Chapter 665: Claiming Lives in Return

A small guide boat passed through the canal docks. A man sitting at the bow, whether a boatman or a porter no one could tell, lifted a bottle of wine while opening his throat and shouting in a strange southern accent, singing something that might have been a folk song or a work tune.

"When I was little, village brats ruled all around.
When I grew up, nothing left to talk about.
Father owed the lord tax from the fields.
Mother wove cloth to pay the master's bills.
I just won't believe in fate.
I'll go to the city and find me a good wife!"

His voice echoed over the canal and drew responses from the boats and both sides of the docks.

"A good wife, oh..."

Behind the man, five or six others dressed in rough cloth gathered at the other end of the boat. They were laborers and porters wearing only thin shirts and trousers in autumn, each with a bottle of wine in hand, howling and cheering as if lost in themselves.

The arrival of the Emerald Celebration had made the canal district's normally crowded, bustling docks and warehouses much quieter.

On ordinary days, the people who watched the boats, supervised the work, kept accounts, urged deliveries, and managed meals, all those who were qualified to yell at the top of their lungs, or in other words, the civilized and respectable citizens of Jade City, had all thrown everything aside early, dressed themselves up like proper human beings, and gone off to join the revelry. Now in the canal district, aside from a small number of merchant ships rushing their schedules, still counting accounts, loading, and unloading, there remained only the lowest laborers with no work and no spare money. They gathered together with nothing to do, gambling, drinking, wandering in groups, using every method they could to seek joy, numbness, vanity, madness, or anything else that could give their so-called leisure time even the tiniest bit of meaning.

It could barely count as a different kind of celebration fitting the atmosphere of Queen's Day.

On the other side of the docks, another group of porters gathered by a fire to play cards. One of them threw down his rotten hand and responded to the men on the boat. His local accent was hard to change, but his voice was loud.

"By Jade City's canal banks,
I carry strength upon my back.
Sun up, moon down, wages thin.
No food, no clothes, no wife within.
Year by year, it's all the same.
Black-hearted bosses won't live long!"

Sparse responses rose around him, drawing out the ending.

"Won't live long..."

In such an environment, Glover and Ralf kept to the roadside and moved forward quietly, passing one dock and cargo warehouse after another.

Zombie wore the sort of coat common among dock porters. Because his injuries had not yet healed, he still had many bandages on him. He did his best to hunch his back in the hope of blending in with the locals.

The Ghost of the Wind had removed his mask, revealing the remains of the tattoos he had slowly picked away over the years, along with the frightening scars stretching from his neck to his chin. He walked unevenly, limping and stumbling, alert yet cold as he swept his gaze over the surroundings.

"This rhythm and volume should be the work chant they use while laboring," Glover said quietly. "Looks like they like singing it in their free time too."

As for the lyrics, well, perhaps they had been altered.

Ralf said nothing. He only watched the surroundings vigilantly.

"After hauling sea goods, I build city walls.
Broad waist, strong arms, I want a wife at home.
Marry me a wife and leave her in the house.
When night falls, I'll do her till dawn!"

A broad-shouldered laborer in old clothes had an arm around a painted street prostitute as he roared back toward the other side of the canal.

"Make a brat, what damn use is that?
Tomorrow he's still hauling with his back!"

The prostitute beside him slapped him hard and urged him to hurry up and get moving. She still had plenty of business today.

Responses sounded around them again, but this time the people answering split into two groups. Some carried wicked laughter, while others shouted with bitter hardship.

"Till dawn, ah!"

"Still hauling with your back..."

A group of drunken men with arms around one another passed by Glover and Ralf, not even glancing at them.

Ralf withdrew his wary gaze and secretly made a few gestures to Glover.

You. Disguise. Bad.

Glover looked at that dazzling series of hand signs and frowned hard.

Why did Mallos make me come with this mute...

"Yes. A small leader of the Blood Bottle Gang is in a nearby warehouse. I heard he's hosting a gathering for other gang members," Zombie said, pretending to communicate smoothly with him. "Morgan only got it out after asking several people. You know, asking 'politely.'"

Ralf gritted his teeth and tried to slow down his gestures.

No! You. Height. Disguise. Attract. Attention!

