Endless Debt
Chapter 6 - 2: The Unlucky Guy and the Assessment [Thanks to the Alliance Leader Chongchi]
~4 minute read
·974 words
Previously on Endless Debt...
Bologue's internship is about to end, with his fate hanging in the balance: formal employment or a return to the Black Prison. He discussed his situation with Geoffrey after a mission involving a burning church and a demon, revealing his sole desire is to find Adelle's soul. Geoffrey expressed understanding and offered help, regardless of Bologue's employment status.
The tram moved slowly past towering, dark buildings, its destination illuminated by distant lights.
Opus city stood as a testament to modernity, its skyline punctuated by tall chimneys belching dark smoke. Trams, like the pulsating arteries of this metropolis, transported countless workers between districts, feeding the factories and making the city roar with activity.
"It feels like not much time has passed, yet the city has transformed so much," Bologue mused, his thoughts drifting as he observed the passing urban landscape. His mind replayed memories intertwined with this very city.
Ever since King Solomon's demise sixty-six years prior, his former Holy City and its ruler had been consumed by the conflagration of war. Following the conflict, the Rhine Alliance and the Kagader Empire convened on the scarred earth, forging a peace that would see this city, caught between two great powers, resurrected as a neutral territory—a symbol of their fragile accord.
With the pact of non-aggression established, Opus was reborn from the ashes, and the continent's raging, scorched-earth conflict finally met its end.
"Please hold the handrail firmly," a disembodied female voice announced over the tram's intercom. As Bologue grasped the rail, the compartment lurched, beginning a steep ascent.
Looking out the window during the climb, Bologue's gaze fell upon a massive, gaping scar etched into the land—a colossal, bottomless rift.
Disparate theories abounded regarding the rift's genesis. Some attributed its formation to the war fought sixty-six years ago, while others argued that no known weapon possessed the power to carve such a colossal chasm. A few whispered that the rift had existed since antiquity, yet historical records from King Solomon's era reportedly depicted this area as flat plains...
No definitive explanation emerged; the Great Rift remained, a silent, stark testament to untold events.
"Is that the Great Rift?" a voice exclaimed nearby. A passenger, leaning against the window, pointed towards the immense geological feature.
"Aye, a friend mentioned they're still recruiting laborers there... I'm thinking of signing up, though the work sounds grueling," another passenger chimed in. The individuals speaking were clad in rough attire, unmistakably bearing the mark of outsiders.
"Grueling doesn't even begin to cover it; they say you have to wear protective gear and gas masks constantly," a third person added, his voice laced with apprehension.
His concern was valid; the Great Rift was notoriously a perilous place.
"It's so bright," Bologue murmured, his eyes fixed on the Great Rift. Its depths emanated a powerful luminescence, piercingly clear even from their considerable distance.
Through the intense light, the stark outlines of cable cars and platforms, erected along the rift's precipitous edges, were visible. Post-war discoveries revealed vast quantities of metal ore within the Great Rift, transforming it into a massive mining and excavation site, an extension of the city's industrial complex.
Subsequent extensive surveys failed to pinpoint the rift's bottom, as if it plunged into an endless abyss.
After the unsuccessful surveys, the factories began utilizing the Great Rift as a colossal dumping ground for all manner of industrial waste. Over time, a toxic, gray miasma began to spread from within.
Many impoverished souls resided in the vicinity of the Great Rift, drawn by the unbelievably cheap housing, a direct consequence of the pervasive gray fog. Had it not been for Adelle's sanctuary, Bologue's initial plan was to seek refuge there.
"Still, the pay for working at the Great Rift is said to be quite substantial," someone remarked, a flicker of yearning in their eyes as they gazed towards the chasm.
Bologne shifted his attention away; every person carried their own burdens. While these laborers sought financial security, his mind wrestled with the uncertainty of his own future.
Should he flee? Abandon this city?
The thought crossed Bologue's mind, but after a moment's reflection, he pushed it aside for the time being.
During this year's internship, Bologue had experienced a semblance of freedom. The individuals referred to as 'those people' had only dispatched Geoffrey to maintain contact, leaving Bologue's daily life largely indistinguishable from that of an ordinary citizen.
Yet, the very normalcy of his situation instilled a growing, subtle dread within him—akin to gazing at a seemingly tranquil ocean, unaware of the unfathomable depths lurking beneath.
As a debtor, he faced no overt surveillance, received no regular demands for reports, nothing to indicate his status.
Bologne refused to believe their oversight stemmed from carelessness; it spoke instead of an absolute, unwavering confidence—a certainty that he remained firmly under their control... perhaps due to their enigmatic nature.
He acknowledged how little he truly understood about the hidden forces shaping his world.
It was entirely possible, he considered, that he could step outside and be fatally shot. Although the mysterious 'Blessing' would likely prevent his swift demise, the pain of such an injury would undoubtedly be considerable.
The thought crossed Bologue's mind as the tram shuddered to a halt, signaling his arrival at the destination.
Shenbei District: a burgeoning locale within Opus, infamous among its residents for budget-friendly residences, a populace comprised largely of transplants, and a torturously long commute stretching over two hours to reach the city's core.
As he traversed the deserted avenues, a biting wind swirled around him, dancing with debris and discarded newspapers, imbuing the street corners with an almost spectral aura.
Bologue's journey culminated at a brightly illuminated iron gate. He rapped insistently on the weathered metal bars. A moment later, the sound of shuffling footsteps approached, and a small aperture slid open, revealing an aged man, his hair a cascade of white.
"Ah, Bologue, fresh from your shift?" the elder inquired, his voice carrying a note of familiarity, "The usual arrangement still stands?"
