Ch.609Episode 22 – The Kazinsky Test

# Finding the Way to the Canine-Feline Coexistence Alliance

The way to find the ‘Canine-Feline Coexistence Alliance’ turned out to be surprisingly simple.

“If you head to the outskirts of Bahar, you’ll come across the therianthrope communal residence area. It’s a residential district established under the migration policy of ’36.”

Befitting a human-centric society, the Lushan Federation had specially designated residential areas exclusively for therianthropes.

While Europe also has neighborhoods where immigrants cluster together, there are typically no cases where the government forcibly mandates people to live in specific locations.

Of course, there are instances like Paris’s 19th arrondissement, where the government essentially herds immigrants into economically disadvantaged areas and abandons them with an attitude of “figure it out amongst yourselves, immigrants.”

(In fact, French media constantly criticizes their government for “dumping North African and Middle Eastern refugees like baggage in Paris’s 19th arrondissement and leaving them to rot, leading to a disastrous life trajectory of immigration→unemployment→petty crime→drug addiction→terrorism!”)

In that sense, the therianthrope communal residence area was an extremely unfamiliar policy. Alien, one might say?

It wasn’t like a Nazi-created Jewish ghetto, but forcing therianthropes to live together in one village? Really.

For Camilla, it was something she couldn’t quite comprehend.

“The Canine-Feline Coexistence Alliance meeting is scheduled for 8 PM tonight. The location is a beer hall in the communal residence area.”

“A beer hall. They’re not hiding, I see.”

“The Alliance itself is a legal organization.”

Pedro explained in a monotone voice, as if reciting.

A legal organization.

Okay. I understood what that meant.

Camilla stroked her jawline and nodded, while Veronica exchanged a few words with the Commissioner.

“How large is it? Give me a rough estimate.”

“The Alliance has about 6,000 members, but not all of them attend at once. Considering the size of today’s venue, the maximum capacity is estimated to be around 500 people.”

“500? Hmm, that’s significantly fewer than the cathedral’s seating capacity.”

The Saint leaned back in her chair and chuckled.

I was worried for nothing.

“Numbers are not important. What truly matters is how to prevent terrorism and minimize unnecessary casualties on both sides.”

Pedro expressed his opinion in an indifferent tone while tilting the teapot.

The Commissioner and the Saint continued their conversation, while Camilla appeared deep in thought. If she had placed her fingers on her temples, one would have had no doubt she was operating at 200% brain capacity. She was completely absorbed in contemplation.

As time passed.

The lukewarm tea eventually revealed the bottom of the pot.

Camilla and Veronica, having completed their preparations, mounted their donkeys.

The Inquisitors disguised the equipment for the two as bundles, securely fastening them to the stirrups.

“I shall check the information coming in from the Bahar City Police. If there’s any news, I’ll inform you immediately.”

“I hope it’s good news. Take care of yourself, Commissioner Pedro.”

As they left the safe house, the Inquisition Commissioner made the sign of the cross while gazing at the Hero and the Saint.

“I wish you good fortune. Saint, Hero.”

Episode 22 – The Kajinski Test

The donkey crosses the desert as conversation cuts through the silence.

“What’s the most effective way to subdue terrorists?”

“Huh?”

Veronica, riding her donkey up a hill, raised her eyebrows. It was a sort of automatic reflex when receiving a sudden question.

“Suppressing terrorism? That would obviously be force, wouldn’t it?”

“What if not a single drop of blood can be shed?”

This was Camilla’s question as she stared intently at the map.

Veronica began to hum thoughtfully.

“Hmm…”

Suppression without bloodshed. It was truly a difficult challenge. Wasn’t it like asking someone to make an omelet without using eggs?

Terrorism is fundamentally an act of using violence to enforce one’s claims. From a certain perspective, it’s a heinous crime no different from robbery.

To peacefully subdue someone determined to threaten with a knife, without bloodshed? This would be a difficult negotiation even for a thorough non-violence advocate.

The Saint gently wrapped the reins around her hand and pondered. Why had her companion posed such a Zen-like question to her?

The Hero wasn’t one to talk nonsense.

She hadn’t often made idle remarks, so it didn’t seem like she wanted to exchange jokes in this situation.

So then…

“Do you have a good idea?”

“Hmph!”

Warm steam escaped from Camilla’s nose with a “hmph” as she examined the map. Even to a stranger, she exuded an air of confidence.

