Chapter 757: Heir to the Business

What happened?

When he was beaten by two ferocious burly men until he screamed again and again, curled into a ball on the floor, then had both hands twisted behind his back and was hauled up, face pressed hard against the office desk, Narl Rick thought exactly that.

How had he fallen to such a state?

Rick's head buzzed. Stars flashed before his eyes, and half his cheek was submerged in numbness and pain.

What exactly had he done wrong?

Whom had he offended?

"Hey, don't kill him," a cold, unquestionable voice sounded. "We still have questions to ask."

The force restraining his arms loosened slightly.

But Rick had no way to relax.

Two minutes ago, he had still been sitting safe and sound in the warehouse office of the fireworks workshop, methodically reading and writing letters, checking account books, assigning men, handling affairs, and comfortably watching the workers outside pretend to pack bitumen crystal powder used for making fireworks.

Then this group of uninvited guests burst in.

Without warning.

Completely unexpected.

These ruthless men said nothing. Without holding back, they first knocked down the two panicked scribes in the office, then an unfortunate warehouse keeper who had entered at that moment to make a report.

Along the way, they brutally pinned Rick, who had gone from trying to flee to giving up the struggle, onto the tabletop. Cruel and cold.

The bodyguards in the warehouse made no movement. The sentries outside the door had no reaction. Even Rick's better-than-nothing warning ability, cultivated over many years, had no time to give an alert.

"We have to be quick," one of the intruders said. "Their next shift is at ten."

We.

Quick.

Their.

Shift.

Rick endured the intense pain in his abdomen and barely grasped those few words.

So they belonged to the same organization, and through some unknown channel they had found out that he was at the fireworks workshop, as well as the shift-change time here.

Did they know this was a Black Street Brotherhood stronghold?

Were they here for robbery, or revenge?

Had the bodyguards outside been lured away by a trick, or were they ambushed early?

How had they avoided the posts outside the workshop?

Why had the warehouse's warning mechanism failed?

Rick had countless questions, and his mind was in chaos.

Damn it. Of all times, Jade City had been unsettled lately, and the Brotherhood itself was overwhelmed. The people he trusted most had all been assigned elsewhere.

Even Karak was out running errands and delivering letters.

The warehouse workers were also all on holiday, gone to attend the celebration.

He was isolated, helpless, and completely unprepared.

Truly damned unlucky.

Really?

Rick's heart tightened.

Really, the rational voice deep in his heart carefully reminded him. Mysterious uninvited guests, choosing precisely the moment when you are emptiest and weakest to invade Brotherhood territory. Is that really only "damned unlucky"?

Rick's breathing paused. For a moment, he even forgot the pain.

Footsteps came.

One of the intruders sat heavily in the leather chair that should have belonged to him and propped his hard boots on the desk, the soles facing Rick's nose.

"So, you are the accountant in charge here? The one who handles the books?"

The other man's voice was very cold, his tone allowing no argument.

This had to be their leader.

Rick thought carefully.

Hopefully it was only robbery.

"Y-yes... yes... we only sell fireworks. The safe and cash box are over there..."

For the sake of his life, his answer was very docile, even carrying a little tremor.

Damn it, this was all thanks to that famous prince, Rick thought resentfully.

Ever since that great personage arrived on the South Bank in such an aggressive manner, the upper levels of Emerald Palace had been locked in constant political struggle, schemes churning under the surface.

The entire Jade City had been dragged into unrest as well, with everyone fearful for themselves. During the entire Queen's Day and Emerald Celebration, first a serial killer had been taking lives all over the city, rumors of water ghouls flying everywhere, then the neighboring Blood Bottle Gang erupted into internal strife with heads rolling, two factions of little thugs even fighting openly and burning Luhsan Street. Not to mention Duke Zayen's overnight fall at the Election Conference, leaving officials, merchants, soldiers, and citizens alike panicked and confused. Then the bluecoats suddenly sealed North Gate Bridge, not caring whether they disturbed the people, and insisted on going door to door to hunt down the killer...

