Crossover: Monthly Character Templates in the Multiverse Chat Group — Chapter 80

Chapter 80: Siracusa’s Problems

Morning broke over Montloup, casting a pale light across cobblestone streets stained with drying crimson. Dead bodies littering the alleys were already a commonplace sight in this city. The local residents had long grown numb to the aftermath of gang turf wars, but the towering figures currently patrolling their avenues sent a fresh, paralyzing chill through the populace.

Members of the Sarkaz Royal Court Army marched in perfect, terrifying synchronization.

“Where did these Sarkaz come from?” a bystander whispered from behind a cracked window shutter.

“Don’t you know? They swarmed the city last night. I saw them from my roof. I was so scared I didn’t dare close my eyes for a second. The Famiglia enforcers are all dead. Anyone who raised a weapon was slaughtered on the spot.”

“The demons have invaded, damn it…”

A Lupo man muttered the curse under his breath while huddled against a brick wall. The words barely left his lips before a Royal Court soldier halted. The towering Sarkaz pivoted, closing the distance in a single stride, and pressed the cold, blood-stained edge of a greatsword directly against the Lupo’s throat.

“If not for His Highness’s orders, you would be a corpse right now,” the soldier said, his voice a gravelly rasp devoid of emotion.

The soldier withdrew his blade, turned on his heel, and resumed his patrol route. The Lupo’s knees gave out. He collapsed onto his backside against the damp pavement, his chest heaving as a dark, wet patch rapidly spread across the front of his trousers. He sat there, gasping for air, unable to look away from the retreating horned figures.

A sharp, synchronized chime echoed across the street.

Every personal terminal in the vicinity lit up simultaneously. Trembling hands reached into pockets to pull out the devices.

[Kazdel Military Committee: Montloup has officially become the territory of Kazdel. Every resident is now recognized as a citizen of Kazdel, without distinction of race or origin. Please obey the law, jointly create a beautiful Siracusa, and work together for a better tomorrow.]

[Order from Kazdel’s Demon King Frez: To improve the ecological environment of Siracusan residents and enhance the general happiness of the populace, all companies and enterprises are hereby ordered to immediately increase the base salary of their employees. The minimum base salary is set at 3,000 Florins. The standard workday is restricted to eight hours, with two mandatory days off on weekends, and compensatory leave provided for special assignments. Weekly work hours must not exceed forty hours under any circumstance. Overtime pay shall be calculated at triple the normal wage…]

“My goodness… are the Sarkaz here to run a charity?”

Staring at the bold text dominating the front pages of every major intercity network app, the citizens rubbed their eyes. Such a working environment sounded like an absolute fantasy in a city ruled by blood and extortion. A strange, conflicting warmth bloomed in their chests. Being conquered by demons might actually be a massive improvement.

That fragile optimism was tested by the afternoon. Several entrenched corporate bosses and factory owners, long accustomed to Famiglia backing, scoffed at the new regulations and refused to comply with Frez’s orders.

The response was immediate and absolute.

By sunset, those defiant executives were either dragged into military transports in chains or left dangling by their necks from the city’s streetlights, their entire corporate assets seized by the Royal Court. With the fresh corpses swaying in the evening breeze as a grim warning, the remaining business owners scrambled to apply the new labor laws down to the exact letter.

“Siracusa’s industry still can’t keep up.”

Frez sat behind a massive mahogany desk in the newly requisitioned governor’s office, flipping through a stack of reports. He tossed the summary compiled by the Void Archives onto the table, rubbing his temples.

The nation’s infrastructure was a mess. Siracusa severely lacked arable land, forcing them to rely heavily on imports. They practically survived on wheat shipped in from Laterano just to maintain their domestic pizza supply. Their only truly developed sectors were forestry and fishing. Aside from Lake Umido, there was another massive body of water situated between Siracusa and Leithanien, serving as the backbone of the Siracusan fishing trade.

Beyond that, their service industry was bizarrely hyper-focused. Their hair care sector was arguably the most advanced in all of Terra.

Frez stared blankly at a requisition form for industrial-scale grooming supplies. The primary demographics of this country were Lupos and Vulpis, both races possessing a cultural obsession with grooming their tail fur. The market was flooded with five-liter, ten-liter, and even twenty-liter jugs of heavy-duty tail fur conditioner. They were highly economical and wildly effective, but absolutely useless for outfitting an army.

Because the ruling Famiglias constantly sabotaged one another to maintain their grip on power, Siracusa’s heavy industry was pitifully backward. It was only marginally better than frozen wastelands like Kjerag and Sami, or the war-torn ruins of Kazdel. Nearly every factory had the shadow of a mafia boss lurking behind it.

When Frez seized Montloup, he had his forces systematically wipe out the Famiglias controlling those enterprises. The leeches were gone, leaving behind a hollowed-out corporate husk.

“My head hurts,” Frez sighed, leaning back in his chair. “I might as well have just marched straight into Victoria and robbed them instead.”

Forestry and fishing did nothing to advance Kazdel’s military might. The automobile plants and light factories were decent enough, but hardly game-changing. He made a mental note to dismantle a portion of the manufacturing lines and ship the machinery back to Kazdel.

