NOVEL NEXT 173. Back on the Grind
Downstairs, Rhys immediately got to work. Their new influx of workers needed to be familiarized and put to work on the farms, or in the shops. Unfortunately, they all had to be back-of-shop workers; his efforts were too flashy this time to risk showing their faces around random Empire cities, when he couldn't be there to protect them or turn aside worries. Fortunately, none of them seemed too bothered by this turn of events.
Mouse scurried off to pick up new tomes from the library, and Rhys gave Lira enough of the shops' profits to buy good weapons and armor for everyone. The shop wasn't hurting; it was a current fad in several cities, and doing good business in the rest of them where it wasn't a fad yet, or its fad had already passed. The mages and ex-mages trained, and Rhys expanded the shop, growing into several more cities the above-board way. He was probably committing some form of tax fraud, but aside from that, the shop was completely good to go, and since he'd never liked paying taxes and especially didn't like the Empire, he was okay with getting away with that for as long as he could. True, taxes were how they got Al Capone, but one, he wasn't Al Capone, and two, he was pretty sure the Empire's IRS equivalent was the least of his worries when it came to battling the empire. In the worst case, he could go ahead and directly battle the taxman, if he needed to, and that was assuming they even came after him. The Empire was a sprawling construct with thousands of businesses. Would they even notice a tiny little snack shack like his?
Tax evasion aside, there was plenty to do around the area, and personally, to prepare for his impending wide-ranging attack on the criminal association who had opposed his expanding business, and were likely to continue to oppose it. Their cores belonged to him, whether they liked it or not.
Honestly, at this point, their criminal activity was an excuse he was using to justify harvesting their cores. He wasn't afraid to confront it head-on. But… so what? They were justifying selling drugs and people and all kinds of other criminal activity for the ends of their own personal wealth, so why couldn't he kill them and harvest their cores for the betterment of others? Killing a killer didn't decrease the number of killers, but his track record for killing killers was pretty good at this point. That whole concept seemed a little silly in this world, that one person shouldn't kill another because… there wouldn't be fewer killers afterwards, question mark? He'd never really got the point in the first place, and he really didn't get it now. After all, he could kill someone now and keep them from killing for five hundred plus more years. Hell, he could proactively prevent someone morally heinous from becoming immortal by killing them now.
It was always sorta a funky and weak moral argument in the first place, but introducing immortality really throws the balance straight into hell, he reflected, pinching his chin. In fact, he could even see using that argument in this sort of world to justify murder, rather than the opposite. No fewer killers, sure, but one fewer immoral, immortal killer, and that was enough. Then again, maybe he was biased, since he was a killer himself, now. A serial killer, even.
In any case, it wasn't like winning the moral argument would win a battle, let alone a war, so he put it on the back burner for now. Between morning conversations with Desmond and wandering around in search of Impure Wells, his power grew evenly, if not at a precipitous rate. More than once, he thought back to that mine, the one which had challenged his impurity-resisting abilities, but he always forced himself to put it away for the moment. He couldn't get distracted by something that would get him caught by the Empire, even if it was probably a great way to get stronger for him. Still, there was something to be said for the slow, steady grind, even if he didn't make any particular jumps in power or standout comprehensions.
The other mages benefitted the most from the time to recover and rediscover their skills, more than Rhys did, and his business also benefitted, continuing to grow. The Empire was in a tizzy from his raid, but no one suspected the chips shop, and Rhys kept his and everyone else's heads down and kept them laying low, so that the Empire overlooked them in the sweep. He knew that the Infernon man, Uncle Whatever-the-hell, might recognize him, so he only went out in disguise as Rhys Mac Donald, with his black face-smear and red-and-yellow regalia.
It was a masterstroke to disguise while he was at the shop, rather than while he was fighting, in his opinion. Costumes were hot, heavy, annoying to wear, and usually gave him a headache. If he wore one while he was fighting, he'd have to worry about, i.e., keeping it out of flames, worry about the wear on his stamina and the pain of it, and have to constantly repair it out of combat. There was a reason why a certain friendly spider person spent half his episodes fixing his costume, and Rhys was a one-and-done kind of guy, not the kind of dude who wanted to constantly repair and upgrade costumes. When he finished a cosplay, that was it. Accomplishment achieved, on to the next. Only madmen wore costumes to fights, where the delicate things might get ripped, torn, or worse… stained.
To his surprise, the criminals did not immediately retaliate for his attack on their base. Did they understand that his attack was measured retaliation for their killing of Leonard, or were they simply cooking up more? In any case, he kept everyone on high alert, not that they weren't already on high alert from the Empire scouring its lands for the people who'd hammered their camps… and then realized the true masterstroke of strategery that he'd delivered. Step one: attack the criminals. Step two: immediately pivot and attack the Empire. Step three: the Empire was now pissed off, and looking for something or someone to blame; on top of that, they were aware of the criminal group, but not aware of Rhys's group. Step four: the criminal group wanted to retaliate, but couldn't make a big move, because of the Empire looking for a whipping boy and Rhys's group also laying low and not claiming responsibility for their attack. Step five: laugh at his masterful and totally intentional plan that worked out in his favor.
