Chapter 703: Occupied City (1)
“The world’s really gone mad, hasn’t it?”
It was 7 a.m. on a Monday—statistically, the most aggravating time of the week for most people. A civil servant muttered to himself as he glanced at the newspaper from a few days ago.
Though it might seem irrelevant, he appeared to be a high-ranking official.
How could one tell?
From the smaller detail of his set breakfast table, to the larger scale of where he lived, it was clear.
Laid out before him were fried eggs, sautéed mushrooms and beans, crispy bacon, plump sausages, black pudding, toast, pancakes, hash browns, butter, jam, and coffee—a breakfast renowned for its taste and nutritional balance, one of the most “perfect” breakfasts in the world.
And it wasn’t even a special day, suggesting that this was his daily fare. For lower-ranking civil servants with tighter budgets, such a breakfast was a mere dream.
Of course, in the corrupt and ambitious city of Landa, this could be possible through the “blessing” of bribes. But this civil servant wasn’t the type.
You could tell by looking at his current residence.
He lived in Zone I, an upper-class area where only the elite of Landa’s ruling class—capitalists, businesspeople, magicians, and politicians—could reside.
Even if a civil servant took bribes, reaching Zone I would be nearly impossible.
It was realistically out of reach in terms of income, and even if they somehow amassed that kind of wealth, they’d probably explode from the stress of getting caught before reaching it.
For a civil servant to live here, there were only two ways.
Either he came from a highly influential family, or he rose to a top position, like a minister, to qualify for the high-ranking civil servant benefits provided by the city.
And this civil servant firmly fell into the second category.
After all, he was the Minister of Internal Affairs in Landa.
But his status as a minister wasn’t what mattered here. Nor was it the fact that he had recently been removed from his post for unknown reasons, or that his home had been secretly bugged.
The crucial point was his statement.
That the world had gone mad.
One could grasp his meaning just by glancing at the newspaper’s front page.
“Vanished Holy Law! A Cursed Plague Spreads in the Holy See!! Approaching the End?!!”
The exaggerated headline looked crafted to sell papers, but it was all true.
One day, without precedent in recorded history, the Holy Law suddenly vanished.
Paul Carver, the Minister of Internal Affairs, had even witnessed it firsthand.
While assisting the kingdom’s army in searching for the army of the undead in Landa’s sewers, he saw the Holy Law of the paladins suddenly light up, detaching from their bodies and rising into the night sky.
That surreal scene was unforgettable. The sheer awe of it aside, the paladins’ expressions when the Holy Law left them were absolutely heart-wrenching.
Their faces displayed utter despair, as if the essence of confusion and despair had been distilled to its purest form.
Yet, even that emotion paled in comparison to the repercussions of the Holy Law's disappearance.
The Holy Law had been the very symbol of the Father’s love for humanity, the authority of the Pater Church, and the legitimacy of the chosen nation.
The moment the Holy Law disappeared, global chaos erupted, as if the world had been waiting for this moment.
Among the consequences were apocalyptic rumors and sporadic uprisings that disregarded borders and spread across regions.
Governments of the affected countries mobilized police and military forces to suppress these rebellions, managing to subdue them, but the root of the issue remained.
It was as if one of the invisible pillars supporting society had suddenly vanished, and this was only natural.
The governments and royal families of the chosen nations constantly bombarded the parishes and the Holy See with inquiries, demanding answers.
Predictably, the responses from the local parishes were inadequate, and the Holy See fared no better.
Right after the disappearance of the Holy Law, news as shocking as a thunderbolt struck the heart of the Pater Church’s Holy See: a demon had descended upon the Holy See State.
According to the news articles, the source of the summoning was unknown, but bizarre phenomena accompanied the demon’s arrival in the Holy See State.
Water turned to blood, swarms of frogs blanketed the land, lice infested everything, and a cloud of flies rained from the sky. Reports detailed how vile diseases and noxious sores invaded the Holy See State.
The accompanying photo in the article showed citizens of the Holy See State afflicted by the sores—a horrifying sight, as if their skin had turned inside out. It brought to mind a few groups, such as the Development Opposition Committee, who lived in Landa but were beyond the city’s jurisdiction.
