Chapter 218

Chapter 218 – Who… Do You Think We Are, Thugs?

The criminal organization known as Svetlana held complete sway over the illegal trade within the Second Black-White Slums.

Inside a dim, shadow-filled office, Boss Timur remained solitary, deeply immersed in contemplation.

Resting his elbow on the desk, he held a substantial cigar between his fingers, allowing it to slowly burn.

Pungent smoke drifted throughout the enclosed space. A solitary beam of midday light managed to pierce through the heavy, dark drapes, contrasting with the vibrant crimson ember of his tobacco.

The conversation he had conducted several days prior with the ultimate ruler of the Second Black-White Slums, the Godfather, kept looping continuously in his memories.

“Timur, a difficult period is approaching us.”

“External forces are shifting unpredictably. Lortel is gathering military power, while Decullan has begun taking action. Anyone can deduce that a massive confrontation between these two formidable factions is inevitable.”

Hearing an admission of difficulty from the Godfather was an absolute anomaly, as was his tendency to discuss the politics of the world beyond their borders.

Yet, the most unusual segment of their dialogue lay in a different topic entirely.

“Generations shift, and eras move forward. The wretched souls who drift into the Black-White Slums start as wanderers, escalate into criminals, establish syndicates during their peak years, and suddenly find themselves aging with graying hair.”

A man who traditionally focused only on the present, the Godfather was reflecting on bygone days. Furthermore, his words soon ventured into what was yet to come.

“However, what legacy does someone like that actually bequeath? What is left by those who perish?”

“Ordinary people pass down their offspring, while legendary figures leave behind renowned reputations. Aristocrats are preserved within their ancestral lineages, and prominent factions maintain their honor.”

Yet.

“What exactly can people like us leave behind?”

This was a dilemma Timur had truly never pondered, rendering him utterly speechless. Instead, his thoughts began to whirl rapidly.

What exactly was the leader implying by raising such a philosophical point? What would be the correct answer?

He knew from experience that whenever these cryptic, profound inquiries were posed, the outcome was seldom favorable.

…However, his assumption proved incorrect.

While Timur worried about his own survival, the older man’s focus was directed toward a far grander concept.

What could it possibly be?

“The Second Black-White Slums.”

In the same manner that regular citizens extend their lineages, champions immortalize their titles, and upper-class lineages preserve their heritage.

“I desire to bequeath the Second Black-White Slums itself.”

The notion defied all logic.

The Second Black-White Slums were built to last forever.

For as long as the imperial economic divide endured, destitute wanderers would continuously migrate here, and so long as dishonesty plagued the authorities, prosperity would never reach this place.

So how could anyone dream of leaving the Second Black-White Slums behind?

Before the subordinate could fully process the gravity of those words, the supreme leader arrived at his primary objective.

It was precisely that revelation that was currently causing Timur so much distress.

“Hormei has made his comeback.”

On its own, this news wasn’t shocking.

In the past, Hormei had commanded a syndicate that coveted the supreme throne. However, because he dabbled in the slave market and narcotics smuggling—activities strictly outlawed by the ruler—his organization was utterly dismantled, driving him out of the Second Black-White Slums entirely.

His eventual return was inevitable, like a creature driven by instinct to revisit its origins, whether driven by a desire for vengeance or an intention to establish a base for his restoration.

Yet, this particular arrival carried an unusual gravity.

“He presented an ultimatum: either I align with his cause or abdicate my position.”

“…!”

Timur was struck dumb by such an audacious provocation. Even so, an inconsistency bothered him.

“And you… permitted him to depart?”

“He arrived with a formidable backing. Striking at him directly was not a viable option.”

“I see.”

He possessed powerful allies.

They had to be influential figures beyond even the Godfather’s capacity to suppress. Under normal circumstances, Hormei would have been executed and discarded to wild beasts before anyone could even utter his name.

While Timur weighed these implications, the leader broke the silence once more.

“I require a specific action from you.”

“What might that be?”

“Become my successor.”

“…!”

