Wasn’t This a Night Game

Spoilers

Mammon’s jaw went slack.

[What in damnation *is* he?]

Such skilled rabble-rousing.

And the words didn’t sound like they’d been rehearsed for a day or two.

A born demagogue couldn’t have done better.

Mammon’s worst fears were, at last, coming to pass.

Far from withdrawing from the stage, the Saint had inserted himself as a key player.

[That blasted fool! Why won’t he just *leave*!!!]

Ordinarily, a Saint, chosen by the divine, would be blissfully ignorant of worldly affairs, relying solely on the will of their god.

Therefore, when their actions caused harm or suffering to those around them, Saints were prone to anguish, either fleeing the scene, or panicking and turning to their god for guidance, usually making things worse.

That’s how it *should* be, but this Saint, once again, defied his expectations.

[What in the seven hells am I going to do?]

Mammon wrestled with the problem for a long while, his head in his hands.

He looked out over the city.

What had started as a few thousand workers had swelled to tens of thousands, soon to be hundreds of thousands, all following the Saint into the strike.

It was a scene he had craved.

[I planned to ignite an endless war between the avaricious businessmen and the power-hungry labor ideologues…]

Mammon knew labor theory intimately.

He had read *On Capital*, the sacred text of the labor movement, hundreds of times.

He also fully understood the fundamental limitations of these ideologues.

They were the sort who were enraged by capitalism and called for revolution, yet ironically, their ideology was susceptible to corruption at a rate far exceeding that of even the most rapacious capitalist.

Labor theorists, once revolutionaries seizing power, would gradually succumb to the lure of authority, becoming no different from the capitalists they had overthrown. Countless impoverished and penniless would then bleed and writhe in agony between the greed of these capitalists and revolutionaries.

That was what Mammon desired.

He had planned to devour all the massive souls and grudges that would be unleashed in the process.

But the appearance of the Saint had thrown everything off track from the very beginning.

[…No. No. There’s no need to think so negatively, is there?]

But soon, Mammon changed his mind.

The Saint’s emergence had created a variable, yes, but there was still potential to exploit it.

Thanks to this Saint, the revolution was burning even hotter than he had anticipated.

“Then, wouldn’t it make sense to use it?”

The factory owners, the scrapyard’s capitalists, and most of the upper class were already puppets, dancing to Mammon’s tune.

And conversely, amongst the labor theorists, there were also many of Mammon’s puppets.

When the revolution broke out, the capitalists would brutally suppress the revolutionaries, and the revolutionaries, in turn, would engage in even more radical struggles, shedding yet more blood.

[I was going to put that fool, Carl Renaro, at the forefront, but things have turned out this way, so I’ll have to make him a saint.]

How would that good-for-nothing react if people died for him, opening an era of madness, rife with terror and assassination?

Amiel surely didn’t understand the danger inherent in the labor theorists’ ideology.

He probably just came out to fight and struggle for the poor and oppressed.

But Mammon knew very well.

That good intentions don’t always lead to good results.

[Don’t die. I won’t kill you. Jericho Amiel. Become the incarnation of the revolution for a long, long time. Reign and rule. And spill blood. Saint of healing. Fight and fight for a long time. To fill my belly.]

Mammon let out a sinister laugh.

*

I knew the population of the scrapyard was close to a million.

Being such a large city, the population of the city itself also reached hundreds of thousands.

And a general strike meant commanding all those hundreds of thousands of workers at once.

Naturally, I couldn’t do that alone.

I needed help.

And the people who could give me that help came to find me soon enough.

“Carl Renaro.”

A group of people who identified themselves as labor theorists approached me and soon led me to the basement of a small building in a corner of the city.

And there, I could see a gruff-looking man in his mid-40s remove his disguise and step forward.

It was a familiar face.

I couldn’t not know him; he was the man whose name was headlined in the newspapers every day.

The head of the labor theorists.

Carl Renaro was looking at me with a face full of excitement.

“May I call you Comrade Amiel?”

I nodded. Then Carl Renaro began to rave, with an expression like a sasaeng fan meeting an idol.

“Workers of the city, unite! Those words still ring in my ears. Magnificent. No comrade has ever given a speech as magnificent as the one you gave. I was watching you with skeptical eyes, but now there is no reason to doubt at all. You are a labor theorist. A revolutionary comrade more splendid than anyone else.”

Carl Renaro grabbed my hand and squeezed it tightly.

“A general strike, no less! Under normal circumstances, this wouldn’t have been so easily done. But Comrade Amael, thanks to you, we’ve managed it with remarkable ease. The entire city is watching you.”

The middle-aged man grinned like a child, eyes alight.

But beneath the smile, his gaze held a terrifying intensity.

“There’s something I must ask, Comrade Amael. What is the purpose of this strike? What is the goal of this revolution? For what purpose did you rise up? I wish to be absolutely certain.”

Karl Renaro and the other labor theorists around him were visibly excited.

Yet, mingled with the excitement, was a hint of unease.

A saintly revolutionary born in a city that rejects religion.

They likely wished to ascertain my position more clearly.

“To save the people of this city. For even if they are healed and healed again, if the society itself remains fundamentally rotten, they will only fall ill once more.”