The long night was dangerous. Even the Black Street Brotherhood, long used to walking the suburban roads at night, had to be cautious and trembling, crawling low in the destructive storm of terror and barely clinging to life.

Lest one careless move, one wrong step...

Heh. Look at things now. There were actually criminal gangs without eyes breaking in and robbing in broad daylight.

If only this group knew whose warehouse they were robbing...

"And you are Razzanchi Fisso's most trusted accountant?" the intruder wearing hard boots pressed.

Rick's mood chilled.

They knew?

Terrible.

They knew this was the Brotherhood's territory, the territory of the infamous Head Wolf, Fisso.

Rick immediately became nervous.

But they still came.

This was not robbery.

Bad.

Very bad.

Rick was still pressed against the desk. Looking at the boot sole before him, he forced out a smile.

"Nothing of the sort! Mister Fisso has a vast family business, and the accountants under him are countless. I am merely... one of them."

Yes. He was merely one of the many accountants and clerks under the renowned Head Wolf, Razzanchi Fisso.

A small errand runner at the bottom of the Brotherhood.

A little helper.

Not that important.

At least not as important as what they had heard.

At least at this moment, that was what Rick hoped.

The intruder smiled.

"You are not honest."

The next second, before Rick could react, he felt the arm behind his back pulled tight.

Bad!

Rick realized something and hurriedly spoke:

"No, no, no! There is no need for us to do this..."

The next second, he only heard a crack.

Rick felt the pressure on his back loosen, and his whole body collapsed onto the desk.

He was stunned for a second, then slowly turned his head.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Looks inconspicuous, but inside it is dwarven craft."

The intruders' leader was playing with a black prosthetic hand shaped like a mold, interestedly shaking the blood from it.

"Using the remaining muscles and tendons at the severed limb to control the joints. The mechanical structure is quite clever, though not as flexible as a real hand... But it should not be cheap, right?"

The enormous shock made Rick forget the situation for a moment.

He lowered his head blankly and looked at his half forearm, which had become bare again.

At the severed end, the fine cords and hooks connected to tendons had been ripped out by force, leaving several small, bloody holes.

Pain arrived at exactly the right moment.

"Aaaaaahhhh!"

Rick clutched his once-again severed right arm and curled up on the office desk, screaming aloud.

Damn it.

Damn it...

They actually...

Actually...

Actually tore off his prosthetic limb...

"A regular accountant can afford this thing?" The man holding the prosthesis clearly had a cruel personality. He ignored Rick's screams and finished speaking at leisure.

The surrounding intruders laughed together.

"Please! You did not have to do that!"

Rick was drenched in cold sweat from the pain, snot and tears streaming down his face as he rolled back and forth.

"I swear, no matter what you want to ask, I will tell you. Anything! Anything!"

Rick's plea carried sobs.

"I will tell you everything... just not... my hand... my hand..."

The cruel man smiled coldly and gave a look. The men on both sides stepped forward together and pinned Rick face-up, not letting him struggle.

The man himself tossed the prosthetic aside, drew a short knife, and strode forward.

"Tell me everything?"

He revealed a cruel smile, grabbed Rick's jaw, and slowly pushed the tip of the blade into the latter's mouth.

Rick was so frightened he did not dare move. He even forgot the pain for the moment and could only watch the man's movements with wide eyes.

"Your bones are this soft, little accountant. Does your boss know?" the other man said softly.

The torturer was all smiles, as if patiently waiting for him to answer.

Rick did not dare answer.

He knew the man might be establishing dominance, might be showing off, might be venting desire, might be suppressing his dignity, might be seeking something from endlessly belittling and humiliating others...

Who the hell knew what.

In all his years on the road, people like this were numerous enough to fill the Eye of the Ending Sea.

"Please," Rick felt the blade and the taste of blood in his mouth. He did not dare nod or speak loudly, and could only beg unclearly. "Spare me..."

What kind of joke was this?

Fisso had promoted him absolutely not because his bones were hard.

When had the subordinates of the kingdom's greatest drug lord ever lacked hard bones and reckless fools?

Or rather, lacked lunatics and antisocial madmen?

