si-mexico Chapter 145 : Chapter 145
Chapter 145 : Chapter 145
Chapter 145. Conspiracy
After hearing Reynard out, Sylvia’s brows slowly drew together.
Tyrenia and Valeria—one a constitutional monarchy far away on the western coast, the other an imperial archenemy glaring from the east. And yet these two nations, which seemed to have little to do with each other, had actually joined forces more than a decade ago to destroy a sovereign country?
What did that mean?
It meant that the Astrelia Kingdom might not be facing only Valeria!
And if Tyrenia and Valeria had long been allies, then the appearance of Siren’s Dream in the Northern Territory now...
Sylvia felt a chill shoot from the soles of her feet straight to the top of her head. This was no longer something as simple as smuggling for profit. This was a premeditated war aimed directly at the Northern Territory.
Logaris said nothing the entire time. He merely listened in silence, his fingers unconsciously tapping against his knee.
Then, all at once, his fingers stopped.
“Dream Sea Anemone.”
He suddenly spoke, uttering a single term.
“What did you say?” Sylvia and Reynard both turned to look at him.
“Not long ago, a friend of mine—Phoenix of the Golden Griffon Chamber of Commerce—told me something.” Logaris pushed up the sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, his voice so calm it was almost frightening. “The Tarassa family has been using underground channels to frantically purchase a magical plant called Dream Sea Anemone, regardless of cost.”
“The quantity on the list was... five tons.”
“Five tons?!” Reynard cried out in shock. “Are they trying to turn every rat in the Northern Territory into an addict with that stuff?!”
Logaris ignored his outburst and looked at Sylvia, whose expression was growing darker and darker.
“Tyrenia supplies the raw material, Dream Sea Anemone. The Tarassa family of White Harbor processes it into Siren’s Dream, then uses various channels to spread that filth throughout the kingdom...”
“Just like what they did to the Tidelan Kingdom back then, they intend to first break the will of the soldiers and nobles from within. Once the time is right and Valeria’s army arrives, the kingdom will fall from the tree on its own like an overripe rotten apple.”
“Cassido Tarassa...” Sylvia’s voice was cold enough to send a shiver down the spine. “He is absolutely in league with Tyrenian forces!”
On the land she ruled, someone had actually dared collude with a foreign enemy and use such despicable means to undermine her foundation. That kind of betrayal enraged her even more than any enemy on the battlefield ever could.
This was no longer the work of some ordinary corrupt official.
This was goddamn treason.
“Do you know the location?” Logaris turned toward Reynard, who was still struggling to breathe properly.
“I do.” Reynard tried to force himself upright. “Cough... the Lower City docks. It used to be an abandoned ship repair yard, but now it’s operating under the name Deep Blue Fisheries. During the day they process fish catches. Only at night do they move in strange crates.”
“Lie down.” Logaris slapped him back onto the stone platform. “In your current state, the only thing you’d accomplish by going along is being dead weight. At best, your greatest contribution would be padding the enemy’s kill count. Heal up properly. I’m still counting on you to work off your medical bill for me later.”
Reynard opened his mouth, wanting to argue, but the sharp pain in his chest forced him to shut it again.
“Lucia.” Logaris looked at the young nun, who was trembling while clutching her staff.
“Ah? Here!” Lucia jolted in fright.
“I’m leaving him to you.” Logaris pulled a spare magitech pistol from his waist and stuffed it into Lucia’s arms. “If you run out of mana, use this.”
Once the rear support had been arranged, Logaris and Sylvia exchanged a glance.
No extra words were needed.
The two of them turned and walked out of the ruined church, their figures vanishing instantly into the damp, frigid night of White Harbor.
...
The Lower City was anything but peaceful at night.
Its streets twisted like rotting intestines, filled with the curses of drunkards, the cries of women, and the scurrying of rats.
Yet the area near the docks was eerily quiet.
A massive factory crouched by the sea like some giant beast. From its black chimney billowed strange smoke tinged faintly blue. Even before they drew close, a heavy stench hit them head-on.
“It reeks.” Logaris pinched his nose, his brows knotting into a deep furrow. “Fish stink mixed with high concentrations of magical waste... and the smell of rotten flesh.”
As a veteran magitech engineer, he knew that smell far too well.
It was the signature odor of a slapdash alchemical workshop—no exhaust treatment, no environmental safeguards, just a philosophy of refining things to death so long as no one dropped dead on the spot.
“The security is tight.” Sylvia crouched behind a stack of cargo containers, her eyes sweeping across the factory gates.
At least twenty fully armed guards stood there. What they held were not ordinary iron swords, but standardized repeating crossbows. On the watchtowers hidden in the dark, the reflection of lenses could even be seen—that meant sniper spotters.
With this kind of setup, anyone would believe it was an arms depot.
“Do we force our way in?” Sylvia’s fingers were already resting on her sword hilt.
“No. We don’t want them destroying evidence.” Logaris pressed down on her hand. “We’re civilized people. Besides, I’m curious how large a production line these people have actually built. Maybe we’ll find some useful evidence too.”
He snapped his fingers.
An invisible ripple spread out from his body and instantly enveloped the two of them.
Fourth-Tier Illusion Spell: Optical Invisibility.
Their outlines turned transparent in the air. It was not true invisibility, but in such dim light, unless someone walked right up to them and stared straight into their faces, there was no chance of spotting them.
Like ghosts, the two of them slipped through the layers of guards. Those men gripping repeating crossbows continued scanning their surroundings warily, never noticing that two living people were passing right beneath their noses.
They crossed the gate and entered the factory interior.
Even Logaris, who proudly considered himself cold-blooded, could not help cursing black-hearted capitalists when he saw the scene before him.
The enormous factory had no heating equipment whatsoever. It was as cold as an ice cellar. Hundreds of huge iron cauldrons sat over roaring fires, boiling thick blue liquid.
And the ones stirring those liquids were not machines.
They were people.
Hundreds of ragged laborers stood beside the cauldrons, mechanically stirring with massive wooden poles in their hands.
Their eyes were empty and lifeless. Their skin had an unhealthy bluish-gray hue, and the ulcerating wounds of all sizes across their bodies were horrifying to look at.
Some of them were not even wearing protective clothing. Barefoot, they stood on floors slick with corrosive liquid waste. Their feet had already rotted down to the bone, yet as though they could no longer feel pain, they continued working without rest.
“They’re under chemical control,” Logaris said coldly. “They’ve probably been fed diluted Siren’s Dream. Their pain nerves have been numbed, and their brains are stuck in this muddled, half-conscious state. For capitalists, these are the perfect expendables.”
No wages. No food costs. No workers’ compensation to worry about.
And once they died, the bodies could simply be thrown into the sea. After all, the one thing the Lower City never lacked was vagrants whose lives were already worth nothing.
“Move it! Faster! All of you, move faster!”
A furious roar rang out from the raised platform above.
A fat man in a tax officer’s uniform was standing there, cracking a whip and shouting, his oily face shining under the factory lights.
It was none other than the same fat man who had extorted Phoenix at the city gate earlier that day—
Baron Tarassa.