Negotiation

Abel had a cigarette dangling from his lips as he walked up to the group.

He wore the uniform of a Night Watchman, his eye sockets sunken as if he hadn't slept well.

It's that Night Watchman. The thought surfaced in the minds of Ivan and Little George simultaneously.

Abel frowned when he saw the young man before him.

The power of the Order Aspect spread through his perception like a fine-meshed net, and fragmented memories surged to the surface.

The Small Chapel at night, the glowing jellyfish, the evacuating crowd... it was the gathering from that night.

In the distance, Gais saw Abel appear and ducked into a street corner early, narrowly avoiding being noticed.

Otherwise, this Night Watchman would surely have deduced the unusual nature of the person standing before him.

"It's you?" Abel's voice was hoarse, heavy with the exhaustion of a sleepless night.

He pinched out his cigarette and tucked it away, seemingly unwilling to blow smoke in front of the youth.

Little George was somewhat surprised; with so many people around that night, he hadn't expected the Night Watchman to remember his face.

He nodded and said calmly:

"Greetings, Mr. Night Watchman. I am George, and I am currently representing the workers in negotiations with City Hall regarding their treatment."

Abel nodded noncommittally and turned his gaze toward the Captain of the Constabulary who had spoken earlier.

The fat man seemed somewhat fearful of the Night Watchman, having heard strange rumors about them.

Yet, looking at his many subordinates, he was unwilling to lose face, so he stiffened his neck and said:

"Lord Night Watchman, we have already reached a proper resolution regarding the workers' strike..."

Abel smiled, ignored him, and walked straight toward Logan, extending a hand:

"Mr. Mayor, Bishop Tarik asked me to convey his regards to you."

Logan hurriedly shook his hand and returned the smile; with this Night Watchman acting as his spokesperson, certain matters would be much easier to advance.

"Thank you, Mr. Abel. The truth behind the workers' strike still requires your assistance to investigate; it may indeed involve a cult.

But for now, we are prepared to prioritize meeting the workers' demands and improving their treatment.

This is to prevent them from being incited by the cult further."

Abel fully agreed with the Mayor's assessment, his expression turning serious:

"Hmm... I arrived early and heard Mr. Mayor's speech just now; I feel deep sympathy.

The workers do indeed need better treatment, and since you have already promised, you cannot go back on your word."

Ivan listened clearly from the side, his mind racing:

"This Night Watchman has a certain obsession with maintaining order. Could this be the Code of Conduct for his Order Aspect?"

"The Code of Conduct for the Hand of Arbitration is to uphold order, the Dream Awakener's is to avoid over-reliance on dreams, and the Whisperer's is to maintain one's own cognition to avoid being influenced by others."

"It seems the Code of Conduct itself is directly linked to the corresponding extraordinary ability."

"Then Diana's Code of Conduct must be related to punishing wrongdoing, and since Little George is a Shaman, his code is likely about following natural selection."

Just then, a frantic shout suddenly exploded: "No! We don't agree!"

It was Rick who shouted, "On what grounds should your word as Mayor force our factories to double wages? We've already lost half a day of production, and if we raise wages further, how could our bosses ever forgive us?"

The other foremen chimed in, complaining in a jumble of voices, some even rolling up their sleeves as if ready for a fight.

They didn't understand the power of a Night Watchman; they only knew they couldn't answer to the factory owners, and they were as anxious as ants on a hot pan.

Abel frowned. He had no fondness for these men who looked like thugs, and his gaze turned cold.

In his view, these foremen were disrupting the order that had been so difficult to maintain.

He took a step forward, and the aura around him suddenly became oppressive, as if the surrounding mist had frozen solid:

"You said... you don't agree?"

His voice was not loud, yet it silenced the clamoring foremen instantly. They froze in place, an inexplicable chill running down their spines.

Rick, at the front, tried to say something more, but the moment he opened his mouth, Abel grabbed him by the throat with lightning speed and hoisted him into the air.

The power of the Order Aspect surged through him, and the foreman Rick flailed, slapping at Abel's arm.

