16 — 2 (6)

‘They cleared an enormous area.’

Just a day ago, the place had crawled with paupers; now it lay wide open. The forced demolition was underway. Because most of the workers were former mercenaries—well-practiced in squeezing others—the pace was astonishingly fast. With the city governor’s authorization, no one could interfere, and the work only accelerated. Moreover, the mercenaries, Kalbang included, had begun to follow Louis in earnest, making them grimly determined.

It was only natural: the more Louis grew, the better they would be treated.

“Uh… Captain Kalbang. We’re… surrounded.”

Kalbang looked around. Every able-bodied man from the slums seemed to have gathered in numbers too great to count. Their way of resisting forced demolition was to threaten with sheer headcount. They clamored for the soldiers to leave at once. But Kalbang could not back down. Beyond securing space, his job was to keep a cordon so no one could enter until the framework was set.

“Stand back. We are here under orders from Governor Louis to carry out his command.”

“And that governor intends to take even our last place to live?”

“He intends no seizure.”

“Get out. Now.”

‘No helping it.’

Kalbang drew his sword. The murmuring crowd that had been pressing in took a step back.

“This place will now become an arena provided to you free of charge.”

“An arena? What are you talking about? More than that, give us food.”

“The young lord is working on that as well.”

“When, exactly, will he fix it! We need food now!”

The mood of a riot. Cold sweat trickled down Kalbang’s back.

‘Not good.’

“Captain Kalbang, what do we do?”

“…Damn it. For now, fall ba—”

Then the crowd parted, and Louis appeared. The mob quieted at once. Louis had brought a considerable number of soldiers—borrowed from Dekal.

Louis surveyed the scene, thinking:

‘As expected.’

Had he not borrowed men from Dekal, things might have gone very badly here. A city population mired in Unhappiness—especially the slums—would not sit still for a forced demolition.

Faced with swords and spears, the furious crowd swallowed hard. Violence could not always solve problems, but its virtue was this: it worked immediately.

The soldiers lined up to open space, and Louis rode forward on horseback.

Kalbang greeted him with proper respect and explained the situation in brief.

As Louis listened to Kalbang’s report, he heard the whispers around them—

Voices of criticism, cursing, and resentment.

It felt as if something might be hurled at any moment. Had there been rotten tomatoes, they would have flown—but even tomatoes were too precious for the slum-dwellers to throw.

‘Rock bottom.’

So this was what it felt like to have an entire city as an enemy. On his way here, he had seen several who had starved to death. Left alone, disease could follow. The only relief was that, according to the Civilization System, the Sanitation metric had not yet dipped into the negative. But once the rainy season came, it would fall below zero and sickness would sweep the city.

Whish.

Thock.

What he feared happened at last: a stone came out of nowhere and struck Louis’s face. Someone bolted; one of the soldiers blocking the way shouted for him to stop.

However easy it was to look down on a governor, a governor was still a governor.

If caught, the thrower would be beaten to a pulp—that much was certain. For the frail, such punishment was practically a death sentence. Yet the stone had flown anyway—that meant the hatred for Louis outweighed the fear.

Louis shouted:

“Soldier!”

The culprit froze mid-scramble and snapped to attention. Louis’s presence was that extraordinary. Louis was angry. At whom? It seemed directed at the paupers, but in truth his anger burned for the one who had sabotaged the food supply. The crowd did not know this; to them, his roar struck like thunder.

Louis’s fury became Military Charisma—Genghis Khan’s wrath—and radiated outward in a wave of intimidation. Likely the strongest pressure his level-1 Military Charisma could exert.

Silence fell. No one spoke. Louis continued.

“I need this place. From now on, this will be a place of pleasure and entertainment for you—where everyone can freely vent anger and desire. This is the Colosseum.”

No one but Louis knew what a Colosseum was. But if he said it was a Colosseum, then a Colosseum it was. The effect was worlds apart from what Kalbang had tried to explain. Still, there was always someone bold enough to speak.

“G-… Governor. Entertainment is fine, but… we… we need food. My daughter is dying.”

Louis looked that way. A gaunt pauper met his eyes and then hastily lowered his head, trembling pitifully. Ordinarily, such conduct in public would be considered insolent and punished. The man was a breadwinner; if punished now, his daughter would starve to death.

“Step forward.”

“I—I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Truly, I’m sorry. I have a daughter. Please forgive me.”

“Forward.”

Even Dekal’s soldiers stiffened at Louis’s aura; the paupers could hardly endure it. Fearing even a spark might land on them, people parted around the man like waves.

Shaking, he came forward and knelt.

“No kneeling. Stand.”

The man rose. Louis went on.

“No one knows this city’s condition more precisely than I do. Believe me. I am the governor. I will solve this problem. I promise to double the food rations within the next week.”

Louis told the man to go to the wagon in the back. A large wagon stood there, covered with cloth. The soldiers had brought it, but no one knew its purpose.

“You, pull the cover.”

Louis ordered the man to pull back the cloth. The man was deeply uneasy but knew he had to obey. He felt the burning stares around him. Whether this ended in his death—only the gods knew. Since the governor had spoken, he had to comply. After a brief hesitation, he pulled it back. Under the cloth lay a great quantity of wheat—food. Louis rode through the crowd and spoke:

“From this moment, we enact an emergency measure. We will distribute several days’ worth of food right now. This is a personal gift from the governor, so your regular rations will not be reduced—do not worry.”

Shock turned to cheers within seconds. Louis watched the shift in sentiment through his info window. Joy rippled outward, creating space around him. Some wept. It had been a desperate situation. Kalbang came over and asked:

“Y-young lord… where did you get so much food?”

“I stole it.”

“…Sir?”

Louis rubbed his cheek, throbbing where the stone had struck.

“Kalbang, Max has provided construction laborers. Start coordinating with them tomorrow.”

“…Yes, sir!”

Perhaps expecting the plan to fail, Max had helped with the administrative procedures and even provided laborers. And what had Louis done in return…?

‘Cleaning this up will be awkward—but urgency came first.’

Louis had emptied Max’s food stores. The moment he received military authority from Dekal, he raided the warehouse and took it all.

Dekal, if anything, seemed amused, and Louis carried it out with just that much tacit approval.

Of course, this was not a long-term fix. It was a short-term—ultra-short-term—measure. Even so, Louis had taken the risk because he believed in the Colosseum’s effect.

‘Special effect: for one month after opening, Unhappiness is forcibly dissipated.’

Just then, another quest appeared.

He had blurted out the pledge in a fit of anger.