On the fractured lake, a transport ship cut through the waves, its hull resonating with the metallic clink clink clink of finger sharks leaping to test their teeth on the massive vessel.
"Hollis is rallying the Eternal Wine Club?"
In the only VIP cabin, a kindly-faced ogre sat in a plush chair, a pipe clamped between his teeth. He puffed out a ring of pale green smoke, his expression contemplative.
Before him, a tall, sharp-featured, bald goblin in a tailored black suit and glasses scrolled through documents on a glowing screen. His face was tense with concern.
"Yes, Mayor. I'm afraid they're plotting to impeach you and cut your term short," the goblin reported grimly. "You're the central figure of the '424 Incident.' If Hollis manages to unite the moderates against you and calls for a mayoral vote, our support will crumble. Even the council members loyal to us will feel the pressure from their constituents."
"To think I've fought Andreiye for so long, only for Hollis, that mutt, to steal the prize…"
CRACK!
The ogre bit down, shattering his ivory pipe. He chewed the fragments with his powerful jaws and swallowed them whole.
"How can you expect to get anything done in politics with these maggots crawling around!?" His kindly face twisted into a menacing snarl. "Hollis—spineless, aimless, incapable of change, and easy to manipulate—a waste of human flesh! And he dares challenge me!?"
"Mayor, if worst comes to worst, we can prepare for the next term—"
"There is no next term! No second chances!" Fenanche roared, thrusting three thick fingers into the air. "In the history of Cayman City, there have been 51 elven mayors, 42 human mayors, and only three from non-standard races like me!"
The Blood Moon's justice illuminated all races, but its radiance favored some more than others. Humans and elves, classified as "standard races," received more of this light, while orcs, ogres, and goblins were relegated to "non-standard" status. Over time, non-standard races were selectively bred to resemble their standard counterparts, erasing their most fearsome traits. The most grotesque among them were culled in infancy, never making it past the orphanage gates.
"You know what I sacrificed for this, don't you?" Fenanche tapped his teeth with a finger. "I ripped out all my fangs and replaced them with straight, white ones. Every morning, the first thing I do is trim my claws, because an ogre can grow sharp talons overnight. I undergo photon skin treatments weekly to keep my skin smooth and free of unsightly wrinkles."
"Even with all that, if it weren't for the citizens' morbid curiosity, I'd never have been elected. Even though I, Alandal Fenanche, hold three golden degrees, am a two-wing Golden Arcana Master, and bear countless other titles I can't even recall, they wouldn't give me a second chance. People don't watch the same clown act twice."
"Gibbert, do you know why I chose you as my secretary?" Fenanche continued, leaning forward. "Because you're a goblin. Only you can understand my situation, because you've endured the same ridicule I have."
On the screen, Gibbert hesitated, his lips twitching. Fenanche raised a false eyebrow. "What is it? Speak."
"Mayor, why… why don't you save the citizens?" Gibbert's voice was tinged with sorrow. "You knew it was an Outrealm invasion. At first, you claimed it was just rumors, that nothing was happening."
"Then you said it was a serial killer, sending the Bureau of Criminal Wrongs to investigate."
"Finally, you admitted it was a terrorist attack, mobilizing the city's armed forces."
"By the time you summoned the district adventurers, it was already too late. If you had told the truth from the start…"
"Announcing the truth immediately would've caused widespread panic," Fenanche replied evenly. "People would've gathered to flee en masse, creating perfect targets for the invaders. What would you have done differently? Against over a hundred well-prepared Outrealm Arcana Masters spread across the city, I mobilized the Bureau of Criminal Wrongs as soon as possible."
"But what about the Research Institute and the Church?" Gibbert protested. "If they had stepped in, the invaders wouldn't have dared act so brazenly!"
"They refused. The invaders posed no threat to their interests, so they had no reason—or obligation—to protect Cayman City."
"But you're the mayor! If you forced them to act in public, the citizens would've supported you!"
Fenanche's gaze sharpened. "I see now. Hollis just wants me out of office. You want me dead."
"No! That's not what I meant—"
"As you said, if I publicly pressured them, the Research Institute and the Church might act to maintain their reputation. But no one uses the Blood Saints or Shadow Moons without paying the price. Once my term ends, I'd face a long, painful death, becoming a cautionary tale for future leaders."