If courage could truly be made by hard bones, then why come to Jade City?

Go to Broken Dragon Fortress and chop at northerners.

Go to the Western Desert and chop at orc bastards!

Seeing his cowardly reaction, the man snorted in satisfaction and disdain, then finally withdrew the short knife.

As if saying: Look, this is all?

Rick breathed a sigh of relief.

He began thinking again.

But these people, these desperadoes who knew Fisso was behind him yet still feared no cost...

Who exactly were they?

Had they come for him? A private grudge?

Had the aftermath on Luhsan Street not been handled properly?

Impossible.

Over these days, Rick had made many safeguards.

They ensured no one could suspect the Black Street Brotherhood, especially the respected Mister Rick, in the casualty tragedy on Luhsan Street, the bloody conflict between those two groups of night-soil carriers and cart-pullers, including the unfortunate fates of both sides' bosses.

Was it that dispute over the fields in Fengpei Village?

Also impossible.

No matter how one looked at that case, there were no flaws. It was simply a conflict between the violent Baron Trent and cunning peasant troublemakers. Even digging deeper would only uncover a greedy grain merchants' guild hiding behind the scenes, instigating unruly peasants to make trouble at the judgment hall, even hiring the best defense attorney, hoping to profit from disaster and take land cheaply, only to attract the attention of important figures and end up ruining themselves with their own cleverness.

Absolutely no one could link it to the Black Street Brotherhood, especially to the dutiful Mister Rick.

"How did you lose the hand?" the man asked while wiping the blade.

The hand.

Rick trembled when he heard it.

Hand?

He froze.

Oh, right. The hand.

His former hand.

As pain spread from the broken arm, the nightmare scene from memory reappeared clearly and unmistakably before his eyes.

Damn it!

In an instant, Rick shook uncontrollably.

He endured the double pain from his severed arm and his mind, and perhaps also the sticky wet feeling between his legs.

But now was not the time to curl up and stay silent.

Calm down, Narl.

Think, Rick!

Then solve the problem.

Narl Rick.

Find a way to save yourself!

After all, this was not the first time he had had his arm twisted behind his back and been pressed onto the chopping board.

And last time...

Eight years ago...

Memories of the past surged up, and Rick's remaining pupil began to contract.

"Ro... Roda."

Rick tried to numb himself and answered without emotion:

"Boss Roda... took it."

"Shandara Roda?"

The man's movements paused, and dread appeared on his fleshy face.

"That mad veteran of the Brotherhood?"

"Yes. Yes."

Rick said dazedly.

He was indeed mad.

"The eye too?"

Rick nodded and subconsciously tried to touch the eyepatch on his face, but was firmly held down by the burly man beside him.

The man was silent for a while and exchanged looks with the surrounding men.

"What did you do?"

Rick took a deep breath.

Focus, Rick.

He had to be very careful with the next answer.

Whether now.

Or back then.

"I... I was negligent in my work."

Rick tried his hardest not to let his voice shake.

"And caused his son to... unfortunately die."

"Liar!"

As soon as the words fell, the other man roughly grabbed his hair and forced one-eyed Rick to look at him, saying in disgust:

"If that were really the case..."

"How the hell are you still alive?"

Under that murderous maniac Roda?

Rick breathed numbly.

"Because I..."

His lips trembled.

In that instant, his lost arm, and the empty eye socket under his eyepatch, both began to itch and ache.

They struggled to pull out the memory of that night eight years ago.

"Because I..."

Rick said in a trance:

"I paid the price."

Yes.

The price.

Rick's vision blurred.

The chopping board.

The axe blade.

The red-hot iron clamp.

Blood. Pain. Unspeakable humiliation.

The dull sound of joints being severed, the soft rustle of blood spraying, and that scarlet-filled view before him, which then became absolute darkness.

And that cold, brutal, inhuman face...

That night, screaming, he shouted the name of Sunset Tavern, gave up the list of beggars who had fled the abandoned house, reduced his punishment, escaped guilt, and then paid...

The price.

Rick felt the pain of his phantom limb and eye socket, thinking blankly.

