Ch.240The Seventh Entanglement – Variations on a Blind Revolution (10)

The next day, those in New York with insight or a sense of current affairs read the Golden Age Press. It received the highest regard possible for a small newspaper.

Quite a few newspapers were spreading the absurd claim that this riot was planned and executed by the Idealists to control the Industrial Spirit King.

In fact, newspapers of similar caliber to the Golden Age Press generally took this stance. To survive, they had to care more about circulation numbers than facts or truth.

The larger newspapers were mostly neutral. The Industrial Spirit King stated that this incident was caused by his followers. The Idealists expressed willingness to cooperate with the police, but public opinion remained hostile toward them.

Still, quite a few of the larger newspapers proclaimed that this was the work of the Idealists. Since they would never issue corrections out of pride, they were more troublesome than the smaller papers.

While larger newspapers were generally more generous than smaller ones, they were far more conservative when it came to changing their statements. Even if it became a shameful part of their history, they would not issue corrections.

In this situation, the Golden Age Press alone offered a somewhat credible hypothesis, despite its questionable veracity. They distributed their interpretation as a special edition before other newspapers could even analyze the situation.

John Fairfax, who handled autopsies at the New York Police Department, was among those who arrived at work carrying the special edition of the Golden Age Press.

He worked with the dead, and the Industrial Spirit King’s contractors mentioned in the newspaper were currently his workload. The Industrial Spirit King had requested an autopsy, though the reason was unknown.

The cause of death was obvious. All were shot almost simultaneously and didn’t survive long after being shot. Though all were shot in the head, the bullet wound locations weren’t uniform, as if they had been fired in a sweeping motion.

“Huh, so they were all doomsday cultists. Hard to believe government officials from the Spirit Management Department who oversee the Industrial Spirit King would think the end of the world was a good thing.”

Were there any specific requests from the Industrial Spirit King? Opening the file, John encountered a strange instruction: Check for fragments of mechanical devices inside the bodies.

By common sense standards, the human body couldn’t produce industrial steel. If someone had a habit of keeping metal pieces in their mouth, they would already be suffering from metal poisoning.

Even by magical standards, there wouldn’t be much difference. He raised his hand over the corpse, gathering mana that emitted an ozone smell. He injected mana into the body where it no longer flowed after death.

When he had decided to become a doctor, he talked about saving dying people, but after working here, he had acquired techniques to revive even the dead. The mana raced through their bodies.

If a body killed by gunshot could be made to testify, that would be reviving the dead in its own way. The mana racing through the tissues encountered an obstacle.

Judging by the location in the head and its shape, it was likely a bullet. But then, the mana was obstructed again. Could that absurd request be true? The shape did resemble a mechanical component.

He would have to extract it to be sure. While magic helped examine the inside of the body, if he didn’t want to alter the tissues with mana, he had to check the interior without magic.

It was a bizarre sight. Like a pearl forming inside an oyster shell, it looked as if a machine was being created inside the human body. Out of personal curiosity, he wanted to see inside.

If it had been made using the bullet lodged in the wound, he could have understood how it was created, but the mechanical device fragment he saw was separate from the bullet. He extracted them one by one.

Each body contained four or five component pieces, so collecting all nine bodies’ worth resulted in quite a quantity. He washed off the adhering tissue, but he was a doctor, not an engineer. He couldn’t identify what the components were.

While recording each component, the internal phone rang. Since this was related to the Industrial Spirit King, there was frequent pressure from above. As soon as he picked up the receiver, a half-scolding voice came through.

After listening for a while, John began explaining with a sigh-mixed voice. Those above didn’t care much about what he did. It was natural, as cases requiring a medical examiner weren’t that common.

“Yes, yes. I’m almost finished. It should be done before 2 o’clock, so please wait a little longer. There are nine bodies and I have no assistant—I can’t just finish this in an hour.”

Not many people wanted to touch corpses in these good times. Behind him, as he listened to his superior explain for the hundredth time why this case was important, something began to move.

The components he had extracted were moving. Like chicks barely extracted from rotting eggs, they were shedding the tissue fragments attached to them and beginning to stick together. They were becoming one.