In Glover's eyes, he only saw the other man shake his palm and the back of his hand.

His face stiffened. He ran the logic of human communication with all his strength, guessed at what Ralf might have said, and gave a response.

"You're right. The Blood Bottle Gang has been here for many years. They're involved in half the transportation and storage business on the docks. From porters, laborers, and cart drivers to warehouse guards, they have many eyes and ears and deep roots."

Ralf took a deep breath and tried hard to recall the prince's lessons on etiquette as he signed.

Do you understand what I am saying?

"Yes. So on their territory, no amount of caution is too much."

You are an idiot.

"Thank you. You too. Good luck."

Idiot! Idiot! Idiot!

"I know. That's why we have a contingency plan."

Fuck your mother.

"Right. If something goes wrong, you find the way. I'll cover the rear."

Fuck it. Forget it.

"We'll be fine."

...

Ralf gave up completely. He stopped making any gestures and only looked at the road ahead with a lifeless, expressionless stare.

No longer having to play "you draw, I guess," Glover at least let out a breath of relief. He thought that if that fellow were here, it would be better. Although that young noble could not sleep at night without a stuffed bear, at least he knew sign language and could communicate with the mute without issue.

They passed a chaotic warehouse yard, where two red-faced men were wrestling together. Some people nearby tried hard to pull them apart, while others loudly egged them on.

More and more idle men gathered around them, and the call-and-response chants on the docks grew more numerous and louder.

"Better to birth a little girl,
Marry her rich and turn phoenix bright.
Rich old bastard still complains about dowry,
I get mad and gut him with a knife!
Parents gave us one life to live,
Sunset's bitter, mine grows all life long!"

"All life long..."

"Chop the rich, then chop the boss,
Ask the duke, then ask the king.
Why don't I get good days too?
You sons of bitches, can you pay me back?
Tear off my coat and turn killer man,
With land and coin, I'll have more wives!"

"More wives..."

The two passed a sentry booth. Two warehouse guards sat on chairs, frowning at the idle men with nothing to do.

"These damned porters. Drinking, gambling, and whoring is one thing," one young guard spat. "But they even dare howl these death-seeking tunes. If the boss hears them, see if he doesn't whip them..."

"Let them be. These poor bastards only get this chance to vent once a year," the older guard said leisurely, lighting a cigarette and opening a bag of dried fruit. "Otherwise, if they hold it in too long, the bosses and rich men will be fine, of course. But us warehouse guards, heh, we really will be 'not long for this life.'"

"This place is under Blood Bottle Gang protection. They wouldn't dare!"

"Ha. Then where do you think the legend of the water ghoul collecting lives at the docks came from?"

The young guard froze, and his voice quieted.

"Water ghoul? But isn't that just made up to scare children?"

"I've worked here almost twenty years. This city eats people." The old guard chewed his dried fruit comfortably. "Some things, some rules, let alone the Blood Bottle Gang, even if the Security Hall came, even if the great figures from Emerald Palace came, they could only quietly walk away and still have no way to deal with it."

Eats people.

The young guard swallowed and whispered:

"I heard a few days ago that the old duke of Emerald Palace wasn't killed by an assassin, but eaten by the water ghoul?"

The older guard froze, then instantly changed expression.

"I never noticed before. Why do you talk so much? Too idle? If you've nothing to do, go patrol the warehouse!"

Glover and Ralf looked at each other and continued forward, turning onto the next road.

The chant from the docks still came clearly.

"Kill all nobles, kill wicked merchants,
Officials too must repay their debts.
I remember every evil deed.
Good ones, I'll repay a hundredfold.
At worst I'll walk the Prison River,
Even on the ferry, I'll taste justice!"

"Taste justice..."

The canal vanished behind them, and locked warehouses and storage yards appeared before their eyes. Many fierce-looking men sat by the road or leaned against corners. When they saw the two approach, they slowly stood, their expressions unfriendly.

The man in front toyed with a thin rod in his hand and wore a bright red headscarf.

Glover and Ralf's expressions sharpened. They exchanged a glance and walked forward step by step.

Found them.

"Stop."

Before they could advance, the man with the red headscarf lazily called them to a halt, waving the thin rod in his hand.

