Chapter 703: The Occupied City

“The world is really going crazy.”

Monday morning at 7 AM, the time when people are most irritable. A civil servant muttered to himself while reading a newspaper from a few days ago.

Though unrelated, he appeared to be a high-ranking official.

Why?

Because you could see it both by the small things like the table in front of him, and on a bigger scale, where he lived.

On the table before him were fried eggs, mushrooms, beans, crispy bacon, plump sausages, black pudding, toast, pancakes, hash browns, butter and jam, and coffee. It was the world’s most perfect breakfast, both in taste and nutrition.

It wasn’t even a special day. This meant that he ate like this every day, something a lower civil servant with a tight salary could not even dream of.

Of course, in Randa, the city of hope, dreams, and corruption, people could achieve such things through the ‘blessing’ of bribes, but not this civil servant.

You could tell when you looked at where he lived.

He resided in Sector I, one of the upper-class residential areas only accessible to Randa’s ruling elites: capitalists, businessmen, wizards, and politicians.

It was a domain far beyond the reach of a mere public servant, even with bribes.

Accumulating enough in bribes would be realistically impossible. And even if someone managed to pull it off, they’d probably die from a heart attack due to stress before getting there.

There were only two ways for a civil servant to live in this area.

One: come from a wealthy family. Two: rise to a high-ranking position, like a minister, and receive the government’s senior official benefits.

And this particular civil servant undoubtedly belonged to the second category.

After all, he was the Minister of Internal Affairs of Randa.

But here’s what truly mattered: the fact that he was a minister. It wasn’t that he had been dismissed for unknown reasons, nor was it that bugs had secretly planted in his house to spy on him.

What mattered right now was a statement he made.

The statement that the world was going crazy.

You could tell just by glancing at the newspaper’s front page.

[The Vanishing Holy Power! A Cursed Plague Spreads Throughout the Holy Capital!! Is the End Near?!]

An exaggerated headline clearly designed to sell more papers, yet completely true.

An unprecedented event had occurred in history: the sudden disappearance of all Holy Power.

Even Paul Carver, the Minister of Internal Affairs, had seen it firsthand.

While assisting the royal army in searching for the army of the dead in Randa’s sewers, he’d watched as a brilliant light emanated from every Holy Knight, detached from their bodies, and soared into the night sky.

The surreal scene was still etched in his mind. It wasn’t just that the spectacle itself was overwhelming—no. It was the looks of utter despair on the Holy Knights’ faces as the Holy Power left them.

Their expressions seemed to condense all human confusion and despair into a single, extreme moment.

However, even their emotions paled in comparison to the aftermath of the Holy Power’s disappearance.

The Holy Power was not only the proof of the Heavenly Father’s love for humanity but also the very authority of Pater Church and the justification of the chosen nation.

Once it vanished, chaos and unrest immediately flared up worldwide as if everyone had been waiting for this moment.

Among the most prominent events were the scattered uprisings that came along with bizarre rumors of the world’s impending doom. The uprisings transcended regions and national borders.

The governments of the afflicted nations managed to quell the uprisings using police and military forces, but the fundamental issues remained unresolved.

One of the pillars silently supporting society had vanished, so it was inevitable.

The governments and royal families of the chosen nations bombarded their dioceses and the Holy Emperor’s Palace with inquiries, day after day.

Of course, the local dioceses offered no proper answers, and the Holy Emperor’s Palace wasn’t any better.

Because, the day after the Holy Power’s disappearance, shocking news broke that a Devil had descended upon the Holy Capital, the very heart of Pater Church.

According to the news, nobody knew who summoned it, but several abnormal phenomena had occurred in the Holy Capital, signaling the Devil’s arrival.

The water turned to blood, a plague of frogs covered the land, lice sprouted from all corners, and flies poured from the sky while boils and diseases ravaged the Holy Capital.

The attached newspaper photo depicted a citizen suffering from one of these horrible boils.

It was as though their skin had been turned inside out—an utterly horrific sight. It made people think of others, like those belonging to the Anti-Development Committee within Randa, for example.

