BXBX NOVEL Chapter 106: Hell has a tax?
In my hands was a ranking. One I didn't even know existed.
Rankings were used as both measures and standards of performance. It enforced a single rule. No matter how perfect everyone was, there had to be a first and a last.
Incentives and penalties were usually tied to positions in such rankings, compelling everyone to do better because no one wanted to be at the bottom.
The tablet I had in my hand displayed the following information.
[Deathfall Annihilation Ranking - North America - Wraith division - July 24, 2023]
Ranking | Graveyard Id |Total Points | Profession | WinChance% | Payout
1st Limitless 2175 pts Mercenary 0.0002% 500/1
2nd SacredEdge01 684 pts Mercenary 40% 3/2
3rd DeathWalker 654 pts Mercenary 35% 9/5
4th GimepussxXx 520 pts Mercenary 10% 9/1
5th xCastle6942x 491 pts Adventurer 10% 9/1
6th Allyourbasesareours 420 pts Fortification 4% 20/1
7th …
8th …
I tried dabbling in horse racing at one point and basically the numbers for the payouts are fractions. If you put in $2 for the odds of 3/2 you would get $5. 9/5 would get you $5.60 while 9/1 would get you $20. But what the hell was 500/1?
'Didn't that mean that $2 would make $1002?'
The more I read about the odds, the more it seemed like bullshit. From the fact that Graveyard did not allow identical names, I knew that Limitless was referring to me. But why was my score more than three times that of the runner-up?
Before I could ask, Philip pointed to my name and explained.
"Mr. Smith, Deathfall is one of the few Reaper establishments for entertainment. This is one of the famous betting games called the Annihilation Ranking. As the name suggests, it simply ranks the reaper who has killed the most undead in a single night."
I swallowed when I heard his answer. If this was real, then my actions would make a lot of people rich, but also bankrupt others. Phillip then went into lecture mode and elaborated.
"The points are based on the ranks of your kills, Rank Fs are worth 1 point, Rank Es are worth 10, Ds are worth 100, and so on. Since you were a no-name Wraith with almost no records, your odds of winning the night were 1 in 5000.
"This is the lowest possible odds because only the first 5000 Reapers are part of the bet. The highest odds are set at 500 to 1. The game lasts 8 hours and the points are updated every hour.
"The order in which you entered the game affects your payout, so the people who placed bets early get a significant portion of the pool."
Phillip then smiled as he wiped his monocle.
"But with such ridiculous odds of 500 to 1, even the last person to bet on you would make a few hundred souls. Of course, the reaper and his clerk get a percentage of the pool."
"What? I get a percentage?"
"Yes, Mr. Smith. This incentive is given to the highest performing Reapers, you get 1 percent while I get 0.05 percent of the total prize pool for the night."
I felt like an actor making peanuts in a movie. It was free money, but I felt like I was being cheated. I should have placed a bet or something.
Philip was able to put in a bet, and he even got a percentage. No wonder the other employees were upset.
"Didn't I just make you rich, you monocled bastard?"
"Yes, my esteemed patron. You did. I have put my entire savings of 300 souls on you from the second hour. That means I get 90% of a payout of 300 souls in a 500/1 split minus tax."
"Hell has a tax?" I asked, unable to believe his statement.
"Mr. Smith, you focus on the strangest things. Anyway, I was told that the current pool is over a million souls. So you get a commission of 10,000 souls less tax."
It was an irritating feeling, I knew I should be grateful for the 10,000 souls, but knowing that it was from a pool of a million, it felt paltry. Annoyed, I asked Philip about his winnings.
"How much did you make, you smug bastard?"
"Hmm, lets see, 300 at 500 to 1 odds is 150,000 souls. I get to keep 90%, so that would be 135,000. The tax would be 22% on winnings over 100,000, so that would be 105,300 souls. I have 0.05 percent from the pool for another 5,000. So my total would be 108,300 souls, Mr. Smith."
I couldn't help but frown at his words. The total number of souls I had made during the night was 56,000 after expenses. And this pencil pusher made almost twice as much as I did just by gambling.
"Tsk, even in the underworld, capitalists ruin everything," I said with disdain.
Phillip then bowed to me in respect. Caught off guard, I tried to tell him to stop.
"Mr. John Smith. Thank you so much for choosing my counter. Before you arrived, I was in danger of being evicted. I was honestly scared out of my mind. You have no idea how much you have helped me.
You are my only reaper, please let me continue to support you!"
