News of the victory grew wings, flying through every street and alley of the slums overnight.
People discussed it excitedly on street corners, in crowded cheap taverns, and inside their drafty shacks.
They spoke not only of how that fatso Ferdinand had been thwarted or how the workers had gotten their hard-earned money back, but more so of a name—Lacey.
And of the organization behind him—the Leithanien Workers' Party.
This name seemed to possess a kind of magic.
It reawakened the life in faces that had been numb day after day.
Despair and emptiness were fading from their eyes, replaced by a long-lost light called 'hope'.
The Workers' Party headquarters, that abandoned warehouse, had become the liveliest place in the slums.
During the day, a dozen worn-out wooden planks were set up in the warehouse's open space to serve as blackboards for the Workers' Party literacy classes.
Serafina had invited a few of the more educated old gentlemen from the slums to teach the illiterate workers and their children.
Sunlight streamed through holes in the warehouse roof, forming pillars of light where dust motes danced, illuminating rows of focused faces.
A dockworker with a thick beard, built like a bear, was now clutching a piece of charcoal like a schoolboy, crookedly tracing his name on a sheet of rough paper.
With every stroke, he stuck his tongue out to lick his lips, his concentrated expression earning stifled laughs from the children nearby.
"What are you laughing at!" the big man roared, his face flushing as he spoke in a gruff voice.
"I'm learning to write so I can read the Party's platform someday, not like you little rascals who just want to learn enough characters to peek at girls' love letters!"
The children laughed even harder, and the entire warehouse filled with a cheerful atmosphere.
Serafina leaned against the doorframe, watching the scene with an unconscious smile playing on her lips.
Besides the literacy classes, the internal organizational structure of the Workers' Party was also rapidly established during this time.
Taylor the blacksmith, that simple, honest, and loyal man, officially became the captain of the Workers' Party Action Team.
His task was to lead a team composed of the strongest and bravest members, responsible for maintaining order in the slums, protecting members from harassment by hooligans, and responding to any potential emergencies.
The Action Team members had no fine weapons; in their hands, they still held the same sickles and axes.
Serafina, meanwhile, became Lacey's most capable deputy, responsible for intelligence and vetting.
And Lacey himself devoted most of his energy to ideological development and organizational growth.
He divided the nearly one thousand party members into dozens of branches based on their residential areas and types of work.
Each branch was assigned a Branch Secretary and two committee members, responsible for daily communication, propaganda, and mutual aid.
Every evening, Lacey would convene meetings with these grassroots leaders to hear their reports, solve the problems they encountered, and convey the Workers' Party's latest directives.
The Workers' Party was like a great tree taking root in barren soil. Its roots reached deep into every corner of the slums, sprouting and growing at an astonishing speed, tightly binding together thousands of people who were once like scattered sand.
The slums were undergoing a world-shaking transformation.
The streets became much cleaner because members would spontaneously organize to tidy up.
Quarrels and brawls became less frequent because the Action Team would appear at the first sign of trouble to mediate.
There were smiles on people's faces because the bread and milk from the fair-price shops meant they no longer had to worry about their next meal.
More importantly, a completely new spirit was quietly taking shape in this land.
People were beginning to believe they were not lambs for the slaughter, that by uniting, they could change their own destinies.
...
Salem, the Count's Manor.
The luxurious room was furnished with a snow-white carpet from Sami and oil paintings by famous Victorian artists hung on the walls. The air was filled with the scent of expensive spices.
A woman in a magnificent silk gown, with a slightly voluptuous figure, was lounging lazily on a sofa. With a hand clad in a lace glove, she gently swirled the red liquid in her glass.
She was one of the most powerful people in this city, and indeed the entire region: the lord of Salem, Count Leinia.
Before her, a respectably dressed butler was bowing, reporting in a low voice.
"...My Lady Count, according to the reports from our eyes in the slums, the growth rate of that Workers' Party has exceeded our expectations."
"They have not only taken control of the Golden Scissors Dyehouse but have also established their own armed force and organizational system. The entire slum district is now practically their territory; even the City Guard dare not set foot there lightly."
Hearing this, Count Leinia's red lips curled, and she licked them with the tip of her crimson tongue, though there was not a hint of a smile in her eyes.
"An armed force?" She chuckled, her tone dripping with disdain. "It's nothing more than a band of mud-legs playing house with farm tools."
"But... my lady." The butler hesitated before continuing, "That leader of theirs, the one called Lacey, is highly charismatic."
"The slogans he proposes, like 'Bread and Milk' and 'Take Back What is Ours,' are extremely popular among the lower classes."
"If this continues, I fear it will shake the very foundations of your rule."
"Of course I'm aware." Count Leinia sat up straight, placing her glass down heavily on the table, the crimson liquid sloshing within.
"However, my foundations are the Elector's trust, the tax revenue of Salem, and those factories and shops—not that rabble."
"They are leeks. You cut one crop, and another grows back. Since when is it their turn to be the masters?"
Despite her words, her fingers tapped rhythmically on the tabletop, betraying her inner turmoil.
Someone who could make a hardened scoundrel like Ferdinand submit, who could make the City Guard retreat, who could raise a force of several thousand in just over half a month, was certainly no mere madman who could only shout slogans.
"Furthermore, my lady," the butler lowered his voice.
"The latest news is that their Majesties the two Empresses seem to have heard about some disturbances in the border cities. Although Salem wasn't mentioned by name, the Elector has already sent word, demanding that we maintain stability in the region."
"...The Empresses." Count Leinia's pupils contracted slightly.
The methods of those two new sovereigns were far sharper than their looks. The fate of the previous Witch King was still a fresh memory.
"Stability... Hmph!" Count Leinia sneered. "It seems the time has come to meet this king of the slums."
She stood up and walked to the window, looking down upon the brilliantly lit cityscape of Salem.
"A firefly lighting a spark in the darkness... either it obediently flies into the palm of my hand to illuminate my way..."
"Or..." A vicious glint flashed in her eyes. "...it will simply be snuffed out."
"Prepare the land-vehicle," she ordered without turning around. "Tomorrow, I will go to the slums myself to meet the leader of the Workers' Party."
A chill ran through the butler's heart. He bowed hastily and withdrew.
________________________________________
Get rewarded for helping with our community goals!
🎯 Reward for all: +1 bonus chapter at 50 Powerstones.
🚀 Tier Reward: Help us reach 10 members for +5 chapters on all stories!
👻 Join the crew by searching Ms. Medusa on (P). You know the spot! 😉