The Bureaucracy of Blood
Time: 09:00 AM (The Next Day).
Location: Grand Praetor's Office, Nexus Hall.
Morning light in Zero Point City never felt friendly.
The rays pierced Nexus Hall's bulletproof glass walls with painful intensity—white, sterile, and stinging the eyes, as if the sun itself was interrogating sins hidden in this room. Micro dust floated in those beams of light, dancing slowly in the oppressive silence.
I sat slumped behind the oversized black mahogany desk, clutching a ceramic cup with stiff, bluish hands.
Thin steam wafted from the cup, carrying a pungent smell—not the aroma of coffee beans, but a burnt smell reminding me of hot engine oil and burning rubber. Standard Iron Bastion ration coffee. Tasted like swallowing liquid asphalt, scratching the throat with coarse residue. But I didn't care. The heat from that foul liquid was the only thing keeping my blood from freezing this morning.
Beneath my feet, on the bone-chilling cold marble floor, Rian was building his own kingdom.
He wasn't sitting on a chair; he sat cross-legged in the middle of a sea of physical documents and blinking holograms. He was surrounded by a fortress of paper that was once total chaos. The tap-tap-tap sound of his fingers on the tablet was rhythmic and fast, like the sound of a suppressed machine gun fired in the distance.
That kid was a monster.
In three hours, he had transformed 412 headache-inducing notifications into a sensible structure. His eyes behind thick glasses moved wildly from one paragraph to another, dissecting bureaucracy with a surgeon's precision.
"Praetor," Rian's voice broke the silence. He didn't look up. His fingers still danced in the air, shifting blue holograms. "Elara submitted a budget revision for Southern sector streetlight repairs. Looks standard on the surface."
He flicked his wrist, enlarging one small paragraph on page 50 written in microscopic letters.
"But she inserted Clause 4B here. If approved, this would shift the cost burden of 'Security Facilities' electricity to the Senate treasury. Effectively cutting our operational funds by fifteen percent."
I snorted, white vapor coming from my mouth. "Sly. The old woman is trying to strangle us slowly."
"Reject?" asked Rian.
"Reject," I answered firmly, sipping the oily coffee again. "Reason: Administrative error. Tell her to resubmit next month with the correct format. Keep her busy fixing commas and periods."
Rian smiled thinly, a small predator's smile just learning to hunt. "Already drafted. With very polite, respectful legal language, but guaranteed to make her staff work overtime for three days."
I nodded, satisfied. One problem solved. The warmth of that small victory spread momentarily in my chest.
However, that warmth didn't last long.
CLICK. HISS.
The sound of my office door's lock mechanism opening broke our concentration. Not the sound of a door being forced, but the sound of a door surrendering to a high-authority access code.
The double mahogany doors swung wide open. Cold wind from the corridor blew in, carrying the smell of old paper and judgment.
Justiciar Kael walked in.
The Suzerain of the Arbiter's Enclave entered. His footsteps made no sound on the marble, as if he floated. He wore a formal gray robe with an ebony guidance cane. His eyes were covered with thick black cloth, but as his head turned, I felt a gaze sharper than anyone who could see.
He stopped right in front of my desk.
"Bad coffee, Praetor," he said flatly. His nose wrinkled slightly. "Smells like a cargo ship engine room. You could ask Aurum to send real coffee beans. They have hydroponic plantations."
"I like the bitterness," I replied, putting the cup down with a loud clack. "What is it, Kael? Did you come this early to criticize my taste, or to arrest me?"
Kael didn't smile. He tapped his cane once on the floor.
"A report came to my desk this morning," his voice was calm but heavy. "Two Valdor students in critical ICU condition with total frozen necrosis in their arms. Their muscle tissue destroyed as if dipped in liquid nitrogen. Three Aurum students reported to the guard post, trembling in fear, claiming to be terrorized by military-type Sentinel drones in a back alley."
Kael tilted his head slightly, as if listening to my heartbeat.
"You played rough last night, Ash. Very rough."
I didn't deny it. I leaned back in my chair, staring at his blindfold.
Before I could open my mouth to defend myself, Rian moved.
He stood from the floor, dusting off his dull uniform pants. He took a tablet from a stack, then walked towards Kael. His hands trembled slightly—he was scared of Kael, of course—but his voice came out loud and clear.