The gamble paid off, thought the Industrial Spirit King. Entrusting it to the police was quite a fair method, but it was a better approach for him to use his tactics than for the detective.

This is the power of the Spirit King that I tried to tell you about, but you weren’t interested, the Industrial Spirit King murmured. Since they refused to know, they wouldn’t be prepared. And if they weren’t prepared, they couldn’t respond.

The mechanical components he had personally created began to come together. They created a spirit, just as humans do.

From the handle of the components merged into the shape of a small grinder with a rotating handle, a small concrete body extended. John, who had hung up the internal phone, approached the components he had extracted.

“What’s this, where did everything go…”

The small Industrial Spirit leapt from behind him. The Industrial Spirit King used the insignificant control he had stolen from the Hive Mind, now within range.

He couldn’t use this magic from a distance either. It wasn’t a magic that could be used that way in the first place. It only appeared to be used remotely because the factory district itself was the Industrial Spirit King’s body.

An odor of ozone, much stronger than what emerged during the autopsy, filled the room. The Industrial Spirit King sneered at his mind as it was being merged.

“Don’t be too sad. I’m trying to save this city. I’m just trying not to face the terrible end, the terrible silence, crash, and time of despair lying down. If enough blood is spilled, even those indifferent ones might change. They might become workers who grit their teeth and prepare for the end to secure the future. For that, I would gladly kill even everyone in Manhattan.”

A human mind is merged into the mind of the Industrial Spirit King, which is much larger and more powerful by comparison. The Industrial Spirit King learns things like how to write reports—things he couldn’t learn in the factory district.

One life weighs less than two lives. A million lives weigh less than the hundred million lives of this country. Sacrifice must be made very willingly and very mercilessly.

It’s a method he wouldn’t have thought of without that little elf. The child told him to try anything to convey this anxiety. And the Industrial Spirit King was listening to those words very well.

It was too warm a statement for a being who had never experienced humanity, nor had anyone wish for him to have humanity. Nevertheless, it was wise advice.

Without those words, the Industrial Spirit King would have started rampaging about a month ago. Completely driven mad with fear, he would have bared his teeth and claws like a frightened beast and thrashed about.

He held no ill feelings toward the Idealists. A worker is a worker, and a worker who is an Idealist is just a worker who is an Idealist. Machines do not discriminate among workers.

Using the Hive Mind was simply out of necessity. The contractors were shackles. Since they knew where and how he used his power, they had to be dealt with if he wanted to take action.

Originally, he had time to inform them about the prophecy and persuade them. One or two seemed to be coming around, but… the idea that this golden age would suddenly end seemed absurd even when the Industrial Spirit King said it. They gradually changed their minds. That’s why it was necessary to finish them off.

Additionally, there was nothing better than their insignificant control to make people bleed. It was only attractive that stealing magic could give him so many terminals.

When even believers were insufficient as workers, he had no intention of accepting non-believers as workers. The Industrial Spirit King finished the report stating there was nothing unusual, using the terminal that had been John.

By sending one copy of this report to himself and another to the detective, the Industrial Spirit King would be able to simply observe the changes this incident would bring.

That detective was an unknown entity. He seemed to deny that human limitations were his limitations. Quietly dealing with him would be impossible. If it was impossible, it was better to deceive than to deal with.

This incident had quite a few uncertainties. The way the Idealists he met on his body spoke was very different from what he had imagined. It was fortunate that the detective didn’t pay attention to that part.

Anyway, this city had bled. It had bled sufficiently by the hands of the Idealists. What will you do? Will you simply cut off the necks and terminals of the Idealists and cover up the case? Or will you try to interpret it?

If they try to cover up the case, he would rise immediately, having lost hope. If they try to interpret it somehow and find the reason, he would wait a little longer. He would coil up and wait for the perfect moment.

The Industrial Spirit King imagined himself rising and looking down at the city. It would be small. Rather than small, it would be too shabby compared to himself, who used hope as fuel.

