. The skin on both Jason and Thale began to corrode, necrotizing in patches.

Just a warning.

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"Sir 'Steve', we will comply."

"But…" Thale scratched his head, confused, "why? Aren't we the Libidinous Brothel?"

"No wonder you're still Sequence 7," Eli sneered. "Jason, must I explain it to you as well?"

Jason paused, then replied, "Sir, you wish us to indulge—but with discipline. To prevent ourselves from being devoured by the desires we channel."

Eli nodded.

"That's right. The Temperance Faction are fools, but even they produced an Angel."

"During the full moon, they suppress and weaken themselves. We indulge and become monsters."

"But indulge too often, and one day you'll become a true Wraith—mindless, consumed."

"That idiot senior of ours—he may be glorious now, but the moment he attempts to advance to Demigod… he'll likely lose control."

"The essence of the Libidinous Brothel isn't indulgence. It's the mastery of indulgence."

"If desire enslaves you, if you lose your self, your will—then what difference is there between you and the zombies you control?"

He glanced at the Wraith puppet still lying on the floor.

Jason and Thale exchanged glances.

The boss was in a bad mood—likely still upset about Zatwin's presence or the missed opportunity with Sharon and Maric.

They both knew what not to say. Especially if they wanted to avoid becoming Wraith test subjects.

After all, the boss was currently in direct competition with the "Blood General" for advancement rights to Demigod within the Lodge. Disloyalty would mean death.

But… the boss wasn't wrong.

Jason advanced faster than Thale. Jason resisted more. Perhaps… this philosophy had merit.

Neither of them wanted to become true monsters—not yet.

Since enjoyment wasn't forbidden, then perhaps restraint… was worth the effort.

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"If you have no objections, leave," Eli said, his voice fading into shadows as his form vanished into Wraith mist.

"If you do have objections, now is your final chance to voice them."

If a Sequence 6 and Sequence 7 couldn't even regulate a vice operation in East Borough…

What were they good for?

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"Wait, Sir."

Jason spoke too quickly.

A ghostly hand immediately seized him by the throat, lifting him into the air like a condemned man.

"Sir, we obey—we agree!"

"We just want to ask—what about you? Are you coming to East Borough?"

Thale stepped forward quickly, trying to help before Jason was flayed alive again.

"Do your job well," Eli said flatly.

"If anything urgent arises, contact me."

"Unlike you fools, I don't have time to chase Sharon across rooftops. I'm building something larger."

Jason collapsed, wheezing as Thale caught him.

They didn't dare press for details. Zatwin's schedule was off-limits. Sir Steve's was no different.

If they kept talking, they really would become blood sacrifices.

"This is a pilot project," Eli's voice echoed from the void. "I am cultivating faith."

"If you ruin it for me… you're dead."

As expected of Sir Steve.

His wisdom was profound.

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