Another Faith (2)
One of the Seven Holy War Kingdoms, the Iron Kingdom was the dominant power among the eight kingdoms of the southern continent.
They made up for their geographic disadvantage at the southern tip with political sophistication and financial muscle.
But at some point a subtle tectonic shift began in the balance of power on the southern continent.
It began with Angel's Tears.
The name of a hallucinogen openly circulating in the small kingdom of Keshia.
"It's quiet."
Keshia's capital really was quiet.
The crimes and terror that had once run rampant were gone, and the image of girls wailing after losing their homes had vanished.
Like a literal ghost town—only the occasional moan leaked through the tightly shut houses.
Fermi looked up at the burning sun.
"Isn't this peace too?"
A rough beard thickly covered his lower jaw, and his dyed hair remained only at the tips of his long locks.
"Parmy."
Fermi turned at the voice and showed a smile that looked like madness playing at the edges.
"Niaka."
Although Fermi was from the central continent, the southern cadence had crept into his speech.
"What's up? Everyone should be asleep."
A dark-skinned, medium-built man snuffled as he approached Fermi.
"I found it, didn't I? I was going to the company. Do you have it? Angel's Tears."
Commonly called Angel.
"Of course."
Fermi rifled his pocket while staring into Niaka's wildly dilated pupils.
"Only the measured dose. Too much and it isn't fun. Here—take this and go home."
He handed over a small plastic bag filled with white powder that glittered like sugar.
"Thanks. But I have no money. I can't work. Want to come home with me? If it's okay, bring my wife too."
No one in Keshia worked anymore.
"It's fine. We don't need money now."
Except for the Iron Kingdom, the seven southern kingdoms were all under Fermi's thumb.
"Bring this to your wife. A little service like that is basic hospitality."
Fermi patted Niaka's shoulder and slipped another bag into his hand.
Niaka sniffed, held the bag to his nose, shuddered, and moaned.
"Haah. I'll live now."
Half-focused, Niaka asked without removing the bag from his nose, "Parmy. You don't do Angel, right?"
"Why would you think that?"
"I don't know. I just feel it. Why wouldn't you try something this good? Does it hurt?"
"If I enjoyed it too, who would make the drugs? At least one person has to keep this city guarded. Right?"
Niaka sniffed a couple more times, waved as he headed home, and said, "Anyway, thanks."
Fermi smiled as he watched him go. "Stick to the dose. Consider that a warning."
By tomorrow Niaka probably wouldn't even remember meeting Fermi.
Fermi lingered a moment, then walked down the desolate street strewn with dust and trash.
On the spire of a modern building at the end of the block, the symbol of the Golden Coinwheel glinted.
"Welcome, Chairman."
The cool air inside swept away the midday heat as he entered the building.
"So. How's the excavation team?"
The employee following him wore a plain face; his pupils were a little loose, too.
"They woke up two hours ago. They're waiting in the recovery room now." Fermi's gaze darkened.
'Three days and seventeen hours in real time. This excavation was pretty rough.'
Beyond the automatic doors was a white room fitted with state-of-the-art medical equipment.
Two hundred beds lined the walls—every single one empty.
"Oh? You're here."
The bathroom door opened and Marsha, just out of the shower, came out drying her hair.
"Where have you been? We looked everywhere." The Parrot Mercenary Corps, allied with the Golden Coinwheel, had leapt to second place in the global guild rankings.
A remarkable rise, considering it encompassed all existing guilds, not just mercenaries.
"Just got some air. Took a walk."
"...you've been going out a lot lately. There's no one on the streets anyway, so there's nothing to see."
"Isn't that the best part?" Marsha mulled over Fermi's words and picked up the metal box on the bed.
"Here. This one was tough. It's in a dangerous area and buried very deep. We dug down about two hundred years' worth..."
"Good work."
Fermi took the box and, judging by the gem set in its center, confirmed it had never been opened.
"How much do you want?"
Marsha shrugged into a sweater as she asked.
"Still stingy? You swept up the coffers of the seven kingdoms and you're still tight with money."
"That's why I'm asking."
"It'll be a long arrangement, so I'll take a fair cut. Eight billion gold. Prepare it in large coins, all at once."
Fermi gave a half-smile.
"Eight billion gold is four days' wages."
"How many dependents are there? If you split it up among everyone, there's nothing left. Anyway, have it ready. I'm going out for a drink."
Fermi put the box on the shelf and patted Marsha's shoulder. "I'll hand it over the usual way."
"Oh, and—"
Marsha glanced back just before leaving. "You should shave a bit. Have you... since then, have you been to see the children even once?"
"That's a bit personal."
"Right. You'll manage. I just thought visiting them would be better than wandering those empty streets."
After Marsha left the recovery room and the automatic doors closed, Fermi looked into the mirror.
