Ch.112The Third Entanglement – Clichy and Ragtime (11)

It was a crisis. But Mr. Clichy actually preferred being pushed to the edge like this rather than facing a moderate crisis. A moderate crisis only brings confusion, but a proper crisis unites people.

Unity is power. How weak each elf is individually. Without uniting under the name of elves, under the name of Followers of the Forest’s Firstborn, they would be weakly swept away by the currents of time.

Each of them individually meant nothing. Only when they existed as a collective, as a whole, did they have meaning. His daughter, relying on individuals like the detective or Ysil, was merely clinging to something meaningless.

Mr. Clichy slowly rose to his feet in the sunlight. His second son approached him with the Forest’s Firstborn robe, and today he put it on feeling like he was donning armor rather than carrying a burden.

His second son asked with a worried voice. It wasn’t the fanatical voice he used when handling followers, but entirely as Rose’s brother.

“Rose…”

Charles dismissed the anxiety. Being a smart child, she would figure out what was strong and what was weak. He never abandoned his love and faith in family until the very end. It could be called hope.

“She’ll realize soon enough, don’t worry. I didn’t raise my children to be fools. We just have to trust her. Let’s go. And after the gathering, send the followers to the veterans’ hall and have them all killed. Losing family and loved ones might make that bastard stop. Don’t touch Two Face. There’s a dragon among the guests.”

At best, they would storm in as a group only to be burned to death by the flames of a single dragon. The magic dragons used operated on a completely different level from human magic.

Still, they could certainly kill those soldiers who had become invalids from battlefield trauma or whatever. The Argonne Invincibles? War heroes? Since when did war create heroes?

“Father, that seems like the worst choice. Most politicians who support us praise soldiers as patriots who sacrificed for their country. Attacking veterans would only hurt us…”

His son’s warning fell on deaf ears. It wasn’t because of excessive self-righteousness. It was because his hatred for those who took his family away was too great.

“Even if we lose friends, we must kill enemies. We must finish this. I told you this old man knows what it feels like to be left alone in the world? That feeling drives people mad. And I’m going to make them feel it.”

Charles Clichy put on his mask directly. His entire face was covered, leaving only eyes filled with cold hatred. For the Forest’s Firstborn, only visible eyes and a mouth to speak were important.

There were no people, only parts. They were parts of the machine called followers, parts of the machine called family. Only those who knew how to operate these machines could survive in this world.

Having confirmed his father’s determination, his son grew anxious. He painfully realized that the Followers of the Forest’s Firstborn were merely tools to his father.

He wore an expression of someone who couldn’t find any reason why politicians would protect and support the Followers of the Forest’s Firstborn. It was clear that when the Followers outlived their usefulness, he would simply discard them and seek new supporters.

To him, the Followers of the Forest’s Firstborn were everything. As someone who had found ways to excite them, shared beliefs, life, and opportunities with them, he couldn’t abandon the followers. The cracks were only growing wider.

The order to attack the veterans’ hall would probably never reach the other followers. The son of the Forest’s Firstborn rationalized to himself that it was for the followers, for the future of the elves.

He lied. Just like everyone else does.

Charles Clichy in his mask and his son left the Followers of the Forest’s Firstborn building and got into a car. The driver was an elf. Even the two bodyguards were elves. Charles Clichy knew how to keep up appearances.

The car drove toward a forest in northern New York, still untouched by development. It was a well-preserved forest with a dragon’s nest nearby, making it an occasional gathering place.

The followers had already gathered. They had donned robes distributed from the warehouse, pounded their chests with their fists, then raised their hands high to welcome the Forest’s Firstborn. The elves’ sensitive senses detected something.

Something was on their robes. They couldn’t identify exactly what it was just by smell, but they had a good idea. It must be something flammable. The detective had set a trap.

Should he have them remove their robes? No, if someone took photos, it would be problematic for the Followers of the Forest’s Firstborn who operated behind masks.

Though masked followers proudly proclaimed their allegiance, in everyday life they only revealed their membership through hushed whispers.