It might have seemed coincidental, but the grotesque appearance of the Holy See citizens’ diseased skin was unsettlingly similar to that of certain opposition groups. The realization left an uneasy feeling; it truly felt as though the end times were upon them.
Yet Carver quickly shook off that line of thinking. As Minister of Internal Affairs, he had the mental resilience to dismiss such thoughts, but besides, the world was still filled with enough madness.
The high society of each nation was undoubtedly affected by the calamities in the Holy See State, and rumors of a demon’s descent only added fuel to the fire.
Some argued it was a mass hallucination by the citizens of the Holy See State, or perhaps the work of a black magician’s terror campaign. But considering the scale of the devastation, those explanations seemed too simplistic.
The White Palace, as they called the Holy See headquarters, had been demolished; countless Archpriests had perished, and even the Holy Sovereign, the head of the Holy See, had died. Above all, the Holy Law had vanished.
With the disappearance of the Holy Law, black magicians who had been hiding like cockroaches crawled out of the shadows, launching retaliatory attacks. Simultaneously, in various colonies, rebel groups trained in black magic staged synchronized attacks on colonial authorities.
This led to worsening public security, a surge in malicious rumors, plummeting stock markets—it seemed as if the world could end tomorrow, and no one would be surprised. But then…
“May I see today’s paper?”
Carver politely asked the man seated across from him at the table, requesting the newspaper that he himself had purchased.
Even though he was the guest, the man handed it over without a word as if it was his own, and Carver, unperturbed, began reading today’s paper.
Compared to recent papers filled solely with despair and even more despair, today’s had something different: a sliver of hope.
On the front page was a large photo of a winged woman, that very symbol of hope.
“The Child of the Angel Descends upon This Land.”
In a departure from their usual habit of filling headlines with exclamation marks to boost sales, the newspaper had opted for a somber, understated headline.
The article beneath it contained an explanation from the Pater Church regarding the disappearance of the Holy Law. According to them, the loss of the Holy Law was an inevitable sacrifice required to bring forth the child of the angel.
The church claimed that this sacrifice was necessary to repel the demon that had descended upon the Holy See State.
Looking at the majestic image of this figure in the photograph, it almost seemed plausible, yet at the same time, there was reason for doubt.
For a mere priest, such an answer might have been acceptable. However, the high-ranking priests of the Pater Church were deeply entrenched in political matters. While it wouldn’t be fair to generalize, politicians had a well-known tendency toward dishonesty.
Sip.
Carver took a sip of his coffee on an empty stomach as he read the newspaper.
Usually, he would finish off the hearty breakfast spread before him and enjoy his coffee as a final touch. But today, he’d reversed the order.
The world had gone mad; in such a world, why not reverse the order of a meal?
“Don’t you think so?”
He shared his thought aloud and looked to the man seated across from him, the fixer, Dave, for a response. Dave simply replied:
“Perhaps.”
...
Sip.
Carver took another sip of coffee. This was his second cup.
Though drinking two cups of coffee on an empty stomach might upset his stomach, it wasn’t all that concerning.
Since the second prince, Albert, had visited Landa, Carver had been plagued by chronic stomach issues due to overwork. Then there was the chaos caused by the Piper, who had singlehandedly turned the city upside down. Just as that ordeal was settling, an army of the undead emerged from Landa’s underground and launched an invasion. Now, thanks to that undead army, Landa was under occupation by the kingdom’s forces.
In other words, Carver’s stomach was already battered to the point where two cups of coffee were a mere trifle.
“Oh, Lord, save us.”
Carver crossed himself. As Oliver silently watched, he added an explanation, feeling somehow obligated.
“I figure everyone in Landa must have stomach issues by now, not just me.”
“Is that so?”
“I thought things were finally calming down, but now we have an undead army taking over the city, and the kingdom’s forces occupying Landa and playing overlord. How could anyone’s stomach survive that?”
