"That poor lady's indebted to papa," whispered the girl fearfully, not even watching the scene. "She always comes to pay off the debt little by little, but papa, well…"
No further words were needed. The sickening thuds were all that were needed.
Slamming the door open, Blight entered the foul cottage and spoke in a cold voice, "I'd suggest you stop that at once, Mr Johnson. The police won't be pleased to have another corpse in their care."
Whipping around faster than Blight would've expected, Johnson, his eyes slightly bulging and his dirty matted hair matching his clothing, confronted him, grasping the bottle in his hand like a bat. He took one menacing step towards Blight, who neither backed down nor reacted.
"The police? What will the police do?" sneered the hunched man, edging closer. "Those sloths wouldn't act even if the world depended on them."
Seeing the somewhat confused expression on Blight's face, he leered before resuming his distasteful monologue.
"They lie. They cheat. They steal. Even if I were to snuff 'er out right here—"
He jerked his head to the cowering figure sprawled on the floor, who was struggling to even breathe with rackety, frail heaves.
"—nobody would even care. Besides, she owes me money, so I technically do have a right to do this. If she dies, well… I guess whatever she got left is mine. In this stupid world, no one has the time to care about others; it's all about getting whatever you need to survive. I'm just doing this for myself; nothing personal—"
Click.
The sharp sound of a revolver snapped into the room distinctly. A single bead of sweat rolled off the unnerved man's forehead.
"W–What are you doing?"
Blight's face was hidden by shifting shadows, outlining his thin build as he stepped forwards.
He was now in full control of the situation.
"Survival…"
His mood changed drastically.
"So that's the excuse you use for taking advantage over those weaker than you?"
His voice was calm as ever, but as a snake gives its warning before the strike, the voice also carried a sense of dreadful inevitability.
"Hiding behind excuses won't do you any good, Mr Johnson… You're just as bad as the Custodians… No… even worse."
He raised the revolver directly at the shrinking man, whose mouth seemed to have run out of bitter curses out of sheer terror.
"I'll be taking retribution for your children as well now."
Crack.
Although the silencer did some work at muffling up the sound, a harsh crack nevertheless escaped from the barrel, echoing around the room. The target slid down, slumped across a wall. He clutched his chest and wheezed, coughing up blood. It was no good—the precisely aimed bullet hit him squarely on the chest, collapsing a lung. As Johnson lay there as helpless as his victim, he lifted his head with tremendous effort. Blight's face was right in front of his now; the dim lighting cast just enough light to highlight the emotionless lips. He was smiling.
"I thank you for bringing light to my eyes again."
There was no response. Johnson's futile efforts to staunch the wound vanished. He lay there in the expanding pool of blood motionlessly. A rapid series of tapping piqued Blight's ears; he turned back to see the two children in the door, just as frightened as they were a few minutes ago.
The boy inched closer to the unmoving woman on the ground tentatively.
"She's dead."
The boy jumped back, stifling a cry.
"W–What happened? H–How do you know?" he stuttered, grasping for words.
"I've been listening this entire time. Her breathing's stopped for some time now."
Blight beckoned to them and stepped out of the way to reveal their father's lifeless body. This time, their shrieks were unable to be held. Cries leaked out from the two children like a waterfall—a waterfall that cascaded up to the heavens in a sombre manner.
Blight took a stride to them and embraced them with crimson stained hands.
"I'm sorry. I was the one who killed him. If you have regrets, then take this and shoot me."
He pulled away from them before holding out the revolver. For a second, nothing happened, until… The downfall of tears continued flowing. Their confused young minds were jumbled with all sorts of emotions, but one thing was clear: they neither feared him nor hated him for his actions. They were his children now.
—
"My goodness, Elysius, what have you been doing?"
After returning back home with two new additions, Mr and Mrs Campbell certainly received the news with great solemnity. Indeed, while the five of them were having dinner in the hall, the air seemed to thicken with drab gloominess. The two children, who were reluctantly permitted to stay for the night, ate their food in silence, not daring to look up from their plates. Right before the final dish arrived, Blight rose from his seat suddenly and excused himself from the table while clutching his forehead, claiming he had a minor headache.