In the office, the man studied Rick for quite some time before smiling and letting go.

Rick's head smashed hard against the desk, aching terribly.

The man waved his hand, and the two burly men released him in turn.

"Yes. I can see that."

The man sat back in the seat that had originally belonged to Rick and looked, between laughter and pity, at the accountant's pants, which had grown wet at some unknown point.

"The price."

But he was alive.

Rick's emotions loosened.

He was still alive.

Alive!

Rick returned to himself, ashamed and resentful.

The cruel man snorted lightly.

"Then why did you come to Jade City and work under Fisso?"

Rick trembled as he climbed down from the tabletop, curled up with his back against the office desk.

He wrapped his torn-off stump with his sleeve and tried hard to turn his head. His lone eye could barely see the room.

Five people.

Fierce expressions, clean movements.

They all looked like ruthless characters who could fight. Every one of them was stronger than an accountant like him, who could not truss a chicken.

Especially the man leading them and torturing him.

As for the old folding hand-crossbow hidden in the secret compartment of his drawer, the one that had accompanied Rick through wind and rain...

Don't even think about it.

He could not possibly escape.

Focus, Rick. Concentrate.

Strange.

Amid extreme fear and resentment, Rick forced himself to think.

This fireworks workshop secretly controlled by the Black Street Brotherhood was located on remote Burning Street inside Jade City. Its nature was special, its cover proper, its profile low and secret.

It was an excellent location for storage and processing.

How had these scum learned of this place? How did they know they could find him here?

Was there a problem in the transport chain?

"Because I am... a local..."

Rick shrank back and spoke submissively.

"This is my... hometown."

As he spoke, Rick thought urgently.

The situation had been bad these past few days. Every business had run into trouble, and the "reply" the Barber brought from Emerald Palace proved that the newly arrived prince did not much like the livelihoods of mud-legged people like them.

Rick had planned ahead. Left with no choice, he decisively "closed stall," greatly reducing shipments across the city and even the whole territory. This was especially true for businesses around the Canal District docks and the Knight District barracks, since commerce and the military had always been focal points of political struggle. No matter how urgently old or new customers pushed, no matter how high they bid, they ignored them all.

Even though the losses were not small.

Thinking of this, his eye turned.

Was it someone beneath him disobeying orders, secretly shipping goods out of greed, poking a hole and inviting trouble?

Or had they been careless while closing shop, letting outsiders who did not understand the rules sniff out the warehouse location?

Or was the decision to cut supply too abrupt, causing some addict bastard unable to endure withdrawal to take a desperate risk?

Fuck.

Rick cursed coldly.

He knew it.

He knew some link would definitely go wrong.

He knew he could not count on that bunch of mud-legged idiots under him.

They were short-sighted and sloppy. Even when they got up at night to piss, they could piss into the wrong pit after taking off their pants and only discover at mealtime the next day that the pot stank of urine...

"Very good, local. Then would you trouble yourself to tell me..."

The man spat.

"Where is Razzanchi Fisso hiding?"

Not me.

Not my problem.

Rick involuntarily breathed a sigh of relief.

These desperadoes had come for the Head Wolf.

The leading torturer was strong, mad, fierce in expression, and unquestionable in manner. He was probably used to being aggressive and ordering people around.

Was he one of Boss Razzanchi's enemies?

Was he from the Blood Bottle Gang, the old foe? Had the Wanderer, Fogg, grown furious over the siege at North Gate Bridge and come in rage to reclaim face? Or had he seen through the inside story of several Blood Bottle Gang conflicts and wanted to force out the truth?

There was more. There was also Anton the Ripper, one of the Brotherhood's six giants. He had always wanted to inquire about their supply channels and had a terrible relationship with Fisso.

There were the Five-Color Society merchants from Tyren State, always wanting to come in and dump raw materials.

The greedy grain merchants' guild had set their sights on the same patch of land as them.

The dock trade association was timid, wanted to clean up its business, and shake off its connection to them.

The drug-running peers from Hanbol of Jungle City wanted to "cooperate" and open up western continent sales routes.

