I Am the God of Games

Chapter 319 The Players Attack!

Strom Mickey was a city official in Crookes.

As one who served under old Meredith, he was the noble whom everyone formerly believed had the best chance of becoming mayor-with the condition of the imperial family not interfering.

The reason ‘formerly’ was used there was because another faction led by Magistrate Lloyd had swiftly risen to power, following the leak of old Meredith’s illness by the acolyte of the Temple of Life.

And at the moment, Lloyd’s faction had overwhelmed Strom, whereas Lloyd had also taken his place as the next best candidate for Mayor. That left Strom a little flustered.

As Meredith’s deputy, he had often clashed with Lloyd who was a second-in-command, and the rift between them was publicly known. In fact, with old Meredith’s silent approval, they would mutually attempt to sabotage and slow each other down.

While there had yet to be direct conflict, Strom had indirectly caused the death of Lloyd’s only son, which prevented the rift between them from ever healing

In fact, it would be no exaggeration to say that all of Crookes’ nobles were allowed to side with Lloyd except for Strom.

And should Lloyd claim the mayoral seat, Strom would definitely be toyed to death.

Hence, Strom panicked even more as he watched his old rivals all began to kick him when he’s down, having tolerated him for his position and the old mayor.

And to save himself, he did not hesitate to rely on a cabal that had offered him an olive branch.

Initially, Strom had assumed that it was an evil god cult, only to find out that it wasn’t when he eventually joined. The group itself did not impose any prohibitions on faith, and they were merely passionate about studying taboos instead of religious factions.

Gaining power in today’s world did not interest them at all, and Strom even had the feeling that if authority didn’t provide them with better conditions for their research, they wouldn’t bother seizing power. Naturally, that has nothing to do with Strom at all. He was fine with being a hired gun or even a puppet for a cabal as long as he could reclaim his place on top of Crookes and not be purged by his political opponents.

And today, he impatiently slipped into his dungeon once he returned from the mayoral residence. The crest he kept concealed beneath his robes was heating up-the mysterious cabal were calling for him.

The dungeon itself was piled full of letters not for anyone else’s eyes and treasures Strom hoarded, the most conspicuous being a massive standing mirror. After he put the crest on a socket on a frame, the eye sculpted on the mirror frame promptly opened as if it was alive and stared straight at Strom.

Even though he had used the enchantment many times, Strom still shivered when the eye above the frame stared at him.

Meanwhile, ripples stirred over the surface of the mirror, and Strom’s reflection in it vanished after a moment. In its place was a robed man who had pulled his hood over his head, half of his face out of sight.

“What is thy bidding, my lord?” Strom asked meekly, even as he tried his best to repress the forbidding feeling inside while rubbing his hands like a fly.

“A group of people has come inside Crookes recently. You best pay attention.” The man in the mirror said flatly.

“Uh…”

In Strorm’s head, there were many different reasons why the man had called for him, but the man’s words now left him puzzled.

Was that it?

But considering that the mysterious black-robed men were not the type to suddenly attack for no reason, Strom knew that there was more to the matter than meets the eye.

“Are there problems with that group of people?” He asked carefully.

“They are believers of a certain church investigating the swampmen.” The man’s answer left Strom’s heart sinking. That was true. He had obtained the swampmen from the cabal and smuggled them into Crookes.

His objective was simple, too: under his control, the swampmen would take the place of the other nobles with no one knowing, therein covertly strengthening his faction-naturally, it would be nice if they could directly get rid of Lloyd too.

Still, most of those nobles had one or two formidable bodyguards with them.

And in this world, most bodyguards were hired from churches, and any under a noble’s employment would most certainly be a supernatural individual, or one just a step away from reaching it.

The swampmen’s ability was utterly lacking in comparison to those believers and their considerable strength in combat.

True, the swampmen could completely imitate another person, but that was merely in appearance and memory. Even so, their living essence had changed utterly, and since they were incapable of any faith, they couldn’t fool the gods to gain any Divine Grace or protection.

In other words, even if one particular swampman proved extraordinarily lucky and managed to kill a church priest with considerable ability and take his place, he would still fail to replicate his victim, sacred arts, and certainly couldn’t touch the holy water that church used. Considering that combat aura and magic were products with inextricable relationship to belief (faith in either the God of War or Magic Violet was necessary), it was no different if the swampman chose to imitate a warrior or a mage—the only thing that changed is appearance, and abilities simply couldn’t be replicated.