All the factories in this city were trying to create something using hope as fuel. It could be a day pass to the golden age. It could be a dream. It could be something else entirely. But the result was only smoke.

The festering wounds that had already formed in this era had become too deep, making it impossible to create anything even with hope. It was an era with a serious illness without pain, unaware that it was coughing up blood.

The end was the apocalypse. The scene of Black Thursday that the Industrial Spirit King saw would be the result of this state of affairs. He didn’t care much about his own death, but he still had to prevent it.

Industry is about creating. It’s about bringing things into existence. He had to prevent himself, the symbol of industry, from dying and the world from becoming an infertile body that couldn’t give birth to anything. It was the duty of one with ability.

The Industrial Spirit King controlled John’s body to approach the internal phone. After calling the superior who had called here earlier, he said:

“I told you I was almost finished. Yes, all nine bodies were in normal condition. It takes quite a while to write ‘nothing unusual’ nine times in a report, you know.”

Unlike the Idealists, who were close to being ideologically unified, the Industrial Spirit King ruthlessly dismantled human minds. He spun threads from their bodies and rewove them with those threads. The speech pattern was natural.

The superior didn’t suspect anything. The archangel’s characteristic booming voice now sounded satisfied.

“I guess I’m a bit impatient, bothering someone who’s already finished their work? You’re not upset, are you? I’ll buy you a coffee at lunch, so don’t, uh, don’t worry about it.”

“Oh, why would I care about something like that? One copy goes to the Industrial Spirit King, and where does the other copy go?”

It would have been good to get the detective’s address, but archangel police officers didn’t put effort into minor matters. He made a voice indicating he wasn’t sure. He becomes friendly after finishing work, huh.

“I… don’t know. They say it’s a contractor hired by the Industrial Spirit King, but I don’t even remember the name properly, let alone who it is. Why, are you interested?”

All accomplished. The Industrial Spirit King returned that man called John to an inactive state, as the Hive Mind had done. Since he hadn’t completely extracted the personality, it was much smoother than the Hive Mind’s work.

John Fairfax, who had been dazed for a moment, slowly recalled who he was talking to and what they were discussing. Realizing he was in the middle of a conversation with his superior, he hastily said:

“No, not at all. I was just curious… wondering what kind of person would be directly hired by the Industrial Spirit King…”

The next morning, the detective received the autopsy report sent from the police. If all nine had no problems, then the case was finally over.

After examining the mail, he called Blingkerton to submit a claim. The amount wasn’t much compared to what he had done, but it was a lot compared to his usual jobs. Enough money to live like an idler for a few more weeks.

He had to split it 8:2 with the journalist who introduced him to the contacts, and 9:1 with the Industrial Spirit King who provided the information. Though he did most of the work alone, only 70% remained in his pocket.

Now he could finally visit Two Face again after a long time. He could give the journalist’s share there as well.

After something happens, spending time in a place completely unrelated to the incident helped quite a bit in gathering one’s thoughts. Staying in France after the Great War might have had a negative impact.

Still, there was somewhere he needed to go first. The detective started the engine, pressing the pedal with the duffel bag containing the submachine gun still in the back seat. He pushed the acceleration lever forward.

The car headed toward Fifth Avenue. The Golden Age Press, if nothing else, had made people fight and clash with each other.

Some fumed that it was obvious the paper was trying to forcibly erase the Idealists from this incident, claiming the Golden Age Press was in cahoots with them. Others shouted that the press was simply doing what it should.

It didn’t end with constructive arguments. Such people usually berated each other with veins bulging in their necks until the newspapers were torn and scattered. No one was better or worse than the other.

Reality was as raw as a cow or pig slaughtered fifteen seconds ago. The facts, which were the result of boning and butchering that reality, were still so raw that they were too rank for people to swallow.

But there were rarely cases where only one fact accompanied an incident. Just as it was a fact that people who wanted to believe it was an Idealist riot were fighting with those who wanted to know the truth, it was also a fact that a sign saying “Open for Business” was attached to the door of Cafe Caligula.

The detective decided to have a few cups of coffee with plenty of milk and sugar before going for a drink.