Chapter 204: Escaping Present Hardships

Richard shook his head.

"You took a risk with that injection, didn't you?"

Wentworth turned to him.

"I won't say anything. The fewer people who know what you can do, the better."

He was in no rush to leave, finding a stone block to sit on.

"There are things I wouldn't normally be obliged to explain to you."

"But since you came down here today and saw it yourself, I might as well explain it so you aren't left guessing."

Richard looked at him.

"You should have realized by now... the Branch Office doesn't completely seal off weak points like the Unresponsive Pit."

The inspector squad leader didn't look at him, keeping his eyes on the distant smoke.

"We take some losses every year during the spring and autumn maintenance. The Branch Office has a dedicated project for it, complete with a budget, pensions, and a replacement process."

"The project is called 'Routine Attrition'."

"Routine Attrition..." Richard thought of the squad two leader, a coat covering his face as they loaded him into the iron cage.

That man's death was just a ledger entry for Routine Attrition.

Wentworth could tell what he was thinking.

"Don't look at me like that."

"This is how a system operates. Issuing pensions, arranging replacements, and cleaning up the mess—all of it requires a budget and approval."

At this point, there was something Richard simply had to ask.

"That riot on the surface today... thousands of workers shouting in unison, sending the Chief Responder into the pit. The more chaotic the surface gets and the louder they yell, the more the thing at the bottom gorges itself. So why..."

"Why still suppress them?" Wentworth moved downwind and lit a cigarette anyway.

"Yeah."

"Labor disputes aren't the Branch Office's problem. I've told you this before."

"The Branch Office doesn't publicly intervene in the affairs of the Surface World. That is an ironclad rule. We only handle our side of the veil."

"But you know a violent crackdown will only result in more deaths." Richard stared at him.

"More deaths mean more Death Echoes, which only makes the thing beneath the veil grow stronger. The Surface World is practically working against us."

Wentworth took a heavy drag of his cigarette.

"You aren't the first person in the Branch Office to bring that up."

"We fight like hell to suppress the thing inside the pit down here, while the surface constantly feeds it up there. The left hand fighting the right."

"But that's how the system works. Jurisdiction requires boundaries. If we overstep to manage public order—handling a strike today, something else tomorrow—the entire system falls apart. The rules exist so everyone, including us, knows exactly how far their reach extends."

"These rules come with a price, but the price of having no rules is even greater."

He kept his eyes on the smoke as he spoke.

He sounded like he was trying to convince Richard, but also like he was convincing himself.

"Those attackers." Richard approached from a different angle.

"...They were just people pushed to the point where they couldn't survive anymore, weren't they?"

"Yes." Wentworth didn't deny it. "I won't defend anyone on that point."

"But how did they turn those desperate people into... hollow shells?"

Richard thought of the corpses and the man who could only echo words, a cold chill settling over him.

Wentworth glanced at him.

"Based on the traits of that response group today, they likely belong to a cult known as the Echo Society."

"Certain forbidden Spell Formulas and practices use rituals to transfer their cost onto others. The Echo Society is one such branch."

Richard's heart sank.

He recalled the theories he had drafted in his notebook recently regarding the Abyss Tradition's 'cost transfer'.

He had only been theorizing on paper about what would happen if the cost could be shifted onto a scapegoat...

And now, Wentworth was telling him it was real, operating right here in the city around him.

The inspector squad leader continued:

"The Echo Society preys on people who can't survive any longer."

"They promise them power. They promise them a way to 'escape their present hardships'. The ones coughing up blood who don't dare go to a hospital, the ones who can't even get into the poorhouse, the ones watching their families starve... they figure nothing could possibly be worse than what they have now."

"And so they are hollowed out cut by cut, used up until even their true names are carved away."

He let out a sigh.

"I've dealt with this sort of thing more than once."

"Every time, the real manipulators hide in the shadows, leaving these poor wretches to be pushed onto our blades."

"We have to treat them as pollution sources that must be purged... going soft will only lead to far worse consequences."

Wentworth snuffed out his cigarette.

"I advise you not to overthink it. It'll only weigh you down. All we can do is cleanly handle the work within our boundaries. The rest isn't for people at our level to worry about."

"Back to business. Let me settle up with you for today's mission."

He adopted a strictly professional tone.

"Make an itemized list of the Enchanted Bullets you fired today and submit it to the Branch Office. They'll be fully reimbursed."

"Also, I'm giving you a gun."

Richard looked up, a little confused.

"That Webley Mark III of yours is a police model. It's fine for street thugs, but it doesn't hold up in a situation like today."

The inspector squad leader's gaze swept over the spot beneath Richard's coat where his gun was concealed.

"I have a custom piece in my cabinet. It's from my personal collection. I'll find time to send it to you."

