Star Rail: Starting with a Lyre, Living off Busking

After a warm exchange, or rather after Natasha's "professional habits" had run their course, she brought up business.

"Now, about that request from last time. Did you manage to gather any information, Venti?"

"Oh, that esteemed dictator of ours? I'm afraid the situation is worse than you all anticipated."

Because Venti frequently traveled between the Upper and Lower Districts and often spent his earnings on the children in the Lower District, Natasha, after assessing his trustworthiness, had asked him to gather insights into the Supreme Guardian's stance toward the Lower District.

After all, in the Upper District, this was a topic people didn't dare discuss, and questioning civilians produced no results. Information was tightly controlled by those in power.

Only Venti, with his bardic skills and his disarming, friendly demeanor, could easily slip into aristocratic gatherings hosted by the Upper District.

For him, it was like a fish in water, and it didn't require any particular risk; he just had to attend a few gatherings, and he'd eventually catch something.

The nobles never suspected that a perpetually drunk bard, who lingered by the wine tables, was actually gathering information.

Soon enough, after making himself familiar with the scene, Venti managed to glean a few secrets from an impressionable young noblewoman, devoted to the Supreme Guardian's every word and action.

After briefly explaining his findings to Natasha, her expression grew even more troubled.

Fiddling anxiously with her bangs, she murmured, "Doesn't the Supreme Guardian consider the people of the Lower District to be her citizens, worthy of her protection...?"

"That's hard to say, but I think there might be a word for it in literature."

Venti regarded her, his voice soft.

"—Slaves, or perhaps sacrifices."

Both terms carried unpleasant connotations, sharp enough to provoke an instinctive rebuttal, just as it did in Natasha at that moment.

She furrowed her brows, clearly dissatisfied with the description.

"Mind your words, Venti. She may have issued the lockdown on the Lower District, but she hasn't forced us to work for her, and there's no slave driver wielding a whip over us."

"But the fact is, since the lockdown was imposed, the lives and deaths of those in the Lower District have been entirely in her hands, haven't they?"

Just like a slave master who could freely decide the fate of a slave used for ritual sacrifice.

For the Supreme Guardian, if the Upper and Lower Districts were placed on a balance scale—

She'd simply keep stripping the Lower District of its weights, adding them to the Upper District.

This move allowed her to weave more lies, giving the Upper District a false sense of security while avoiding potential unrest from behind.

As for the quality of life in the Lower District, the moment she deemed it dispensable, its fate was sealed.

To her, any sacrifice was of "value" and "meaningful" if it served the higher goal.

Even if it went against the original purpose of Belobog's creation.

This unspoken understanding plunged Natasha into silence.

When Belobog was first established, the city was structured like two interlocking discs, with the Upper District handling administration and trade and the Lower District supplying energy and resources.

In theory, it was simply a division of responsibilities.

But under the Supreme Guardian's governance, the relationship between the districts was anything but.

In the Upper District, people could dress in finery, walk clean streets free from even a hint of snow, and take public carriages to the Administrative District to attend performances lauding the "Supreme Guardian."

They even enjoyed basic safety. Though the Fragmentum's encroachment troubled them, they never feared for their lives.

The Silvermane Guards kept them physically safe, while the Supreme Guardian provided them with spiritual comfort. Living under her guidance, they could remain blissfully ignorant until death.

The Lower District, however, painted a vastly different picture.

Due to past industrial planning, the Lower District had more large-scale mining equipment than it did proper residential areas.

The underground environment couldn't support self-sustenance. Most plants and animals were inedible; those who consumed them would experience rapid organ failure—a death sentence in a district with scarce medical resources.

As such, people had to gather large quantities of georoot to send up through the connected pipeline to the Upper District, in exchange for essential supplies.

It might sound different from before, but in truth, it wasn't.

First, a mobilization order transferred the Silvermane Guards to the so-called "front lines." Ten years had passed, and there were no signs of them returning.

