Wall Rose, Stohess District, in the bustling marketplace on the outskirts of the city.
A heavy wooden door suddenly burst open with a thunderous kick.
A thug wearing a wide-brimmed hat swaggered in, his expression ugly and menacing. "Old Jack! It's already the second day. How much longer do you plan to waste my time?"
On a rickety wooden bed, an old butcher with a crippled leg struggled to sit upright. His hands trembled as he pressed them against his clothes.
His eyes filled with despair as he looked at the thug.
"Boss Strot… You must be mistaken. I already paid everything yesterday! I gave the coins to your man named Jolis, and he said the debt was settled…"
"Damn it!" Strot snarled. His brows arched sharply, and his eyes gleamed with a cruel light. "Do you think you can fool me, old man?"
Without warning, he stomped brutally forward, his boot brushing against the old man's face.
"Tell me! Where are you hiding the rest of your money?"
Old Jack screamed in pain, desperately grabbing Strot's boot as he sobbed.
"Strot, I swear, I have nothing left! Please… please let me go!"
"When I first borrowed from your gang, it was only a few coins. But I've already paid you twenty! Isn't that enough?"
Strot only sneered, his lips curling as he asked, "Enough? Not for me."
His foot pressed down harder. The sound of bone cracking followed, and Old Jack's agonized scream tore through the dilapidated room.
But then…
A small shadow shot out from under the bed. With a cry of defiance, a little girl sank her teeth into Strot's arm and shouted, "Let go of my father, bad man!"
Strot grimaced in surprise. His gaze lowered and landed on the small figure. "Well, well… Old Jack, I didn't know you already had such a grown daughter."
Strot's smile turned vile as he said, "Very well then. Let me play with her for a few days… and we'll call your debt paid."
Ignoring Old Jack's desperate pleas, Strot roughly grabbed the girl by the neck and dragged her outside.
The neighbors in the marketplace had been watching in silence.
When Strot emerged, holding the young girl in his hands, everyone lowered their heads, pretending not to see.
No one dared to speak. No one dared to resist. They all knew very well what it meant to defy this new gang that had emerged after the reorganization of the army.
And the truth was, none of this surprised them at all. Things like this happened every day on the outskirts of the city. If anything, they thought Old Jack was somewhat lucky.
At least his family was still alive.
Usually, when a gang set its sights on someone, the process was simple: capture the person, loot their home, massacre the family, and use the children as slaves.
A comprehensive service of terror that had existed for countless years.
Compared to that, Old Jack and his wife surviving could almost be called mercy.
Meanwhile, inside the gang's headquarters.
The deputy leader shifted uneasily, casting a nervous glance at the bald, scarred man seated at the front of the hall.
"Boss… don't you think we've gone too far this time?" The man swallowed, lowering his voice.
"This is still the territory of the noble who was killed by the government. If we cause too much trouble, won't we provoke the Titans' wrath?"
The man let out a dark laugh, leaning back with disdain written across his face. "What is there to fear? Do you really think the government controls the Titans now?"
"Isn't that the truth?"
He smiled and said with a laugh, "The government doesn't even know what to say anymore to keep the nobles in check. Once the word spreads, a power upheaval will rise within the walls—and at that moment, we will be the kings of this district."
The subordinate's expression did not ease. A shadow of worry lingered in his eyes.
"Boss, I'm afraid the nobles will use us until we're no longer useful. Then they'll cast us aside like trash. They won't care whether we live or die."
The bald man's smile faded. His eyes turned thoughtful. He was no fool, and the possibility gnawed at him.
But before he could respond, a sharp, mocking laugh sounded from the doorway. "Bennett, you think too much!"
The voice was soft, youthful, filled with disdain.
"Raised like pigeons… no wonder you're always afraid of dying."
The doors swung wide open.
Three figures entered.
All of them wore luxurious silk robes, their presence majestic and refined.
"My lords… why are you here?"
Both the bald leader and his aide immediately bowed, their foreheads nearly touching the ground.
These were not ordinary men—they were nobles. They had never revealed their true origins, but it was certain they were members of noble families who had allied to oppose the inner government.
In their presence, even the gang leader—a man feared throughout the city—did not dare to breathe too loudly.
It was only thanks to these three that the gang had risen so quickly, increasing its power and spreading like wildfire.
The leader of the trio, a young man with blond curls and an aristocratic face, spoke coldly: "Your orders are simple. Cause chaos. Spread disorder on the outskirts of the district. When the time comes, you will be allowed to leave."
"Do as I command, and you will be rewarded. Defy me… and you know the price."
The bald man forced a smile, nodding quickly. "Yes, my lord. Of course. We will do exactly as you say."
The man sneered faintly, arrogance written across every one of his features. It was this distance, this pride, that made the gang leader obey him even more.
He was not an ally. He was a master—and they were dogs.
"From now on, intensify your actions. If enough chaos is unleashed, the noble families that are now being massacred will be heard."
"Of course."
But at that moment, a breeze stirred through the corridor.
Soft. Almost imperceptible.
And in the blink of an eye, the deputy leader's head was struck by a burst of bullets.
Bang!
Blood sprayed across the floor, scarlet streams staining the boards.
The room froze.
Every face turned pale.
"What… what just happened?" The bald leader stared, eyes wide, his breath caught in his throat.
At that moment, a man in a hat—holding golden pistols in both hands that gleamed under the moonlight—smiled coldly and shouted, "The Crown sends its regards."
Crack!
Strot's head—who should have been out collecting—was blown apart, and everyone saw it clearly. But before they could scream, the men behind Kenny, who was Gale's personal hitman, gave the order to open fire.
Bang! Bang! Bang!