Ortes gazed at Demedes.
Normally, it was quite difficult to tell where Ortes’ gaze was directed due to his nearly closed eyelids.
But this time, he kindly turned his head, revealing that he was looking directly at Demedes. It was an intentional gesture.
“Director Demedes.”
Ortes spoke in his usual gentle voice. However, the directors could sense an inexplicable chill from his tone.
“I’m deeply moved by your enthusiasm, Director. Since your resolve is so firm, I must also do my best to repay you.”
A new image appeared on the hologram projector at the center of the conference room. The board members easily recognized what it depicted.
It was footage of one of the sects Blasphemia had been tracking—followers of Bacchus, the god of revelry, worshipped by the wandering theater group, Bacadi.
“The first target we will go after is this Bacchus Cult.”
“Bacchus? Drug addicts?”
Demedes clicked his tongue. While the bl**d of drug addicts might be sufficient to maintain vitality, even chimeras have preferences.
The tasteless bl**d of drug users isn’t something they’d willingly consume.
“Why are we targeting such insignificant people first?”
There were not a few who silently nodded in agreement with Demedes’ assessment. Based on Ortes’ known disposition, it wouldn’t have been strange if he’d immediately launched an attack on the largest sect.
After all, he was someone who would act without calculating risks for the sake of Carisia’s goals.
Take this recent business trip, for example.
Demedes had heard that the information Ortes brought back originated from a branch of the intelligence organization employed by the Ten Towers. This was guaranteed by Arabel and Divius, collaborators in the operation.
What remained undisclosed was that Ortes’ mission wasn’t just espionage—it was a full-scale assault that resulted in the d*ath of the regional director of Blasphemia. This fact was concealed thanks to Arabel and Divius’ silence.
Even this much was enough to intensify the fear the board members felt toward Ortes.
In general perception, wiping out a cult practicing primitive faith was far less dangerous than infiltrating the shadowy networks of the Ten Towers.
“Indeed, they seem rather unremarkable.”
“According to the information, there aren’t any practitioners of the old gods’ power… meaning no divine magic users, correct?”
Blasphemia categorized its targets into three general tiers:
Simple believers.
Priests wielding the lost powers of the gods.
And leaders, or Sect Leaders, who claim to hear the voices of the gods.
Further subdivisions like bishops or cardinals varied too widely between sects to standardize, so only a broad framework was used.
The Bacchus Cult was so fragmented that it wasn’t even clear whether it had a leader. The location Ortes identified was estimated to have perhaps one or two priests at most.
Internally, Blasphemia had marked this group as “not yet worth attention.”
“That is also a valid point.”
Demedes frowned. Was this really menial work that offered little benefit to Hydra Corp’s objectives?
“We must proceed cautiously.”
Ortes began.
“If you went hunting with rusted arrows, you’d likely fail. It’s only natural to check our tools before embarking on something significant.”
It was a provocation: a challenge for them to prove their worth since their skills weren’t trustworthy. Demedes started to protest but stopped himself.
Everyone in this room had been defeated by Carisia and Ortes. From the perspective of such powerful figures, it was natural to doubt the abilities of weaker individuals.
“But this hunt may not be as small as you think. Take another look at the location.”
Demedes glanced again at the hologram. The gathering place for Bacchus worshipers wasn’t within the city limits.
It was an unruly area outside the protection of a Magic Tower—a lawless zone frequented by wanted criminals.
“Are we also capturing wanted criminals?”
“Yes. More specifically, it’s a task for you, Director.”
Not a single one should escape. All of them.
Ortes smiled more deeply than usual.
This smile only heightened Demedes’ unease, though he quickly dismissed it. For now, this man wasn’t his enemy.
“What about their survival?”
“For the fugitives, capture them dead or alive. As for Bacchus’ followers, please bring them back alive if possible.”
“…Are you not going along?”
“The followers of the vanished gods move swiftly. We need to find as many as possible before the information becomes outdated.”
Meaning there were still tasks Ortes couldn’t trust Demedes with, so he’d handle them personally. Though Demedes felt humiliated, he nodded.
‘At any rate, I’ve secured permission for the human hunt. I’ll need to move as soon as the meeting ends.’
*
“Why did you do that?”
An indifferent question.
It came from Carisia after the directors had left and I was tidying up the room.
“What do you mean?”