If he had set a trap here too, it could be a big problem… No, no. Charles Clichy knew how to turn this crisis into an opportunity. Flammable substances often evaporated easily.

Whatever had been applied wouldn’t all remain until now. And Charles Clichy needed anxiety right now. The Followers of the Forest’s Firstborn needed to be agitated with anxiety.

So… about half of the followers gathered here could die without issue. Instead of showing caution, he accepted their salutes. While acting as if he felt nothing, he gathered mana in his hand.

“Are you not lighting fires in the morning? We must show that even the sun is darker than the future of elves. Hurry.”

Seeing the Forest’s Firstborn speaking in a gentler voice than usual, and seeing him in person for the first time, the follower nodded with an expression of deep emotion. He was welcoming him again.

“I’ll do so right away! The Forest’s Firstborn commands us to light fires! To show that even the bright sun is darker than the future we will welcome! Quickly, light the fires!”

Charles Clichy took a step back with his son. Several elves gathered mana in their hands, emitting an ozone smell, and the moment that mana became heat and fire, it spread to his robe.

When did he set the trap? If it was him, he would have known the warehouse location, even that a gathering would be held here. One follower caught fire and let out a terrible scream.

As other followers approached to extinguish the fire, their robes, which smelled of chemicals, suddenly caught fire and they too began to burn. Is this enough? No, still a bit lacking.

“Why did you bring someone who can’t even control magic properly! Everyone, put out the fire first! The Forest’s Firstborn is here…”

They tried to remove their burning robes, but they had tied the fastening straps too tightly and couldn’t take them off, burning to death in terrible agony.

The fire continued to spread, and those who burned like charcoal increased one by one. Is this enough? It should be.

Only when five had completely burned and about fifteen had caught fire and suffered burns did Charles Clichy begin to react the mana in his hand with the air.

The wind stopped. The air around them seemed to disappear, and they all clutched their throats, but with no oxygen, the fires on their bodies stopped combustion and went out. It was air magic he had used before learning lightning magic.

Ignoring those who were wheezing on the ground with burns, the Forest’s Firstborn headed straight for the platform set up in the forest. Looking down at the charred elves collapsed below, he raised his voice.

“Are we now being oppressed even in our actions to protect our future! Do they send only cynical mockery that makes us burn ourselves when we light fires! This is exactly what I have been warning about!”

From below the platform came voices close to screams and cries filled with hatred and fear. This was the power of the Followers of the Forest’s Firstborn. Charles Clichy immediately changed the atmosphere.

“But! They have proven something with this act. Elves are strong when united! They couldn’t attack us standing in broad daylight, so they came secretly at night, plotted their scheme, and disappeared! Who are they!”

The Followers of the Forest’s Firstborn shouted different names. Orcs! Capitalists! Wealthy goblins! He seized control of the many names erupting.

“No! It doesn’t matter who they are! We will take revenge on all who hate us! We will liberate ourselves from all oppression we face! They tried to wound us, but we have only grown stronger. Isn’t that so! Look at these burned elves! They are martyrs! Martyrs who showed us our enemies and sacrificed themselves!”

In that moment, the Followers of the Forest’s Firstborn became one. They abandoned individuality and gathered as a whole. The saying that unity brings strength meant that weak individuals were unnecessary, and they believed this fact absolutely.

What a ridiculous sight. Charles Clichy had to hold back his laughter at the sight of them voluntarily tying their necks to nonexistent stakes and becoming hunting dogs.

He raised his tightly clenched fist. Incitement was a kind of art. It was the art of action and the art of language. At least, that’s what he thought.

“Go to New York! Go to the streets! Show all those who tried to push us aside that we are still strong! Carry the martyrs! Make coffins for them and march with those coffins at the front!”

Only at this moment did his son feel that the Forest’s Firstborn had returned. He doubted whether his father truly hadn’t smelled the chemical, but he didn’t doubt this fervor.