"Been watching you for a while. You're not from the docks, are you?" Red Headscarf narrowed his eyes. "Where are you from? What are you doing?"

Glover frowned and turned to look at Ralf.

The Ghost of the Wind raised his eyebrows.

Fine.

Glover took a deep breath.

Although negotiation was not his strong point...

Who else could he count on?

Zombie turned back unnaturally and coughed.

"I heard this is the Blood Bottle Gang's place. We're here to find someone."

As soon as Glover opened his mouth, Red Headscarf's eyes lit up.

"Oh, outsiders." He gestured for the underlings around him to make way, while tapping the thin rod against his palm. "You know this place is covered by the Blood Bottle Gang, but still dare come 'find someone.' Tired of living?"

Could he speak more directly? Could he stop dragging out his words?

And Glover was somewhat irritated. Why did he keep tapping that thin rod?

Ralf shoved him, and only then did Glover come back to himself.

"Well," Zombie said awkwardly, blurting out instinctively, "do you know Moss or Diop?"

Red Headscarf and his underlings froze together.

"What? Who?"

Ralf's heart twitched, and he sighed deeply in his heart.

Fuck.

In the next second, a cold wind suddenly swept across the warehouse front, making Glover shiver.

"Oh. Uh." Glover looked at Ralf and finally remembered the plan they had agreed on beforehand. "They said Boss Qimikas is recruiting people here. We want to join."

As soon as those words came out, the red-scarfed man's expression changed.

He unconsciously straightened his back and lifted his chin.

"Boss Qimikas? Oh, now that's the capable subordinate of Boss Duro, the fierce general under Big Boss Fogg! The warehouse tyrant of the Seventh Dock in the canal district!"

The red-scarfed man showed a profound expression, his tone drifting.

"He is very picky. Not everyone can catch his eye and successfully join. Do you understand?"

The underlings around him nodded together.

Glover frowned. Damn it. Could he really not use his fists to ask questions?

"However, seeing as you're not small, fine, I'll give you a chance." The red-scarfed man's gaze changed, and he looked very troubled. "The situation has been special lately. Our rules are stricter. You first have to hand over a deposit..."

Glover's eyes changed.

"Why is the situation special?"

"None of your business. I'm the boss in charge of this area. If you want to join, each person hands over..."

"You're not."

The red-scarfed man, who was waving his thin rod and talking endlessly, froze.

"What?"

Glover lifted his chin.

"You're not the boss here."

"Why?"

"You wear a red headscarf."

The red-scarfed man's expression changed. He snorted coldly.

"Hey, do you know what this headscarf means? Let me tell you, in Jade City, as long as people see this color of ours, no matter who they are, they have to..."

On the other side, Ralf burst out laughing.

The red-scarfed man felt insulted.

"What are you laughing at? What's so funny? What, you look down on our Blood Bottle Gang?"

He raised his voice, his demeanor fierce, and the underlings around him cooperated by showing vicious expressions.

Ralf waved his hand, but still could not stop laughing. He had to pull off a piece of face cloth and wrap it around his face.

"Speak! Are you mute?" Red Headscarf barked.

Glover coughed.

"Well. People who have been in the Blood Bottle Gang for a long time usually do not wear red headscarves all the time, unless they are going out for a group fight," Zombie explained. "Only new recruits do that. Are you new?"

The red-scarfed man froze.

So did his underlings.

Glover thought of another possibility and blurted:

"Oh. Or pretending?"

The front of the warehouse went quiet for an instant.

The next second, the man wearing the red headscarf flew into embarrassed anger and raised the thin rod.

"Fuck your mother, you little bastard..."

But halfway through swinging the rod, Red Headscarf looked at Glover's size and hesitated.

"Qimikas!"

At that moment, a thick yet mild voice came over and drew everyone's attention.

"Boss!" The man wearing the red headscarf, Qimikas, acted as if he had heard heavenly music. He immediately recovered his anger and straightened his back with his underlings.

A capable-looking man walked out of the warehouse. At first glance, his dress seemed no different from an ordinary warehouse worker's, but Glover and Ralf both changed expression at the same time.

The man who had spoken walked in front of Glover and Ralf. His gaze was sharp, his muscles developed, and his left arm was especially thick.