“Is that a serious concern?” Oliver asked, with a tone slightly different from the past. He seemed to be asking not out of genuine curiosity, but rather to test him. Carver chose not to dwell on the feeling, which somehow felt appropriate.
“Well, I wouldn’t say it’s entirely bad. Thanks to the kingdom’s forces, I’ve had a rare opportunity to relax.”
Carver attempted to sound cheerful, though he was spending his forced “vacation” at home after being abruptly dismissed from his post due to overwork.
“The only real regret is the stock market crash. I’ve lost a bit myself, though not as much as the people who threw themselves into the Sem River.”
As he spoke, Carver showed Oliver a page of the newspaper.
It listed the current stocks of Landa’s major corporations, each one marked by a significant drop.
“It’s to be expected when a city is overrun by the undead.”
“You don’t seem happy with this situation.”
“Didn’t I just mention my stock losses?”
“But is that the real reason?”
Oliver pressed. Carver paused, pondering for a moment before responding.
“Allow me to ask you a question first. Are you absolutely sure this conversation is secure?”
Carver knew that the kingdom’s forces were eavesdropping on his home.
Oliver nodded.
“Yes, you can be assured of that.”
“That’s a relief.”
“You trust me?”
“Yes, seeing as you’re sitting here like it’s your own home, even with the kingdom’s forces monitoring this house, how could I not trust you? I was just confirming.”
Carver recalled how, at 5 a.m., he’d woken up to find Oliver seated across from him, waiting. Just thinking about it made his heart sink.
Sigh… “To get back to your question—do I dislike this situation?”
“Yes.”
“I do. But it’s not because of the money. Sure, losing some money stings, but I didn’t invest much in the market. No, what truly saddens me is that my favorite comic has disappeared.”
Carver unfolded the newspaper to a particular page, indicating an advertisement. That spot had once hosted Satira, a four-panel comic.
Oliver, who read the paper daily, knew this as well.
“Why did it disappear?”
“The kingdom’s forces pulled it. It was mostly a satirical piece, and in the past, it made a few jabs at the royal family—enough to draw a few unofficial complaints.”
Oliver remembered a few strips. One of the more entertaining ones portrayed the queen as a benevolent monarch, using an oven to bake “cakes” filled with narcotics and selling them to the colonies.
“I’ve always disliked that. When a few people are uncomfortable, the comic I look forward to each morning just vanishes. It’s incredibly frustrating. It’s like they think of themselves as the only true humans, while the rest of us are something lesser.”
Carver poured himself a third cup of coffee, sipping it with quiet intensity.
“That’s why I live in Landa. I despise having my life interfered with by the discomfort of a select few. Though it’s not the only reason.”
Oliver didn’t ask for further details, yet Carver offered them anyway.
“I hated the same thing when I was in the military. Every time someone mentioned Her Majesty, we’d all have to stand at attention, stomping the ground like dogs wagging their tails. It was humiliating. And every time the queen would march, we’d wave flags and cheer. Out here in Landa, people might shout to stop wasting their tax money, but that doesn’t fly outside the city. So, how could I not despise the fact that they’re trying to turn Landa into that?”
The sentiment was clear. As expected, Carver was deeply bothered by the erosion of Landa’s freedom—furiously so.
“Thank you for your candid response.”
“No, no. As a fixer, Mr. Dave, you are an unofficial ally of the City of Landa, after all. This much of an answer is only fair. If not, I’d have reported you. Unofficial as it is, you’ve got a bounty on your head, Mr. Dave. Just reporting you would fetch 10 billion Landa. It’s quite tempting, considering a minister’s salary isn’t that high.”
“Is that so?”
“Being a minister doesn’t mean one is wealthy. I even took a loan from the bank to buy this place.”
“No, I was asking about my bounty.”
“Ah, there’s a sizable bounty due to the numerous black magicians trying to contact you. Among them, members of the Black Hand family. Speaking of which, I’d like to ask a question myself, if I may. Since I’ve answered yours so kindly.”
“Go ahead.”
“Well, I hardly know where to begin. There’s so much to ask... Alright, is the end truly approaching? And how exactly are you connected to it?”