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A moment later, he sobered. In reality, he hadn't 'stopped' the criminal group from counterattacking, only delayed it. The second the Empire stopped looking for someone to blame—or, more realistically, picked some poor unrelated sod and blamed him for the attack—the criminal group would immediately make a move to destroy his small, totally non-criminal business which had done no wrong. And given that he hadn't actually had a measured reaction to their attack on his business, and had instead hared off and burned down one of their buildings after killing everyone associated with it, which was a marked escalation from the criminals' killing one of his men, they were almost certainly going to continue to escalate against him.
Rather than sit back and wait for their attack, it would be better if he made the first move, but that meant closely watching the Empire so he knew exactly when they were no longer looking for a scapegoat. Which meant… Rhys pinched his chin. What, exactly? Engaging with high society?
Has the time finally come? Is it time to crash a ball?
It was an absolutely insane chain of thought, he had to admit it, but he wasn't going to win against an overwhelming force he had no right even struggling against like the Empire by thinking conventionally and following the rules. By the rules, he should be dead already… or at best, still locked in a mine, with no core, filling himself with impurities until he died a sad, lonely death in the depths of the mine. Thinking unconventionally was how he was going to win.
Of course, such a set of actions couldn't be taken casually. Crashing a ball, or even getting an invite to a ball, meant inviting society's attention to him and his small snack shack, which he'd just gone over how he shouldn't do that due to the tax evasion. No… he shook his head. If he was going to do this, then he couldn't do it as Rhys Foundling, or even as Rhys Mac Donald, or even Rend… but as someone else entirely. Someone completely disconnected from Rhys and everything he knew. Someone who belonged at a ball, whom no one would be surprised to see there, who had recently vanished with no explanation due to a certain someone (him) absorbing them into his core. Someone like Feran Infernon, or Adelise Infernon, or even Mr. Headache with a J, which he probably shouldn't show up as thanks to not being able to remember his name, and also being a little attached to his hair.
Too bad he hadn't… wait. Hold on, did I get that wrong? Did I actually absorb it? I didn't 'take' it, but… if I'm remembering right this time, then it's not like it was sitting there after I absorbed them, without their body in it. Was I a fool? Was I a fool, this whole time? He frowned, then put a hand to his chest, closing his eyes as he searched through the trash pile in his core. He'd absorbed them, so he should have it in there… somewhere…
Aha! He pulled, and dragged a bright silver jumpsuit into reality. A smile appeared on his face. He did have it. He'd thought he hadn't taken it, but on second thought, he had taken it, it was just that it had also had her body inside of it, so he'd thought of it as "Adelise," not "Adelise's jumpsuit." Good thing he'd remembered, or else he would have overlooked it forever.
Not that Adelise would go to a ball in her jumpsuit, but that wasn't the point. Her jumpsuit had a far more important quality: it had been skintight. In other words, he could seamrip it, and discover her exact bodily measurements, then recreate a dress costume to her exact proportions. He didn't know what her taste was—though he could guess it from the jumpsuit, assuming that wasn't just a safety measure—but as long as he wore something that was flattering on her, someone would simply assume that she'd changed her style to match what made her look good. If he brought Mouse, that should be enough to squeak in the door, munch on some finger food, and listen to the rumors. He simply had to pick a family that didn't know the Infernons well, but would be flattered to have one randomly show up.
He twisted his lips. Damn, this idea requires a shit-ton more effort than I thought it would. He really just wanted an excuse to go to a party and stunt on the Empire, but damn if it wasn't starting to sound like a whole-ass effort to get there.
Rhys clenched his fist. And nothing worth doing was ever easy! This was a sign from the heavens that the Empire's parties were definitely worth attending. He'd been eating nothing for too long. It was time to rejuvenate his taste buds and have something delicious. Dancing was whatever, and music was fine, but what he really wanted was to eat something tasty. Sure, he could eat his fries, chips, and soda, and he did all the time, but there was something to be said for eating all fancy-like every now and again. Caviar was a sometimes-food for sure, but he would kill to taste the absolute apex of magical caviar. And that was just one kind of food. What about cakes, cookies, chocolates, and everything sweet? Alcohol? Roasted chicken and smoked ribs? He'd come all the way over here to another world. Even if he spent most of his time in the trash, it didn't mean he wanted to spend his entire life in the trash without ever eating anything good. He wanted to experience all the good this world had to offer, too, its fine cuisine and fine music. Was it too much to ask for, to take a small break from the grind to impersonate a woman he'd killed and enjoy a little bit of his sworn enemy's finest food, drink, and music?
Okay, maybe my motives sound a little deranged when I put them like that. Still, what a story it would be, if he pulled it off. Crossdressing his way into his enemy's ball for the lols… ahem, vital information so he could optimally crush his opponent criminal enterprise—he'd be able to tell that story for ages to come. If someone had a story like that in his world, it would be absolutely legendary.
So, with only the purest motives at heart, Rhys set out to look fine and do crimes.