"Good man." The sturdy man measured Glover once and was clearly surprised by his build. "Looks like you're not cannon fodder sent by someone else to cause trouble."

Qimikas hid beside his boss with a delighted expression.

"Heh, this is Boss Duro, fierce general under Big Boss Fogg! You're in trouble now, making Boss himself..."

Before he could finish, Duro's arm moved lightly. An elbow that seemed casual struck Qimikas, cutting off his words and making him clutch his chest as he retreated in discomfort.

"Looks like you know the trade," Duro narrowed his eyes and studied Glover and Ralf. "Well, fuck me. You couldn't be Security Officers, could you? Heard some wind and came undercover to investigate?"

Glover and Ralf frowned tightly. They did not need to discuss to sense it: this boss was different from his underlings. His strength was not ordinary.

"In Jade City, Security Officers don't need to go undercover."

Glover spoke in a muffled voice.

"They can walk in openly, just like you can walk into the Security Hall."

Duro's eyes turned.

"Makes sense. This is Jade City after all." He rubbed his hands. "Then you're people from the Black Silks?"

Black Silks.

Qimikas and his underlings all tensed.

"No. I used to be in the gang too," Glover said after a moment of silence. "I left a long time ago. Now I'm back to find work."

Duro raised an eyebrow.

"Interesting. Gang man? Under which boss?"

"I used to be in the capital, in the Circus Den, under Kex, sweeping streets."

Duro froze.

"Capital? Circus Den? Kex? Sweeping streets? You were a sweeper?"

"Oh, you mean the Clown? Clown Kex?"

Qimikas' expression changed, and he waved his arms excitedly.

"The legendary capital boss who could conjure throwing knives from thin air and take lives without trace, one of the incredibly powerful Eight Abnormal Warriors?"

Glover frowned.

Qimikas pulled off the red headscarf and leaned toward Duro.

"Boss, it's like this. Sweeping streets is just a saying..."

Duro clearly did not understand these old stories of the Blood Bottle Gang very well. He listened with a frown.

Halfway through speaking, Qimikas suddenly froze.

"Wait, that's wrong. I heard the Clown died ten years ago. His Circus Den scattered ages back. Where did you two pop out from?"

Duro's expression moved.

"Seven years."

Glover was silent for a moment and spoke with difficulty.

"Kex died seven years ago, in the capital, on Red Lane Street, during the Night War."

"I collected his body."

Ralf could not help looking at Glover and found the latter's expression extremely complicated.

Duro understood and was silent for a while.

"Good man. What's your name?"

Name?

This question stumped Glover. He opened his mouth to answer and hesitated for a long time.

"Fat. Fatty."

Duro froze, while Qimikas burst into laughter.

Even Ralf looked at him with disdain.

"Pfft. Boss is asking for your name! The kind that can be written on paper!"

Glover gritted his teeth and felt his mind go blank.

"My name is..."

Seeing that the situation was bad, Ralf secretly jabbed him.

"My name is Wya!"

Glover jolted and reacted.

"Right. Everyone calls me Fatty Wya."

At that instant, Ralf wanted to smother himself in his face cloth.

"Wya?"

Duro frowned, remembering something.

"With your build, Fatty is reasonable enough. But Wya... Huh. There really are quite a few people with that name now."

He turned to Ralf.

"And you? Scar-face?"

Qimikas did not dare say anything to Glover, but when he saw the target shift, he immediately became arrogant.

"You! Scar-face! Boss is asking you a question! Are you mute?"

Ralf frowned at him.

Until Glover spoke awkwardly.

"He really is mute."

Oh... oh?

The others were silent for a while, and the atmosphere became somewhat awkward.

"He's my brother. His name is, uh..."

Glover instinctively said:

"Teto. His name is Teto. I call him Little Teto."

What kind of damn name is that?

Ralf's expression grew even darker.

"Good. Wya... I'll still call you Fatty. Fatty, Teto." Duro thought for a while. "You say you're gang men and followed that Clown in the capital. How do you prove it? Have a recommender?"

As soon as these words came out, Glover's expression dimmed.

Just as Ralf thought he would be speechless and they could only run, Glover exhaled.