Sea Wolf Tanganga and his Kasse countrymen were interested in participating in maritime transport.

The bluecoat nest in the Iris District had a feud with the area outside North Gate Bridge and had found them disagreeable for a long time.

The Iron Bat Society had submitted to the Brotherhood, but as human trafficking became increasingly difficult and profits decreased, who knew whether they had other ideas.

And the damned Bo'pen family was even worse. Relying on their backer in Emerald Palace, they actually wanted to directly buy a stake.

Buy in, then take control.

Was it one of these vicious wolves who had circled Jade City and North Gate Bridge's businesses for more than ten years, eyes red and hearts hot, wanting a share of the soup and a bite of the meat, only to be rejected by the Head Wolf, Razzanchi Fisso, with clever methods and thunderous means, forced back one by one?

"I don't know."

He said tremblingly:

"I don't know where Boss Razzanchi is."

But no matter who they were.

He could not die here.

That's right.

Rick's pupil focused.

Last time, he had not died.

That inevitably meant something.

This time, he could not die either.

He could not die here.

He could not die just like this.

Absolutely not.

The leading man snorted coldly and drew the short knife again.

"I swear!"

Before the other man could continue torturing him, Rick hurriedly spoke:

"I am telling the truth!"

Yes. Last time, he had paid the price and lived.

And since he had paid the price, the proper and sufficient price...

Rick clenched his teeth and, without realizing it, clenched his remaining left fist.

Then he ought to receive something.

Gain something.

Become something.

Only then would it be worthy of the pain and torment he had endured along the way.

Because fate owed him this.

It was what he deserved.

Rick's face was numb, but in his heart he gnashed his teeth and roared:

Deserved!

"Boss Fisso has always been cautious, living deep and seldom appearing."

Facing the fierce gazes around him, Rick chose every word carefully, searching for a possible chance at life.

"All these years, I have only met him twice. Twice."

Twice.

Two indistinct "meetings" where he only heard the voice and never saw the person.

The intruders looked at each other.

"Hmph. Razzanchi Fisso has been afraid of death all his life and has always hidden his head and tail. That is not strange."

The man stroking the short knife narrowed his eyes, a trace of viciousness appearing on his brutal face.

His gaze sharpened, and his tone suddenly changed.

"But you are telling me that after meeting only twice, he trusts you to manage the books?"

The surrounding villains' expressions turned unfriendly. They waited only for their leader's order.

Rick sighed and tightly bound the bleeding sleeve on his right side.

"Four years."

"Mm?"

"It was four years."

Rick clenched his teeth.

"Only after I had worked in Jade City for more than four years did I get the opportunity to be promoted and manage... more matters."

The man and his subordinates looked at each other.

That's right.

Rick thought coldly.

Eight years ago, after the fate-altering war on Red Lane Street, he had drifted from place to place and could only flee back to the South Bank, back to Jade City, in disgrace.

To avoid disaster.

Or to cling to life.

Under the subordinates of Fisso's subordinates, perhaps more than one layer down, he painstakingly signed with his left hand, read with one eye, and ground away among countless records and account books...

For four full years.

Four years of muddled existence, resentment, and unwillingness.

Until one day, the accounts Rick had handled with extreme caution and careful calculation suddenly developed countless flaws and troubles.

Waiting for him to clean up the mess and plug the holes.

Some were even impossible tasks.

With one careless step, he would have thrown his life away for nothing.

It might go against common sense, but unlike what most outsiders thought, the Black Street Brotherhood had not become gentler because it had put down roots in a lawful city like Jade City.

Much of the time, those Black Silk members who could take root here were more cunning and more vicious than the brothers in the capital.

Whether toward enemies.

Or toward their own people.

And just as Rick had exhausted all his ability to survive the disaster, plug the holes, get rid of the trouble, and live through that longest week, finally thinking he could let out a breath...

They came.

Rick clenched his fist.

They were impressive, and unquestionable as they informed him:

Narl Rick.

A little accountant with only one hand and one eye left.

A loser who fled back from the capital.