“Demedes. He’s not that incompetent, is he? Wouldn’t a more challenging mission have been appropriate?”
Oh, Chairman.
Just because you assign a difficult task and it succeeds, you can’t claim ‘I have good judgment,’ nor can you say ‘he was useless’ when it fails. That doesn’t make you skilled at employing people.
Of course, I didn’t have the audacity to say that outright to Carisia.
“Demedes lacks energy due to insufficient nourishment. If we gave him a more complex task now, it could lead to a misjudgment that might destroy his entire organization.”
“A loss of manpower.”
Carisia seemed to accept my explanation before tilting her head curiously.
“That shouldn’t matter, should it? Hydra Corp already has plenty of combatants, right?”
We can’t do everything ourselves. I resisted saying it reflexively.
“There are two reasons. First, let me explain why we’re also targeting the fugitives—”
“To avoid drawing the attention of the Ten Towers, right? If we only captured the worshipers, the Ten Towers might notice something amiss.”
Indeed, she’s sharp. I nodded.
“But you mentioned two reasons. Is it for accumulating achievements needed for the Magical Tower’s certification or promotion?”
“Yes, specifically for the latter.”
Carisia tilted her head again, smoothing her hair near her forehead as she thought.
“Certification, huh. You’re not trying to list our company on the stock exchange, are you?”
“Certainly not. That would be detrimental to our company.”
Tower certification involves procedures for selling shares of the tower’s magical core. Typically, this connects the tower’s Ethereal Space to the network of the Ten Towers.
Once this process is completed, the tower can register shares of its magical core for sale, enabling a form of stock trading.
With good fortune, receiving investments from the Ten Towers could elevate the entire tower to a higher level.
However, simultaneously…
“This is essentially putting a leash on us by the Ten Towers.”
Though the magical core of a tower is linked to the Ten Sages, directly synchronizing the Ethereal Spaces carries another implication: it allows direct inspection of the tower’s recorded research.
Of course, the Ten Towers don’t demand full disclosure for certification. The size of the Ethereal Space corresponds to the capacity of the magical core. Only 30% of the total magical core capacity must be disclosed initially.
Upon certification, 30% of the Ethereal Space’s records become visible to the Ten Towers and other towers.
Some towers erase content from the disclosed portion of their Ethereal Space to avoid sharing sensitive data, leaving only raw magical output and computational power for sale.
However, doing so deviates from the primary purpose of certification, which is attracting investors. This tactic is usually employed by Proper Towers with surplus magical energy.
For an ordinary tower, it might not matter, but Hydra Corp wasn’t established for wealth and fame.
Neither our ostensible goal—”The 11th King”—nor our true objective—”The Fall of Baegwang”—are things we can casually disclose.
The reason I brought up tower certification is…
“Come to think of it, you once wandered around as a troubleshooter, didn’t you? Did you have a colleague who aspired to become a Tower Master?”
“…You remember that?”
I thought she wasn’t the type to recall such trivial personal details. Somehow, Carisia was staring straight at me.
“Yes. I believe it’s necessary to meet that friend, but an official visit from me might not be appropriate under the current circumstances.”
In the troubleshooter industry, I’m probably presumed missing or deceased during a mission. The official survivors of the task where I met Carisia numbered zero, and the actual survivor was just me.
“I want to use the certification review as a means to reconnect.”
“Oh my. Are you asking the CEO to work for an employee?”
I hurriedly checked her expression, but I saw a hint of amusement. She must have been joking.
Still, high-ranking individuals often underestimate how destructive their jokes can be.
“He’s a talent who could greatly assist in achieving your goals.”
“Well, fine. Do as you wish. Will you continue assigning bounty hunts to Demedes?”
“Yes. Given his tendency toward impulsive actions, it’s more appropriate to assign him tasks involving the elimination of wanted criminals rather than missions requiring persuasion or capture of worshipers.”
“In that case, the fieldwork of the Divine Investigation Division will still fall solely on you.”
Seems like it. I’d prefer to stay in a safe location, receive reports, and stamp approvals rather than get involved physically.
Strangely, events always unfold this way. After reassigning bounty hunting duties to Demedes, it became apparent that there was no one to take my place in the field.
“Well, it’ll improve over time. It’s routine, so it’s manageable.”
“Then…”
“How about coming along with me on the next assignment?”
