Ikki.
In ancient times, the term meant "to unite as one," and later it came to mean peasants rising against their feudal lords.
Now, Roger Eikam planned to rouse the capital's angry populace into an ikki—using their riot as protest to win more members and public resources for [Scorpio]. If it worked, they might topple the backward government inside the Walls and establish a new regime.
The largest obstacle—the three military branches—wouldn't necessarily allow it, especially the best-armed and most numerous Military Police Regiment, founded to protect the king and royal rule.
So, at the outbreak, the ikki organizers would inevitably face a fierce MP counterattack.
Roger had already accepted sacrificing the Scorpio Group.
Even if everyone in the organization died, the ikki had to take root in the capital—ideally carving out territory. With that, they would gain real leverage. And with leverage, anything was possible.
Because power is everything.
At the Scorpion Trading House—the freight outfit run by Nelly Quick—Roger finalized all follow-up plans and set the ikki for three days later.
During those three days, Roger dispersed the Scorpio members, breaking them into small cells across the four districts to collect intel daily and send it to him.
From this information, Roger grasped the current gang landscape.
The largest outfit—Kamen's gang—had been the first to be crushed, with Kamen himself executed by lingchi, an unspeakably cruel death.
After its fall, the Scorpio Group—originally a subordinate arm of Kamen's gang—was exposed by seized records and thoroughly investigated. Many members were implicated. Fortunately, Roger warned them in time to take evasive measures. The losses were heavy, but they avoided annihilation.
Now Scorpio's strength was reduced to mostly new blood plus a few veterans.
Levi aside, eight or nine out of ten of the recruits actually surpassed MP soldier standards—they could be called elite—yet they lacked battlefield experience.
Roger predicted that once they clashed with the MPs, these polished rookies would likely fall behind.
So he decided to harden them first.
He personally led the recruits on a special operation.
Not theft, not robbery—guerrilla action.
They hid in the hills and harassed nearby MP patrols, building real combat experience bit by bit.
Most crucially, they each had to take a life with their own hands, to overcome guilt early. Otherwise, on a real battlefield, they'd stare at blood on their hands and freeze.
And then they'd be the ones to die.
In this brutal world, only the strong can flaunt "mercy" as a virtue; the weak have already been bullied to death.
Roger had learned this from Marley's "Invasion Reports." Too many good people died because they hesitated out of pity.
Marley used women and children as bait to rattle those hiding behind thick fortress walls, then delivered annihilating strikes.
They hesitated—and died.
Roger refused to let his people end like that.
Abandon mercy and the gods may spit on you; refuse to abandon it and the Reaper will pick you up.
To gain the power to crush Marley, Roger deemed this necessary—something to believe in without doubt.
On Roger's orders, Scorpio members had spent days scattering leaflets across the four districts.
They sent out many, yet no one made a move. Faces were anxious; people read while wavering.
Tours Beak, tasked with watching their reactions, had a pounding headache. What was going on? Shouldn't they be fired up?
Or did they think it was just a prank?
"Boss, they don't seem to care. Not a single leaflet's been taken. They're all over the ground."
"And the second day?"
"Huh?"
"Wait one more day. Tell me the result tomorrow."
"Oh. Okay."
Tours nodded, still unsure what the boss intended.
On the second day, the streets that had been littered with leaflets were suddenly clean—every sheet had vanished.
He checked the trash bins. None were thrown away.
Which meant…
They'd accepted it? Agreed to rise up?!
Then why no visible action?
Tours reported everything, along with his doubts.
Roger only smiled.
"Wait a bit longer."
Another day passed.
The MPs discovered the leaflets and began going door to door, confiscating, tearing, and burning them.
At the same time, anyone hiding a leaflet was arrested to await interrogation.
No one dared pick up the "seditious" flyers again. People skirted them, terrified the danger would reach them.
So the leaflets once more scattered across the streets.
Each night, MP details were sent to gather and burn them.
Printing shops big and small were shut down, placed under strict control, and searched, but no one discovered who had printed the leaflets.
Meanwhile, the anti-gang crackdown didn't stop—it only grew fiercer.
More sacrifices. More dead.
Soon, the third day written on the leaflets arrived. The expected ikki didn't happen. The capital remained as ever—calm on the surface, peril underneath.
Tours now walked the streets on eggshells, afraid of being tailed.
He took long, looping routes, and only when he was sure no one followed did he enter Roger's room.
"Boss, the people have been suppressed. They won't resist now. They're scared."
"Is that so?"
Roger bit into MP-issued bread. Grit scratched his teeth. He laughed.
"Almost there. Wait a little longer."
"It's already the third day. If we don't act, they'll really think this was a prank. We'll be a joke—and that'll get ugly for us…" Tours' voice dropped. "Scorpion Trading House is already under suspicion. If any brother slips and leaks even a hint, we're finished."
Roger nodded, thoughtful. True enough.
"Then we move—execute step two."
"Great! Boss! What do we do? We'll follow you anywhere!"
Tours brightened.
Roger scratched the side of his nose and, offhandedly, said something that stunned him.
He said:
"Step two: bind me and deliver me to the Military Police."
"???" Tours froze, wondering if he'd misheard. "Boss, you mean…"
"Yeah. Grab me, tie me up, and send me to jail. I trust you, Tours—you can handle something this simple."
"???"
Tours was stupefied.
What?
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