You have been promoted.

Starting tomorrow, go manage the external accounts.

Manage more people.

Handle more complicated processes.

As if...

As if a pair of invisible wolf eyes had been watching him from behind since he returned to Jade City.

Waiting for him.

As for why the accounts that day developed such enormous problems...

Thinking of this, Rick said bitterly:

"And Boss Razzanchi, whether choosing people or using people..."

Perhaps killing people and crippling people too.

"...has always been cautious and hard to fathom, second only to his own daily whereabouts and habits."

He tried to look directly at the other man so that the man could see both his sincerity and his cowardice.

Unexpectedly, the fierce man holding the short knife did not threaten or torture him again. The latter gave a light scoff, seeming slightly emotional.

Rick even vaguely read a bit of agreement in that scoff.

"But North Gate Bridge, the night Lausanne the Second was surrounded and hunted..."

The man said coldly:

"You were the one who came forward on behalf of the Brotherhood to recruit bounty hunters, correct?"

Damn it.

Rick's mood sank.

It had come.

The siege at North Gate Bridge.

Among his recent unlucky experiences, the worst part, and the part he could not escape.

It was all that unlucky prince's fault.

He ruined everything.

Everything!

"Yes. Yes."

Rick spoke bitterly.

"The preparations for that matter... were my responsibility."

So these people, these desperadoes... were the aftershock of North Gate Bridge?

Think. Among the people connected to that night's hunt for the killer, who had reason to trouble him?

Was it those cannon fodder who, greedy for the bounty on the list, had received false intelligence and died muddle-headed and unclear at the hands of that vampire fiend?

But how could that be blamed on him?

If blame had to be assigned, it should go to Belicia and Phantom Blade. It was those two women, one serpent beauty plus one venomous shrew, who set the trap. He had only received instructions from above and been responsible for execution.

Too wronged.

If they truly wanted to blame someone, why not blame the prince? Blame him for bringing disaster to Jade City.

Was it Tate Bischoff?

That unlucky knight attendant had become famous because someone impersonated him and gained the nickname "Sword of Destiny." Along the way, he caused the Duke of the Iris to be imprisoned for crimes. From then on, no one in the entire South Bank wanted to have anything to do with him. Even accidentally seeing him from afar on the street would make people hesitate over whether they should gouge out the eye that had seen Bischoff and burn it to eliminate future trouble.

Impossible.

After North Gate Bridge, Rick had already thoroughly understood this fellow and completely controlled him. He was already something in his bag. He could not possibly have the courage to turn guest into host.

Was it Denver Bu's accomplices?

Impossible.

That petty thief and swindler mercenary was dead, but he still owed the Brotherhood a debt. How would they dare come back to provoke him?

Was it Levin Jabari?

Did this pretty boy want to silence him to prevent the secret romantic history of Jabari once humbly and literally serving all sorts of powerful figures from becoming a handle Rick could use to threaten him?

Damn it. This sword-dance actor really was both suspicious and unprincipled. Rick had clearly not even begun threatening him yet!

Then it was...

Konggyu?

Hundred-Step Ranger.

Rick's gaze went blank.

Were these people who were angry over his death...

People standing up for what happened to him?

Were there still such people in this world?

"Then you must have met that blade bitch."

The man before him sat in the chair and said coldly:

"Catherine escaped to your place and obtained help before rising again, right?"

Blade bitch.

Rick subconsciously covered his right arm.

Before his eyes flashed that night in the alley, that woman who had lost an arm and reached a dead end, yet still made one's heart chill.

Why?

Why, when she was clearly down and out, having lost everything, could she still make him afraid?

Make Boss Razzanchi wary?

He, an inconspicuous gang accountant, what price did he need to pay and what achievement did he need to accomplish to become like her?

Even surpass her?

"I did indeed meet Boss Catherine, and I had no choice but to cooperate with her and make full preparations for surrounding and hunting the killer."

Rick avoided the key point and tried to speak as truthfully as possible.

"But after that night, she disappeared. I recently heard she appeared again. There are a few people who might protect her..."