Seeing this, Veronica let out a small exclamation internally.

Though she wasn’t entirely sure, the person the spy lord had entrusted with this task must have something up her sleeve. From what her lovely younger colleagues who stuck with her through all seasons had told her, the Hero was not only good at fighting but also quite clever.

Apparently, she had majored in some peculiar field of study related to conflict? War? Whether that would help her make a living was uncertain, but she was already accomplished enough in magic alone.

Honestly, academics weren’t Veronica’s concern.

And since she had never been able to contain her curiosity since childhood.

True to her mischievous nature—which had led her to investigate everything from the Inquisition’s forbidden book repository to the Pope’s beard, her opponents’ hands, and even the black market value of sacred artifacts—Veronica had to get to the bottom of any curiosity that arose.

“What is it, what is it? Don’t keep it to yourself. Tell me too.”

Pulling the reins to move her donkey, Veronica quickly approached Camilla’s side, leaning her upper body slightly and lowering her voice.

As if she had overheard an interesting secret in passing.

She was pleading to be told quickly, promising to keep it to herself.

“Hurry, I’m good at keeping secrets. I’ll buy you something delicious for dinner. Hurry…”

“Ah! This is a trade secret.”

“Tch.”

Camilla used her elbow to push away the clinging Veronica, exercising her right to remain silent.

Of course, calling it a trade secret wasn’t an exaggeration, and she genuinely had reasons why she couldn’t reveal it just yet.

After calming her donkey, which had been startled by the approaching donkey beside her, Camilla adjusted her posture on the swaying stirrups and addressed the sulking Veronica.

“You startled the poor thing by suddenly getting so close… We’ll arrive soon, so I’ll tell you then.”

“Really? You promise.”

“I’m not lying.”

“But does such a method really exist?”

“Of course.”

Veronica’s suspicious gaze persisted.

Is this an empty promise? It was an entirely reasonable doubt, worthy of a politician.

Eventually, the soft-hearted Camilla flinched!

With a guilty expression, she placed her fist near her mouth and cleared her throat.

“It’s a policy often used in our country, England, called CONTEST…”

*

The history of non-human races runs deep.

From therianthropes guarding shepherds and pastures to the dark elf caravans traversing east-west trade routes.

When an orc clad in shabby leather let out a mighty war cry, those supposedly brave warhorses would collapse, and knights would roll in the mud.

The hands of dwarves tempering metal before blazing furnaces often surpassed even the masterpieces of renowned craftsmen.

Such histories of non-human races can be found everywhere, common tales with only regional variations passed down through similar traditions.

Especially in those overpriced children’s books—five times their fair value—hastily printed by publishers with exclusive contracts with the Academy’s early childhood department.

But why do humans dominate the world? Because there are disgustingly many of them.

Not just many, but truly, disgustingly many.

How many? Well, they lived beyond the mountains a hundred years ago, then stealthily approached the hills across the river twenty years later.

And in less than forty years, they had settled in mountains, hills, rivers, and fields alike.

At least, that’s how Paul perceived it.

“Wak!”

On a particularly sunny day when the clouds were bright.

Startled by a sound that seemed to shake the earth, Paul let out a scream characteristic of ferrets and went outside to find, lo and behold, a crowd of humans.

Occasionally, humans would come down to the riverbank, but this was the first time so many had gathered.

Finding it both curious and suspicious.

The ferret therianthrope, Mr. Paul, stood up on his short legs with a nervous demeanor.

“Yellow human! Here! Our land! Speak! Business!”

“…Huh?”

Flash. The human who met Paul’s gaze as he raised his two legs froze in place, holding what appeared to be a basket or box.

There was some commotion, and shortly after, a human with a notably decayed face approached Paul, sighing deeply as he adjusted his white wig.

“Goodness. Why are you still here? Get out quickly. Quickly.”

“…?”

“By royal decree, we must develop 2,000 acres of land in this area for a tourism and trade special zone. So you must leave.”

This was nothing short of a bolt from the blue.

Telling the ferret therianthrope Paul, who had lived here for generations, to suddenly leave? What kind of fresh nonsense was this, like the dog from the neighboring field eating grass?

Paul was shocked and indignant beyond belief.

Of course, that’s the perspective of a therianthrope facing eviction overnight.

For the Lushan Kingdom, it was simply a legitimate land development project, driving out beasts who had been occupying land without even paying usage fees for hundreds of years under the tacit approval of royal families.

