Chapter 246

Chapter 246 – The Villain of Villains

The underworld leaders, having received Aster’s instructions, rushed back to their headquarters to retrieve their financial records.

There was no explicit deadline, but they drove their underlings frantically, as if locked in a desperate race against time.

The earliest to return to the briefing chamber was Timur.

“It is all here.”

“Hmm.”

“Honestly, that ‘hmm’—could you drop it? No matter how I look at it, it just feels unnatural coming from you.”

Placing a dense ledger firmly on the tabletop, Timur offered the critique, prompting Aster to rub the back of his neck with a sheepish grin.

“Is that so? Very well, as you wish.”

“And cut the polite jargon while you are at it. It makes me feel like you are just mocking me.”

“Fine, have it your way.”

It was evident that Timur had deduced the chain of command between him and Evelyn was merely a theatrical performance for the public.

Given the sheer volume of nagging he had endured, it would have been far more surprising if he hadn’t figured it out by now.

“So, what is the next step? What are the Godfather’s thoughts?”

Timur cast a glance toward the vacant chair where the Godfather had previously sat and asked.

The Godfather had departed to collect his own records, and Timur was thoroughly intrigued by the grand strategy he and Aster had formulated for the days ahead.

“What next step? It is exactly what I outlined before.”

“Yes, I grasp the concept. Raid the syndicates’ funds to bankroll the Second Black-White Slums. But what I am inquiring about is the execution.”

“The execution?”

“Exactly, the execution. The syndicates have amassed a decent fortune, certainly, but it is hardly enough to sustain an entire metropolis.”

It was an undeniable truth.

Wealth was always a matter of scale. The treasures locked away by the syndicate chiefs seemed boundless to a lone thief, but when weighed against the demands of the whole city, it fell drastically short.

How was he so certain of this?

Because Timur stood as one of the most prosperous syndicate chiefs within the Second Black-White Slums.

Consequently, Aster had to pause and contemplate for a brief moment, and the conclusion he reached was simple.

“I have no idea.”

“…Beg pardon?”

“Am I expected to solve every riddle? Boss Timur, to put it plainly, in this venture I function as the blade, not the strategist. The intellect belongs to another.”

“The intellect…”

“Why even ask? Obviously Duke.”

What did that imply?

It meant he intended to dump the logistical nightmare onto Evelyn once again.

“You truly are something…”

“I am aware. I am remarkably charitable and benevolent.”

“…”

Timur was left completely speechless by Aster’s utter shamelessness.

He was well aware.

Of the grueling hardships Duke had faced while organizing and overseeing that grand auction.

While Svetlana’s assistance had been substantial, not a single detail, major or minor, had evaded Duke’s oversight.

It was an overwhelming burden that no ordinary individual could possibly endure… and yet, how much time had passed since the auction concluded? Now Duke was being targeted again?

“Sigh… do you mind if I smoke?”

“Be my guest.”

Feeling a sudden wave of exhaustion, Timur struck a flame to a cigarette, and before long, wisps of pale smoke began to drift across the briefing chamber.

It was during this quiet interval that Aster spoke up.

“But do you not harbor any resentment?”

“Over what?”

“You know… We are somewhat… familiar? Something of that nature. But at this moment, it must feel like…”

“Like handing over an axe only to have it chop off my own toes, while having my valuables cleaned out simultaneously. You understand the feeling, eh?”

Timur gestured with the hand holding his cigarette and smirked.

Contradicting his grim words, his expression bore no trace of malice, and just as Aster opened his mouth to press further, Timur cut in.

“Truth be told, I feel a sense of relief.”

“Relief?”

“Indeed. Oh, you were unaware? I mentioned this to Duke before, but what you orchestrated today is a fantasy I have nurtured for a very long time.”

Timur stated this plainly, flicked his ash into the receptacle, and forged ahead.

“I possessed a younger brother. A rare occurrence. Two flesh-and-blood siblings discarded simultaneously into the gutters of the Second Black-White Slums. It feels wrong to praise my own kin, but… I genuinely cherished it. You understand how much weight biological ties carry as leverage in a place like this.”

“I do.”