"Among those brought out under the Clown, the ones from my time included Dalton: a hot-headed madman. He robbed someone right outside the Security Hall, entered prison, then disappeared."

Glover's expression darkened.

"'Three Hands' Fenn was a thief. Unfortunately, he did not grow a fourth hand. After he was caught, he was beaten to death."

Qimikas quickly searched his memory.

Duro did not speak.

"There was also Dorno. He was terrified by the Clown's throwing knives from childhood, timid and sinister, only daring to ambush from behind. He also died on Red Lane Street."

"And Spin. That fellow was strong and lucky. Once he offended the Clown but somehow did not die, so he went to collect debts under another boss. Later, hmm, he should be dead too."

After Glover finished, he clenched his fist.

Ralf looked at him, his gaze flickering.

Duro looked at Zombie's fist, but still questioned him.

"So these people are all dead with no one to verify it. If you made it all up, no one would know?"

Glover was silent for a while.

"There was also Tink. He went to be a hired thug. And Lilian. She did the best. Mother Laya took her away. Now she runs club business, and business is very good."

"Ah, I know Lilian!" Qimikas grew excited. "Last time I went to the capital to help out, I passed by the club. Fuck, that pair of huge tits..."

Duro lightly waved his hand, and Qimikas bent over holding his stomach again.

"I believe what you said is true," Duro looked at Glover. "But the people you mentioned are either dead or far away in the capital. None can prove it."

Prove it.

Ralf swallowed. Unconsciously, his hand moved toward the two short blades at his lower back.

Glover glanced at Duro.

"When the Clown practiced throwing knives, he liked making living people hold the target. He said that was the only way to get a feeling."

He took a step forward and pulled up his sleeve.

"Ordinary people do not have marks left by the Clown's throwing knife practice."

Duro and Ralf focused their eyes. Sure enough, the side of Fatty Glover's palm was covered in countless cuts.

Qimikas leaned forward and twisted his mouth.

"How do I know you didn't cut yourself with a knife..."

Glover suddenly turned his head, killing intent surging, frightening Qimikas into shrinking back.

"When you hold a target, to avoid injury, you do your best to turn your arm sideways. So the scars are concentrated on the outside of the forearm," Glover said in a low voice. "And the marks left by a throwing knife grazing or striking you are different from cuts made by a knife."

Duro's gaze toward Glover changed.

Ralf fixed his eyes on Glover, his thoughts unknown.

Qimikas looked at his boss, then at Glover, somewhat wronged.

"Tch. You say so, so it is..."

Duro sighed.

"Then after the Clown died, why didn't you go under another boss?"

"No one likes the Clown's subordinates, because people think they were..."

Glover paused, an almost invisible light flashing in his eyes.

"Tortured by the Clown until they became as mad as him."

"So Fatty, where have you spent these years?"

"I went to the Western Desert and joined the army."

Qimikas' eyes lit up.

"You said Western Desert? Ha! Haha! Now you can't argue your way out! Let me tell you, our Boss Duro retired from the Western Desert!"

Glover and Ralf were both startled.

Unexpectedly, Duro frowned instead.

Qimikas wore an expression that said they were doomed.

"Boss was a general who led soldiers on the battlefield! He fought hundreds of battles against orcs and Barren Bone men! He even fought side by side with the famous Wings of Legend, drank at the same table, called him brother, and almost wanted to dig out his heart for..."

For the third time, Duro stopped his mouth with an elbow.

"You say you've been to the desert." Duro's tone tightened, becoming steady and vigilant. "Which unit did you serve in?"

Ralf glared at Glover.

"I fought for House Kroma. Raven of Thunder. Second Assault Team," Zombie answered steadily.

"Oh, Swift Thunder's ravens?"

Duro's eyes turned.

"I heard there was a very strong big fellow in there named Wanda. He killed 'Meat Grinder Hammer' Sisa Deadiron before?"

Glover shook his head.

"Not sure. I barely know a few words. I only know that long ago, that unit had a strong big fellow named Cohen. A young lord."

Duro raised an eyebrow.

"Oh? Is that so. I remember Raven of Thunder was an ace unit, and House Kroma's own child. Over the years, you must have made quite a bit of profit."