It might seem a stretch, but the similarities between the grotesquely twisted appearances of the Committee members and the skin diseases afflicting the citizens of the Holy Capital were undeniable. It left a nasty feeling. It really did feel like the end of days was upon them.

Paul Carver managed to shake off that thought. While being the Minister of Internal Affairs helped, there were just too many crazy things happening in the world to focus on one scenario.

That a disaster of this magnitude had struck a place with as much high-ranking influence as the Holy Capital was already a big deal; to top it off, there were rumors that a Devil had descended.

Some claimed that the citizens of the Holy Capital were simply hallucinating en masse or that it was a Dark Sorcerer’s terrorist attack, but the extent of the damage was too unimaginable for that to be true.

The White Palace, the headquarters of the Holy Emperor’s Palace, had collapsed, Dark Priests had died in droves, and even the Holy Emperor himself was dead. Worst of all, the Holy Power was gone.

With the Holy Power gone, the city was overrun by Dark Sorcerers who had previously been in hiding, launching revenge-driven terrorist attacks, while rebel forces trained in Dark Magic assaulted colonial institutions simultaneously.

As a result, public safety deteriorated, terrible rumors spread, and stock markets plummeted. It was as if the end of the world truly wouldn’t be out of the question tomorrow. However.

“Could you hand me today’s paper?”

Carver politely requested from the man sitting at the same table. He asked if the man could spare him a newspaper he’d purchased.

Despite being a guest, the man silently handed it over as if giving away his own paper, and Carver went straight to reading it without complaint.

Until just a few days ago, the paper had only been filled with despair upon despair, but today, for the first time, there was something to hold onto—hope.

On the front page, prominently displayed, was a picture of a woman with wings: the embodiment of that hope.

[The Child of Angels Descends Upon This World.]

In an unprecedented show of restraint, the newspaper, known for its overuse of exclamation marks to boost sales, opted for a more solemn headline.

The article below contained a response from Pater Church regarding the disappearance of the Holy Power. According to them, the Holy Power’s disappearance was an inevitable sacrifice to allow the Child of Angels to be born.

They claimed it was necessary to fight off the Devil that had descended upon them.

Carver felt like the grandeur of the image made some sense in this context, but at the same time, he couldn’t help but feel suspicious.

Ordinary priests, sure, but the high priests of Pater Church were also politicians. He tried not to be prejudiced, but most politicians were liars.

It wasn’t that politicians were inherently corrupt as people, but rather the nature of their job pushed them in that direction.

Slurp.

Carver sipped from his coffee as he read the newspaper. Normally, he’d have consumed the hearty breakfast first, and finished his coffee as a palate cleanser, but today was different.

With the world going mad, it didn’t seem so strange to reverse the order in which you ate your food.

“Wouldn’t you agree?”

Carver voiced his thought and asked the man seated across from him for his opinion—Dave, the fixer. Dave replied.

“Not sure.”

***

Slurp.

Carver took another sip of coffee. This was cup number two.

His stomach wasn’t in great shape after two cups of coffee on an empty stomach, but he didn’t worry too much.

His stomach hadn’t been well since Prince Albert, the second prince, had visited Randa, which had led to exhaustion, then the Pied Piper had shown up and overturned the city single-handedly, and after they had finished cleaning up that mess, the army of the dead had emerged from beneath Randa, launching an invasion. Now, the city was occupied by the Kingdom’s army to deal with the undead threat.

In summary, Carver’s stomach was already in tatters, so two cups of coffee on an empty stomach didn’t mean much anymore.

“Oh God, save us all.”

Carver crossed himself. Oliver silently watched, prompting him to explain. It felt like something he should do.

“I figured it’s not just me. Everyone in Randa probably has a bad stomach.”

“Is that so?”

“Just when things seemed to calm down, the army of the dead bursts out, which turned Randa upside down, and now the kingdom’s army is stationed here, acting like our new rulers—how could anyone’s stomach survive this?”

“Is that a big deal to you?”