With official approval, investors were ecstatic at the prospect of a new continental-Mauritanian maritime trade route opening up, another trade hub where they could quickly stake their claims in the real estate game.

“Alright! Alright!”

“We need to start construction, so move aside cheaply. Do you know how much it costs to call in one concrete mixer?”

“Okay, everything’s loaded, let’s go!”

Under the scorching desert sun, amidst sandstorms, laborers in yellow vests,

Bulldozed the wooden dam built by beaver therianthropes at the riverbank, uprooted the burrows painstakingly created by rat therianthrope families, and flattened everything with road rollers.

“……”

“You’re still here? Look, I told you, you can’t live in this neighborhood anymore. This whole area is ruined.”

“I. Have. Place. To go?”

“That’s not our concern…”

In a bright autumn day of the late 1930s.

The ferret therianthrope Paul disliked humans for the first time.

*

The Lushan Federal Kingdom wasn’t always a wealthy nation.

In fact, until the 18th century, the name Lushan didn’t even exist.

As the federal title suggests, this country was formed by the union of various local states, mere small nations each governing a certain territory centered around royal families.

However, everything changed when the Ashtistan Kingdom, which had risen as the dominant power in the East Mauritanian continent, began expanding its influence from across the sea.

From a historical perspective, the expansion of the Ashtistan Kingdom wasn’t an unnatural story.

Just as a crescent moon becomes full, a powerful nation with rich resources like solar stones naturally tends to flex its might, periodically testing its strength by poking at other countries and colonizing them.

The problem was that the Ashtistan Kingdom had invaded Lushan Federation territory not just once or twice.

These bastards would frequently invade, beat, kill, and plunder, and it seemed like shipbuilding had been a state-led industry for thousands of years given how often they engaged in piracy—it was truly a disaster.

(A similar example would be the European island monkeys’ legal private fleet that shattered the Spanish Armada)

Thankfully, from the mid-18th century, the royal family had done every stupid thing imaginable, smearing shit on walls and emptying the Ashtistan Kingdom’s treasury.

Otherwise, the people of the Lushan Federation might still be living as colonial subjects today, reduced to cocoa pickers, banana pickers, cotton pickers, or something barely qualifying as human.

Anyway.

For these reasons, the ancestors of the Lushan Federation had an ingrained aversion to Ashtistan, a fear passed down through generations at the DNA level whenever the Ashtistan Kingdom was mentioned.

Therefore, the news that “What? Those bastards might invade again? This is fucking ridiculous!” and the miraculous resurgence (or fucking revival) of the external enemy was enough to drive the ancestors of the Lushan Federation into shock, terror, chaos, destruction, and ruin.

That was the background for why the petty local states playing in the desert sand decided to band together.

If they didn’t unite, they could clearly see 14,000,605 futures where they’d be screwed again.

Moreover, it’s a historical fact proven by most war histories that when invaders come, they first target the existing ruling class.

In any case, the decision to unite for survival yielded relatively good results.

While the desert might be difficult for human habitation, the very fact that they could establish territories implied a certain capacity to support population.

As evidenced by the history of Ashtistan Kingdom invaders crossing the sea to colonize whenever they had the chance, this region was sufficient for trade-based sustenance.

The Lushan Federation was, literally, the center of globalization—well, that might be a bit nationalistic—but it was a country well-positioned for intermediary trade between continents. It had ample population, and no shortage of food or natural resources.

And naturally.

The royal families (who nominally operate under a presidential system but actually elect a president among themselves) who had pinky-promised to rule forever knew this from the beginning.

So, not long after the Lushan Federation was formed.

The kings of various local states gathered in one place and happily pondered over maps.

Where should they establish ports and how should they divide shares so that their children wouldn’t fight and could live prosperously for generations?

And thus, a nameless sweet spot was determined.

A city with the largest bay and trading port, which would later become the capital of the Lushan Federation: Bahar.

Of course,

In the process of building that port, tens of thousands of beast-like beings who could speak human language were forcibly relocated.

But no one cared about that.

In the age of romance, stories that could easily move and resonate with everyone were abundant.

Vulgar and barbaric tales lost their place.

*

The number of therianthropes registered in the therianthrope communal residence area on the outskirts of Bahar is officially 155,150. This is data from the Federal Statistics Department, proving that the government’s non-human birth promotion policy has achieved remarkable results.

