Chapter 328: Loyalty!
Federal Headquarters. Temporary Grand Assembly Hall.
Three thousand administrators from across the sector had been summoned under a
priority directive. They were the mayors, councilors, and department heads—the
remaining hierarchy of human authority.
Currently, they stood in a dense pack, staring up at the figure on the lectern.
It was a Vampire.
He stood nearly two meters tall, with cascading silver-white hair tied back in a
sharp queue. His features were so refined they defied biological reality,
appearing more like a statue than a sentient creature. He wore the
black-and-crimson military tunic of the State Army, with a commemorative skull
medallion pinned to his chest.
But it was his eyes—deep, glowing pits of crimson—that held the room in a state
of paralysis.
"Attention."
The Vampire spoke. His voice was a low-frequency, resonant bass that vibrated
through the floorboards.
"I am Myriad-Captain 749 of the Evernight State Army, Seventh Legion, Third
Division. You may address me as 'Myriad-Captain' or simply '749'."
"Effective this cycle, I shall oversee the administrative integration of this
Plane."
The hall was a tomb. Three thousand pairs of eyes were locked onto the speaker,
their pupils dilated with a cocktail of terror, suspicion, and biological
repulsion.
Vampires.
The apex predators of human folklore. Though the Eldritch Realm had birthed many
nightmares, it had never recorded an actual vampire. Yet, every individual in
the room knew the archetypal logic associated with the species: bloodlust,
cruelty, and the processing of humans as "Living Blood-Storage."
"It's over..." a man in a tailored suit whispered to his neighbor. "We escaped
the Anomalies only to fall into the feeding pits of the blood-drinkers."
A woman beside him turned ashen. "I heard they fence humans like cattle...
mobile juice-boxes for their legions. I'd rather be liquidated by a Tier 3 than
spent one pint at a time."
The murmurs rippled like a virus through the crowd. Fear was the primary
atmospheric constant.
749, standing atop the dais, perceived the shift in emotional Od instantly. His
brow-ridges knit together in a flicker of clinical annoyance.
As expected, he thought. The humans of this coordinate possess zero data on the
Empire. Their logic-cores are saturated with archaic, irrational prejudices.
749 let out a mental sigh. General Greed had been definitive: Treat the humans
as Subjects of the Evernight. Zero discrimination.
But the tactical reality was delicate. The relationship between humans and
Anomalies in this world was fundamentally different from the multi-racial
harmony of the Evernight. Here, humans had a deeply ingrained, ancestral
hostility toward non-human entities. If he applied the "Liberal Integration"
protocols too early, it would likely trigger a systemic riot.
"SILENCE," 749 commanded.
The volume wasn't high, yet it terminated every conversation in the hall like a
slammed door.
"I am aware of your illogical anxieties," 749 stated, his red eyes performing a
predatory sweep of the front rows.
"You project that the Empire will enslave you. That we will process you for
biomass. That we will delete your autonomy. These projections are statistically
false."
"Evernight Law is an absolute constant. It applies to every unit within the
Empire's borders, regardless of biological race. This includes the human
species."
"Any violation of Imperial Law results in disciplinary processing. There are no
exceptions for 'Vocation' or 'Status'."
The humans exchanged bewildered glances. The dead possess laws? And those laws
protect... us?
"Now, I shall recite the Integration Mandate for Vassal Planes."
749 retrieved a heavy dossier from his tunic.
"The mandate consists of three hundred and seventy-two articles, covering every
logistical variable of existence. Due to the closing window of this session, I
shall highlight only the primary protocols."
He flipped to the first page.
"Article 1: Biological and Spiritual Security."
"No Imperial Citizen or Vassal Resident may harm, liquidate, or enslave another
sapient life-form for any reason."
"Violators shall, depending on the severity of the data-breach, be sentenced to
ten cycles to permanent incarceration, or immediate structural deletion."