“It provided an immense advantage. We never engaged in honorable single combat against our rivals.”

To put it another way, they outnumbered their foes.

Timur proceeded to reminisce about the era he shared with his sibling—memories that were surprisingly tender.

Operating as a pair made survival vastly more manageable, as one would expect.

Working in tandem, they picked the pockets of passing strangers; one would orchestrate a distraction while the other snatched the charity bowls right out from under the street urchins.

Timur was grinning, a rare sight for him, but it did not take long for that expression to contort into a melancholic grimace.

“But… well, how should I articulate it. That was the moment I truly understood.”

“…?”

“That having a partner is magnificent at times… but harboring someone you must shield can render you fragile as well.”

The Second Black-White Slums had permanently existed as a cesspool, but as the syndicates’ oppression intensified and food scarcity struck, it degenerated into an absolute nightmare.

This particular deprivation was distinct from the wartime scarcities of the past that the older generation of bosses had outlasted.

“The territory grew deadlier with each passing day, and even the surviving traders and travelers ceased wandering into the Second Black-White Slums. So from whom do you beg? Whose pockets do you pick?”

They could not.

“Even raiding the bread shops yielded nothing. With no coin passing through hands, what could the merchants possibly offer? Yet the syndicates grew wealthier by the hour. Do you comprehend why?”

An ordinary observer might have scratched their head in confusion.

A settlement crumbling into ruin, yet only the syndicates were flourishing? One requires assets to extract from citizens if they intend to bleed them dry.

However, Aster was well aware of the reality.

“Contraband.”

“Precisely.”

“Flesh peddling as well.”

“Right on the mark. To those monsters, every orphaned youth on the pavement represented revenue. Can you envision it? I tried. How we must have appeared through the eyes of those syndicate degenerates.”

It was a repulsive concept, but through their perspective, this horrific Second Black-White Slums appeared remarkably lucrative.

Consider the reality.

Every famished youth on the cobblestones was living currency.

“That youngster is a gold piece, that one is worth ten silver pieces, and that one possesses enough beauty—sell them to some aristocrat with perverted inclinations, and reap ten gold pieces.”

“…”

“Yet they were all on the brink of starvation. What does that signify? Gold pieces, ten silver pieces, ten gold pieces… avalanches of wealth descending upon you if you merely proffer a stale crust of bread. Far simpler than trapping vermin. Children are not as nimble as rodents, and they understand language, so baiting them was child’s play.”

“…Is that how your sibling was taken?”

“No. One does not gulp down brine merely because they are parched.”

“You have gazed upon the open ocean?”

“…”

For a split second, Timur’s gaze turned icy cold.

Aster cleared his throat uncomfortably and shifted his vision elsewhere.

“At any rate, what happened next?”

“…You possess immense power, which is a blessing. Regardless, we persevered. However… one can forage enough sustenance for a single soul, but not for two.”

“…”

In all likelihood.

Being a duo was a benefit only when conditions were milder in the Second Black-White Slums; when rations vanished, extra bellies became a fatal encumbrance.

“My sibling lacked my survival instincts. He possessed greater physical strength, certainly—until the starvation took hold. Eventually, I was forced to hunt for food entirely on my own.”

The conclusion of the tale required no explanation.

“Common foliage roots proved to be his undoing. I managed to survive with nothing more than cramps and illness—my stomach was hardened for it—but he lacked that resilience. Reflecting on it now, it was a minor ailment. A few draughts of purified water, a handful of hearty meals, and he would have triumphed over it. But… we possessed nothing of the sort.”

“…”

“My brother withered away with every setting sun. I ransacked every corner to rescue him, but to no avail. It was far too late to flee the Second Black-White Slums. He lacked the vitality to survive the trek. So ultimately… I drank the brine.”

For the sake of his sibling’s survival, he resolved to surrender his freedom to a syndicate.

“An admirable… fraternal devotion.”

“Kin is kin.”

Timur offered a ghostly grin, though it lacked any genuine warmth. His eyes were entirely dried out from an excess of weeping.

“But the stubborn fool refused to cling to life.”

“…”

A freezing stillness descended upon the briefing chamber.

