The Mafia Empire

"Have you joined any political party?" After the auction, people moved to the theater's backyard, where a long table was set with cold appetizers. Over a dozen chefs in tall white hats stood by stoves, preparing dishes for the guests. Julian was sipping a glass of fruit wine when he heard someone ask the question behind him. He turned around, smiling politely, and shrugged.

"Sorry, I haven't joined any party, though I'd like to," he said, chuckling at himself. Raising his glass slightly, he clinked it with the person in front of him and took a sip. The wine's sweet taste couldn't mask the acidic hint from the fermented fruit. Even this expensive fruit wine couldn't avoid the problem—compared to his Snow Elven brew, this wine was a disappointment.

Lowering his arm, Julian continued, "As everyone knows, I'm just a farmer. I don't represent any group or class. Given my situation, I'm afraid I don't quite meet the standard yet." This wasn't Julian just being modest; whether it was the Old Party, which was often slandered, or the reformist New Party, power had never truly shifted from the "nobles."

People saw the New Party overthrowing the corrupt, feudal monarchy, but overlooked the backgrounds of its earliest members. They were military generals, influential social figures, wealthy elites, and prominent capitalists—there were even some "enlightened" nobles among them. So, power never truly passed from the nobles to the people. Simply put, control shifted from the old nobility to the new.

In essence, the country was still ruled by nobles, and someone of Julian's farming background was unqualified to join any party; even the New Party wouldn't take him.

The visitor chuckled to himself, enjoying Julian's words. It wasn't because Julian was funny, but because he recognized Julian's clear understanding of his own position.

A farmer was just a farmer. Without permission, no amount of wealth would make him a noble.

The visitor tapped the grass underfoot and said, "You're too modest. Modesty is a virtue, but it can also be a kind of hypocrisy." He paused, and when Julian didn't speak, he looked at him more formally. "If I were to invite you now to join the Holy Empire's Glorious Party, would you accept?"

The Glorious Party was what the Old Party called itself. Most of its core and upper members were nobles of varying ranks from the past empire. They believed that the empire's glory remained with them alone—they were the future of the country, destined to rule it. Many commoners, however, saw them as the empire's poison. The Old Party was commonly referred to as "rotting corpses" or the "mud of decay." While most people thought this way, they still formally called it the "Old Party" in public.

The invitation to Julian to join the Old Party wasn't a hasty decision. Julian's bootlegging business was flourishing, and his willingness to spend heavily tonight to gain the favor of powerful people clearly showed he wasn't short of money. This filled the gap left by Wood's death and could even surpass Wood's contributions in "offerings," a tempting prospect for the city's elite.

Indeed, the Old Party was somewhat like a decaying stone, obstructing the empire's reforms. Yet, within Old Party territories, people weren't exactly living in misery. The nobles were adept at pleasing the citizens under their rule—a tradition and knowledge passed down through generations. In the past feudal era, if a noble didn't treat his people well, they would quietly move away. To keep their lands prosperous and full of life, nobles ensured that their subjects felt "cared for."

On a deeper level, it wasn't local officials who affected people's lives, but the rising capital powers. By forming monopolies, they controlled the market, completing the initial capital accumulation. Then, through "jobs and salaries," they controlled a city's economy. They exploited the commoners mercilessly, sparking numerous social issues. A famous social critic once asked, "Why do hardworking people end up poorer the more they work?"

This question briefly stirred social debate, but people soon returned to their heavy workloads, too burdened to consider how to answer it.

The critic soon vanished from the public eye. Some said he went mad after raising a question he couldn't answer; others said he'd been silenced.

So, were capitalists friends of those in power?

Clearly not. Those in power wanted money to circulate quickly, generating tax revenue to fund their policies. But capitalists hoarded wealth through price hikes and exploitation, stopping the flow of currency. Without circulation, tax revenue stagnated. Yet the world couldn't function without capitalists.

While the New Party created rules to restrain capitalists, the Old Party took a simpler approach. Since capitalists thrived by exploiting others, the Old Party decided to become the "capitalists of capitalists," implementing a hierarchical tax system to drain the capitalists' wealth as "tribute," channeling it back into city development.

Sometimes, simple, blunt methods were more effective than complicated rules, but they also had more severe side effects. Capitalists had to recover funds by exploiting the people even harder. This created a vicious cycle. The harder laborers worked, the poorer they became. The poorer they were, the richer the capitalists grew. The richer the capitalists grew, the more harshly the Old Party taxed them, driving them to extract even more from the people.

To Ternell's leaders, who enforced this blunt hierarchy of exploitation, Julian was now eligible to be "taxed," making it inevitable to invite him into this endless cycle.

Julian didn't think long before accepting the visitor's request. He didn't even know who the visitor was or whom he represented, but that didn't stop him from accepting the Old Party's "kindness."

The visitor was pleased with Julian's reaction. He raised his glass to Julian, downed his drink in one gulp, and said, "It's been a pleasure talking with you. Tomorrow, you can go to the City Hall's Political Group Management Office to process your membership."

They wanted to influence and reshape the world, making certain ideas and views the standard.

Julian nodded firmly. "Understood, I'll be there tomorrow."

The visitor patted Julian on the shoulder, nodded, and turned to leave. After four or five steps, he paused slightly. "Oh, and you may call me Boro."

Mr. Boro, somewhat mysterious, had barely left when another man appeared before Julian—a middle-aged man in a suit, looking every bit the professional. His thick brows and defined, square face exuded a natural trustworthiness and charisma.

"Hello, Mr. Julian, I'm Oliver, president of Ternell City's Workers' Union. It's a pleasure to meet you here." He extended his hand, and Julian, briefly surprised, reached out in return. Oliver's hand was thick, solid, and warm. Julian felt a strange sense of security from the firm handshake.

"Hello, Mr. Oliver. Actually, even if I hadn't met you here, I was planning to visit you soon." Oliver withdrew his hand, listening intently, as Julian continued, "The reason isn't complicated. To this day, I'm still a member of the Workers' Union."

"So, if there are any events or meetings, please notify me—I'll be sure to attend. Also…" Julian pulled a folded check from his pocket and placed it in Oliver's hand. "This is my donation to the Union, in appreciation for the help and support it provided me in the past."

Oliver glanced at the check and broke into an incredibly warm smile. The three "zeros" on the check made him more than pleased with Julian, and he promptly tucked the check into his inner pocket. "I'm delighted to have such an outstanding member in the Union. What you mentioned aligns with our purpose and value. Helping every worker in need is our mission. At the next meeting, I'll propose to make you an honorary director of the Union. What do you think?"