One might question if 155,000 is a significant number, but it’s important to consider that this statistic is from the capital.

The Lushan Federation implements somewhat stricter non-human policies compared to other countries, and the capital is essentially the face of any nation.

With trade and tourism as the main industries, and given the monarchical nature of the state, they need to carefully control the image they project, including the ratio of non-humans.

Of course, one might mock the idea of caring about image while forcing non-humans into ghetto-like areas and then praising themselves, but international society, like capitalism, is cold.

Even when civilians are beaten, if it’s a Russian-made elf (technically termed SU-34), the EU Parliament raises hell, but if it’s an ugly European-made giant whirlpool armored sturgeon (the bastard child of European group projects, the Eurofighter Typhoon), they scratch their heads in confusion.

For these reasons, the non-human community located on the outskirts of Bahar,

Was slowly dying due to the indifference of high-ranking international society members who firmly believe that conscience and justice can be cherry-picked, or due to the embezzlement by federal officials who intercept international aid.

This is no exaggeration.

The city was truly dying.

“……”

When you open the front door, you see a neighbor smoking tobacco in the corridor.

The old dog therianthrope, with a sharp edge to his emotions, sways around with a dark expression today as well, clearly disgruntled about something.

The narrow corridor was convenient for one person to pass through, but slightly uncomfortable for two. By occupying such a space and puffing smoke, he caused considerable annoyance to neighboring residents. Passersby would glance at the dog therianthrope with dissatisfied looks, chiding him as they passed.

Here we go again.

Paul shook his head as if he couldn’t bear it and approached the dog therianthrope.

“You’re doing this at the same time every day, aren’t you?”

“Did I help you get lung disease? Heh heh.”

Wendel. That was the old man’s name. He had no surname.

As far as Paul knew, Wendel was as old as this ancient communal housing. Although Wendel himself didn’t know exactly how many years he had lived.

From his sagging cheeks like those of a large dog who had eaten too many treats, his robust build, and the characteristic pair of large ears drooping on both sides—though it was hard to identify the breed—Paul could vaguely guess that he had lived for quite a long time, just like himself.

However, the problem was that stubborn personality, both a pride and a flaw of dog and cat therianthropes.

The ferret therianthrope, Paul, wrinkled his nose at the cigarette smoke as if enduring a foul odor and waved his hand.

“Put out that cigarette. Your lungs aren’t healthy… You should quit.”

“I should, but it’s not as easy as it sounds. I’m sick of it too. By the way, where’s Quill? Has he already gone to work?”

Wendel asked about Quill with a chuckling laugh. For reference, Quill was Paul’s only son.

Paul had several children, and Quill was the youngest, born in his later years. But why was he the only child? Because the rest had been buried before him.

He didn’t consider it a tragic event. For therianthropes living in nature, burying one’s children wasn’t such a rare experience.

After losing his first and second children to monsters while raising them by the shore, Paul had consistently tried to remain composed at their graves. Just as his father had done at his brothers’ graves.

So does that mean Quill wasn’t precious? Not at all.

Like all fathers in the world, Paul was simply awkward at expressing paternal love.

“Yes, yes. He left earlier. A while ago.”

“I didn’t hear him leave, how strange. When did he go?”

“Around dawn. He used to go to work in the morning, but since his workplace changed to somewhere farther…”

Paul, who had been nodding continuously, let out a deep sigh and lowered his gaze to the floor.

His only child. He had tried to do right by him, but in the end, he couldn’t provide anything good.

Wasn’t his child, who had matured too early, supporting the household in place of his aging father?

“…That’s how it turned out.”

“Quill has it tough.”

“Let’s have a beer this evening.”

“Sounds good, we’ll meet at the Alliance gathering.”

Wendel comforted Paul by patting his shoulder. Old therianthropes tend to easily fall into sentimentality, often becoming depressed for no apparent reason.

Especially in a shabby communal housing where the only source of light was the window in the narrow corridor, it was hard to find anything to lift one’s spirits.

“Are you going shopping today?”

“Yes. With my daughter-in-law and granddaughter.”

Dressed in overalls, Paul nodded in affirmation to Wendel’s question. In response, Wendel rummaged through his patched pants and handed Paul some crumpled bills and a few coins.

“While you’re at it, get something for me too. My cartilage is worn out these days, and I can’t climb the stairs.”

“What would you like?”