He looked like a strange man standing there.
"...has it come to this already?"
When you dig up events from an unknown future, you forget the present.
Fermi went into the bathroom, took a warm shower, and lathered his face.
Scrape, scrape.
His beard—he couldn't remember how long he'd let it grow—was cleanly shaved off.
He grabbed his long hair and began cutting it with a razor.
When he looked in the mirror again, the clean face of the man called Fermi finally appeared.
"Chairman."
A secretary waiting outside came in and bowed as Fermi stepped naked from the bathroom.
"Bring me my clothes. I'm going there."
"...Yes." The woman, her thinking slowed by Angel, understood and brought a fine suit.
Buttoned neatly, Fermi studied himself for a long moment in the full-length mirror.
"Hmm."
Feeling ready, he went to the room where dozens of children slept.
IV lines were attached; doctors in gowns checked times and adjusted dosages.
"Chairman."
A masked doctor bowed, and Fermi steadied him with a hand on the shoulder as he moved.
"Fe—Fermi."
The only adult woman in the room propped herself up, eyes bleary.
She was Rachel, comrade of Fermi's mother Yolga and director of the Aramones Orphanage.
"Teacher."
And perhaps... the first woman Fermi had ever loved.
The doctor flipped through the charts quickly.
"The Angel dosage doesn't exceed the average. Emotion Sickness is suppressed, and conscious activity lasts for about four hours a day."
"Fermi, you can't do this. Giving drugs to these children—this is a terrible sin."
Before he began 'mining' the history of Emotion Sickness outbreaks, he'd vowed never to see it again.
To Fermi, Rachel was a stand-in for Yolga and a woman he had once loved.
"Thanks to the drugs, they can sleep comfortably. You know that, teacher. Without this drug they'd suffer."
Though she couldn't not know, long-term administration of Angel had weakened Rachel's reason.
"I don't know. What should I do... what can I possibly do for these children? Is this really the best?"
"Don't think about it. I'll think. Do nothing. I'll handle it. Teacher, just lie down and dream peacefully."
Fermi gently laid Rachel back on the bed. Her gaze wavered as she looked up at him.
'Fermi.'
It had been the same before.
Why he'd once given a kiss to a fellow comrade's son—however wrong it was, kissing a nine-year-old—was because—
'He was so exceptional, so clever.' He had clung to that overwhelming feeling that nothing in the world was impossible.
"Fermi, actually, I—"
"I'll come again."
As if he already knew her feelings, Fermi cut Rachel off before she could finish.
"Ah, ahh..."
He increased the IV rate; her eyelids fluttered and she sank into a deep sleep.
"Let her sleep for a while. Emotional fluctuation or amplification can worsen the illness."
"Understood."
While the doctor bowed, Fermi looked over the orphanage's children.
They convulsed sometimes, but for the most part they slept with peaceful faces.
"Have a good time."
Not the hell of reality, but sweet dreams.
"Chairman."
As Fermi left the room, an attendant of the Golden Coinwheel followed, his shoes clicking.
"The Great Council of the Crusade is near. Shouldn't we secure a neighboring country like the Iron Kingdom beforehand?"
"Leave it be for now. They probably hold the cards we need."
When Fermi spoke, there was no need to doubt him.
"Understood. Then I'll present our candidacy on behalf of the seven southern kingdoms, excluding Iron."
"Hmm."
Fermi thought of Shirone.
"Put that on hold too. A guest will be coming soon. Don't you want to see all the cards before the end?"
"Yes, sir."
The attendant paused to record the words, and Fermi went into his office alone.
He set Marsha's box on a shelf and sat in the chair by the front window.
'Mother.'
Staring out at the desolate city, Fermi recalled Yolga's face from Istas.
'Don't worry. You'll be fine.'
Because she was your mother.
She had left this world after giving humanity a chance to choose its future.
A heroine comparable to Geukseon Miro, her disposition leaned more toward universal love.
"Ugh—"
A vein stood out on Fermi's neck.
'Is it starting again?'
He had avoided Angel because a clouded mind made it hard to 'mine' history.
"Damn it."
The pain of Emotion Sickness stabbed through his body and twisted his nose like some beast.
What could he give up?
He had discarded everything except what was necessary to achieve his goals.
Suddenly his eyes filled with killing intent and his expression grew ferocious.
He grabbed a combat knife in a reverse grip and struck hard at the back of his left hand.
Thud!
The blade drove through the bones of his hand and into the armrest; red blood ran down the blade.
"Tsk."
Fermi clicked his tongue, produced a cigarette, tilted his head, and lit it.
"Fuu."
Leaning back in his chair, he blew a long stream of smoke toward the view outside.
"...that's a bit better now."
The sun burned so hot it was unpleasant.