It would be perfect if this group of difficult ruthless characters settled the account on Phantom Blade.

If he could also conveniently drag a few annoying names into the water, such as that one who had always coveted Rick's business...

But before Rick finished speaking, he saw the fierce man stab his knife into the office desk.

It frightened the rest of his words back into his throat.

"That vampire. Serial killer. Lausanne the Second."

The fierce man twisted the short knife, his eyes sharpening.

"Where did you hide him?"

Lausanne...

The Second?

Rick took a deep breath, overcame his fear, and raised his head to meet the man's gaze.

In that instant, Rick suddenly realized something.

He understood.

He knew who they were.

Of course.

Narl Rick, you are too stupid, too slow!

He should have thought of it long ago.

This group's true purpose.

"Perhaps you should ask Miss Hilley about that."

Rick's mind spun rapidly while his mouth did not stop.

"That killer escaped because of her..."

After all, everyone at North Gate Bridge had seen that night how she had snatched the prince's prey from the tiger's mouth.

"He must have had somewhere to go, somewhere to hide."

The fierce man turned the short knife in his hand, scraping it against the old office desk until it groaned in pain.

"I swear by dead Boss Quide, I truly do not know this!"

Rick immediately said:

"After all, even the elite experts around His Highness the Prince failed to capture him alive outside North Gate Bridge, or at least kill him.

"And with the bounty hunters the Brotherhood recruited that day, who were all cannon fodder and rotten fish and shrimp, how could we possibly capture him, much less secretly shelter him..."

Bang!

The man suddenly punched the office desk, almost frightening Rick into falling to the floor again and begging for mercy.

"Stop pretending!"

The fierce man stared fixedly at Rick, making the latter tremble, terrified the other man would stab him.

"I tortured countless people. Lausanne damned well disappeared outside North Gate Bridge, in the New Suburb slums, in full view of everyone, before so many famous experts! He vanished into thin air!"

He grabbed Rick by the collar and roared:

"It could only have been done by insiders!"

The man's grip was so strong that Rick was pulled until his knees left the ground, terrifying him out of his wits.

"And in all of North Gate Bridge and even the New Suburbs, aside from your Brotherhood, aside from Black Silk, aside from that damned turtle Razzanchi Fisso, who else has the ability to hide Lausanne in public and even deceive the eyes and ears of Emerald Palace and the Jadestar royal family?"

Rick could feel the man's impatient, angry spittle spraying onto his face, but he had no time to worry about hygiene right now.

"Oh, please! Boss, you overestimate us far too much..."

He forced down his fear and argued again and again.

"Yes, the Black Street Brotherhood sounds impressive, but in the eyes of so many important people, we are not worth a fart! We are merely ants they can crush at any time! Even the order to cooperate with Emerald Palace in hunting Lausanne the Second came directly from the Brotherhood's upper levels. Even Boss Razzanchi could not oppose it!"

"Even if there really was an inside story, is that something I could know?"

Rick nearly cried as he finished the last sentence.

These words made the man pause. He thought for a few seconds, then released Rick.

"If there really was something suspicious... if it were your boss, could he possibly know?"

"Possibly... possibly..."

Rick gasped.

At least more than I know.

"He damned well definitely knows!"

The man spoke with absolute certainty, hatred in his voice.

"In this world, among those who fear and hate Lausanne the Second most, that rotten Fisso is absolutely one."

Rick took a deep breath, rejoicing that he had preserved his little life for another round.

But at that moment, the man suddenly turned back.

"Bookkeeper, can you read?"

Read?

Write a letter?

Rick's eyes lit up. He hurriedly straightened his appearance and squeezed out a smile.

"Of course. I am an accountant."

Unless one was making fake accounts, how could an accountant not read?

Good. At least this proved his value.

"If you need me to write a letter on your behalf and deliver it to Boss Razzanchi..."

"Good. Then I am relieved."

The man nodded, waved to his subordinates, and gestured toward Rick.

"Cut out his tongue."

Huh?

Rick's mind went blank.

What?

Tongue?