He stepped forward in front of Charles Clichy and shouted. He handed the Followers’ flag, with the world tree symbol against a lightning background, to the followers. They raised the flag high.

The nameless elves who had burned to death with Charles Clichy’s tacit approval were placed on stretchers and lifted. Feeling a false sense of strength, they waved the flag grandly.

“The Forest’s Firstborn has commanded! We must all go! Let’s go! Let’s show them that steadfastness and strength are words only we possess, absent from their dictionaries! Let’s follow the Forest’s Firstborn who will give us the future of elves! Let’s walk toward our future!”

Unity became fanaticism. Those marching with burned corpses at the front and flags held high showed not even a fragment of reason.

They should have walked straight to New York. But from far away came the sound of cars. Not just one or two. The sounds of police cars racing and angels flapping their golden wings echoed.

The tires of the cars that had driven on unpaved roads were in terrible condition, but not as terrible as the person who got out of the police car. Charles Clichy watched as his friend stepped out of that car.

Leonard got out of the police car. It was an opportunity to realize justice. As he raised his clenched fist, some of the approaching angels landed with heavy thuds. They were all emotionless angels.

He had a face like a skull. His cheeks were sunken from mental suffering, and dark circles hung heavily under his eyes—the portrait of a haggard elf.

Charles Clichy smiled, thinking that perhaps he had brought police officers to escort the march for him.

It was a day when things were going so well that he could indulge in such idle fantasies. He had turned the detective’s plot into an opportunity. The Followers of the Forest’s Firstborn were united.

However, he raised a police badge from inside his coat. He shouted in a voice half-filled with madness.

“Charles Clichy! Or should I call you the Forest’s Firstborn? I’m arresting you! If you resist, I’ll have all your followers shot dead, Charles. Accept the just outcome. Your followers have confessed that you killed the New York branch leader of the Followers of the Forest’s Firstborn. We’ve even received reports that you tried to dispose of the dying branch leader by dumping him at a hospital.”

He was about to strike with lightning, but the angels hovering in the sky were interfering with his aim. Lightning strikes high places. The lightning would hit the angels, but one lightning bolt wouldn’t kill them.

The surviving angels would shoot all the elves here with submachine guns, and Leonard would write in his report: “All killed after violent resistance.” He had written reports like that before and had been reprimanded for the violent suppression of a protest.

More importantly, at this moment, the name and identity he had kept hidden for so long had been revealed. He couldn’t deny being Charles Clichy. He muttered with a voice full of hatred.

“Are you taking my daughter’s side, Lenny? Or did the detective slip you a bribe? Did he kidnap Lucy and Sophie?”

He subtly implied that he knew about Leonard’s wife and child, but Leonard Price wouldn’t stop. Justice was urgent to him. He had to clean up this city full of traitors.

“Neither, Charles. I’m on the side of justice. You’re also someone who pollutes these streets. The city must be cleaned. It must be cleansed of all acts of betrayal!”

He was rambling and seemed quite mentally unstable, but his police badge and the submachine guns held by the angels were real. Charles Clichy snorted dismissively.

There wouldn’t be any evidence anyway. In fact, being briefly imprisoned and then released might drive the Followers of the Forest’s Firstborn even more insane, so he decided not to resist and threw off his mask.

Some of the Followers of the Forest’s Firstborn, seeing the face of the Forest’s Firstborn for the first time at the moment he extended his wrists to protect them from the angels’ gun barrels, even shed tears.

For now, it’s Rose’s victory. Though Charles Clichy felt that his child had cornered him to this extent, the round wasn’t over yet.

Capitalists weren’t the kind of people whose lives ended the moment they were arrested… and he was a capitalist. He had followers and money. It seemed time to call out Clichy Corporation’s army of lawyers.

Even as the handcuffs were being put on, he remained composed. Composed enough to bow his head to Captain Leonard and whisper softly.

“When you’re done playing at justice, you’ll realize that until now you’ve thrived thanks to my help, and you might as well hang yourself, Lenny. If you don’t do it, I will. I’d appreciate it if you prepared the noose yourself.”