Chapter 34: A Diplomatic Shithole

Dawn City

Meanwhile, Dawn City had doubled in size in just one year. Hotels and resorts sprouted rapidly after the new airport connected the city directly to Murica. Despite the rapid growth, strict architectural regulations were enforced to preserve Dawn City’s charm—the same charm that attracted demon tourists in alarming numbers.

Demons in Hawaiian shirts and sunglasses filled the beaches and streets, basking in the relaxed atmosphere. Some hotels and resorts even featured Murican-style taverns, known locally as clubs. These came complete with loud music and drinks containing far too many colors to be considered natural.

Many Ravendawn citizens who visited these clubs returned home with the same comment:

“I don’t know about heaven, but hell is definitely the fun one.”

Meanwhile, the locals also quickly became entrepreneurial in extracting tourist money. Having learned that demons loved the idea of killing other races—but were oddly polite about not actually doing it—they opened numerous photo studios.

In these studios, demons could pose for staged “victory photos” over other races. Prices varied depending on the chosen “victim,” and the cultist sacrifice package was, by a wide margin, the most popular.

Tourism was booming.

But tourism wasn’t Raven City’s greatest revenue source.

The real gold mine was the Canal—courtesy of the Vandoria Kingdom. It carved a direct shipping route between the Wesroth and Esroth Seas, neatly bypassing the need to sail all the way around the Meridinian continent.

At first, Talvarians assumed that only the bravest sailors would dare to use a canal jointly operated by demons and their allies. Reality proved otherwise.

The earliest customers were the poorest sailors and merchants.

Even after tolls and port fees, the canal was dramatically cheaper than circling an entire continent. For merchants barely scraping by, fear of demons was a luxury they simply couldn’t afford.

As word spread from port to port, the Canal quietly became the new primary shipping route.

---

At the newly constructed Dawn Port, several kilometers outside the city proper, Monny and Hannya stood shoulder to shoulder with Murican–Ravendawn officials and a dense flock of reporters.

“…”

“…”

They were there to welcome the first shipment of goods from Dwargonia—the first major nation in Talvaris to sign a trade agreement with Murica and Ravendawn. The port had been chosen deliberately to showcase the canal’s commercial potential.

“…”

“…”

Both continued standing in silence. Neither possessed the personality necessary for idle small talk.

“Here they come!” a reporter shouted.

On the horizon, approaching from the eastern canal, a massive steampunk vessel emerged.

At first glance, it resembled a traditional sailing ship, complete with towering masts. Then the chimneys began belching thick, dark smoke, revealing its true nature as a steamship. Built entirely of metal and painted brass, its hull was lined with massive spinning gears that turned rhythmically as it advanced.

“Hm,” Monny said. “It’s big. Almost as big as our cargo ships.”

“The dwarves take pride in their mechanical civilization,” Hannya replied. “Naturally, they sent The Atlas—their largest merchant vessel—for the occasion.”

“I wonder which one’s more cost-efficient. Ours or theirs.” Monny paused. “I should send pictures to Bub.”

He began patting himself down, looking for his phone.

“…You look like a human grandfather who keeps losing his belongings,” Hannya remarked.

“Oh, shut up. You’ve only been demons for a couple of centuries,” Monny said. “Try living a few millennia like me, hmm?”

He froze mid-sentence, frowning.

“Hannya,” he said slowly, “do dwarves use large amounts of mana to power their ships?”

“As far as I know, no. They use mana for specific mechanisms, but only minimally. Why?”

“…That’s odd. I’m sensing mana building up inside that ship.”

“It’s still four kilometers away, sir.”

“I may be a desk worker, but I’m still a demon duke, you k—”

BOOOOOOOM!

A deafening explosion tore through the port side of the dwarven ship.

Screaming metal echoed across the water as thick black smoke erupted skyward. The vessel lurched violently, its bow dipping at a dangerous angle.

Port alarms blared as emergency crews scrambled into action. Reporters snapped photos in a frenzy.

“Oh, fuck!” Monny shouted, frantically searching for his phone. He finally found it in his back pocket and unlocked it at lightning speed.

“Sir, there’s no need to call emergency services,” Hannya said calmly. “The port authority and the Murican coast guard are already responding.”

She pointed toward a coast guard vessel racing toward the crippled ship.

“I’m not calling for help!” Monny snapped, scrolling through a digital document.

“Ah… good. Whew.”

“What is it, sir?”

“We haven’t paid for any of the goods on that ship yet.”

“Oh. Good for you, sir.”

“Thank you,” Monny said. “Can’t say the same for your office, though, Miss Ambassador.”

“No. No sir, you cannot.”

The Atlas let out a long, agonized groan as its hull split cleanly in two—eerily reminiscent of a certain tragic maritime film—before sinking beneath the waves.

“There will be mountains of paperwork because of this,” Hannya sighed.

---

Bashington DC, The Black House

The next day, Solo convened an emergency meeting regarding the Dwargonian ship disaster.

