Chapter 330: The Allocation of Providence
The Eldritch Realm. Former Federal Strongholds.
The consolidation of the surviving human population within the Federation's
regional bases had inadvertently provided the Empire's annexation teams with a
massive logistical advantage.
The Efficiency of the State Army's Logistics Division was statistically
staggering. Within hours, bilingual notices—printed in both Imperial Common and
the local dialect—were plastered across every high-visibility surface.
Citizens began to emerge cautiously from the reinforced concrete shells of their
bunkers, their faces etched with a deep-seated suspicion and biological terror.
They watched the handsome, perfectly uniformed Vampires of the administrative
squads from a distance, whispering frantically. No one dared to be the first
unit to initiate contact.
"What is the objective? To register us like inventory and then fence us like
livestock?"
"Look at the text on the board. 'Eight-hour work cycles,' 'Minimum Subsistence
Guarantee'... it's a lure. A statistical impossibility. No one hands out bread
for free in this world."
A middle-aged man, a veteran Participant who had narrowly achieved extraction
from a single Rule-Based Scenario years ago, summoned his resolve. He stepped
toward the notice board, reading the script word for word.
As he processed the data, his pupils dilated. His respiratory rhythm hit a
frantic frequency.
"One rest-cycle... per week? Triple-pay for overtime? Twelve years of
mandatory... free education?"
Hearing his murmurs, the nearby crowd couldn't resist the pull of curiosity.
They swarmed the board. As they confirmed the ink wasn't a hallucination, the
plaza plunged into an eerie, ringing silence.
Then, a hurricane of argument erupted.
"A logic error! This must be a deception! Since the Scourge descended, we
haven't known if we would have a 'Tomorrow,' and they are discussing 'Rest'?"
"And this 'Medical Aegis'—the Empire subsidizes seventy percent of the tax? For
what purpose? What potential do we have but our poverty?"
Just then, a squad of State Army Vampires marched into the square with a
synchronized, rhythmic cadence. They were un-weaponized, carrying only digital
tablets and registration ledgers. At their head was a Centurion, wearing a
practiced, professional smile. His voice was projected with Mana-clarity across
the sector.
"Subjects of the Realm, attention. We are commencing the Registry of Identities
and the application of the [Blood-Link Aegis]."
"This Aegis is a standard Imperial benefit. It carries zero negative
side-effects. It provides a structural resistance against spiritual
contamination, low-tier curses, and offers a one-time 'Death-Denial' against
lethal kinetic trauma."
The crowd stared. No one moved.
The Centurion didn't press the point. He signaled his squad, and the soldiers
dispersed, beginning a door-to-door circuit of the residential blocks.
Inside one apartment provided by the Federation, a family of three huddled in
the corner.
"Papa... it's the Blood-Drinkers," a teenage boy whispered, his voice shivering.
The father gripped a length of rusted steel pipe, gritting his teeth. "Stay
anchored. I'll make them pay for every drop."
Tap. Tap.
A polite rap on the door followed a melodic voice. "Pardon the intrusion. We
represent the Imperial Logistics Bureau. We have arrived to process your Welfare
Registration."
The father hesitated, finally opening the door a fraction.
A young Vampire soldier stood in the hall. He noted the steel pipe, gave a
small, unbothered chuckle, and ignored the threat-variable entirely.
"Greetings, sir. By the Sovereign's Decree, we are here to apply the [Blood-Link
Aegis] to your household. Relax your frame. The process is brief."
Before the man could formulate a rebuttal, the Vampire extended a finger. He
tapped the foreheads of the father, the mother, and the boy in rapid succession.
A pulse of warm, crimson light flared and vanished.
The father felt a sudden flood of warmth radiate through his core. The chronic
fatigue of a decade in the dark and the low-level terror that had been his
constant companion seemed to evaporate.
"This... my Od feels... stable."
"Registration finalized," the soldier said, checking a box on his tablet.
"Please remain on-site. The Arcane Legion units are currently in transit to
complete your gear-issue."