Aster hunted for words of consolation, but quickly recognized that none would suffice.

Fresh injuries could be mitigated with comforting remarks, but his brother’s demise was no longer a fresh injury for Timur.

It had corrupted past the point of recovery, decaying until it tore away from his spirit entirely. The emptiness birthed by his sibling’s absence remained a profound void within Timur’s inner being.

What could hope to satisfy such a vacancy?

“That was the exact moment the thought struck me.”

“What thought?”

“…Of a spectacle identical to the one you orchestrated this afternoon.”

“…”

“One day, when the opportunity arose. Summoning every single cartel in the Second Black-White Slums and delivering the very ultimatum you gave. I survived by clinging tightly to that aspiration. But…”

Timur smirked dejectedly.

“It is far from simple.”

“…”

“More dependents mean greater hesitation. Greater hesitation means you cannot speak your mind carelessly. …Mere justifications, most likely.”

“No, I comprehend.”

That was the true burden of authority.

A mantle carrying obligations just as massive as—or greater than—its privileges.

One could not steer a course based solely on personal ethics; those ethics had to synchronize with the collective survival.

And a syndicate was far too savage and corrupt a collective to manifest Timur’s noble concepts.

As Aster observed Timur, the man let out a weary “haha.”

“Oh, do not misinterpret me. I am no saint. My palms are thoroughly stained with blood, saturated in filth. Just as you proclaimed… nothing more than a parasite draining the life from orphans and citizens. However…”

“However?”

“No, pay it no mind.”

Timur laughed self-consciously and pivoted the conversation, yet Aster perceived precisely what the man desired to articulate.

A existence dragged through the mud, yet shielding a single flawless, uncorrupted principle within.

But he could not voice it aloud… because he was fully aware.

Devoid of those aspirations, he was merely a criminal burdened by a mountain of atrocities.

“Regardless.”

“…?”

Timur’s gaze locked onto Aster.

Upon his vision hovered the indistinct visage warped by the perception-masking sorcery.

Staring directly into that illusion, Timur exposed his authentic sentiments.

“My gratitude.”

“…”

“Are you aware? Even establishing the sanctuary for the young faced fierce resistance. So I essentially utilized your reputations. Heh, the ultimate leverage. I informed them that if they did not cooperate despite their scowls, you would arrive to lay waste to their domains… It is amusing how rapidly the defiance melted away.”

“I… understand.”

“Therefore, thank you. For forcing me across the threshold.”

“…”

Aster maintained his silence.

Yet he finally comprehended the underlying message the Godfather had conveyed earlier.

In other words, Aster himself… or rather, the terrifying myth of the “Knight” served as a protective shield granting Timur the freedom to manifest his ideals.

And it illuminated why the Godfather had designated Timur as the rightful successor.

Was that the reason?

Aster achieved a profound comprehension of his destiny in this grand design… no, within the entire Second Black-White Slums.

What was it?

‘…The repository for all sin.’

To internalize every form of corruption, thereby permitting individuals like Timur to forge their grand designs.

On occasion governing via absolute terror, on other occasions drenching his palms in gore, pulling every projectile of malice and resentment directly into his own chest.

It appeared a brutal fate upon initial inspection…

“Not terrible.”

“…What was that?”

“No, it is nothing.”

Aster solidified his conviction.

The villain above all villains.

That was the mantle he would assume.

Precisely as their dialogue drew to a close.

“…Knight.”

Evelyn, who had received the tidings late, swung open the briefing chamber door. At her flank stood the sorcerer… which is to say, Shane.

She had been delayed ensuring Shane accompanied her as a bodyguard.

“I recognize you possess numerous inquiries, but receive the comprehensive briefing from Timur.”

“Wait, what? Knight, your manner of speaking…”

“Timur requested an end to the performance.”

“It makes me feel as though you are playing a game with me, and it sours my disposition. At the very least when we are sequestered, if you please.”

Evelyn stammered, entirely failing to interpret the environment with her confused sounds, but Aster stepped past her and exited the briefing chamber.

“H-Hold on, where do you think you are going?!”

“I have tasks to attend to.”

He had resolved to embody the villain of villains.

Now, it was time to strike.