Slumrat Rising

Vol. 4 Chap. 49 Seaside Sunshine

It took a while going around a whole damn mountain to avoid a single roadblock, but it was still less annoying than slipping through the roadblock by playing dead. He kept picking at the question of why the birds were messing up his ability to cast Earth Folding Step. It wasn’t even all birds. Just cop-birds and Starbrite birds. It made zero sense.

The trees seemed to be conspiring against him. They were densely packed together, but small. The worst of both worlds, as it meant that he had to be constantly moving around them, but couldn’t really climb them and jump from tree to tree at speed. No, it was a lot of zig-zags, as he tried to keep on track and not lose track of where the highway was. Ironically, the circling surveillance was a real help there. He could look up and orient whenever he liked.

Since when does looking at a spell make it not work?

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Ahaha. Ha. More than most, I’d say.

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Well. I mean. I don’t know how water ‘works’ either, but I can still drink water.

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I was more focused on the drinking part.

You die if you don’t drink water. Good enough reason.

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Truth tried to zip between a pair of… maybe pine trees? Or fir? He was vague on the difference. He slipped the gap only to run directly into a whippy little thing that was barely chest high. No damage or pain, of course, but it was just irritating. No such thing as a clear gap.

The System wasn’t wrong, of course. He didn't know the “why” behind most things. It was one of those nice-to-have things. Understanding what was, was always more important. Still was more important. Didn’t feel any closer to Starbrite, but… if anyone had a lead, it would be Internal Security.

Also the plague engines. Not going to sleep on that one. Actual, literal plague engines. Machines for generating life exterminating demon plagues. If they were really diabolical, they would be designed to go off after the magic finished collapsing. Really exterminate any chance of resistance.

Screw it. He could take the forest as a training opportunity. Really hone that reaction speed, balance, and high speed movement. He picked up the pace, dodging around the trees as quickly as he could. Incisive wasn’t going to ping off running into a tree, it was all down to him. Go toes down on a rock, push, loop around the scaly bark of the tree, push, between two more trees, push on again. Silently storming around a mountain.

Bright sun up high. It was a beautiful summer day in Jeon. Not a lot of birds chirping, but the breeze in the trees was nice. Feeling the forest move as he moved through it. Truth pushed himself to improve himself as he did what the world told him was necessary. Not noticing how an irritating chore became satisfying, then fun.

Runchon was a town stuck between industry and tourism, and not really succeeding at either. There were shipping terminals, but they were too small to be much use, and while there was a rail line through town, it wasn’t connected to the port. There was also a wall of beachfront hotels, facing the cold waters on the east coast of Jeon. It lacked a compelling view. It wasn’t particularly close to Harban, or any other really huge city. Gamphe, maybe, but that was on the other side of the peninsula and they had their own beaches.

Still. Credit where it was due- it was less anonymous and monotonous than Confen. You could say what you like, but at least it was better than that. There was a nice little park with some weird statues. There were a couple of shopping streets that had been decorated with an appealing blue and white color scheme. Tasteful, and thematically appropriate.

Stolen novel; please report.

There was also a public execution happening in a grocery store parking lot. A load of citizens screaming at an older man, whipping him with belts, spitting on him. They hauled him over to a street light and hanged him, hauling him up with cheap plastic rope, coming together as a community to hold him in the air as he kicked and thrashed, his hands tied behind his back. He pissed himself. He stopped kicking. People cheered when the rope dropped and then knives came out for souvenirs.

It wasn’t murder. Cops were watching it happen. So it must be legal. Right?

He had seen awful things. Terrible thing. This wasn’t the first time he had seen a mob turn on someone and tear them apart. Those were all in the slums. It was a gang thing, or close enough. These were citizens. D-Tier, almost all of them, but he could see an older lady in a white summer dress flashing that C-Tier identity sigil with no shame. She had raised her arm to show her trophy- a chunk of meat. What meat, he didn’t know, or want to know.

“Alright, next stop, the Flame!” Someone Truth wouldn’t look at twice yelled. The cry was met with a cheer of approval, and everyone hustled off. There was no body left behind on the sidewalk. Someone had packed a contractor bag. It was filled with the scraps and was tossed unceremoniously into a dumpster. That was at least two crimes Truth could think of- interfering with a corpse and improper disposal of human remains.