[You need not have a headache. This world’s development is fundamentally deformed. It would be a miracle if their societal structure did not eventually implode.]

The Void Archives’ voice echoed smoothly in the room, projecting a calm, analytical presence.

“There’s also the issue of the city’s food supply,” Frez noted, tapping a finger against the desk. “We can’t keep Montloup under a total military blockade forever. Food and commercial goods need to flow in and out, or the citizens will starve.”

The Sarkaz occupation of the capital could not be kept a secret indefinitely. The surrounding nations would notice the silence soon enough. To maximize their advantage, they needed to conquer as many mobile cities as possible before the news breached Siracusa’s borders. Without deploying their heavy divine machines, they had to rely on swift, surgical strikes to seize control of the urban centers.

“As expected, we still need to occupy Volsinii.”

Volsinii possessed the most developed industrial sector in all of Siracusa. It had been Frez’s primary target from the very beginning, but since Montloup was the political capital and held the central navigation data, it required priority capture.

Theresis had already mobilized. The Sarkaz General had departed hours ago, commanding a fleet of Siracusan landships and several high-speed battleships appropriated from the city’s docks. Montloup’s central servers contained the movement trajectories of every mobile city in the nation, mapping out their exact coordinates.

“Siracusa only has twenty-two mobile cities in total. They really are too poor.”

[I suggest you only conquer half of Siracusa’s territory,] the Void Archives advised. [Keep the remaining half intact as a buffer zone to avoid immediate, direct conflict with your neighbors. Siracusa’s so-called Famiglias are entirely negligible. The true threats you will have to face later are Leithanien and Laterano.]

The logic was sound. Frez nodded slowly. The overarching strategy was simple: strike the vital industrial hubs, strip the necessary resources, and then pull back. He would leave behind administrative proxies to manage the conquered cities and keep the vital enterprises running. Let Leithanien and Laterano deal with the headache of the remaining mafia-infested territories. Siracusa was merely the startup capital for his grander ambitions. Victoria and Kazimierz were the real prizes.

“Alright, let’s proceed with the cleanup,” Frez ordered. “Scour every vault and bank account owned by those mafia-backed merchants. I want the archives within the City-State Union Court torn open. Demand a full re-investigation of every single case involving the Famiglias over the last ten years. If we find any unjust rulings or framed innocents, overturn them immediately.”

The City-State Union Court was touted as the highest judicial authority in Siracusa. In reality, it was a toothless joke. The judges were nothing more than highly paid actors, their gavels swinging only to the tune of the Famiglias’ bribes and death threats.

Law was supposed to be the absolute bottom line of morality. But bottom lines were not born from nature; they were forged by human perception and enforced by power. In the blood-soaked soil of Siracusa, violence was the only recognized order. The law was merely a pretty fantasy for the weak to look up to. It was a swamp drowning in evil, where even the heaviest rain could not wash away the stench of corruption.

Frez refused to let that stand in his territory.

He summoned the Chief Justice of the City-State Union Court, Paolo Falcone.

The heavy oak doors opened, admitting a Lupo man in his early fifties. Despite the suffocating pressure of the Sarkaz guards flanking the room, Paolo kept his spine rigidly straight. His grey tail was carefully groomed, and he clutched a massive, leather-bound law book tightly against his chest. He stepped before the desk and offered a deep, measured bow.

“I greet Your Highness, the Demon King.”

“Judge Paolo,” Frez began, his tone calm but carrying an obvious weight. “I have summoned you here for a single question. Among the various cases you have personally handled throughout your career, how many were directly interfered with by the Siracusan Famiglias and street gangs?”

Paolo blinked, clearly taken aback by the blunt inquiry. He adjusted his glasses, his grip tightening on the heavy tome in his arms.

“One thousand, two hundred and thirty-two cases have passed through my hands over the last thirty years, Your Highness.”

The exact number burned in his memory. He remembered the faces of the victims, the smug grins of the mafia enforcers, and the suffocating helplessness he felt every time he was forced to drop a gavel against his own conscience. In Siracusa, the Famiglia was supreme. The law was just a convenient shield for the mob to hide behind. Whenever a ruling threatened their interests, the thick law book he held was treated with less respect than toilet paper.

“That is fine,” Frez said, leaning forward. “Starting today, you are authorized to enforce the law with absolute impartiality. Overturn those corrupted cases. Arrest those who deserve to be in chains, and sentence those who deserve the gallows. If the victims are already dead, issue public announcements to clear their names and restore their honor.”

Paolo’s breath hitched. His eyes widened, staring at the young Demon King in disbelief. “Your Highness… you…”

“Law is the bottom line of morality,” Frez stated, his voice ringing with absolute finality. “Siracusa’s bottom line was shaped by gang violence. Therefore, Kazdel will use overwhelming violence to uphold the law, forcing these people to respect that bottom line. As long as this city remains under Kazdel’s banner, the law is an absolute force that everyone will obey.”

Tears pricked the corners of the old Lupo’s eyes. He dropped to one knee, bowing his head over the leather-bound tome.

“Your Highness, I will use my very life to defend the sanctity of this law book!”