As usual, Oliver asked a question. Though it had a slightly different nuance from before, it felt more like a test than genuine curiosity. Carver didn’t take offense. It felt wrong to do so.

“Well, it’s not necessarily all bad. Thanks to the kingdom’s army, I’ve actually had a bit of free time lately.”

Carver, who’d been overworked before being abruptly dismissed and forced to take a (mandatory) vacation at home, tried to keep things lighthearted.

“But, it’s a shame about the stock market crash. Not as bad as those who threw themselves into the River Sem, but I’ve lost a bit of money too.”

He said as he handed Oliver a page of the paper.

It showed a record of the major companies in Randa, all marked by significant plunges in stock value.

“It’s no surprise, though, given the city has been battered by the living dead.”

“Do you really dislike this situation?”

“Didn’t I just say I lost money in the stock market?”

“Is that the real reason?”

Oliver pressed. Carver hesitated before replying.

“Before I answer, can I ask you a question? Is this place really safe from wiretaps?”

Knowing that the royal army was spying on his house, Carver asked.

Oliver nodded.

“Yes, you don’t need to worry.”

“That’s a relief.”

“You trust me?”

“Yes, someone who broke into my house and made himself comfortable while the army was watching, and says it’s fine—I’d be foolish not to trust you.”

He wasn’t sure why, but Paul Carver remembered the moment he’d woken up at 5 AM to find Oliver sitting across from him. Just recalling it made his heart sink.

“Anyway… back to the point. You asked if I hated this situation, right?”

“Yes.”

“I do. But not because of the money. Yeah, it sucks, but I didn’t have that much money invested in the first place. The real kicker is that my favorite comic has disappeared.”

He pointed to a page in the newspaper he was holding. It had since been filled with advertisements, but the space had originally featured a four-panel comic.

Oliver knew it too, since he read the paper daily.

“Why did it disappear?”

“The Kingdom’s army removed it. It usually featured satire, and back in the day, it even covered the royal family a few times. It got a few unofficial complaints because of it.”

Oliver recalled seeing it a few times.

For example, there’d been a hilarious strip where the kindhearted and beautiful queen had used an oven to bake drugs, which she then sold to the colonies as cake. That one had been particularly funny.

“I’ve always hated this kind of thing—the fact that a few people’s discomfort can make a comic I loved disappear just like that. It’s quite unpleasant. It feels like they see themselves as truly human while everyone else is something less.”

Carver poured himself another cup of coffee to fill his empty mug for round three and sipped.

“That’s why I live in Randa. Because I hate when a few people’s discomfort interferes with my life. But that’s not the only reason.”

Oliver didn’t ask what the other reason was, but Carver explained anyway.

“When serving in the military, I hated the whole deal where if someone so much as mentioned Her Majesty, everyone would immediately stand up and snap to attention like dogs wagging their tails. It’s demeaning. Similarly, I hate how when she marches, everyone waves flags, screaming. Out here, in this city, people could at least shout that it’s a waste of taxes. But lately, they seem bent on making that impossible. How could I not hate this situation?”

Oliver understood what he was getting at. As expected, Paul Carver was extremely unhappy with how the Kingdom was stripping the Free City of its freedom.

“Thank you for your detailed answer.”

“No problem. After all, Mr. Dave, you and the city have an unofficial alliance. It’s only fair I answer you. If that weren’t the case, I’d have reported you. After all, there’s now an unofficial bounty out for you—a whole 10 billion Randa. It’s hard to resist such temptation, especially given how modest a minister’s salary is.”

“Is that so?”

“Being a minister doesn’t mean you make a ton of money. I even took out a loan from the bank for this house.”

“I was talking about my bounty.”

“A ton of Dark Sorcerers with criminal histories have been seeking contact with you. Among them are even families affiliated with the Black Hand.”

“Speaking of which, may I ask you a question, since I’ve kindly answered yours?”

“Go ahead.”

“Hmm, where do I even begin? There’s so much to ask… Ah, is the world really coming to an end? And what do you have to do with it, Mr. Dave?”