Steampunk Era: Mad Abield
Chapter 471 - Three Hundred and Nineteen: Savage Justice (Part Two)

Chapter 471: Chapter Three Hundred and Nineteen: Savage Justice (Part Two)

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"The Harvest Festival doesn’t seem all that lively anymore, dear Ms. Bonnie." Pushing open the door of the National Publishing House, young editor Durte noticed Ms. Bonnie standing by the window. As the secretary to the president of the publishing house, she seemed to be observing the situation on the street opposite.

Having just come from there, he naturally knew what the situation on the street was—Mr. Malin’s corporation had shut down all its factories for seven days, leaving the workers unpaid, while other employers from the merchants’ association were exploiting the situation. They had lowered the weekly wages and extended the contract terms, attempting to divide Mr. Malin’s workforce.

But surprisingly, these workers were not crushed by life’s burdens; they gathered on the streets, protesting every day, wishing to regain their jobs.

Regrettably, however, all of Mr. Malin’s factories had been closed.

Police, private detectives, and those crazed merchants were eager to discover the secret of the missing people—rumor had it that at least fifty individuals had vanished, neither alive to be seen nor dead to be found. Allegedly, newspapers loyal to the merchants’ association were mourning daily as if they had lost their own parents, yet they never considered that, before Mr. Malin’s group came along, that many people would die every week in the Western District.

"There’s going to be trouble," Ms. Bonnie said with a frown.

"Anyone with a brain can see that, but what else can these country bumpkins do? Many members of the merchants’ association are Transcendents; I don’t think these commoners stand a chance against them," Durte shook his head. He somewhat disdained Ms. Bonnie’s pessimistic view.

In his opinion, those with ability were naturally entitled to privileges; otherwise, the world would have already plunged into the abyss of destruction.

What can mortals do?

They can only be victims.

"No, Durte, don’t underestimate these mortals, and certainly not Mr. Malin. Did you know he gives each worker two dollars a month for settlement expenses? That’s no small sum; he’s obviously well-prepared,"

"I’d like to know how he plans to contend with his so-called ’business friends.’" Durte emphasized the word ’friends’, fully unconvinced by the problem Ms. Bonnie had described: "Dear lady, you worry too much about external matters. Let’s think instead about the mixed reviews of the first edition of Mr. Malin’s new book."

Durte felt it was better to ponder over this issue.

After all, compared to his last novel, this book dealt with many incredibly sensitive subjects, and several churches had criticized it without naming names.

Indeed, connecting with an Evil God of Chaos, the National Publishing House had consulted several major churches before deciding to publish, yet it still faced criticism from the smaller churches.

But to be honest, Durte was quite fond of this multi-protagonist, multi-threaded novel. The details about survival amidst a city riddled with disease had earned recognition from both the Church of Justice and the Benevolent Church, and some doomsday survival enthusiasts even copied the content to create compilations.

"The content of the novel complies with the regulations, and it has the backing of four major churches. I don’t think there’s anything to discuss," Ms. Bonnie had nothing much to say, she just looked out onto the street.

Durte shrugged and then sat down at his post, where he had work to do today—a new book needed his manual review.

He took out the manuscript and on the first page, on the seventh line, a gunshot ’jolted’ him out of his seat.

"Trouble has started," Ms. Bonnie sighed.

Durte, who hurried to her side, saw the workers being driven off the streets, witnessed police officers pushing some workers into police cars, and more hauntingly, saw a victim lying in a pool of blood.

"Blood has been shed, Durte. You know Mr. Malin’s bottom line,"

"I do not,"

"No bloodshed... his bottom line has been violated."

......

Casaman, hiding in the attic, shook his head as he looked over the situation in the square—things could no longer end well. The Chaotic Believers, harboring ulterior motives among the policemen and workers, had indeed done as expected.

If there had been no bloodshed, all of this would merely be mutual harm among merchants, but after the bloodshed, it became hatred of one class against another.

This was a new concept he had heard from Mr. Malin.

Before that, workers and merchants were the terms Casaman used to perceive the world.

But after listening to Mr. Malin discuss it all that day, new knowledge flooded into Casaman’s mind, and he realized that all of this... even without Chaos, would gradually have reached this stage.

Chaos had simply exerted extra force, hastening the course of history.

What puzzled Casaman at times was that when mentioning these matters, Mr. Malin seemed to be in a very foul mood.

He also said something that left Casaman extremely bewildered as he talked to himself.

We have forgotten these things, but they haven’t, not ever.

Who are we? And who are they?

At this point, Casaman had no answer, he could only watch as bodies were dragged away, then saw the arrival of the street cleaners.

Why wouldn’t the Deities intervene? Could it be that the slaughter among humans didn’t require the management of these exalted beings?

......

Donald, standing in the alley, watched everything from a distance. As soon as the rock flew towards the police line, he instinctively felt something was amiss—there was certainly someone instigating from behind the scenes.

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