“And what will this improved society be for?”

“A society where the poor can live like human beings.”

“Even if they do not believe in the Goddess Lilia, does that matter to you?”

I finally began to understand Karl Renaro’s true intentions.

These people…

They are said to have a culture that rejects religion. Do they think I am instigating this for the sake of proselytizing?

“It does not matter if they do not believe. I wish to see an end to suffering and injury. Once the system is overhauled, I will leave.”

I am not meant to remain here for long.

Things have unfolded in this manner by chance, but all I desire is for the workers to live more dignified lives, not to remain in this city, establish a religious order, and convert its people.

“You intend to leave…”

“I never intended to remain in this city for long in the first place. I simply wish to see the living conditions of the workers improved.”

A satisfied smile spread across Karl Renaro’s face.

“You are not a religious zealot solely interested in conversion, I see. I am impressed. To think someone like you still remained amongst the pantheon. That heart of yours, genuinely concerned with improving the workers’ plight… I understand completely.”

Karl Renaro whistled.

At that signal, a group of individuals, seemingly having been hidden just outside, entered the room.

They were all armed with rifles, pistols, and what appeared to be bombs.

“We already have a complete grasp of the police station’s location, the guard’s numbers, and their armament levels. Join us. With your power, you can greatly bolster the morale of our revolutionary comrades. Use your power – the ability to regenerate severed limbs – for our cause.”

Their eyes held a dangerous glint.

Faces that suggested they could commit murder and violence without the slightest hesitation.

“The capitalist swine and the factory owners, just as you said, will now fear the revolution! The general strike is merely the beginning. We will halt their factories and freeze their mines. We will choke their capital and ignite a war. Until blood flows from the hearts of those pigs, until they shed tears of fear and terror, we will not stop!!”

Karl extended a hand towards me.

“Let us join forces! Comrade Amael!! Let revolutionaries become the masters of this city! Let the vanguard and revolutionaries seize the means of production, making it for the benefit of workers alone, not any capitalist!! If you lend your strength, we can do it!!”

I stared silently at the hand offering the knife.

Is that so.

Well, I suppose it would be.

Speak of the red, and the red ones will come.

I did not take the knife.

The feverish atmosphere, met with my lack of response, began to shift, growing strange.

Kal thrust his hand further towards me.

“Comrade Amael? Is something the matter?”

I carefully lowered Kal’s hand.

Then, I shook my head.

“No. I will not do that.”

“…What did you say?”

“This general strike will be used only as a means to bring the city’s ruling class to the negotiating table. Afterwards, I will borrow capital from Karma Company in the capital and buy the factories in this city. And, just as Karma Company did in the capital, I will proceed by normalizing jobs in this city.”

Kal Renaro’s expression hardened.

The gathered proponents of labor began to murmur in confusion.

“Furthermore, I will bring healers from the Order of Grace here to establish a clinic and treat the sick of this place. There will be no proselytizing, only healing.”

“……”

“And finally, I will utilize the Imperial Household to enact laws for the benefit of the workers and prevent such things from happening again through systemic measures. That was my intention, not to take up guns and bombs and commit murder. Your method is not one I can follow, Mr. Renaro.”

At my words, Kal Renaro slumped into his chair as if struck.

Some of the more hot-tempered labor advocates were already glaring at me as if they could kill me.

“You were a capitalist’s dog all along?”

“Worse than a religious zealot trying to proselytize!! A pig trying to fatten himself by handing the entire city over to his cult!!!”

“Comrade Renaro!! What are you doing? He’s a spy!! This so-called saint has no interest in building a paradise for workers!! He’s spouting the kind of garbage a capitalist’s dog would say!!”

With faces full of resentment, some were subtly reaching for pistols at their waists.

Nineteen years old.

There were even fifteen-year-old youths.

Seeing their hot-blooded visages, filled only with hatred and rage, unable to think of the consequences, I worried not for my own life, but for theirs.

A mere pistol could not kill me.

Don’t go thinking so lightly of time stops and body modifications.

I might be fine, but the instant you pull that trigger, the Empire will bury you alive.

Please, don’t.

In the oppressive atmosphere, thick with the scent of imminent violence, Karl Renarow raised a hand, halting his fiercely breathing revolutionary comrades.

“What reason do you have?”

Karl asked, his voice trembling as he turned back to me.

“You, who led the strike with speeches more devoted to labor theory than anyone I know, suddenly spout words befitting only capitalist pigs? Why? Was everything you said about helping the workers a lie?”

“…….”

“I saw you tending to patients, sacrificing sleep and meals. You know better than anyone how cruelly capitalists and factory owners exploit humanity! So why would you say such a thing?! I’m about to lose my reason, Mr. Ammael. So explain. I deserve to hear it.”

You want spoilers, is that it?

Fine.

You deserve to hear them.

Besides, I happen to possess a title that will shield me from suspicion even after the spoilers spill.

“I am a Seer, recognized by the Pantheon. You know this, yes? Thus, I know how your revolution will end. I will tell you now.”

I knew all too well what these hot-blooded souls would eventually become.

“You will become beings who massacre even more workers than any capitalist, all ＜for the sake of the workers＞.”