After a moment of contemplation, the old therianthrope spoke.

“Apple juice.”

Another tooth fell out. I can’t chew meat anymore.

With those fading words, Wendel departed. And Paul, pulling up his overalls, trudged down the stairs with his short legs and came out onto the street.

He had entered the world, yet his body seemed to still be confined within the communal housing. This was because brick houses built tightly together were closing in from all directions.

Despite being born and raised in this place, Paul’s heart was far from at ease.

It wasn’t because he, Quill, his daughter-in-law, and granddaughter all lived together in a single room without a ray of light. Nor was it because of Wendel, who smoked in the corridor every day, desperately waiting for someone who would never return. Nor was it because of the streets enclosed by walls on all sides.

This city.

It was because he had never adapted to Bahar.

Come to think of it, it had been that way from the beginning.

Living in buildings built by humans, working in workplaces created by humans, wearing clothes sold by humans…

At first, there was excitement and novelty in the experience, that’s true.

For Paul, who used to hunt bird eggs, field mice, and crayfish in the wild, food like chicken was something shocking. Honestly, he still quite likes it.

But none of it was by his choice.

One day he woke up to find his home gone, and he was driven out to the barren plains with his family.

People from what they called the Federal Government brought them back here, and suddenly said they would provide for them, sending them here and there.

He had hardly chosen anything.

If he could choose the least worst option among the given choices, it was a decent moment. Even that was rare, so Paul couldn’t understand why humans treated him so poorly just because he was a therianthrope.

Paying less wages because he was a therianthrope was just the tip of the iceberg; there were plenty of business owners who would work him to the bone and then report him for arrest at the end of the month. Such discrimination is impossible in Quill’s generation where it’s legally prohibited, but it was common when Paul was young.

Of course, not all humans were bad. There were many good humans in the world.

Among them were humans with grand dreams who moved to this city, to the therianthrope communal residence area, or visited regularly to proactively bring about change.

But they are no longer here.

Paul didn’t try to think about where they had gone.

Just as a child cannot choose the parents they are born to, Paul, as a therianthrope, could not go against what humans had decided. And knowing what had happened to neighbors who had resisted, he chose to conform.

In the age of humans, there was no place left for therianthropes.

In fact, it’s questionable whether humans would make room even for their own kind.

“……”

The ferret therianthrope Paul, now an old man, trudged along the pavement near the bus stop, looking around.

Because someone beside him was tugging at his overalls, which were comically large and thick compared to his frame.

The identity of this someone was none other than a small life form.

“Grandpa!”

It was Paul’s granddaughter.

“Oh, Lulu. There you are! Our little cutie.”

“Hehe.”

While a ferret should boast an elongated body, his granddaughter, still just a child, remained firmly planted on the ground even with her arms raised high.

It brought an involuntary smile to his face.

Paul picked up his precious granddaughter, whom he loved more than anything.

“Oh, my baby. Let me hold you.”

“Awawang.”

“Father, you’re here?”

“Oh, daughter-in-law, you’ve come?”

A ferret therianthrope approached from the corner of the bus stop, bowing politely and smiling warmly. She was Lulu’s mother and Paul’s daughter-in-law.

As an adult, she was of a much taller stature than Lulu. Still, the sight of both mother and daughter in overalls looked like they were stretched versions of each other, clearly showing they were from the same bloodline.

For reference, overalls are a garment favored by ferret therianthropes, not for any particular reason other than that once purchased in youth, they can be worn for a lifetime. Overalls can be adjusted by lengthening the straps.

The daughter-in-law, saying it must be hard for him, took Lulu from Paul’s arms into her own.

As a grandfather, he desperately wanted to play more with his granddaughter, but his legs were already starting to tremble due to his increasing frailty and diminishing strength.

Paul massaged his two legs while addressing his daughter-in-law, who was caressing Lulu’s cheeks.

“Let’s go to Oswald’s store. We have a lot to buy.”

“Yes, Father.”

Oswald referred to the owner of the finest grocery store in the city.

The journey was quite long, so it took considerable time. Paul and his daughter-in-law used that time to engage in various casual conversations.

“Tourists from abroad come often these days.”

“Tourism, you say? Ah, therianthrope tourism.”

“Yes. They say it’s organized by those travel agencies.”

She was referring to tours of the non-human residential district.

Rumor has it that the country makes money from it. But it’s unclear who takes the money or who pays it.