While he was stunned, the burly men on both sides crowded forward, dragged him up from the ground, and pressed him onto the table again. Someone even grabbed scissors from the pen holder.

No...

Read...

Wasn't he just...

Didn't he still need me to write a letter...

"No, please..."

Rick instinctively began to struggle and scream.

But these gang thugs were simply too strong.

"Oh, right."

The fierce man turned back and frowned as he reminded them:

"Remember to stop the bleeding afterward. Don't make it like last time. People die that way."

Die?

Rick struggled even more wildly.

And became even more despairingly powerless.

No, no, no...

"Go back and tell your immediate boss, of course, in writing: stop hiding and hurry up to come see me. He knows who I am."

The leading man pulled the short knife out of the tabletop and continued rambling instructions to Rick.

"Otherwise I will keep troubling his subordinates until I force that turtle out."

No, no, no...

Force your damned mother...

Rick was pinned down tightly, watching another burly man search the office for a suitable tool. It was hard to say whether he felt more despair or fear at that moment.

"Without me, you cannot find him!"

With a voice almost twisted out of shape, he shouted at the top of his lungs:

"Without a major matter, Boss Razzanchi absolutely will not show himself easily!"

"I know."

The man wiped the short knife, not caring.

"That is why I want your tongue. The accountant in charge of drug money getting his tongue cut out should be a big enough matter, right..."

He chuckled.

"If you can still survive... a gang accountant who cannot speak is safer, isn't he? I could be considered helping Fisso out..."

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

Help your damned mother!

Rick was full of despair. He braced his knees against the tabletop, kicking and thrashing desperately, shouting with all his strength:

"That is why you need me whole and complete! Respected Mister Nekra!"

As soon as these words came out, the surrounding burly men froze together.

Another subordinate straightened up. He had finally found a pair of clamps.

"Wait."

The fierce man spoke. He frowned and reached out to stop his subordinates.

The intruders' leader, Nekra, narrowed his eyes and walked close to Rick, bending down.

"You know who I am?"

Having nearly stepped one foot onto the ferryboat of the Prison River, Rick trembled all over, his heart pounding wildly.

"Y-yes, yes, yes, of course, of course."

He panted urgently, glanced once, then immediately lowered his head.

"You are... are... the famous... famous Red, Red, Red Viper!"

Everyone looked at each other.

"How do you know?"

The Red Viper's blade pressed close to his cheek.

"Not... not everyone is interested in Phantom Blade and Lausanne the Second."

Rick tried hard to steady his breathing and stop his teeth from chattering.

"And not... not everyone has the guts to rob Brotherhood territory..."

The Red Viper's eyes lit up.

"Are you flattering me?"

"No, no need to flatter you."

Rick's face looked as if he were about to cry.

"You are already one of the most hard-handed, troublesome, and terrifying bosses in the Blood Bottle Gang."

What was flattery worth?

Was it more important than having a tongue?

The Red Viper paused for a while, then sneered:

"I am beginning to understand why Fisso promoted you after meeting you only twice."

"Four years!"

Rick instinctively repeated:

"I worked for four years before I was promoted."

Not two meetings!

Not that!

He had risen through effort and ability!

"Fine, four years."

The Red Viper straightened up, completely unconcerned.

"Then if misfortune falls on you, would it not force that old dog Fisso out of his den even more effectively?"

Rick nearly lost his soul from fright.

"And precisely because it is inconvenient for Boss Razzanchi to show himself!"

He quickly spoke to stop the burly men around him from hurrying to flatter their boss too.

"I can, I have the qualifications to come forward externally on behalf of the Head Wolf himself and handle everything for him!"

Rick paused, then emphasized and repeated:

"Everything!"

That word interested the cruel Red Viper.

"What did you... say?"

"That's right. I, Narl Rick, am not merely the boss's spokesperson."

Rick took a deep breath and tried hard to set his expression properly, bracing himself as if facing a great enemy.

"I am also the one ultimately chosen by the Head Wolf, Razzanchi Fisso, after many layers of tests..."

"His heir to the business!"

His words fell.

Resolute.

Firm and unshakable.