Hardly had he finished when a Lich in flowing robes drifted into the hallway,
floating a meter above the carpet. He held a reinforced crate.
"Arcane Logistics. Gear-issue commencing."
"This is the [Skeletal Ward]. It provides a kinetic and energy shield capable of
neutralizing three strikes from a Tier 5 entity or below. Standard issue. One
per unit. No replacements for lost items."
The Lich pulled three simple bone-carved amulets from the box and handed them
over. As the father touched the bone, he felt the reassuring hum of protective
Mana.
"These are... free of charge?" the mother whispered.
"Affirmative, ma'am," the Lich replied. "This is the baseline Providence for a
Subject of the Evernight."
The Vampire and the Lich turned to head to the next unit. The father stared at
the amulet, touched his forehead, and looked back at the proclamation on the
wall.
His legs suddenly hit a failure-state. He dropped to his knees, kowtowing toward
the retreating backs of the dead.
"LONG LIVE THE EMPIRE! GLORY TO THE SOVEREIGN!"
His wife and son joined him on the floor, their voices a sobbing, joyous echo.
This scene was being replicated in every sector of the city. Suspicion and
terror were being pulverized by the weight of tangible prosperity. When the
"Fantasy" of safety became a physical amulet in their palms, the loyalty of the
human species was ignited.
Their Faith-resonance began to scale at a terrifying velocity.
Federal Command Center. Executive Floor.
The Myriad-Captains of the Seven Armies sat around a circular table. The
atmosphere was heavy with tactical deliberation.
"The data is consistent," Myriad-Captain 749 of the State Army stated, placing a
report on the table. "The integration of the biological units is proceeding
ahead of schedule. However... the local Anomaly System—the 'Rule-Based
Scenarios'—remains a structural obstruction."
"An obstruction?" the Myriad-Captain of the Fearless Vanguard rumbled. He was
encased in massive plate-armor, his voice sounding like grinding stones beneath
his new, custom helmet. "Why do we not simply charge the Instances and liquidate
everything within?"
"Infeasible," the Arcane Legion Myriad-Captain shook his skull. "I dispatched
several Tier 6 recruits to probe the entry-points. It appears the Evernight's
signature has been 'Blacklisted' by the Anomaly System. Any undead unit
attempting transit is immediately flagged as a 'Cleared Objective' and ejected
back to the Real World."
"It appears Lord Bochi's previous 'Adventure' has made the system
hyper-sensitive to our presence. The server has essentially blocked our IP."
"Tactical options?" the Silent Extinction Myriad-Captain asked, scratching his
chin-bone. "If we cannot enter, do we simply maintain the status quo? Focus on
the subjects' self-defense parameters?"
The Aegis Legion Myriad-Captain spoke up. "The risk-rating remains high.
Residents can be forcibly summoned at any interval. We pledged the Sovereign's
protection; we cannot statistically allow our subjects to be processed in a zone
where we cannot intervene."
"Then we level the sectors," the Shadow Guard Myriad-Captain suggested from the
corner.
"Negative," 749 countered. "The 'Instance Zones' overlap with high-density urban
sectors. Massive kinetic destruction would result in unacceptably high civilian
casualties. Furthermore, intel suggests that destroying the physical structure
doesn't terminate the Scenario—the Anomaly simply relocates its coordinates."
The meeting fell into a pensive silence. The Punishment Legion Myriad-Captain
tapped a bony finger against the table.
"Perhaps we should report the bottleneck to the Generals?"
"ABSOLUTELY NOT!" the Death Knight snapped back.
"If we bother the High Command with a minor Planar glitch, our
reputation-metrics will hit a zero-value. There are seven of us here. We possess
the logic to solve this."
"Agreed," the Lich added. "This is a minor variable in a Vassal Plane. The
Sovereign entrusted this coordinate to us. Petitioning for aid now would be a
mark of administrative incompetence."
The seven Myriad-Captains, each an absolute powerhouse in their own right, sat
in a deadlock against a collection of children's rules. They were determined:
they would solve the Anomaly System themselves. To fail was to admit they were
less efficient than a slime.
☆☆☆
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