Richard shook his head.
"That needle you used... you were taking a risk, weren’t you."
Winterworth turned to face him.
"I won’t tell anyone. The fewer people who know about your abilities, the better."
He wasn’t in a hurry to leave. He found a stone block and sat down.
"There are some things I’m not really supposed to discuss with you."
"But since you came down here today and saw it with your own eyes..."
"It’s better I explain things clearly than let you guess on your own."
Richard looked at him.
"You’ve probably figured it out... For a weak point like the Unyielding Pit, the Branch Office won’t take measures to ’seal it completely’."
The Inspector didn’t look at him as he spoke, his eyes still fixed on the smoke in the distance.
"During the biannual maintenance in spring and autumn, there are always some losses."
"The Branch Office has a dedicated project for this, with a budget, compensation funds, and procedures for filling vacancies."
"The project is called ’Routine Attrition’."
"...Routine Attrition." Richard thought of the Team Two leader, whose face was covered with a jacket as he was carried onto the iron cage.
’That man’s death is just an entry for ’Routine Attrition’ in the ledgers.’
Winterworth saw what he was thinking.
"Don’t look at me like that."
"This is how a system works. Issuing compensation, arranging for a replacement, cleaning up the mess—all of it has to go through budgets and approvals."
The atmosphere grew heavy, and there was something Richard had to get off his chest.
"The riot up there today... thousands of workers shouting in unison, sending the Answering Head into the pit."
"The more chaos on the surface, the louder the shouts, the more that thing in the pit gets to feed. So why..."
"Why suppress it?" Winterworth found a downwind spot and finally lit a cigarette.
"Yeah."
"Labor disputes are not under the Branch Office’s jurisdiction. I’ve said that before."
"The Branch Office does not openly intervene in the affairs of the Surface World. That’s an ironclad rule. We only manage our side of the Curtain."
"But you know that kind of iron-fisted suppression will just get more people killed," Richard stared at him.
"More deaths mean more death-cries, making the thing under the Curtain even stronger. The Surface World is basically working against us."
Winterworth took a drag from his cigarette.
"It’s not like no one within the Branch Office has brought up what you’re saying."
"On one hand, we’re desperately suppressing the thing in the pit underground. On the other, the surface is feeding it. The left hand is fighting the right."
"But that’s how it is in the system. Jurisdictions need boundaries."
"If we overstep our bounds to handle public order, today we’d be managing strikes, tomorrow it could be something else. The whole system would fall into chaos."
"The rules are there so that everyone, including ourselves, knows how far our reach extends and where it stops."
"This set of rules has its price, but the price of having no rules is even greater."
As he said this, his eyes were on the rising smoke in the distance.
It was as if he were trying to convince Richard, and at the same time, trying to convince himself all over again.
"Those attackers," Richard changed the subject.
"...They were all just people who were crushed to the point they couldn’t go on, weren’t they?"
"Yes." Winterworth didn’t deny it. "On that point, I won’t defend anyone."
"But how did they turn these desperate people into those... empty shells?"
Richard recalled the corpses and the man who could only echo others, a chill running down his spine.
Winterworth glanced at him.
"Judging by the characteristics of today’s response team, they likely come from the Cult Group known as the ’Echo Society’."
"Some Forbidden Techniques and Cultivation Techniques can transfer their cost to others through rituals. The Echo Society is one of the groups that does this."
Richard’s heart sank.
He remembered his recent notebook entries, his deductions about the "cost transference" of the Abyss Tradition.
He had only theorized about it, wondering what would happen if the cost could be transferred to a "substitute"...
And now, Winterworth was telling him that such a thing was real, and it was happening right here in the city around him.
The Inspector continued to explain:
"The Echo Society seeks out those who can’t go on living."
"They promise them Strength, promise them ’an escape from their current suffering’."
"Those who cough up so much blood they’re afraid to go to the hospital, those who can’t even get into a Poorhouse, those who are watching their families starve to death... They figure that no matter what, it can’t get any worse than this."
"So they are hollowed out, bit by bit, borrowed from, until even their true names are carved away."
He sighed at this point.
"I’ve handled cases like this more than once."
"Every time, the real manipulators are hiding in the shadows, and the ones pushed into our line of fire are these poor souls."
"We have to treat these poor people as sources of contamination that must be eliminated... If we show any mercy, it will only lead to more terrifying consequences."
Winterworth stubbed out his cigarette.
"I’d advise you not to overthink it. It’ll only add to your own psychological burden."
"All we can do is handle our own work cleanly and by the book."
"The rest is not for people at our level to worry about."
"Back to business. Let me settle the accounts for today’s mission with you."
His tone shifted to one that was strictly professional.
"The Enchanted Bullets you fired today—make a list and submit it to the Branch Office later. You’ll be fully reimbursed."
"Also, I’m giving you another gun."
Richard looked up, puzzled.
"That Webley Mark III of yours is a police model. It’s good enough for street thugs, but it’s not much use in a situation like today’s."
The Inspector’s gaze swept over the spot under his jacket where he kept his gun.