"Quite the opposite." Glover shook his head in denial. "'Head Raven' is House Kroma's own child. We were raised by the stepmother. More than half of what we captured had to be split to them. What remained, we still had to fight those sons of bitches in the standing army for scraps."

"Well said!"

Unexpectedly, Duro suddenly raised his voice, frightening everyone.

"Those sons of bitches in the standing army!"

"B-Boss?" Qimikas asked cautiously.

Duro took a deep breath.

"Then why come back to the gang?"

"The standing army won. We withdrew. House Kroma would not support us either, so I could only come do some small business."

Glover raised his head cautiously.

"But if you do business on the streets, you need someone to cover you."

Duro narrowed his eyes.

"Since you used to run in the capital, why not go back there?"

"The capital is good. Many opportunities. Easy to become famous," Glover answered, feeling cold sweat all over his head. "But here, Jade City has more money to skim."

"And you lack money? Why?"

Lack money?

Glover was speechless again, but inspiration struck.

"This is my brother, Teto. When I went to the Western Desert..." Zombie put his arm around the astonished Ralf and forced himself to show grief. "His leg was broken by someone, and his throat was... anyway, he became mute. He needs money. A lot, a lot of money!"

As soon as he said this, everyone looked at the two "brothers" with strange expressions.

Except Ralf.

The Ghost of the Wind looked at Glover with disgust. Who the hell could this dumbass acting fool?

Better prepare to run.

At that moment, Duro lifted his thick left arm and slapped Glover's shoulder.

Even Zombie's expression changed.

"Good man!"

Duro appeared deeply moved and wiped his shining eyes.

"What is dignity? Make money for your family! Nothing shameful about that!"

Glover and Ralf stood with arms around each other, staring blankly at him.

"Good. Wya... I'll still call you Fatty. Fatty, you're from the army too and you've been in the gang. I won't play false with you," Duro said, wiping his tears. "My name is Cusack Duro. I came from the Western Desert and newly joined the Blood Bottle Gang..."

Qimikas quickly added from the side:

"As soon as he arrived, Big Boss Fogg personally received him and promoted him beyond the rules..."

Duro waved him off.

"I just came to Jade City and only settled at the docks last month. But as you can see, the other bosses in the gang all want to see me make a fool of myself. And I, hmm, need manpower."

Glover glanced at Qimikas, who raised his head and puffed out his chest.

Duro paused and said awkwardly:

"Better manpower."

Glover paused.

"If... we are two people."

Duro glanced at Ralf and showed a gratified expression that said, I knew I didn't misjudge you.

"Your brother is in poor health?"

"He can fight," Glover said. "His legs just aren't good."

"And he's mute," Qimikas reminded sourly.

Ralf snorted unhappily.

Duro pondered for a while.

"How about this. If you want to join the gang, come stand for me later and help with the show of force," he said. "If you don't piss yourselves, then we'll talk about joining?"

Glover and Ralf looked at each other.

"Don't worry. I don't mistreat brothers," Duro patted his chest. "Even ones like Qimikas."

Qimikas froze and hurried to defend himself.

"I was Boss Duro's guide on his first day in Jade City. Boss is generous and loyal..."

"What are we standing for? A fight or bloodshed?" Glover interrupted him.

"A big scene!" Qimikas said indignantly.

"Nothing much," Duro shook his head. "Boss Fogg is coming to hold a meeting here. What, scared?"

Glover was silent for a while.

"Why? If it is 'Wanderer' Fogg, why hold it at the place of a newcomer like you?"

Duro's eyes lit up.

"Good question. Because Fogg is not only holding a meeting," Duro gritted his teeth. "He is inviting several other bosses in the gang, bosses equal to him, to negotiate."

Negotiate.

Ralf frowned.

"Negotiate? What happened?"

"Heh. Us and the Black Silks... hmm, let's put it this way, Fatty. Lately, something big has happened in Jade City. Or rather, something big is about to happen."

Something big.

Glover and Ralf looked at each other.

Duro chuckled.

"So among Boss Fogg's people, no one dares handle this scene except me."

Glover was silent for a while.

"Good. Then what is our pay?"

Qimikas' expression changed.