“Regardless of whatever entity supports that absolute nuisance, you must suppress him. Achieve this, and my throne belongs to you.”

Relinquishing the ultimate command?

It was a staggering decree.

It made him wonder how this proposal tied into the previous philosophical musings regarding leaving the “Second Black-White Slums” intact while transferring the title of “Godfather” to his shoulders.

Concurrently, a wave of suspicion washed over him.

‘Why exactly am I being chosen?’

Timur held deep admiration for the supreme leader.

Although this district remained an absolute cesspool, the Godfather’s governance prevented it from descending into utter ruin.

It was a stark contrast to the past; nowadays, inebriated fools simply passed out in the streets, whereas during Timur’s youth, the bodies of starved, neglected children were scattered across every alleyway.

Yet, despite Timur’s reverence, he had never been the leader’s favorite.

To the Godfather, Timur remained merely one boss among numerous syndicate heads.

Granted, overseeing illegal commerce afforded him greater prominence than his peers…

“Sigh.”

Drawing a massive breath of smoke from his tobacco, Timur let it out heavily.

The pungent clouds multiplied and enveloped the room.

‘This is going to be incredibly messy.’

Lacking insight into his superior’s true motivations made taking sudden steps risky. On the other hand, remaining passive was equally dangerous.

‘…Ultimately, everything centers around Hormei.’

If that man intended to seize control of the region, his initial objective would undoubtedly be the illicit trade networks.

Conducting a campaign to overthrow the Godfather demanded massive capital.

“When it comes down to it… I have no choice.”

Recognizing his circumstances, the boss accepted the necessity of intervening.

He needed to defend his own territory, and further…

To prevent the horrific era that previously plagued the Second Black-White Slums from making a devastating comeback.

Though the concept of “leaving the Second Black-White Slums” remained a puzzle, Timur shared a comparable sentiment deep down.

‘The region needs to maintain its precarious balance.’

It was an impossible dream to expect it to become pristine and lawful, but it could not be allowed to fall into total, lawless darkness either.

Timur harbored no grand illusions of being a savior, nor was he driven by a profound moral code.

Rather…

He simply preferred his own gray shade of criminality over the absolute depravity of kidnapping, narcotics, and endless atrocities.

With his resolve solidified, it was time to mobilize.

“Collin—”

Timur prepared to summon his chief lieutenant, but his voice was cut off.

Slam!

“Chief! You must flee immediately!”

“…?”

Timur’s gaze sharpened as his subordinate kicked the entrance open.

Rather than reprimanding the breach of protocol, he demanded an explanation.

“Flee? What nonsense are you…”

Constantly checking behind his shoulder, Collin unsheathed the blade at his hip before the boss could even finish speaking.

Shring!

A resonant metallic ring vibrated across the chamber.

Wearing a fiercely determined expression Timur had never seen on him before, the lieutenant raised his weapon and offered a tense grin.

“I will delay them, Boss. Make a break for the window—our men are standing by outside.”

“Hold on…”

“It was a privilege to stand by your side.”

Facing his impending demise with absolute resolve, Collin offered his final respects.

At that precise moment, an unfamiliar voice spoke up.

“Come on, seriously now.”

The tone was peculiar, making it impossible to deduce either the age or sex of the speaker.

“Who gave you the impression we arrived to start a brawl? We merely requested an audience with the leader. Why paint us as cold-blooded murderers?”

Timur’s expression tightened even more.

“Are you sent by Hormei?”

“Hormei? Never heard of him.”

“…”

Timur maintained an intense, scrutinizing stare on the interloper.

“Chief, this individual is dangerous. Run…!”

“That will do.”

Halting his panicked lieutenant, Timur pushed himself up from his desk and walked forward.

Though their identities were a mystery, anyone capable of infiltrating this sanctuary unassisted possessed a level of strength far beyond normal measures.

“You requested my presence… Please, take a seat.”

The boss extended his hospitality to the intruders.

Rhythmic clicking from the wall clock marked the passage of time inside the smoky, mist-filled office.

Reclining against a dark leather couch, Timur maintained a steady gaze forward.