"Based on Article 12 Paragraph 4 of the City Security Charter," Rian said quickly, reading legal text from memory. "The Grand Praetor has executive authority to immediately address any form of urgent sanitation threat in the educational environment."
Rian pressed the tablet screen, projecting holographic data in front of Kael's blind face.
"Those two Valdor students were detected carrying illegal firearms and active explosive materials in the dormitory zone, classified as 'Level 4 Hazardous Contaminants'. The Praetor did not carry out an attack. He merely performed... emergency sterilization procedures."
Kael fell silent. His lips slowly formed a dry, sideways smile.
"Sterilization?" he repeated, an amused tone coloring his voice. "You call freezing blood vessels and breaking bones a hygiene procedure?"
"It is the applicable medical technical nomenclature, Justiciar," Rian answered firmly, though cold sweat ran down his temples.
Kael laughed softly. A rare laugh to hear. He "stared" at Rian for a moment, then nodded at me.
"Your secretary is clever, Praetor. He knows how to use law as a shield."
Kael's face turned serious again.
"You get away this time because of a technicality. Legally, you're clean. But remember, Ash... Valdor doesn't demand through paper courts. They demand through blood. Titus won't be happy his toys are broken and returned in ice bags."
Kael turned, his gray robe rustling.
"Be careful of your own shadow."
The door closed again. Silence enveloped the room again, only interrupted by the hum of the AC.
Rian let out a long sigh, his legs weak. He slumped back into his chair.
"We need security," Rian said softly, his voice shaking. "Legal arguments won't stop bullets, Praetor. We could hire neutral mercenaries from The Rusty Tankard. There are some veterans who—"
I shook my head, cutting him off.
"Neutrals have no teeth," I said coldly. "Titus would eat them for breakfast. If we want to survive Valdor, we can't hide behind rental shields."
I stood up. My oversized chair pushed back with a heavy sound. I grabbed my thick fur robe, hiding the cold tremors starting to creep back into my hands.
"I need a monster," I said, my red eyes gleaming. "And I know exactly where the factory is."
"Hold the fort, Rian. I'm going shopping."
Location: The Iron Bastion Academy -- Northern Sector.
I walked alone through the Valdor fortress gates.
No one dared stop me. The Grand Praetor's robe and rumors about the "Ice Demon" who froze two executioners last night were already a VIP entry ticket. Valdor students training on muddy fields stopped. They stared at me with a mix of hatred, fear, and morbid curiosity.
The air here was heavy, very different from Nexus Hall. Here it smelled of sulfur, male sweat, and hot metal. The clang-clang sounds of metal from underground weapon factories became this place's heartbeat rhythm. Volcanic ash dust fell slowly from the concrete ceiling, coating everything in gray.
I walked straight, my footsteps echoing on the scarred iron floor, towards the Command Hall.
There, at the end of the dimly lit hall, on a throne made of welded scrap from enemy Magitek, sat Imperator Titus.
His massive body was clad in pitch-black Exoskeleton humming softly. He was listening to reports from his lieutenant as I entered.
The hall fell silent instantly. Hundreds of pairs of eyes stared at me.
Titus looked up slowly. He wasn't surprised. He grinned, showing silver-plated teeth, like a shark seeing bait swimming into its mouth.
"You've got guts coming here, 'Golden Chains'," his voice boomed, amplified by the room's acoustics. "After sending two of my men to the amputation operating room, you think you can walk into my house without consequences?"
I didn't stop until I stood right in front of his throne. Distance three meters. I could smell ozone from his machine armor.
I pulled a heavy iron chair with one hand, scraping it loudly skreeeet on the floor, and sat facing him casually.
"You might be confused, Titus," I said softly, but my voice cut the room's silence. "You're confused about what I'll do after last night's incident. Will I cry to the Oversight Council? Or freeze your ammunition budget as punishment?"
Titus narrowed his eyes, his hand clenching on the throne's armrest. "You're threatening me in my own cage?"
"No," I answered. "I'm offering a solution."
I leaned forward, staring into his eyes without blinking.
"Last night's chaos proved one thing: My staff is lacking. I waste too much time dealing with your trash—time I should use to approve your delayed war budget on my desk."
"For that," I continued flatly. "I need one person. I need a competent Head of Security."
Titus let out a short laugh, a disbelieving laugh. "You're asking me to give you a soldier? To protect you from... me?"
"Exactly," I answered coldly. "Give me one person. I don't care if it's a spy or not. I don't care if he's loyal to you, to the state, or to his own mother."