Paul had only heard rumors and had never met a neighbor who actually earned money from it, so he wondered why anyone would pay to visit a smelly city.

“But there seem to be more empty houses than when I last saw… More than last year?”

Paul scratched his cheek curiously as he looked around.

He clearly remembered this area as a district where goblins lived. Why were all the houses empty?

To which his daughter-in-law replied:

“Ah, that… The business site in District 3 was closed, Father. Many lost their jobs, so the goblins have gone to find new homes. To other regions.”

She spoke the first part normally, but the latter part, “to other regions,” was added in a whispered tone.

Paul swallowed dryly with a worried expression.

“Hmm, it’s not something that would end well if discovered. They’re taking dangerous risks.”

The Federation didn’t gather non-humans in one place for no reason. It was to prevent them from leaving their designated areas.

Of course, communal residence areas weren’t exclusive to this location; there were several in other regions as well. Whether therianthropes, greenskins, or lizardmen… they couldn’t all be gathered in the outskirts of Bahar.

But leaving a residence area or moving to another one still required official permission. And the complex procedure for residential transfer was famously unlikely to be approved without a compelling reason.

It was unlikely that the goblins had collectively received such difficult approval; they probably fled secretly in the night. It was a common occurrence here.

Either a sympathetic official turned a blind eye, or a greedy guard accepted a bribe to let them pass. Everyone, knowingly or unknowingly, escaped from this place.

That was why this city was dying.

No one wanted to come in, but many wanted to leave.

The communal housing built by royal decree when he arrived here was slowly deteriorating without maintenance, reminiscent of his neighbor Wendel.

This city was undeniably dying.

Slowly, like Paul and Wendel,

Pushed by the waves of time.

And someday it would become a paradise for humans.

“Hehe.”

“Grandpa…?”

Paul burst into laughter. Like his granddaughter, he laughed childishly. If he had placed his fingers on his temples, one would have had no doubt he was operating at 200% brain capacity. He was completely absorbed in contemplation.

Seeing her grandfather’s smile, Lulu also began to beam with a “bububup-” sound from her lips.

“Kyahaha!”

“Oh, that’s nice.”

“Do it again! Again, again!”

“Hey, you shouldn’t be like that to Grandpa.”

The daughter-in-law, adjusting her playful daughter in her arms, muttered to herself. She looked slightly gloomy.

“Mr. Nibble, who went to Kien, said it’s quite nice there… There are more jobs than here…”

Paul sighed softly, not looking at his daughter-in-law.

“Stop that. When I was young, my friends—orcs and goblins—were tempted by promises of big money and citizenship, so they went to the Imperial Army recruitment office, only to all end up on the battlefield. Just one, exactly one survived to have a son and then passed away.”

“Ah, you mean that friend? His son’s name was…?”

“Big? Victor? I can’t remember the name of his late son… His surname was Jamer. Anyway, don’t even bring up immigration. I can’t bear to see you all come to harm. Not before the dirt covers these eyes.”

Even among therianthropes, age can’t be deceived, it seems.

The old man’s stubbornness was stronger than a bull’s tendon. Well, if friends he met in the forced migration camp joined the Foreign Legion only to end up in a mass funeral, it was understandable.

The daughter-in-law worried she might have stirred painful memories with her casual remark, but fortunately, Paul was a therianthrope who had already come to terms with death.

Thus, the two ferret therianthropes could soon laugh warmly together.

“Lulu. Have you grown again, impatient to wait for that moment?”

“I wanna be bigger, Grandpa. Don’t like being small…”

“Hehe. Kid. When did you grow so much?”

“Lulu seems to be growing faster than her peers, Father. They say she’s the tallest at the Academy.”

“Oh my, is that so? How impressive, my baby.”

“Ugh…”

“But when Lulu advances to the middle school in two years, we’ll need to move to a closer housing, what should we do? I heard it’s three times more expensive than where we are now.”

“……”

The grandfather, who had been pinching his granddaughter’s cheeks, paused. It was due to the undeniable weight of reality.

Under the education law of the Lushan Federation, the right to education for all citizens is guaranteed equally regardless of race.

Non-humans aren’t beaten for entering universities with comments like “what’s this filthy creature doing in the ivory tower of knowledge,” and if a human doesn’t send their child to the Academy, a judge won’t hit them on the head with a gavel asking what kind of parent doesn’t send their child to school.