Across from him were the two trespassers.

One of them was…

A warrior whose stance was entirely devoid of any formal respect.

The remaining figure took a spot on the opposite couch.

‘A master and their subordinate?’

It seemed highly likely.

A combatant of such obvious skill wouldn’t willingly remain standing unless bound by duty.

Breaking the silence, a voice directed itself at him.

“Are you finished evaluating us?”

“…Perhaps. Do you object to tobacco?”

“Be my guest.”

“Very well.”

Retrieving a simple cigarette rather than another large cigar, Timur sparked it to life, quickly filling the area with fresh clouds of smoke.

He then raised a question.

“What faction do you represent?”

“Allow me to express my gratitude first. Even though we arrived quite unceremoniously, you have generously granted us an audience. I am truly thankful.”

“I see.”

Recognizing it as a courteous evasion, the boss gave a low grunt.

“Meaning you won’t provide identities either.”

“You may address me as Master or Duke. My companion standing guard is known as Knight.”

“…Those names ring no bells.”

They were merely symbolic monikers.

The designation Duke implied high status…

‘…Yet they are certainly not nobility.’

The same applied to Knight.

While Timur attempted to deduce their backgrounds, Master followed up.

“Does our origin truly carry weight? Surely the purpose of our visit is far more significant.”

Timur, who had maintained an ironclad composure until now, unexpectedly let out a sharp chuckle.

The initial sound quickly evolved into booming amusement that echoed through the room.

As if listening to an utterly absurd comedy, he indulged in a prolonged laugh, cleared a tear from his eye, and addressed them.

“Understand this. I didn’t invite you to sit out of genuine kindness. I chose not to fight because it’s clear you possess the strength to extract whatever you desire regardless of my consent. And yet you say this? Ridiculous.”

“…”

“Whether you are truly benevolent or merely playing a part, this charade is entirely unnecessary. Duke, let us skip straight to the point.”

Taking another long pull from his cigarette, Timur blew out a plume of smoke and flashed a sharp smile.

“Reveal your objective.”

“…”

“From there, we have two paths. If your demand is within my power to grant, take it and depart without further trouble. Otherwise…”

Extinguishing the ember inside the tray, Timur adjusted his posture against the cushions, lifting his jaw defiantly.

“…the only prize remaining for you will be my life. You are welcome to try and claim it—assuming you have the stomach for it.”

A profound, icy stillness descended upon the room.

Standing in the background, Collin shuddered, his expression freezing in terror.

At that moment, Aster was left incredulous.

‘What on earth… does he think we are, common thugs?’

Demanding they either take what they came for or decapitate him?

They had gone to the trouble of bypassing the guards downstairs without inflicting fatal injuries, only to be spoken to as if they were ruthless assassins. He felt completely misunderstood.

However.

Evelyn viewed the situation through an entirely different lens.

“My word, this is…”

An unusual spark of excitement colored her words.

“…incredibly accommodating, isn’t it?”

Once again, a heavy silence permeated the room.

Completely unbothered, Evelyn offered a sincere, radiant smile before speaking further.

“I am currently developing a commercial venture. Given your pragmatic outlook, I believe we would make exceptional associates. How does that sound to you?”

Caught completely off guard by this bizarre turn of phrase, Timur knit his brows together in sheer confusion.

“What exactly are you…”

“Exactly what I said. You and I are going to collaborate on an upcoming enterprise. Furthermore, it promises to yield fantastic benefits for your illicit trading networks as well. Why don’t you listen to the details?”

Timur’s eye twitched as he struggled to process the sheer absurdity of the scenario.

They had breached his personal quarters, effectively taken a syndicate leader hostage, and instead of demanding territory or tribute… they were pitching a commercial enterprise?

Despite the immense peril of his predicament, a single realization forced its way to the forefront of his mind.

‘This individual is completely out of their mind.’

Yet, reality offered no alternative.

As previously established, Timur lacked any leverage to refuse.

…Consequently, Aster and Evelyn concluded their initial excursion into the Second Black-White Slums with complete success.