I spread my hands, showing I was wide open.
"Even if you want to use him to destroy Aurum from within, or to spy on my every move and report to you every hour... I don't care. Send your best double agent. Send your sleeper assassin."
Titus fell silent. His smile faded, replaced by a confused frown. He tried to find the trap in my words.
"My condition is only one," I said, my voice pressing and sharp as ice. "During work hours, Senate work must not be disrupted. He must be useful. If he hinders my administration or lets someone else kill me so I can't sign documents... then I'll freeze him permanently like your two friends last night. Deal?"
Titus stared at me for a long time. He looked... confused.
He expected me to be angry. Or scared. But I came demanding assets from him with the arrogance of a superior forcibly recruiting a subordinate from another division.
Slowly, a sly grin returned to Titus's face. He saw an opportunity.
"You want competency? You don't care about loyalty?"
Titus stood up. His armor hissed. He pressed the intercom button on his throne's armrest.
"Bring 'The Rust' from the Pit."
He stared at me with wicked glee.
"I thought you'd ask for my best officer. But since you asked for 'competency without caring about loyalty'... I have a special gift for you. Someone very competent, but has a little problem with authority."
Five minutes later, the side door opened with a heavy sound.
Two guards dragged a woman in.
She was tall, with muscles dense like twisted steel cables. Her hair was roughly cropped short, leaving a scalp full of deep scars. She wore dull cargo pants and a black tank-top showing arms full of muscles and old burns.
What stood out were her hands. She was shackled with thick, blue-glowing Anti-Mana chains. And unlike other Valdor students who took pride in metal in their bodies, she didn't have a single prosthetic implant. She was pure flesh and bone. An anomaly among machines.
She struggled, kicking one guard's shin until the sound of a cracking bone was heard clearly.
"Release me, pigs!" she shouted, her voice hoarse and full of anger.
Titus laughed. "Introducing. Kara. We call her 'The Rust' because she rejects technology. Former Centurion. Dismissed for breaking the jaw of a corrupt superior."
Titus threw the shackle key at my feet with a clink sound.
"Take her. She's yours. If she kills you in your sleep, don't blame me. Warranty void once she steps out the door."
I picked up the key. The key's metal cold felt comfortable in my hand.
I stared at Kara. She stared back at me with a gaze that could melt steel. Pure hatred.
I walked towards her. The guards stepped back fearfully, not wanting to be near this madwoman if her chains came off.
"The Imperator says you're crazy," I said softly.
"And you look like a porcelain doll that breaks easily," she spat, her eyes stripping away my weakness.
I inserted the key into her shackle lock. Click.
The heavy chains fell to the floor with a thud.
Kara rubbed her reddened wrists. She didn't run. She didn't attack. She stared at Titus, then at me.
"I don't need a servant," I whispered to her, for her ears only. "I need someone who wants to see Titus's face shattered like I do. Come with me, and you'll get a worthy target for your fists. Stay here, and you'll rot in that pit."
Kara was silent. She glanced at Titus still grinning contemptuously on his throne.
Then, Kara did the thing that confirmed she was the right person.
She spat—a thick spit mixed with blood—right onto Titus's iron boot.
Without a word, she turned and stood beside me, her fists clenched.
I walked out of the Iron Bastion with my new "guard dog."
The sun shone brightly outside, but my mind was cold and analytical.
I glanced at Kara walking behind me with wide, aggressive steps, as if ready to punch anyone blocking our way. She wasn't a spy. Clearly not. She was a time bomb Titus threw into my lap, hoping it would explode in my face.
"Weird," I thought.
"I thought he'd send his best spy. A slick double agent who would pretend loyalty while slipping poison into my drink. That's the logical move for a military leader."
"But instead he gave me a madwoman who openly hates him. Someone no one can control, including Titus himself."
I shook my head, slightly amused yet wary.
"Either I misread the situation... or is Titus being overly cautious? Maybe he's afraid if he sends a real spy, I'd flip his loyalty. So he sends 'trash' he thinks is worthless."
Whatever it was, I got what I asked for.
A Genius Secretary from the Neutrals who holds the law. A Mad Head of Security from Valdor who holds a grudge.
"My cabinet is starting to look like a circus of outcasts," I muttered, lighting my Zippo, letting the small warmth calm my tense nerves. "Perfect."