Checking the Water Meter

The doorman didn't understand what "checking the water meter" meant. His first thought was, Where are the hidden sentries? Someone who hadn't received an invitation had already reached the theater entrance, yet there had been no response at all.

Had all the hidden sentries been taken out?

He was about to look through the peephole to see who it was when he touched the adamantine door. The excessive heat stung his hand, and he quickly pulled it back.

Before his eyes, the door turned red and began to glow, then melted into a viscous liquid like chocolate dropped into hot water.

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

Through the gaping hole, he saw a squad of fully armed warriors. Their helmets completely concealed their faces, and their armor bore no crests or markings, making it impossible to identify them. That was the last thing he ever saw.

Drogo had arrived.

Since they didn't know exactly what defenses the theater had, Drogo had decided to lead the operation himself. Every elite subordinate currently in Twin Towers City had joined the assault.

It was time to put an end to this farce.

He'd only meant to find out who had been spreading rumors about Raul. Who could have guessed that it would also uncover noble-led human trafficking, brainwashing, devil worship, and all kinds of other nonsense?

Still, it was just as well. If the other side had no respect for decency, he'd have to "return the favor."

Robbing nobles was an old trade of his. After all these years away from it, today would serve as a refresher.

To avoid being recognized, Drogo stood upright and wore a suit of dragonkin armor.

To be honest, it didn't fit very well. Dragonkin had no wings, so he'd had to wear armor a size too large, then tuck his wings in tight and stuff them into the space behind the breastplate.

The rest of it was loose, too, clanking and swaying around him like a boy who'd stolen his father's armor.

And it wasn't even as strong as his dragon scales.

More importantly, the armor couldn't withstand the heat of dragon breath. Since much of a Red Dragon's body caught fire in battle, the breastplate had been fitted with a heat indicator. It flashed when the armor was about to melt, accompanied by a "ding-dong" sound effect.

It reminded Drogo of the fun he'd had as a child, pretending to be a warrior of the Land of Light.

Even so, with a mixed squad of Drow and Orcs following behind him, no one would have thought the dragonkin at the front looked ridiculous.

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

One dragon in front, charging straight through.

From the way the spells felt when they hit him, their level was nowhere near that of Soren Tower's defenses.

They charged all the way into the theater's central hall. The noisy, frenzied crowd didn't even notice them. Some of the people high on drugs were dancing with the warriors.

"Wow, your armor's great! Want to come have some fun?"

The answer was a longsword through the heart.

If they'd only been guests at this den of debauchery, Drogo had planned to take their money and spare their lives. But since this one turned out to be a drugged-up junkie, he might as well run him through.

This numbing drug had existed on the continent for a very long time. Countless kingdoms had tried to ban it, but none had ever truly succeeded.

However, the rulers of those kingdoms hadn't wanted to ban it for the sake of public health. The addictive drug drained the workforce and made it harder for them to mine "human ore."

With supernatural powers in the picture, 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 didn't expect them to be able to stop these intruders.

They had eliminated the hidden sentries outside without anyone inside noticing, which meant the guards here were no match for them either.

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

But that hope was dashed almost at once.

The guards were utterly outmatched. The carefully selected fighters were no match at all, and the others lost the courage to resist, dropped their weapons, and fled for their lives.

The dragonkin cut down every last person who fought back with ease. In his eyes, their excessive heat glowed red-hot.

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

Meanwhile, Drogo and his warriors were closing the circle, herding everyone in purple robes together.

Drogo had worried that the people being sold inside might be used as hostages by the masterminds.

That would have been troublesome. He didn't want to hurt innocents, especially since his attacks had a rather wide area of effect, even in his smaller form.

It didn't take long for him to realize he'd been worrying over nothing. Using the "merchandise" as hostages hadn't even crossed their minds. Instead, they hurried to shove them aside, afraid they'd get in the way of their escape.

If these people had been the ones attacking and Drogo had been the one fleeing, and if Drogo had taken a half-orc hostage, the result would have been that he attacked with the hostage in tow.

The circle soon tightened around the stage. Everyone left was crowded into the arena onstage, and 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 want. There's no need to kill us to keep us quiet. Killing us won't do you any good."

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

"What reason do you have to kill us? Did someone pay you a fortune? Are you driven by some belief in the pursuit of justice? No! Neither!"

Baron grew more and more impassioned. His exaggerated gestures were powerfully persuasive; he was clearly an experienced speaker.

The speech, the arguments, the logic—all of that came second. The important thing was to draw the audience into his emotions.

"If someone paid you, we could certainly pay more. If you're doing this for some childish, shallow thing called justice, what a joke! Our existence is an indispensable part of justice in Twin Towers City!

"Demand doesn't disappear. It's because of me that these needs have a centralized supply. Without me, there would only be more chaos. Those children and half-orcs are merely necessary sacrifices—necessary sacrifices for the peace and stability of Twin Towers City!

"Even without me, they'd die. They'd die of disease or starvation. They'd work themselves to death in factories without a scrap of daylight. They'd be stabbed to death by some nameless street thug over a single copper coin. I haven't changed their fate. Maybe I've even given some of them a chance to survive!

"Did I make anyone take drugs? Did I make anyone gamble? Did I make anyone enter the arena? No! No, I didn't! They chose it themselves. I gave them the opportunity, and that made them like Twin Towers City more. More wealth flowed into the city, and everyone's lives got better.

"I built Twin Towers City! I built Twin Towers City! I'm the justice this city needs! I maintain the rules that keep it running. I make it better, while you're the ones bringing destruction. You should be ashamed!"

Baron's eyes bulged, and he panted heavily. Standing at the edge of the stage, he looked every inch a victorious champion.

To lie at the highest level, you first had to fool yourself into believing it.

"Did you record all that?" Drogo asked.

"We did," an Orc behind him replied.

"Ah, how are we supposed to build Twin Towers City with vermin like this around?"

As he spoke, the indicator on his chest started dinging. It flashed wildly, and as the armor gradually melted into molten iron, a torrent of flame burst out.

There was no burning process. In almost an instant, the purple-robed crowd and the stage with them turned to ash, leaving behind nothing but a pristine expanse of white.

"Let's go. Get some pictures of the remaining evidence. We should've started our own media outlet a long time ago, instead of letting nobles like this control the sources of information. We need to clear Raul's name."

After the Mimics had finished devouring the valuables at the scene, Drogo led his squad away.

Beneath the ash, unnoticed by anyone, the spot where Baron had stood began to glow with faint red runes. They were Mammon's mark.

Sorry for the trouble, everyone who's been following along.

When I wrote this part of the story, I thought there wasn't much wrong with it. Looking back now, I realize it was indeed too cryptic, with the point of view jumping around too much. I've done my best to adjust it, and tomorrow we'll return to the usual day-to-day management plot.

This part was mainly meant to introduce Baron and Mammon. I also wanted to make it darker and more twisted, but it ended up like this. If you didn't enjoy this part, don't worry; I won't pull anything this bizarre again.

Currently performing a sincere, 360-degree spinning, flying, twisting, somersaulting self-reflection...

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