Lilith, Stan, and Mo sat around the table.

“So,” Solo began, voice flat but dangerous, “explain to me why the fuck a Dwargonian ship that WE invited, carrying the precious minerals that WE ordered, is now sitting a thousand meters deep in the canal that WE are actively promoting.”

The frustration radiating off him was tangible. It had taken an entire year of negotiations to convince the stubborn Dwargonians to sign a trade agreement—and on the very day meant for celebration, their ambassador and flagship had turned into deep-sea decorations.

Lilith sighed. “We still don’t know what caused it.”

“What about survivors?” Solo asked.

“Our coast guard and the Ravendawn navy rescued fifty-two,” she replied. “The other ninety-two are still missing… presumed dead.”

“And the ambassador?”

“He’s among the ninety-two.”

“Tch.” Solo clicked his tongue. “What’s Dwargonia’s reaction?”

“They’re furious,” Lilith said. “We guaranteed safe passage. Now their largest merchant vessel and their ambassador are on the ocean floor. Levi is already en route to assist Ambassador Mara in… de-escalating.”

Solo rubbed his temples. “Do we at least know what caused the explosion?”

“There’s no evidence of an external attack,” Stan said. “Which suggests the blast originated from inside the ship.”

“Ugh,” Solo muttered. “What a spectacularly awful time to have an accident.”

“Our naval salvage teams are heading to Dawn,” Stan added. “They’ll arrive in three days. Investigation will begin immediately after.”

“Hehehe…” Mo’s suddenly chuckled.

The sound cut through the room.

“It wasn’t an accident,” Mo said calmly.

All eyes turned to him.

Solo narrowed his gaze. “…And what makes you so confident?”

“Because this is exactly what I would do if I wanted to ruin someone’s day,” Mo replied. “Kukuku.”

“You’re saying this was sabotage?” Lilith asked. “Executed right under your nose?”

“That’s correct.”

Mo stood and adjusted his coat, his smile never fading.

“Now excuse me. I’ll begin identifying our new player.” He glanced at Stan. “Stay available. I may need to borrow some toys.”

The kindly old man walked out of the room, leaking murderous intent with every step.

“…He’s pissed, isn’t he?” Solo asked.

“Oh yeah,” Lilith said. “He only laughs like that when he’s really pissed.”

“Well I’d feel the same,” Stan added, “if someone used my own playbook against me.”

---

Langley, BICH Headquarters

Later that day, inside a small meeting room with shuttered windows and no unnecessary decoration, Mo convened with several agents.

Senior agents Megan and Janet stood at the table. Both had spent the entire night compiling a list of suspects.

“Let’s begin,” Mo said mildly. “Who do we have?”

“Suspect number one,” Janet said, projecting an image onto the screen, “the second prince of Vandoria.”

The man’s face appeared, carefully curated and painfully noble.

“He’s currently winning the civil war against his younger brother and is actively courting the Church of Celes for support,” Janet continued. “Disrupting Murica’s relationship with Dwargonia would earn him credibility with the Church.”

Mo nodded. “And the younger brother?”

“No motive,” Megan replied immediately. “He’s waiting on a major weapon shipment from us. Sabotaging Murica right now would be idiotic.”

Mo twirled his pen, thoughtful. “The second prince has motive—but not the means. Infiltrating a dwarven ship isn’t something a human royal can do easily.”

“Are we assuming the attack originated from inside the ship?” Megan asked.

“Yes,” Mo said. “Monny sensed mana building within the vessel—not approaching it. That’s our strongest clue. Continue.”

“Next suspect,” Janet said, switching slides. “Dwordoug Axebreaker. Clan head of the Axebreaker lineage.”

A stern dwarven face filled the screen.

“Direct descendant of the last Hero Party,” Janet continued. “He is strongly opposed for Dwargonia cooperating with Murica. He was also the primary reason trade negotiations stalled for over a year.”

“And,” Megan added, “he absolutely has access to the shipyards and personnel.”

Mo’s pen stopped spinning. “Yes. He does.”

“Next,” Janet said, pulling up a map of the continent, “the Meridinian Alliance. They currently profit as the primary transit hub for merchants traveling between Dwargonia, East Meridinia, and Wesroth. The Canal directly threatens their revenue.”

“Strong motive,” Megan said. “But likely lacking the capability to place an agent aboard a dwarven vessel.”

Mo nodded once. “Agreed. What about the Celeste Empire and their church?”

“Aside from loudly declaring that demons are evil and anyone cooperating with us will burn in hell,” Janet replied, “They’ve been… quiet.”

Mo let that sit for a moment.

“In three days,” he said, “the salvage operation begins. Megan, go to Dawn and search for clues. Bring our extraction teams with you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Janet, continue building profiles. Keep room open for new players.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And…”

Mo stood.

His gentle, kindly expression didn’t change—but his demonic aura bled into the room like pressure before a storm.

“You both have a blank check,” he said softly. “Don’t hold back.”