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Rorge reached out and stopped his subordinate, but his eyes never left Iron-Pumping Superman.
"From now on, you and your boys work for me and my brother. I don't care how much this fighting pit makes every day, but for every hundred coppers you earn, I get ninety-five. The remaining five? Don't touch that either. Save it. I might need it someday."
Iron-Pumping Superman didn't even glance at the minion he had just threatened. He continued speaking to Rorge in that same casual, dismissive tone.
"Hmph. Seven Hells. What makes you think I'll do that?" Rorge asked, his face darkening.
"You know my methods," Iron-Pumping Superman said, shooting a glare at the disgruntled thug behind Rorge. He leaned in close, ignoring whatever the brute might be thinking, and draped an arm around the thick, gorilla-like neck, whispering:
"How many copper stars do you make a month in Flea Bottom? A few hundred? You don't understand how the world works. Stick with us, and I'll show you what it really means to be an outlaw."
Rorge remained silent.
Iron-Pumping Superman continued:
"Oh, by the way... we have backing. Ever heard of His Grace, King Viserys III Targaryen?"
Rorge's face changed. His pupils dilated in shock.
"Now you know why we're here, right? Follow us, and who knows? Maybe you'll even end up a knight someday."
Iron-Pumping Superman grinned so wide that Moon-Fang half-expected him to shout, "I don't eat beef!" like some movie villain.
He's really playing the role of a gang boss to perfection, Moon-Fang thought, curling his lip.
"But... why should I wade into this muddy water?" Rorge, a massive brute of a man, had been completely cowed by Iron-Pumping Superman. His rebuttal was weak; he couldn't even summon the courage to stand up and fight.
"Heh heh heh. I've got my eyes on you. And you know my secret. You mean to tell me you don't want to get on the boat?" Iron-Pumping Superman let out a creepy laugh that sent a chill down even Moon-Fang's spine.
"If you don't get on the boat, you want to drown? Are you a worshiper of the Drowned God?" Iron-Pumping Superman tightened his grip on Rorge's neck, whispering like a devil:
"I'm watching you. If you don't work for me, I'll come back every day..."
"Fine! I'll do it!" Rorge broke free from his grip, his face pale.
"From now on, call me 'My Lord,'" Iron-Pumping Superman whispered, patting Rorge on the cheek.
"My Lord!" Rorge lowered his head.
"My Lord!" Rorge's thugs, all sharp-witted survivors of Flea Bottom, immediately followed their boss's lead and bowed their heads.
"Heh heh, this kid isn't stupid!" Iron-Pumping Superman laughed, amused by the thug who had tried to pull a knife on him earlier but was now the first to bow.
---
Paro, a Captain of the Gold Cloaks in charge of managing Flea Bottom, hummed a bawdy tune as he walked home satisfied. Today, he had finally earned back the money he spent to buy his rank.
In the three months since taking office, he had engaged in extortion, kidnapping, loan sharking, protection rackets, and forcing women into prostitution. He had broken the record for the fastest return on investment for a Gold Cloak captain.
"In the tavern we stay ~ caring not for death or decay ~ rushing to the gambling tables ~ sweating till we're unstable ~
Ah, she stuck her arse out the window ~ and I kissed it gladly ~ Who are you?!"
The joy on Captain Paro's face vanished the moment he opened his door. Seven or eight men reeking of sweat and filth were standing in his home.
Paro reacted fast. He turned to run, but a bald, muscular brute was already blocking his path, grinning to reveal a mouth full of sharp, rotten teeth.
The brute shoved him hard with his belly, sending Paro stumbling back into the house.
"Biter! You're Rorge's mute dog! I haven't messed with him for two days, and he sends you here? Does he want the whip or the scabbard?!"
Paro recognized him instantly. It was the mute fighter Rorge kept at the fighting pit to tear dogs apart. Paro shouted, trying to mask his fear with bravado.
"Alright, Biter, don't scare our Captain Paro!" A lazy voice came from behind Biter. The brute stepped aside and leaned against the wall.
Paro finally saw who was speaking.
Two men walked to the front, longswords hanging at their waists. Knights? Hedge knights?
Behind them, stooping to fit through the doorway, was Rorge himself.
"What do you want?" Surrounded by thugs, Paro couldn't stay tough. He swallowed hard, his voice trembling slightly.
"What do I want? I just saw how crude your money-making methods are. I want to help you. I just don't know if you, Captain, are willing to cooperate with us."
Iron-Pumping Superman stepped forward, prying the longsword from Paro's gripping hand, and spoke slowly.
"We can discuss it." Cold sweat broke out on Paro's forehead. He had just earned back his investment; he didn't want to risk his life fighting a bunch of Flea Bottom scum.
"Then let's talk..."
Iron-Pumping Superman tapped the flat of Paro's sword rhythmically against his palm, the smile on his face looking eerily sinister.
---
Essos.
Under the "merciful grace" of the Game Officials, thousands of players from all over Earth who had passed the rigorous psychological survey logged in happily.
And the moment they logged in, a dungeon event was waiting for them. His Grace, King Viserys III, would soon lead a great army to punish the rebellious.
In the markets of Pentos, many local merchants had already been squeezed out by Wuji, the uncle of Iron-Blood Youth League's leader, who had been camping the economy.
New players wandered the market with wide eyes, looking left and right, everything appearing fresh and exciting.
"Come one, come all! New player event! The dungeon is opening soon, but you have no gear? Don't worry! Wuji Commerce offers low-interest Equipment Loans!"
The shouting attracted a crowd of players.
"Brother, what does this 'Equipment Loan' mean?" a new player asked curiously, standing in front of a stall filled with weapons.
Raking-Grass-Hitting-Rabbits put down his homemade tin megaphone and looked at the player.
"Great question, brother! Our Equipment Loan is simple. We provide you with a 'Starter Pack' for free, including a spear, a sword, a shield, and leather armor.
In exchange, after the dungeon run, you just give us 15% of your loot earnings."
The gathered players started whispering among themselves. Many confident players, believing they would be unmatched warriors on the battlefield, didn't hesitate and asked where to sign up.
Raking-Grass smiled broadly and signaled his brothers to take the "clients" to process the paperwork.
Just then, a few players from the Enforcement Squad walked over, addressing the new players:
"All equipment loans will be recorded. Anyone who defaults on the contract will face a minimum 3-day cooldown penalty. Serious offenders will be permanently banned!"
Having delivered the warning, the Enforcement Squad players walked away looking self-important.
"Fuck, what are they so cocky about?"
"Back when I was waiting for a key, I saw on the forums that the Enforcement Squad loved to act tough. Now that I see it... they really are pricks!"
Many players looked disgruntled, but thinking of their precious game access, they didn't dare to lash out. Besides, they knew they were no match for the veteran players.
Those guys were wearing iron armor.
"Hey, Little Five! Didn't I tell you to find me when you logged on? Let's go. Follow me. I'll get you into the Enforcement Squad. We're short on manpower!"
Another squad of enforcers passed by. The captain pointed at a new player in the crowd—the very same one who had just been cursing the Enforcement Squad under his breath.
"Ah! Brother Liu! You're really a captain in the Enforcement Squad?!" The new player looked shocked and delighted.
"Hell yeah. You coming or not?!"
"Coming! Only an idiot wouldn't come!"