Of course, the world doesn’t always operate as beautifully as the law books suggest.

In reality, many minors don’t attend the Academy for practical reasons, and many parents, regardless of race, can’t send their children to school.

Why?

Because they don’t have money.

The Federal Government imposes a legal responsibility on parents to send their children to the Academy, but it doesn’t provide the funds for them to study there.

So what do human and non-human parents with financial difficulties do?

They don’t send them.

Of course, the Federal Government is aware that low-income, immigrant, and non-human children don’t attend the Academy. They recognize this as a social problem and are making extensive efforts to resolve it.

But if government “efforts” made social problems disappear like melting snow, the global community wouldn’t be such a mess. Naturally, the Lushan Federation couldn’t solve it either, hence the current predicament.

So parents with tight finances, both human and non-human, couldn’t send their children to the Academy. Instead, they tearfully placed agricultural tools or implements in their children’s hands and, still holding their hands tightly because they were their children, took them to work.

This crossroads typically comes at the middle Academy level. And this was precisely the fate approaching Paul’s granddaughter.

“……”

A therianthrope who receives basic Academy education and then enters the workforce? If they can make ends meet and die of old age, they’d be applauded for a good life. Many in Lushan don’t even achieve that.

Do you know how much a therianthrope worker earns? One-third of what a human worker earns. Even if they work for 15 hours a day under the murderous sun, sweating buckets, the wage permitted to a therianthrope is one-third of a human worker’s.

For reference, this was the wage of a “human migrant worker” who had moved from abroad, not a human citizen born and raised in the Lushan Federation.

In terms of human laws, it was less than the minimum wage that a worker should rightfully receive.

That was the share this land allowed to therianthropes.

Of course, the Federation’s law defines equal labor and equal wages for all races, but the world never operates so beautifully.

In his younger days, Paul had once asked a question. Why do you pay less? He had asked a malicious employer.

And the employer had answered without missing a beat:

‘If I’m going to pay the same money, why would I use your uneducated, dirty kind?’

Because they can be exploited longer, because they can be paid less and exploited longer, because no one complains and no beast complains, that’s why they’re used.

That was it.

Even Paul thought it wasn’t wrong.

That’s why Paul didn’t want to pass on such a life to Lulu.

“…I.”

Especially since he had inherited it from his father and had already passed it on to Quill once.

Whether there would be a choice, even Paul didn’t know.

Just as Paul was about to say something, it happened.

“—Elder, take this!”

A woman suddenly appeared.

A human. A woman he had never seen before.

“Who, who are you?”

Paul blinked at the woman who had appeared out of nowhere, asking who she was to act as if she knew him.

Then the woman said:

“Nice to meet you, but I’ll skip the introductions due to time constraints. Just take this!”

She abruptly handed something over. No, “handed over” isn’t the right expression. “Threw” would be more appropriate.

In the midst of a surprised “uh,” Paul caught the bundle that had landed in his arms. After juggling the bouncing bundle several times, he finally embraced it and examined it, finding what appeared to be a wad of paper.

What is this?

That.

“…Money?”

A bundle of cash.

As if freshly withdrawn from a bank, the crisp bills were neatly packaged with bands, presenting an almost ethereal, mystical appearance.

Wondering if this was a dream or reality, Paul rubbed his eyes vigorously with his short legs, but the cash remained right there.

“What, what is this?”

“Ah, ah, Father…”

A trembling voice called out from beside Paul’s daughter-in-law.

Not only was her voice trembling, but her two outstretched legs were also shaking.

And on top of them, another bundle of cash.

…Another one?

Wondering what was happening, he looked around to find the surroundings in complete chaos. Every passing therianthrope, orc, and goblin was holding bundles of money.

It was a scene that would make the police suspect that the non-humans had collectively robbed a cash transport vehicle.

And at the center of this commotion stood one human.

“Yes, take this!”

“I’m in a hurry, okay? Here, take it!”

“You over there, take this too!”

A strange woman scattering bundles of cash in all directions.

She was clearly an extraordinary human. Her attire was eye-catching even from a distance.

Sunglasses and traditional clothing. Judging by her skin color, she didn’t seem to be from the Federation.

To the side was a donkey with a money bag strapped to the stirrup, but what truly caught the eye was her distinctive red hair.

“No, this is too slow! How long will it take to cover this area…!”

While the exact reason for her behavior was unclear, the human woman’s goal seemed to be distributing money.