Gibbert looked crestfallen. "So, we just let the citizens suffer at the hands of these invaders?"
"Do you think I have no compassion? Is this your grand display of righteousness?" Fenanche waved dismissively. "The Outrealm attack will pass. Positions left vacant will be filled. Destroyed buildings will be rebuilt, creating jobs. Within months, Cayman City will recover. This disaster will even boost consumer spending for half a year. Most of the dead are elderly or weak, too slow to escape. From a purely economic standpoint, this attack is more beneficial than harmful."
Gibbert stared, stunned. "Mayor, you…"
"This isn't just my opinion," Fenanche said, his voice calm. "The Racial Welfare Office, the Bureau of Criminal Wrongs, the Development Planning Office—the entire civil service is hinting at the same thing. Once this is over, the Cayman City government will have an opportunity to shine."
"Gibbert, mayors are temporary masters, mere parasites on the civil system. If the bureaucracy itself resists, disaster relief orders will only be carried out slowly. Why fight the current when going with the flow saves money?"
Fenanche's tone was tranquil. "It's like gardening. To maintain beauty, you must prune unruly weeds. Here in the Blood Moon Dominion, we're not allowed to prune ourselves. But if someone else does it for us, why complain?"
"And more importantly…" He spread his hands. "The Blood Saints crave corpses, and the Shadow Moons revel in death. The gods themselves delight in this massacre. The administration cannot afford to displease them. You understand that, don't you?"
Gibbert muttered, "This is… too much…"
"If you want to go far in politics, stop worrying about good and evil. The administration only cares about order and chaos." Fenanche rapped the table. "Now, class is over. When you return, take a third of my treasury to win over non-standard race councilors. Then, use another seventh to pay Shilling. Have the Woodpeckers eliminate Hollis and the Eternal Wine remnants."
Gibbert paled. "Mayor, you can't—if you're imprisoned, there'll be a memory audit—"
"I'll erase it myself," Fenanche replied coolly.
"Hollis isn't just anyone! He's a human councilor! The Bureau of Criminal Wrongs will investigate to the end! This is a gamble!"
"If we don't gamble, we have no chance!" Fenanche's voice was icy, his eyes fierce. "Do you know how hard I worked to convince the other councilors? Even the elves supported my plan! For the first time, Cayman City's races are united…"
"If we're lucky, we'll discover the correct Void gateway and launch our invasion of the Outrealm first. That achievement would please the Blood Moon Sovereign, secure my re-election, and buy me more time to prepare!"
"But ogres are never lucky…" Fenanche clenched his teeth. "Regardless, I can't let my term end early or hand the mayor's seat to a sycophant like Hollis. Humans are arrogant, shortsighted, lazy, and greedy—more so than any race! They'd gladly trade their flesh for the Blood Saints' blood, wear the Shadow Moons' skins, and oppress their own! At this point, we have no choice but to make small mistakes."
"Assassinating a councilor is a 'small mistake'? What's a big one?" Gibbert demanded, incredulous.
"Getting caught," Fenanche replied coldly.
The scenery outside the window slowed, and the intercom buzzed:
"Mayor Fenanche, Transport Vessel 322 has arrived at Fractured Lake Prison."
Fenanche walked to the window, his finger glowing faintly. He touched his temple and pulled a thin white thread from it, tossing it into the lake. A finger shark leaped out and swallowed it.
"I've forgotten everything we just discussed," he said, looking at Gibbert on the screen. "It's all up to you, goblin."
With that, he turned off the screen and left the cabin, flanked by two Blood Hunters.
Outside, neatly dressed guards waited.
One Hunter handed over a document. "Only one prisoner this time. Please sign."
The handsome guard reviewed the paperwork. "Confirmed: Mayor Alandal Fenanche of Cayman City."
"There are supplies on board. Are you the only one here to unload?"
"Apologies. Half the inmates and most of the guards have food poisoning and are in the infirmary. Could you and the sailors assist with the cargo?"
"Fine. Lead the way," the Hunter grumbled.
The handsome guard nodded to his colleague. "Take the mayor for processing—record him in the 'Criminal Registry' and assign him a cell."
"Yes, sir."
Fenanche turned to the other guard, who stood unassumingly nearby. For some reason, the sunlight made his face hard to discern.
"Mayor Fenanche, welcome to Fractured Lake Prison. You'll feel right at home here."