Cops didn’t even blink. The selective blindness of the cops wasn’t that unusual of course, especially since he got back from Siphios, but this was different. They hadn’t been paid off. They weren’t looking away. They saw everything, and therefore they saw nothing. They were either under orders, or whatever passed for common sense had changed so much, he couldn’t recognize it anymore.

He followed the mob to the “Flame,” a roaring pit fire in a plaza overseen by a statue of the first Emperor of Jeon. The chunks of meat were ceremoniously tossed into the fire by bloody hands.

“Great Father of Jeon, Master of Ten Thousand Flames, Ruler of the World, we beseech you! Accept our offering and bless us, that we may continue your glory for eternity. Kill all traitors! Glory to Jeon! Glory to Jeon! Glory to Jeon!”

“Glory! Glory! Glory!”

The crowd chanted back. The ordinary man seemed to be a local somebody. A bit on the older side. Truth could imagine him running a prosperous plumbing business, or maybe owning a few fast food franchises. Not a lot- those were quite expensive. But two or three would be more than enough for this crowd of fifty or so to listen to him.

The crowd cheered and dissolved into small knots, chatting about this and that. He overheard two men complaining about how much school fees were costing this year, and he nearly snapped. Apparently, the cost of uniforms was outrageous. Ignoring the blood drying to black on their white linen summer shirts. And why not? It all washes out with enough bleach and demons.

Truth found the lady with the bloody hands and the summer dress. She was seeing off a gaggle of social climbers, enjoying being the moon surrounded by the little stars. She strode off, and he fell in beside her.

“What was that all about?” He leaned on Incisive. C-Tier or not, she was a Level One. She spoke when commanded, not even realizing she was doing so.

“Wasn’t that fun? I didn’t get a piece last time, as I had never made an offering before and I was a little alarmed by all the noise. This time I made sure to stand next to where-”

“No. What was that all about? Look straight at it, and tell me.”

The sunny smile drained off her face. “Refo was a defeatist. He listened to foreign propaganda, undermined morale, and was a known hoarder. When we broke into his house, we found no less than four kilos of meat buried in the bottom of his freezer. Not to mention all the illegal scry equipment and immoral books. He has always been suspiciously lucky in those maintenance contracts too- we all agreed he must be getting support from foreign spies and local traitors.”

She waved her hands, chopping them through the air. “Not the first time such a thing has happened. Not the hundredth or thousandth! But there is a way, a simple way, for even ordinary people to turn bone eating parasites into nutrition for the nation. Sacrifice!”

She snorted. “So we-”

“I understand. I completely understand.”

It was amazing how relieved she looked. Like his understanding was the important thing. Not his agreement, or forgiveness, or forbearance. His understanding. He could watch the thoughts moving through her mind. As long as they understood, what right-thinking person could condemn her for what she did? In fact, they would agree with her. They would praise her for being a good, civic minded, responsible person.

Besides, everyone was doing it. The police ignored it, and even arrested people trying to stop it. So it couldn’t possibly be wrong. She couldn’t possibly be wrong. It was an ancient truth, not taught in schools but instinctively understood. You tithed money at church, made incense offerings at the temples. And sometimes, God was hungry. Sometimes, he needed to sink his teeth into something more substantial.

It wasn’t anything written in textbooks, at least not in Jeon. It certainly wouldn’t be considered real magic, the way a Gentle Waves massage chair would be, or a flying carpet. It was like throwing a coin in a well and wishing for luck. You had to give, if you wanted to get. Fountain didn’t care where you got that coin, after all.

It was like the day of the SAT’s. Everyone mobbed up, joyfully righteous, joyfully murderous. Because it wasn’t murder, they were doing the right thing. It was practically self defense.

He looked at the middle aged woman in her summer clothes- her nice shoes, her sun dress, the big straw hat. He saw the fear in her. That if she wasn’t in the mob, leading the mob, she would be torn apart by it. It was in the too wide smile that never left her face. It was in the way she didn’t blink enough, and always laughed louder than she should.

She was scared. And she would do it again. And again. And again. Until she was safe. And she would never once regret what she did. Why should she? She was one of the good ones.

A true daughter of Jeon.