"Ugh... ugh..."

Seeing Rick's face turning blue and purple, Abel released his grip, and the man landed on the cobblestones with a dull thud.

"Is there anyone else... who doesn't agree?"

Abel slowly scanned the surroundings, and the foremen were all too terrified to even let out a peep.

Going back meant being dealt with by the factory owners, but speaking up now meant being dealt with immediately!

The Captain of the Constabulary seemed to have suffered a bout of amnesia, fawning over Abel:

"Hehe, Lord Night Watchman, these unruly people just need to be taught a lesson. I've always said we must improve the workers' pay, but they just wouldn't listen..."

"That's enough." Logan interrupted the fat man's sycophancy in time. He exchanged a glance with Abel and walked over to Little George's side.

"Since no one has any objections, I shall represent the factory owners and agree to the workers' request. However..."

He shifted his tone, and Little George suppressed his excitement, meeting Logan's gaze with neither servility nor arrogance.

"Heh, the wages you're asking for are too high; they exceed what the factories can bear. Even if we paid them, it wouldn't be sustainable."

"How about this: we each take a step back. We will raise the workers' wages to 16 shillings per month. Compared to the previous 8 shillings, that is already a doubling."

Little George lowered his head, pretending to ponder for a moment. After a long while, as if having made a difficult decision, he nodded.

"Very well, Mr. Mayor. On behalf of the workers, I accept your terms."

That's great. It's been raised to 16 shillings. It's a good thing I asked for 1 pound, giving us some room to bargain.

Otherwise, under the pressure from this mayor and the Night Watchman, I don't know how much longer I could have held out.

He cheered inwardly, and even Ivan couldn't help but nod at his wit.

Little George has shown improvement. His performance today was excellent. Next time, I'll reward him with a complete Remnant Corpse of Spirituality to experiment—ahem, to let him feel the effects of enhancing a Gifted Beyonder.

Ivan quietly clapped for Little George using a tentacle.

Everything seemed to be moving in a positive direction.

The foremen walked toward their respective factories with mournful faces; it was foreseeable that after today, these men would lose their positions and revert to being ordinary workers.

Mayor Logan cast a cold glance at the Captain of the Constabulary before returning to his office.

Abel the Night Watchman left with a face full of exhaustion, returning to St. Peter's Cathedral.

In the side hall of the cathedral, the Deacon wearing tasseled glasses stood outside the door. Seeing Abel return from outside, he nodded and smiled at him.

"Mr. Abel, the Bishop is waiting for you."

Abel nodded and walked through the door held open by the Deacon.

Bishop Tarik remained seated in the shadows, his features obscured.

"It is resolved. The workers have all returned, though I haven't had the chance to investigate the cultist incitement yet."

"However, based on my experience, it is highly likely that some local organizations are behind the agitation."

The Bishop trembled imperceptibly in the shadows, then nodded, his calm voice drifting over:

"That is good. You have worked hard, Abel. Go back and rest early."

Abel did not reply, walking off toward the Clock Tower on his own.

After he left, the Deacon walked in from outside and bowed toward the Bishop's direction.

"Bishop, was the ritual... successful?"

Tarik slowly stepped out from the shadows. His slightly plump, round face was obscured by a mass of shadow, as if his features had been smeared with gray dye.

"Of course. I have already absorbed the dissipated Spirituality."

The shadows on his face flowed slowly as he spoke.

"Heh, that fellow from the Dock Gang would never have guessed that from the very beginning, I had altered his perception—a trivial piece of common sense."

"Even if the wages of the Textile Factory workers were low, it would be impossible for them to be unable to afford food."

"If that were the case, the factories would have ceased operations long ago; how could they possibly go on strike for a raise because of food?"

A low chuckle emanated from beneath that patch of shadow.

"Congratulations to the Bishop for breaking through the barrier and successfully advancing to a Rank 4 Dream Mentor."

The Deacon bowed even lower, the corners of his mouth curling up as a faint, imperceptible light flickered beneath his lenses.