Wasn’t This a Night Game

Departement Operarium (Revised)

“How do you find the capital?”

“Disorienting. I hadn’t imagined teleportation to be so…headache-inducing.”

“It’s a common feeling for those experiencing spatial displacement for the first time. You’ll grow accustomed to it, with time.”

The highest floor of the Magic Tower Temple in the capital.

The vista of the capital sprawling beyond the reception room, the headquarters of Karma Company, was enough to steal the souls of the Labor Theorists.

Jonathan Karma chuckled, watching them stare blankly at the cityscape, barely touching their tea.

“The view is quite impressive, isn’t it? Most are taken aback.”

“It is…astonishing. To possess the technology to erect such towering structures.”

Karl Lenaro nodded in frank agreement.

Jonathan smiled at that. “I believe I can offer you even more cause for astonishment. Care to see it?”

“I’m intrigued. What is it?”

“Follow me. I think a tour of the slums is in order.”

Jonathan and his wife, Olivia, exited the Magic Tower Temple with the Labor Theorists.

And together, they began to traverse the various districts of the slums.

It went without saying that as the tour progressed, the Labor Theorists’ jaws gradually dropped further and further.

“This…this is truly a slum?”

Well-laid brick paving stones.

Quaint and neatly constructed residential blocks.

Murals that appeared to have been commissioned from artists adorned the walls.

“It *was* a slum. Until the Saint appeared, this was the most impoverished district in the capital.”

“This place? Really?”

“Yes, indeed. Come this way. I’ll show you the laborers of the capital at their work.”

Jonathan Karma led the Labor Theorists through the businesses within the slums, showcasing the working conditions of the laborers.

And that sight was further astounding them.

“They arrive at 9 a.m. and depart at 6 p.m. Lunch is from 12 to 1, one hour. And there’s a separate night shift, who begin work after their evening meal. The night shift receives a slightly higher wage.”

“The salary…what is the rate?”

“Thirty salred a month. Forty-five for the night shift. Consequently, there are a few more volunteers for the night work.”

“…I never thought I’d say this, but. How can you profit, paying such wages?”

“For businesses locating in the slums, I provide the elixirs essential for factory operation at half price. Because of that, raising labor costs doesn’t impact our bottom line as severely.”

“Good heavens. To think such enterprises existed…”

“Let us observe elsewhere. Ah! That place is a tire factory, newly established. Would you care to see?”

For the labor theorists, it was something far beyond a slum tour; a paradigm shift.

Not a single worker in the factories appeared unhappy.

They were all smiling.

Though weary and strained, the hope etched upon the workers’ faces startled the theorists more than anything.

“…Would it be permissible for us to wander about and observe directly, just for today? Mister Karma?”

The scene was simply too incredulous; doubt, at last, gnawed at the theorists’ minds.

Breaking free from Jonathan Karma’s escort, they roamed the capital, observing the laborers’ conditions firsthand.

The conclusion reached was that Jonathan Karma spoke no lie.

“Not just here, but throughout the capital’s outskirts, most workers are in a similar situation.”

“Eight-hour workdays. An hour allotted for luncheon. High wages. Employee training. They even placed women as supervisors over men, based solely on merit.”

“They elevated a woman above men??”

“They claimed not to see man nor woman. The decision rested solely on competence. Never in my life… I have never witnessed a capitalist behaving in such a manner.”

“Karma Company actively assists workers in securing aid from the banks. They are pushing a policy to allow for housing loans, guaranteed by Karma Company. Further, the interest on these loans is being covered by Karma Company itself.”

“Workers are constructing their own homes while still receiving their regular wages.”

“With increased wages and the ability to secure housing beforehand through loans, the workers’ standard of living is beyond comprehension.”

“Child labor is nonexistent here. Instead, children attend schools built directly by Karma Company and the Imperial Family. Well-trained instructors teach them reading, mathematics, basic science, and elementary magic. Tuition is waived; education is entirely free.”

“They even provide meals for the children, free of charge, called ‘sustenance’.”

The labor theorists were utterly bewildered.

Having listened to all the accounts, Karl Renard could only manage a hollow laugh.

“…It seems the capital requires no intervention from us, then?”

“Most of what we demanded has already been implemented. We could simply adopt Karma Company’s operational policies as a base rule and enact labor laws with no complications.”

Karl Renard listened to the cascade of testimonies in silence.

“The capitalist must do the capitalist’s work, and we must do ours, was it?”

Only now did the Saint’s words resonate with Karl Renard.

“We were told that we might forget our compassion for the vulnerable, and become those who slaughter more workers than anyone, all in the name of workers.”

“Even if the revolution succeeded, I question whether we could have elevated the workers’ living standards to this degree.”

“Likely not. We would have been too busy warring with the capitalists to focus on improving their lives.”

Though self-deprecating words were exchanged, the labor theorists’ expressions were, in fact, bright.

“We’ll do as our comrades suggest. We shall formulate labor laws based on how Karma Company operated.”

“Let the capitalists be the ones who bring benefits to the workers.”

“We need only hunt down those who stray from that principle. It is what we do best.”

It was a moment when what they had to do became that much clearer.

They were hounds.

They were at their happiest when tearing into capitalists who had lost their way.

And so, they planned to continue doing just that.

The very next day.

“Wouldn’t you say this is sufficient?”

“There wasn’t much to amend, really. We simply followed Karma Company’s model.”

Jonathan Karma and the labor theorists resolved the labor law provisions at a remarkable pace, without much difficulty.

From then on, nothing stalled them.

The agreed-upon clauses were submitted to the Senate, who quickly reviewed them, confirmed there were no issues, and passed them as is.

Of course, not everything the labor theorists requested was passed precisely as they had asked.