"Wait, wait, what are you talking about? Start from the beginning. What do you mean, I am your only reaper? Didn't you have two other people before the night started?" I said uncomfortably.
The butler in front of me straightened up.
"Okay, to put it simply. As you may have guessed. I am the lowest performing employee here. Clerks are part of the 'Administration' profession. Administration are basically Reapers who help Hellsgate run by performing tasks that help it function."
I see, so Administration was for the people who managed the Reapers. No wonder the whole culture of Hellsgate reminded me of an organization.
"Due to my nature and {fate}, I am of no use in combat. Administration was the last way for me to pay the Battlefront tax. Unfortunately, none of my reapers could survive long enough to be a stable source of income for me."
"Wait! What does that mean?"
"Mr. Smith, the owners of the North American Battlefront have things they want taken care of. They send these tasks to the dispatch office as requests. If a clerk finds a Reaper to perform the task, the clerk will receive a share of the reward.
"Ideally, clerks would have passive income from matching the right Reaper with the right request. But when a clerk's Reapers die faster than flies, this becomes difficult.
"The two who came before you are already dead. So you are my last surviving patron."
"Oh." Silenced by the fact that the ones I saw a few hours ago were all dead, I tried to change the subject.
"Okay, that makes sense, so what is this Battlefront Tax?"
"Ah, the Battlefront Tax is an expense that every Reaper has to pay to the Battlefront. You can think of it as rent. In order to guard, provide a way to earn, as well as provide amenities and services, the Battlefront itself charges a tax of souls."
"Hmm. And what if you don't pay the tax?"
"For a Reaper who cannot or will not pay the Battlefront Tax, they would be imprisoned until they pay. If they still refuse to do so after 90 days, they would be evicted from the Battlefront."
"Evicted, as in kicked off the Battlefront?" I clarified.
"Yes. The Battlefronts are strongholds carved in hell. The areas outside of them are naturally littered with the undead. Hardly anyone has ever survived outside of them."
Then I remembered the Indians who migrated through the Battlefronts, calling themselves refugees.
'I took my people into Hellsgate and we traveled between the zones. The path is fraught with danger, but such a journey is possible.'
Knowing that this information was best kept secret, I dropped the matter and then asked Philip the next question.
"Do I have to pay this tax?"
"Yes Mr. Smith, but you will pay it next month."
"Why next month?"
"Reapers are exempt from paying the first month. Since you enlisted in July, you will pay your first tax on August 30th."
"How much is that?" I asked bitterly.
"The tax changes over time. It is basically your Reaper rank multiplied by the number of months you have been on the battlefront.
"For Wraiths, the base tax would be 100 souls, and since it is your first month, you would only pay 100 souls. The next month you pay 200, and so on".
Hmm, kind of cheap, but why did the tax have to get more expensive over time? Perhaps understanding my train of thought, Phillip then explained without me asking.
"The tax increases in proportion to your rank and the length of your stay. Over time it becomes unmanageable without a stable income. Those who are unemployed will eventually lose all their souls to the tax."
"A Wraith who has been here for three years would pay 3600 souls at the beginning of his fourth year."
Granting that it would be easy to succumb to despair or fear of death, even non-combatants would be forced to find work. Academics, Fortification, and Production were ideal for those who couldn't fight.
'I guess they came up with this method to force compliance and give the reapers something to work towards. Without such tasks, people with too much free time tend to wallow in misery and sorrow.'
Phillip then grabbed my hand as he shook it.
"Mr. Smith, no John. Your actions this night saved many lives. Those who put their hopes in you will earn enough for at least a year. Limitless is already associated with hope. You have heard how many have praised your name, right?"
I did, I wanted to make a name for myself, but not as a jockey. Still, if betting on me allowed people to save themselves, who was I to argue?
Before I could answer, Phillip looked at the clock in the room and tried to speed up the conversation.
"Mr. Smith, there are many services and amenities you have not used before the end of your first night, those, while important, can wait until tomorrow night. For now, the most pressing question I have is, would you please consider making me your exclusive clerk?"
The desperation in Phillip Scrivener's voice was palpable. Even if he made over a hundred grand without a steady income, it would all be gone soon. Before meeting me, this man had only 300 souls.
There were over two weeks left before the end of the month. If he didn't meet me, would this man try his luck fighting the undead? Most likely. Most would have no other way or risk becoming fugitives.
"Why do you believe that when I could just as easily die tomorrow?" I asked curiously.
"Every generation has its heroes and I know that you are the one for these dire times Mr. Smith, I would be more than willing to stake my life on it."
He said in a determined voice.