I need to rest for a while… My head is burning…
And he fell on his bed face-down; the countless sleepless nights had finally caught up with him, knocking him out like a well-aimed blow to the head.
—
When his eyes fluttered open again, the two children came into view. They were slumped on the carpet, snoring softly. He scooped them up carefully to avoid waking them up and laid them on his own bed, but his heart felt nothing; no compassion, no pity—nothing. He may have been the one who rescued them from the clutches of that devil, but that experience only hardened his heart further.
Old memories of Fallow's Row resurfaced, reminding him painfully how fragile human morality could be. Back then, a child could, and would, kill for a piece of bread; the situation was harsh for all. Dogs ate dogs just to climb up on a few rungs on the ladder called life, even if it meant sacrificing others for personal gain. In the end, as he purposely had been convincing himself otherwise, everybody was equal. Morality didn't matter in this world. Those who sympathized were always trampled over.
With more effort he'd expected, Blight heaved himself up from his bed, limping over to the door. The corridors outside were now mellow orange, illuminated by the glowing candles. At every window was the unmistakable luminous white glow of the midnight moon.
It's already night… Just how long was I asleep in there?
A pair of maids, performing their midnight duties, were stationed close to his room. As they saw him approaching, they fumbled clumsily and greeted him politely. Blight brushed past them without a glance. His head was still spinning, yet despite this, he continued to walk along the moonlit path.
A lone painting, lit up eerily in front of his eyes, captured his attention. It was quite different from the other poetic ones they'd hung up around the more public spaces of their mansion—the sinking sensation it imposed on observers was easy to understand.
Featuring an army of bloody knights locked in deadly battle, the painting depicted the darker sides of selfless knights. Though they were bound to their lords by a pact of loyalty, constantly displayed chivalry to the weak, and were respected by all, everything was stripped away when it came down to combat. Nothing was left except the constant blood splattering from their enemies. Constant brutal blows exchange from both sides, fully intending to kill.
He stared at the unnecessarily gory painting once again, letting it sink and embed itself into his mind.
If only I could start an experiment to test the limits of humanity… At the end of the world, will anyone still be able to uphold their virtues? I'd sure like to see the final day…
I suppose I could… I'll create the final day myself…
Before anything, I need power, something more than just status. Since the events have already gone as I predicted, I shouldn't pass up on this opportunity—this is the perfect chance to rise in terms of economic power among the uncertainty.
Because of the bank crisis and unrest among the people, the government will surely act and provide emergency measures among the people to patch things up, but that will surely reach foreign ears. Investors from other countries will start dropping, which will lead to their assets slowly being taken away from Ecclesia.
The domestic banks will hold back their own assets, fearing others like the railroad company will go bankrupt as well.
Blight stopped to breathe deeply, letting the breeze from the open window ripple through his hair.
Interest rates will rise rapidly, smaller businesses will fall, and more workers will join the steadily growing unemployed population. Of course, the government's power will only work to some extent, so wages will naturally fall, which reduces spending for all of the overlooked citizens, so shops and merchants will cancel orders from manufacturers.
By this time, the government should've stabilised the banks enough for lending to resume cautiously.
In the end, the only ones that'll survive this crash would be the most well-prepared, strongest companies. If I should put my money in anything, it should be those strong companies and the railroad systems since resources are bound to be transported again by train.
Gaining enough money and power during these next few years should put me in an excellent position; then I'll strike the core.
With Mr Paulos dead, Ecclesia and Sardis will turn on each other and the true war will commence and unfold. I'll only need to stay somewhere safe enough to nudge them into fighting…
—
After a full year had passed, nobody, not even the Campbells, dared to question how Blight rose through the ranks so quickly. Every time anyone asked, he'd only reply, "I merely risked everything on the railroad's necessity, that's all."