"Hey, you dead fatty. Boss Duro taking a liking to you is a rare blessing..."

Before he finished speaking, Duro interrupted him with another slap.

"Pay. Good. I like direct men like you," Duro laughed loudly. "How about this. After you stand the scene today, I will go around a few places. No matter how much I collect, half a percent goes to you."

"Half a percent?"

"Just today. Trial period."

Glover and Ralf exchanged a glance.

"Deal."

A few hours later, Glover and Ralf stood in an empty warehouse, mixed among Qimikas and a group of Blood Bottle Gang underlings, waiting for the first guests to arrive.

"There. That is Boss Fogg and several of his most trusted subordinates."

Qimikas, who had taken off the red headscarf, straightened his back. He was sandwiched between Glover and Ralf, or more precisely, Fatty Wya and Little Teto, as a group of fierce, capable Blood Bottle Gang members passed through the alley and arrived before the warehouse.

"'Wanderer' Fogg?"

"Don't call him that! Boss doesn't like that nickname!"

"Wanderer" Fogg was not tall, but his face was full of smiles. Surrounded by his subordinates, he opened his arms and walked toward Duro.

"Brother Duro!"

"Fogg, good friend!" Duro laughed loudly and likewise embraced Fogg.

"Aiya, I really didn't misjudge you. Look, in such a short time, you have already managed this place so well..."

"No. Back then I had nowhere to go. It was all thanks to you taking me in..."

Qimikas looked at Fogg with excitement and could not help showing off his knowledge.

"That is 'Barber' Balta. Yes, he really is a barber, and also a famous information broker in the gang. 'Good Man' Tommy from Old Grave Street. Why does he have that nickname? Put it this way. If you want to buy building materials in the city, you cannot get around him, so no one dares say he is not good. 'Stage Manager' Franco. In the Goddess District, if any theater owner wants to put on a new play, without his approval it won't happen..."

"And there is 'Newspaper Seller' Zeka. He monopolizes printing business in three districts. And 'Bad Cobbler' Jaga. He started out repairing shoes in Craftsman District. I heard he has made himself respectable and joined some damn chamber of commerce now. 'Dung Egg' Roger. Wow, that nickname is something. The night-soil carriers and sewer cleaners only listen to him. Anyone who offends Roger can wait for their house to stink to the heavens..."

"These people sound like good citizens," Glover frowned.

Qimikas nodded.

"Exactly right. This is our Blood Bottle Gang. There are plenty of ways to make money, especially in Jade City. It is not just fighting and killing, unlike those Black Silks from North Gate Bridge who cannot see the light..."

At that moment, Qimikas' eyes widened and his breathing quickened. He shook Glover's arm.

"Look! Fatty! Fuck. Big shot. A true big shot!"

Glover followed his gaze and looked over. From the direction of the docks came a group of vicious figures who were clearly not locals. Each of them had a sinister expression, like wild beasts.

But Zombie immediately felt something was wrong. The wind around them had grown stronger, and faster.

The wind howled back and forth, making people instinctively close their eyes.

On Qimikas' other side, Ralf stared hard at the newly arrived Blood Bottle Gang members, his gaze as cold and ominous as a blade.

What happened?

Glover frowned deeply. He raised a hand to block the strange wind, looked at the fierce guests, and asked Qimikas, who was so excited he almost rushed out:

"Who is that?"

"Are you joking?"

Qimikas pointed at the leader in the distance and shouted into the wind:

"That is one of the current pillars of the Blood Bottle Gang, a legendary figure!"

"The powerful warrior who, legend says, fought the Black Street Brotherhood in the capital for many years, withstood the Black Sword without falling, and upheld the dignity of the Blood Bottle Gang: 'Red Viper' Nekra!"

In that instant, Glover subconsciously trembled.

He vaguely felt that beside him, Ralf was giving off an indescribable chill.

The sound of the wind grew louder, carrying along with it the distant boatmen's call-and-response tune.

"Even the Prison River ferryman rows a boat.
Takes money, carries men, half a colleague too.
On the road of life and death, he knows his hometown kin.
Killing lives and claiming souls, that we do well.
From now on, hometown kin are not alone.
Rise as ghouls to claim lives in return!"

"Claim lives in return!"