Either way, it was difficult for them to kill a noble and take their place right beneath the noses of such bodyguards. That was why Strom decided to take a detour and have the swampmen replace some peasants, who would in turn get themselves employed as servants or gardeners who could get close to the nobles before killing and replacing them.

After all, there was no way the bodyguards would stay at the nobles’ side twenty-four seven.

However, that plan had now hit a snag halfway through it was just days after the swampmen were deployed, and now some unknown church was nosing around in Crookes.

Strom was going to be in trouble if he got caught.

“They’re not from the Temple of Justice, are they?” He asked uncomfortably at the thought.

If there was anyone whom he feared most because of his dirty deeds, it would be those believers from the Temple of Justice. Fearless against death all in the name of perpetuating righteousness, those nutjobs were so radical they once put together a group of around thirty people to infiltrate a royal castle just to stop a senseless war, even assassinating the tyrant in the name of justice.

One could tell from that alone how mad those nutjobs could be—anyone ending up on the Temple of Justice’s naughty list won’t be safe even if they hid at the ends of the earth.

Even the black-robed man appeared wary about the Temple of Justice as well. Nonetheless, he answered. “No, they don’t have the light of Justice. They wouldn’t be believers of Aslan, the Lion of Justice.”

Strom was certainly slightly relieved that it wasn’t the Temple of Justice.

“Well, did those people manage to find anything out yet?” He then asked. “How are they investigating the matter anyway?” “They… The moment they entered the city, they would knock on every door they reach and asked the people inside ‘Are you a swampman’.”

The mouth of the black-robed man twitched even as he struggled to maintain the mysterious air surrounding him, while Strom was absolutely confused.

How was that a covert investigation?

Sata?

Could those people be idiots?

Were the swampmen supposed to admit that they were swampmen? Sure, the swampmen were slightly less smart than your average human since Strom himself had checked them once he received them. That being said, impersonation was carved into their very bones and instincts, and it was actually very difficult to expose them.

The glitch where missing hair could expose a swampman that Strom missed the first time had been compensated for as well—now, the swampmen would scalp their victims and wear it over their heads after killing their victims. Hair identification no longer worked! Strom became relieved at the thought.

He expected to find a male lion on his doorstep, only to realize that it was a harmless groundhog… guess it was a false alarm.

“Don’t get too comfortable yet. There is no telling what arts they were using, but after each questioning it would only go either one or two ways: one, they leave while cursing, saying things like ‘yellow, still yellow’ or ‘no, we can’t get yellow’… but if the one they questioned is a swampman, they would start shouting ‘Red! It’s red!” and start cutting them down to pieces.”

The black-robed man’s words left Strom’s heart strung up once more. “As more swampman were exposed, magistrate Lloyd ordered the city watch support their search. A tenth of the swampmen I had given you are now dead-feel it through the trinket that controls them if you don’t believe me.”

Strom hence quickly drew out an object resembling an abacus, and he paled after some clicking and clacking.

The black-robed man’s information was actually outdated: he had actually lost contact a fifth of the swampmen.

Strom certainly didn’t expect magistrate Lloyd to help those believers who came out of nowhere, although that made sense if he thought about it-before this, Lloyd had been left frustrated with the various murders that the swampmen committed which in turned called his authority and competence into question. Now that someone suddenly popped up to help solve the whole issue, there was no way he would have a brain fart… he naturally would work with them.

If this continues, every swampman other than the ones who had replaced nobles would be wiped out! Damn it! Were those idiots really that threatening?

Strom was now beside himself in panic.

It was like facing what was supposed to be a scared groundhog, only to have it suddenly cry out ‘Aaaaaaaaaaaa—!” and then burst into a Super Saiyan Groundhog as it rushed toward him.

How was Strom supposed to survive that?

“My lord, save me!” He immediately licked the black-robed man’s boots.

“We can provide you another product of our research, and that’s it.” The black-robed man replied mysteriously as if he did not hear Strom. “Only you can save yourself. Think of it as a trial…”

“After all, the Secret Eye Society wouldn’t keep trash even if we do raise bootlickers.”