Seeing that Richard was about to decline, he cut him off.

"You saved me today. I have to give you something, or it won't sit right with me."

Wentworth waved his hand, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

"Plus, it's out of my own pocket. It has nothing to do with Branch Office funds."

Richard thanked him earnestly.

Wentworth said no more. He glanced back at the smoke, an unreadable emotion in his eyes.

A man who had spent years watching the same wound fester had long since learned to avert his eyes, but today, he had been forced to take another look.

Mr. Hutton walked over just then, evidently having caught the tail end of the conversation.

He didn't press the topic, opting instead to give a few instructions.

"Those three lines of invocation that Lieutenant Colonel Ord recited today—never utter a single word of them again."

"And not just aloud."

The old gentleman fixed his gaze on him.

"Don't recite them in your head, and definitely don't write them in your notebook. Even if you're just trying to 'research' who that entity is, don't."

"Why?"

"Because reciting the true name is itself the faintest kind of 'call'."

"You've watched this game of 'responding' all day, and you still don't understand? Uttering that entity's name is tantamount to calling out in their direction from this side of the veil."

"That entity likely has no time to pay attention to a small fry like you."

"But what if they do? You can't afford that gamble."

"I'll remember, sir. I won't recite it, and I won't think about it." Richard committed the rule to memory.

"Good." Mr. Hutton nodded. "Let's go. We're heading back."

Richard stood and offered a hand to help the old man up.

The dirt road was damp in the night air, letting out faint squelches under their boots.

They headed toward the convoy, but hadn't taken many steps before Richard thought of something.

"Sir, the Chief Responder died today, and we can't get anything out of the survivor."

"The people behind the Echo Society will surely know what happened here tonight. If we withdraw now..."

He tilted his head toward the nine-layered stone ring.

"What if they come back tonight?"

The old gentleman nodded approvingly.

"Good of you to think of that."

"The Virtuoso agreed to let the lieutenant colonel borrow His 'Breathing' once. He'll leave a mark in this area."

"A mark?"

"Think of it like this..."

Mr. Hutton raised a hand and pointed vaguely toward the sky.

"His gaze will linger over this area for a while—anywhere from a week to a month."

"During that time, the entire Unresponsive Pit will be right under His watchful eye."

Goosebumps broke out over the back of Richard's neck.

He remembered that inhuman gaze cast down from a "conceptual high point" just moments ago.

"If the Echo Society comes back..." Richard followed the logic. "They'd have to slip in right under His nose."

"Exactly. What the lieutenant colonel bought for us today is this window of safety."

"Leaving a few people behind to stand guard would be completely redundant. If the Echo Society really had the power to tear open a crack under the Virtuoso's direct supervision..."

"...then leaving a few guards here would be even more pointless."

Richard understood.

Guards were only useful if the invading enemy's Rank fell within a manageable range.

"Let's head back and rest."

Mr. Hutton patted his shoulder.

"The most important thing right now is for everyone to get some sleep. We'll report this up the chain first thing tomorrow."

"Report it to what level?"

"The Northern Branch Headquarters of Manchester."

...

By the time the convoy pulled out, it was almost eleven at night.

The vehicle carrying the squad two leader's remains led the way, its hood draped in a gray cloth.

When a comrade fell in the field, a gray cloth draped the hood for thirty miles to give the dead a quiet journey home.

Richard sat in the second vehicle.

No one spoke in the cabin.

After channeling the Virtuoso's power, Lieutenant Colonel Ord looked utterly drained.

He sat in the passenger seat with his eyes closed, the joints of his Steel Prosthetic Arm letting out an occasional, faint creak.

The silver rivets, scorched by the sheer wind pressure, were slowly cooling.

Wentworth sat alone by the window in the back, his left hand pressing against the inside of his right arm.

They jolted along the dirt road for nearly an hour before the convoy finally reached a district with streetlights.

Briston was much quieter now than when they had set out that morning.

The strike had been broken, and militiamen stood in twos and threes at the intersections with rifles in hand.

When they saw the Branch Office convoy, they saluted the lead vehicle.

It was past midnight by the time the convoy pulled up to the back door of the main Branch Office building.

Richard climbed out of the car, his stomach gnawing with emptiness.

His temples throbbed, but his eyes refused to shut.

Wentworth studied his face.

"You don't need to go home tonight."

"Huh?"

"Your family is already asleep. We've got a debriefing tomorrow morning anyway, so running back and forth will just be a hassle."

"There are dormitories here in the Branch Office. Go get some sleep, and you can head home after the meeting."

"But my family..." Richard hesitated.

"I'll call your house in the morning."

Mr. Hutton waved a hand.

"I'll just say you're out on a field study with me and will be back tomorrow afternoon. Your mother will understand that."