"I have a high-end, custom-made piece in my cabinet. It’s from my personal collection. I’ll find some time to have it sent to you."
He could see Richard was about to refuse, so he cut him off.
"You saved me today. I have to give you something, or I won’t feel right about it."
Winterworth waved his hand dismissively, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"Besides, I’m paying for this gun out of my own pocket. It has nothing to do with the official accounts."
Richard thanked him sincerely.
Winterworth said no more, glancing again toward the rising smoke, an expression in his eyes that Richard couldn’t quite decipher.
Someone who has watched the same wound fester for years learns not to look at it, but today he had been forced to take another look.
Mr. Hutton walked over just then, having clearly overheard the end of their conversation.
He didn’t continue the topic, but simply gave some other instructions.
"That chant Major Aud recited today—don’t you repeat a single word of it."
"And not just out loud."
The old man stared at him.
"Don’t repeat it in your mind, and certainly don’t write it in your notebook."
"Not even if you just want to ’research’ who that being is. Don’t."
"Why?"
"Because the chant itself is a form of ’calling’, however faint."
"You spent the whole day witnessing the game of ’answering and not answering’. Don’t you get it yet?"
"When you speak that Honored Name, it’s like giving a soft call from our side of the Curtain in that direction."
"That being most likely has no time to bother with a small fry like you."
"But what if? You can’t afford to bet against those odds."
"I understand, sir. I won’t say it, and I won’t think it." Richard committed this to memory.
"Good." Only then did Mr. Hutton nod. "Let’s go. Time to head back."
Richard stood up and offered the old man a hand.
The dirt path underfoot was damp in the night air, and his boot soles made a faint squelching sound as he walked.
The two of them walked toward the convoy. After just a few steps, a thought suddenly occurred to Richard.
"Sir, the Answering Head is dead, and we can’t get anything out of the survivors."
"The people behind the Echo Society will know what happened here tonight. If we withdraw..."
He tilted his head toward the Nine-Layered Stone Ring.
"What if they come back tonight?"
The old man nodded, pleased.
"It’s good that you thought of that."
"The Expert agreed to let the Major borrow Its ’Breathing’ once. It will leave a mark on this area."
"A mark?"
"You can think of it like this..."
Mr. Hutton raised his hand and pointed vaguely upward.
"That being’s gaze will linger on this area for a while—a week at the least, over a month at most."
"During this time, the entire Unyielding Pit will be under Its watch."
A fine layer of goosebumps rose on the back of Richard’s neck.
He remembered the impersonal gaze that had descended from a ’conceptually high place’ earlier.
"If the Echo Society wants to come back..." He followed the logic to its conclusion. "They’d have to slip in right under that being’s nose."
"Correct. What the Major bought us today is this period of safety."
"Leaving a few people here to stand guard would be redundant."
"If the people behind the Echo Society truly have the ability to open another fissure in a place the Expert is personally watching..."
"Then leaving those few people here would be even more meaningless."
Richard quickly understood.
’Leaving a guard detail only makes sense if the Tier of the invading enemy is within a range they can handle.’
"Let’s go back and rest first."
The old man patted his shoulder.
"The most important thing tonight is for everyone to get some sleep. We’ll report this up the chain tomorrow morning."
"How far up the chain?"
"To the Northern Branch Office Headquarters in Manchester City."
......
It was nearly eleven at night when the convoy started moving.
The vehicle carrying the body of the Team Two leader was at the very front, its grille covered with a gray cloth.
When a comrade died in the field, a gray cloth would cover the vehicle’s grille for ten miles, granting the deceased a quiet journey home.
Richard sat in another vehicle.
No one in the car spoke.
After borrowing the Expert’s Strength, Major Aud was completely drained.
He sat in the front passenger seat with his eyes closed, the joints of his steel prosthetic limb occasionally emitting a faint CREAK.
The silver rivets, seared by the wind pressure, were slowly cooling.
Winterworth sat alone by the window in the back seat, his left hand pressing the inside of his right arm.
The convoy bounced along the dirt road for nearly an hour before re-entering a district with streetlights.
Inside Brighton City, it was much quieter than when they had set out during the day.
The strike had been suppressed. Militiamen stood in twos and threes on the street corners, holding rifles.
When they saw the Branch Office convoy, they saluted the lead vehicle.
It was past midnight when the convoy stopped at the back door of the main Branch Office building.
Richard got out of the car, an empty feeling in the pit of his stomach.
His temples were throbbing, but his eyelids refused to droop.
Winterworth looked at his face.
"Don’t bother going home tonight."
"Huh?"
"If you go back now, your family will already be asleep."
"Besides, we have a debriefing meeting tomorrow morning. It’d be a hassle for you to go back and forth."
"There are dorms at the Branch Office. Go get some sleep. You can go home tomorrow after you attend the debriefing."
"But my family..." Richard hesitated.
"I’ll give your family a call tomorrow morning."
Mr. Hutton waved his hand from the side.
"Just say you’re out with me on a research study and will be back tomorrow afternoon. Your Mother will understand."

Comments

Loading...