If not, there was no other explanation.

After all, approaching a citizen passing by and buying their car while standing next to what appeared to be her own donkey couldn’t be considered a normal thought process.

“Is this your car by any chance? I like this car! I’ll buy it!”

“Um… Sure, I’ll sell it. Just let me get the kids out first…”

“No time! I’ll take care of your kids for a moment! Go get something to eat!”

“What? What?!”

“Don’t be afraid, children! 10,000 shillings will remove fear from your lives!”

…Actually, it seemed she was buying more than just the car. But anyway.

The ferret therianthrope, Paul, looked down at the bundle of cash in his arms for a moment.

And after a long while.

He spoke to his daughter-in-law in a dazed voice.

“…Child. This is enough to send Lulu to the Academy three times over.”

*

Just before arriving at the therianthrope communal residence area on the outskirts of Bahar.

Camilla, who had been crossing the desert amicably with Veronica, made a suggestion.

“Saint, we still have plenty of time before the Canine-Feline Coexistence Alliance meeting starts. Let’s stop by the bank first.”

“The bank? Why there all of a sudden?”

“I’ll explain the reason all at once later.”

“Ah, that plan.”

It was a proposal to go to the bank without asking or questioning, but Veronica readily accepted.

Thus, Camilla withdrew an enormous amount of cash.

And took it to the therianthrope communal residence area to scatter it all.

“Here, take this!”

“Hey, passing pig therianthrope! Need money? Well, take it!”

“It’s raining cash from the sky!”

Camilla wasn’t suddenly high on drugs and spending money recklessly. Nor was she distributing someone else’s money, like from the Saint’s or her master’s account, or taking out a loan for this.

In other words, she was scattering money withdrawn from her own account with a sound mind.

This was possible because she was a mage.

Mages generally belong to high-income professions.

This is partly because the discipline of magic itself is connected to high-value-added industries like engineering, but also because occupations with “hazard pay” tend to have higher compensation.

So typically, field mages earn relatively more than desk-bound mages.

And when mages strapped for cash look for physical work to make ends meet, the first high-income option they turn to is “monster hunting.”

Of course, Camilla wasn’t paid a salary for hunting monsters; she just did it as a volunteer.

But the byproducts from monster hunting don’t go to others, do they?

They naturally belong to the successful hunter, and Camilla was a killing machine who would casually go out alone and bring back monster heads before dinner got cold.

If she had been born in South Korea, she would have been like those merchants in Lineage or MapleStory who pulled in 100 million won at a time.

Plus, room and board?

Such trivial matters were taken care of by the government of the country she was staying in or by Grand Duchess Alexandra Petrova.

With fixed expenses limited to snack costs when going out, her account was like an inexhaustible spring, the legendary magic pot itself.

She had reached a point where money was so abundant that she could feed it into a shredder for fun!

(If a colleague who was carrying a log alone for a civil servant pension had known this fact, their mental state might have collapsed—note that they still need to work for another 10 years)

Of course,

Camilla was absolutely not indulging in money madness due to her fascination with the British bourgeois blood flowing in her veins.

Similarly, she wasn’t distributing money with the mindset of fulfilling “the white man’s burden” towards primitive native beast-like non-humans, inheriting the spirit of her distant ancestors who were likely imperialists.

Nor was she doing this with the nefarious intention of economically subjugating them through loans and then colonizing them, as the British Empire had always done.

This was a very profound.

Great King God General Emperor Chungmugong Royal Majesty Britain-United Kingdom… (abbreviated as UK, England)

It was a counter-terrorism policy devised by the UK, which Camilla had slightly, very slightly, modified to suit her taste.

She had planned to explain it to Veronica later. Frederick, having worked in intelligence, would have heard of it through the grapevine and would understand immediately just by hearing the name.

In any case, it was a highly effective method that had been verified.

At least, that was her intention…

“……”

Frederick, who had arrived at the scene after receiving a report that “a strange woman is scattering money everywhere, and according to records, she seems to be your colleague,” had a different perspective.

Piles of cash scattered on the ground.

And after witnessing the English girl surrounded by numerous non-human children and various fruits and chocolates.

Having lost his words, he finally uttered with fish-like gaping lips:

“…Ugh, Camilla.”

“Hehe. Yes?”

“Was the company you wanted to join perhaps the East India Company?”

Are you engaging in slave trade?