Checking the Water Meter

The gatekeeper had no idea what "checking the water meter" meant. His first thought was, What about the sentries? Someone without an invitation had already reached the theater entrance, yet there had been no response at all.

Could all the hidden sentries have been taken out?

He was about to look through the peephole to see who it was. The moment his hand touched the refined gold door, the excessive heat stung him, and he hurriedly pulled it back.

The door panel turned red and began to glow at a visible speed, melting into a viscous liquid like chocolate dipped in hot water.

Why? Wasn't it supposed to be the toughest metal? Why was it melting so easily?

Through the hole melting into the door, he saw a squad of fully armed warriors. Their helmets completely covered their faces, and their armor bore no crests or markings whatsoever. Their identities were impossible to discern. That was also the last thing he saw.

Drogo had arrived.

Since he did not know the theater's exact defensive strength, Drogo had personally led the operation, bringing every elite subordinate currently in Twin Towers City.

It was time to put an end to this farce.

He had originally only wanted to find out who was spreading rumors about Raul. Who could have expected it to uncover noble human trafficking, brainwashing, devil worship, and so much other messy nonsense?

Still, it was fine. Since they had no morals, he could only return the favor.

Robbing nobles was his old trade. After lying low for so many years, he could treat today as a refresher course.

To avoid being recognized, Drogo remained in an upright stance and wore a suit of dragonborn armor.

To be honest, it did not fit very well. Dragonborn had no wings, so he had to wear armor one size too large, fold his wings tight, and stuff them into the gap behind the breastplate.

The rest of it hung loosely around him, swaying as he moved, making him look like a teenager who had snuck into his father's armor.

Its defense was not even as good as dragon scales.

More importantly, the armor could not withstand the heat of dragon breath. Since many parts of a Red Dragon's body burned in battle, there was a heat indicator on his chest. It flashed whenever the armor was about to melt, complete with a "ding-dong" sound effect.

It gave Drogo the same joy he had felt as a child pretending to be a warrior of the Land of Light.

Even so, with a mixed warband of drow and orcs following behind him, no one found the dragonborn at the head of the group ridiculous.

Drogo chose the simplest method to break through the theater's defensive spells.

One dragon in front, charging straight through.

Judging by how the attacks felt when they struck him, they were far inferior to those in Soren Tower.

They burst all the way into the theater's central hall. The noisy, crazed crowd did not notice them at all. Some people who had gotten too high even hugged the warriors and danced with them.

"Nice, really nice. Your armor is amazing. Want to come play with us?"

The response was a longsword driven through his heart.

If they had merely been guests of this den of decadence, Drogo had intended to take their money without taking their lives. But since this one was a drugged-up junkie, he might as well stab him.

These drugs, which numbed people into addiction, had existed on the continent for an extremely long time. Countless kingdoms had tried to ban them, but none had ever truly succeeded.

However, kingdom rulers did not seek prohibition out of concern for people's health. Addictive poison depleted the workforce, making it inconvenient for them to mine their "human ore."

With supernatural powers in existence, perhaps the oppression of ordinary people on this continent would never change.

"Guards!" Sir Baron was the first to notice something was wrong. He roared for the guards, though he did not expect them to deal with these uninvited guests.

If they could clear out the outer sentries without anyone inside noticing, then the guards in the theater were certainly no match for them.

He only hoped the guards could buy him enough time to escape.

But that hope quickly shattered.

They were utterly helpless. The carefully selected guards were completely unable to withstand even a single blow. The rest lost the courage to resist, throwing down their weapons and fleeing for their lives.

The dragonborn effortlessly harvested every resister. The excessive heat made everything in his vision glow a scorching red.

What now? Sir Baron's mind raced as he tried to find a way to survive.

Meanwhile, Drogo and the warriors tightened their encirclement, gathering everyone in purple robes together.

Drogo had worried that the people being treated as merchandise inside might be taken hostage by the masterminds.

That would have been troublesome. He did not want to harm innocents, especially since his attacks covered rather large areas, even in his smaller form.

He soon realized he had worried for nothing. Taking the "merchandise" hostage was not even an option these people considered. Instead, they hurried to shove them aside, afraid they would obstruct their escape.

Because if these people were the attackers and Drogo was the one running, then if Drogo chose to take a half-orc hostage, the only result would be that they attacked together with the hostage.

The encirclement quickly shrank to the stage. The remaining people were packed into the arena on it. Now, they were the ones being watched.

"Wait!" Sir Baron suddenly shouted. He stepped to the front of the crowd and faced the fully armed warriors.

"If you're after money, you've already gotten what you wanted. There's no need to silence us. Killing us won't benefit you."

Drogo crossed his arms and gestured for Baron to continue. He was listening.

"What reason do you have to kill us? Did someone pay you an exorbitant price, or are you pursuing some faith in justice? No, neither!"

Baron's tone grew more impassioned. His exaggerated gestures were highly rousing. He was an experienced speaker.

Speeches, reason, and logic were all secondary. What mattered was drawing the audience into the emotion.

"If someone paid you, then we can surely pay you more. If it's for childish, shallow, so-called justice, then what a joke! Our existence is an indispensable part of Twin Towers City's justice!

"Demand will not disappear. It is precisely because I exist that these demands have centralized supply. Without me, there would only be more chaos. Those children and half-orcs are merely necessary sacrifices, necessary sacrifices for Twin Towers City's peace and stability!

"Even without me, they would die. They would die of illness, starve to death, work themselves to death in sunless factories, or get stabbed by some nameless street thug over a copper coin. I have not changed their fates. Perhaps I even gave some of them hope to keep living!

"Did I make people take drugs? Did I make people gamble? Did I make people enter the arena? No, none of it! They chose it themselves, and I gave them the opportunity. They will like Twin Towers City more, more wealth will flow into Twin Towers City, and everyone's lives will improve.

"I built Twin Towers City! I built Twin Towers City! I am the necessary justice! I uphold the rules that keep this place running. I made this place better, while you are the ones bringing destruction. You should be ashamed!"

Baron's eyes were bloodshot, and he panted heavily, but as he stood before the stage, he looked every bit like a victorious fighter.

Sure enough, the highest level of deception was first deceiving yourself into believing it.

"Did you record all that?" Drogo's voice rang out.

"We did," the orc behind him answered.

"Ah. How are we supposed to build Twin Towers City with vermin like this?"

With that, the indicator on his chest chimed and flashed frantically. As the armor gradually melted into molten iron, surging flames erupted forth.

There was no burning process. Almost in an instant, the crowd in purple robes and the stage beneath them turned to ash, leaving behind only a vast whiteness and true peace.

"Let's go. Take some pictures of the remaining evidence. We really should have built our own media sooner, instead of letting nobles like these control the sources of information every day. It's time to clear Raul's name."

After several mimics had devoured the valuables at the scene, Drogo led the team away.

Beneath the unnoticed ashes, at the spot where Baron had stood, blood-red runes faintly flickered. They were Mammon's mark.

Sorry, everyone following along.

When I first wrote this part, I thought there was nothing wrong with it. Looking back now, I realized it really was too cryptic, and the perspective jumped around too much. I've done my best to revise it into its current form. Tomorrow, we'll return to the usual business-management storyline.

This section was mainly meant to introduce Baron and Mammon. I also wanted to make it darker, more brutal, and a little more unhinged, and this was the result. If anyone did not like this part, don't worry—I won't do anything this weird again in the future.

Sincerely reflecting while performing a spinning, flying, 360-degree twisting somersault...

Please provide the text you would like me to translate. I am ready to process it according to your instructions.