The administrators froze. No harming other species? On the surface, it sounded
like common ethics. But then, the logic clicked.
It was a two-way contract. Humans couldn't harm the Undead—but the Undead were
legally prohibited from harming humans. And the penalty was absolute.
"Article 2: Labor Protection."
749 continued, his voice a steady drone.
"All Vassal Residents are granted the Right to Labor and the Right to Respite."
"Standard work-cycles are capped at eight hours. A minimum of one cycle of rest
per week is mandatory."
"Employers are prohibited from 'Force-Loading' overtime. If an operational
emergency requires extra hours, the employee must be compensated at three times
the standard wage."
"Violators will face heavy financial taxation. Repeated infractions result in
the permanent revocation of their business charter."
The room experienced a total logical explosion.
"An eight-hour cap?!" "Mandatory rest-cycles?!" "Triple-pay for extra toil?!"
A white-haired Elder was vibrating so hard his spectacles nearly fell off. "I...
I haven't heard those terms since the Pre-Summons Era! Since the days when the
world was bright!"
A younger councilman blinked, his brain unable to process the variable. "Is
this... is the data accurate? Is this real?"
In the Eldritch Realm, labor protection was a myth. People worked for daily
wages, toiling until the sun died, spending their coin immediately, and
repeating the cycle until the Game took them. No one discussed "Respite" because
lack of work meant starvation.
Overtime pay? What manner of alien concept was that? Surviving the day was the
only reward most humans expected.
But now, this Vampire was informing them that the Empire had codified
work-hours, mandatory holidays, and specialized compensation?
This... this is paradise, the thought rippled through the hall.
749 watched the ecstatic faces and felt a fresh wave of unease. The human
reaction is statistically excessive, he noted.
The protocols he was reading were actually the "Strict" version of the law. In
the Evernight proper, work-cycles were often fluid—as long as the directive was
achieved, the time-management was at the unit's discretion. He had tightened the
restrictions for the Vassal Plane to ensure a controlled transition.
And they perceive this as a utopian anomaly? Just how broken was their previous
management logic?
"Article 3: Fiscal Contribution."
749 pressed on, his voice a shield against the rising murmurs.
"All Vassal Residents are subject to Personal Income Taxation."
"Rates are tiered by output: a floor of 5% for low-earners, reaching a ceiling
of 70% for high-tier assets."
"Residents whose income falls below the Imperial Subsistence Baseline are exempt
from all taxation."
"Tax revenue is allocated exclusively for Planar Infrastructure, Public Service,
and Security Architecture."
Another commotion rippled through the stands. But this time, it wasn't panic. It
was... "Hope."
"Security architecture?" "The Empire will provide a defense against the
Anomalies?" "And the poor are exempt from the tax?"
A young female mayor raised her hand, her voice trembling. "Pardon the query,
Myriad-Captain. Identify 'Security Architecture'."
749 looked at her. "The Empire shall deploy the Garrison Corps to every
metropolitan hub. Their directive is the systematic liquidation of any Anomaly
that threatens the biological security of the residents."
"Furthermore, we shall establish a normalized Peace-Force to ensure the safety
of life and property. Crimes against citizens will be prosecuted with extreme
prejudice."
The mayor's eyes reddened. "So... we no longer exist in fear of being processed
by a pest in the night?"
"We no longer have to live cycles in a state of terminal anxiety?"
"As long as we pay the tax... we are safe?"
749 gave a slow, measured nod. "Affirmative."
The mayor covered her mouth, a sob of pure, overwhelming relief escaping her
lips.
She wasn't the only one.
Across the hall, the administrators were weeping. Some were shaking
uncontrollably; others simply slumped into their chairs, the weight of sixty
years of terror finally lifting from their souls.
Since the day the Game commenced, humanity had lived as prey. Tonight, for the
first time, they were being told they were Subjects.
And to a subject, the Sovereign is a wall.
☆☆☆
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