“A new department name… the Department of Labor. Doesn’t it seem rather… lacking?”

“It commands no authority. No authority at all.”

“We will need to revise the name, it seems.”

The name of the imperial administrative body where the labor theorists would soon work was newly coined by the aristocracy.

The Imperial Labor Authority.

The *Departement Operarium*, as they called it.

And as soon as the passage of the labor law and the establishment of the new department were approved by the Senate, the Emperor immediately summoned Karl Renaroh.

“Karl Renaroh.”

“Your orders, Your Majesty!”

“Punish the transgressions of the capitalists in Scrap Yard according to the labor law. While, in principle, the revised law prohibits the punishment of past cases, I, by my authority, will apply an exception for this instance. Ensure that such events never repeat themselves among other workers. Make an example of them.”

At the Emperor’s words, Karl Renaroh clenched his fist.

His knuckles turning white as blood drained from his grip, he looked up at the Emperor with eyes filled with fury and elation.

“I shall obey.”

It was the moment of revenge the labor theorists had so desperately craved.

The only difference was that it had become a legitimate act.

The protests of the iron road and the workers gathered in the square showed no sign of fading, even with the disappearance of Kal Renaro and the Laborist executives.

“Punish Mayor Bias!”

“Guarantee us humane treatment!”

“Show us that law and justice live in the Empire! Punish the factory owners! Punish them!”

They shouted unified slogans, and they sang together.

“Arise, oppressed masses!”

“Arise, you slaves of hunger!”

“Nowhere is there a great savior!”

“Neither god, nor emperor, nor silver-tongued orator, so workers, save yourselves….”

“Comrade, is it really alright to sing the lyrics like that? Considering the Holy One and His Imperial Majesty are here…”

“Just omit that part!”

Though they had to revise the lyrics a little in the middle, regardless…

Hundreds of thousands of Scrap Yard workers gathered in the streets, singing songs and shouting slogans as they fought to win their rights.

Karma Company fed and sheltered them well, and the Order of Grace healed and comforted the sick among them.

The Black Fortress and Pantheon forces, led by Iomene, carefully maintained order to prevent outbreaks of violence.

And after a little over a week of continuing the protests in this way…

Finally.

The Laborists who had gone to the capital returned.

“Comrade Kal Renaro has returned!”

All the workers gathered on the streets moved to see Kal Renaro.

And the moment the workers saw Kal Renaro and his Laborists.

Everyone fell silent.

Neat and dignified uniforms.

And upon them, emblazoned clearly, the symbol of the pickaxe and hammer, marked alongside the emblem of the Arkall Empire.

It meant they had become a legitimate administrative department of the Empire, officially recognized by the Emperor.

The Laborists, dressed in uniforms that could overwhelm anyone, headed towards the central square.

Amidst the flashes of reporters’ cameras, constantly erupting from buildings everywhere.

“In the name of the Department of Orerarium, would you please gather the factory owners here? His Imperial Majesty has ordered their punishment.”

And Princess Iomene, who had set up an investigation headquarters in the central square, handed over the factory owners she had been interrogating to them immediately, without complaint, at Kal Renaro’s words.

Before long, the Scrap Yard’s factory owners, in handcuffs, were dragged into the central square, surrounded by inquisitors of the Black Fortress, Ketratu, and paladins of other orders.

“You! You sons of b*tches!!”

“My daughter!! Bring my dead daughter back to life!! You mangy curs!!”

“Justice!! Show us that justice still lives!!”

Amidst the roar of the workers, Kal Renaroh climbed atop a mineral transport forklift stationed in the plaza.

One of the labor activists carefully handed him the proclamation, which Kal Renaroh unfurled.

Erpa, who had accompanied them to facilitate the activists’ teleportation, discreetly cast an amplification spell from the rear. Confirming this, Kal Renaroh began to read the proclamation.

“You have all violated the labor laws passed by His Imperial Majesty, the great Theovillo von Arcal, and the nobles of the Senate!! The charges are as follows!”

The booming voice, amplified by mages strategically placed throughout the city’s districts, reverberated across the entire scrapyard.

As a result, the protesting workers could hear Kal Renaroh’s declaration without missing a single word.

“Child labor!! Absence of responsibility for industrial accidents!! Excessively low wages!! Violation of the obligation to provide safety equipment to miners and steelworkers!!”

One by one.

Dozens of accusations were recited in painstaking detail.

Listening to these charges, some of the workers began to sob.

“Illegal interrogation!! Instigation and abetting of torture and assault without proper court authorization!! Forcible suppression of legitimate protests!! Threats of dismissal against workers!! Non-payment of wages and the incineration of bodies resulting from industrial accidents, without returning them to the bereaved families, in an attempt to destroy evidence!! Upon investigation, you are guilty of a total of 54 charges!! We know it!! This city knows it, and every worker who shed blood and sweat in this city knows it!!”

Kal Renaroh looked at the factory owners and Mayor Bias, who stood at their head.

He was still laughing, as if the entire situation was a joke.

Laughing incredulously.

Kal Renaroh returned his smile.

“This shall be the last moment you see the sun above ground. By order of the labor laws. You are all sentenced to indefinite hard labor within the confinement facility!!”

The workers erupted in a roar.

A tremendous roar that threatened to tear apart the entire scrapyard.

Al Madai approached Iomene, who stood on a nearby rooftop, observing the scene.

“The workers’ reaction is too intense. Should we send the Ketratus to control them?”

Iomene shook her head.

“No.”

She smiled.

“Don’t you understand why Father tasked the Operarium, of all organizations, with punishing these men? He wishes to give the Empire’s citizens the belief that the Imperial family has not abandoned them. We cannot ruin this moment, now can we?”