During that time, the Supreme Guardian had completely sealed off the Lower District, leaving its people defenseless and trapped, like lambs to the slaughter.

The situation in the Lower District became a frog in boiling water—first, local collapses, then the loss of mining areas, with former homes turning into monster-infested wastelands.

Despite the emergence of local resistance groups like Wildfire and the defensive front established by the mechanical Svarog, the encroachment of the Fragmentum couldn't be stopped.

With insufficient resources, people went hungry, becoming drifters or even forming gangs to rob each other.

The streets were cloaked in deathly silence, as dark as the eternal night. Looking up, they saw no sun, only the black, oppressive gear structures overhead.

Devoid of safety or peace of mind, they still had to work.

To dig up georoot, send it to the Upper District, and make the Lower District's "contribution" in line with the "spirit of Belobog."

Mobilization orders printed before the lockdown were still visible in the streets of Rivet Town, reminding people of their "duty."

Now, they saw fewer supplies coming down, rations that once sustained a family now barely enough to stave off hunger for one person. Anger gave way to numbness as they watched each other with weary eyes.

Imagine having to stretch a loaf of bread over a week.

Anyone who has suffered hunger knows that feeling never fades.

To survive, the people of the Lower District had no choice but to meet the Upper District's growing demand for georoot.

That meant that from the day of the lockdown, anyone wanting to live had no choice but to work in the mines, trading georoot for meager rations.

And even if the immediate needs were met, the prolonged exposure to georoot, crystal dust, and noise still led to severe, chronic miner's illnesses. With the lockdown in effect, most people dared not seek medical treatment, and many suffered in silence.

For the Supreme Guardian, were the people of the Lower District, stripped of their freedom and bound to the mines, anything but slaves?

She didn't even have to worry about rebellion.

The strict information control and ancient authoritarian rule made every word from the Supreme Guardian seem like divine edict.

People wouldn't think they were being deceived. They'd merely blame the Lower District residents for being lazy and divisive, ignoring the greater good at a time of humanity's survival crisis.

Eventually, with the Upper District's stores of georoot sustaining them through the worst days, the Lower District would fall into chaos, and starvation would consume those without reserves.

The rebellion would end in tragedy, and the survivors would "return" to the Supreme Guardian's embrace. With the population thinned, the remaining resources would last longer, and her rule would face no more threats.

The most ironic part? The Supreme Guardian herself had once been the star of the Lower District.

Born and raised here, she'd gone to study in the Upper District, eventually earning glory, only to forget her roots.

Perhaps this was why Venti openly despised her, and why he believed the Lower District lacked a spark to ignite change.

But for now, Wildfire likely wouldn't act so decisively.

People who lacked opportunity or a wind of hope were more likely to settle for stability than to dream of more. Even Venti couldn't urge them to risk their lives for freedom—

Even among those with intense resentment toward the Supreme Guardian, all it would take was a spark to set them ablaze, driving them to burn down everything above them.

But doing so would only lead to yet another chaotic, meaningless struggle between humans.

Even if they won, the people of the Lower District would merely replace the Upper District's residents.

But what had the people in the Upper District truly done wrong?

They, too, were sheep led to the slaughter.

Even if they hanged the tyrant, they would remain prisoners trapped within these colossal walls.

Belobog would still face the same inescapable doom, its destruction merely hastened.

To solve the crisis facing this planet, they had to deal with the root cause of the disaster—the Stellaron itself.

So Venti had a bold idea.

In the past, Barbatos' power as a god didn't solely come from his Gnosis; he also had power unique to himself.

But over the eons, that power had faded, like a whisper on the wind.

If he could possess a Stellaron as his "Gnosis," perhaps he could reclaim his former strength—or even surpass it.

Then, for him, scattering the blizzards, splitting mountains, and saving the world might not be impossible.

It might clash with his penchant for idling, but hey—even a bard could dream of becoming a hero once in a while!

But before he could pursue such dreams, he'd need to find the allies who filled every hero's epic.

And the best place to find them was, naturally, Wildfire.