Chapter 247

Chapter 247 – Checkmate

The leaders, firmly grasping their financial ledgers, started entering the meeting chamber sequentially.

They represented a diverse mix.

A few had submissively brought along duplicate accounts detailing the resources they had covertly embezzled from their subordinates, while others carried only the superficial, official books.

There were also those who, believing it unjust to endure this scrutiny in isolation, had thoroughly pillaged the record books of every minor syndicate operating within their domains.

By the hour the final attendees arrived, the first light of morning was breaking.

The Godfather Timur knit his brows slightly as he scanned the assembled group.

“Is this everyone?”

“……”

Rather than offering a verbal reply, the leaders cast wary glances at one another.

The chamber that had been overflowing a short while ago now contained scarcely ten individuals.

Virtually half of them had fled.

What drove them to run?

The explanation was entirely transparent without needing to ask.

A basic avarice regarding their personal fortunes?

No, that was out of the question.

It was undoubtedly the secrets contained within those documents that could never be exposed to scrutiny.

And what did those secrets entail?

Narcotics, human trafficking, targeted assassinations… and all the other forbidden operations that the Godfather had strictly prohibited.

“It seems quite evident that my era has drawn to a close.”

“G-Godfather!”

The syndicate leaders erupted into panicked cries at that abrupt proclamation, yet Timur’s countenance remained entirely unyielding.

He grasped the reality perfectly.

The individuals who had reported to the meeting chamber were the veteran leaders, all middle-aged or older.

Conversely, those who failed to appear were the younger, rising figures.

What did this signify?

A transition of generations.

A fresh current was surging through the Second Black-White Slums.

With that realization taking root, Timur’s focus naturally shifted toward his designated successor.

In contrast to himself—a fading old man whose internal spark had died out amid physical decline—here stood an individual in his absolute prime, just beginning to stoke his own inner fire.

The Second Black-White Slums that this man would construct would unquestionably differ from the era Timur had overseen.

He possessed the capability to erect his ideal vision upon the structural groundwork Timur had established.

“Regardless, it matters not. We cannot alter the actions of those who absent themselves. We shall carry on with the present company. Ah, indeed—prior to that, there is someone I wish to present.”

Timur collected his thoughts and focused their attention.

Evelyn… Duke stepped forward at that precise instant.

“Greetings. A few of you might possess knowledge of me, while others may not, but I go by Duke. Does that strike a chord if I mention that I managed the recent Black-White Slums auction?”

“Hmm…!”

“That is him!”

The leaders drew sharp breaths upon hearing the moniker ‘Duke.’

Even those who were unfamiliar with the designation suddenly became attentive at the mention of the auction coordinator.

Their countenances flashed with curiosity, yet not a single soul stepped forward to initiate a conversation with him.

They understood the situation completely.

Duke and Knight.

That designation alone conveyed to them that he was Knight’s master.

“Furthermore, this individual is Mage. He will be providing assistance to me while Knight is away.”

“Cease wasting precious time.”

With the introduction of Shine concluded…

Evelyn offered a subtle smile at the piles of account books stacked within the chamber.

“Until this current nutritional emergency concludes, I will be supervising the capital of the Second Black-White Slums. Are there any complaints…?”

As if anyone would dare.

These were individuals who had already witnessed Knight’s capabilities, even if indirectly. And now a fresh presence designated as Mage had surfaced. Who would risk voicing a protest?

Consequently.

“To begin, Svetlana. Present your record book.”

The currents of transformation that Aster had set in motion rippled across the entirety of the Second Black-White Slums.

No soul comprehended it then.

That the occurrences of this specific day would serve as the primary catalyst toward pulling the Second Black-White Slums out of the darkness in the days to come.

Save for a select few.

“……”

“……”

Only the aging Godfather and his chosen successor faintly envisioned that future day.

…Yet where illumination exists, darkness inevitably follows.

“H-H-How did you manage to g-get here…!”

The youthful syndicate leader, frantically gathering his merchandise to escape the Black-White Slums, trembled violently at the sight of Knight blocking his path.

A financial ledger was currently gripped in Knight’s hands.

“…Let us observe. Human trafficking, narcotics production. And the contents of this transport… narcotics?”

“M-A mistake. That is…”

The youthful leader attempted frantically to clarify, but his sentence was never completed.

A swung blade severed his throat.

Slash—

“…Guh, gurok.”

A final, strangled sound emerged, and the head severed completely.

Splat.

Knight, advancing forward absentmindedly, halted as crimson fluid drenched the base of his footwear.

In the early morning light, the crimson fluid on his shoes appeared remarkably distinct.

Peering at the blade within his grasp, it flowed with gore, his garments completely drenched in crimson and heavily weighed down.

An unusual sensation stirred within him at the sight…

Splat.

Knight brushed the feeling away and continued his stride.

The dawn hours were far too brief to squander on introspection.

There were simply too many hounds to deal with.

The consequences of the conflict between Lortel and the Decullan Family reverberated across the Empire.

Provisional costs, which had been climbing by degrees, spiked dramatically, pulling daily commodities and alternative essentials along with them.

Those possessing resources could economize and survive, but the less privileged depended heavily on the Empire’s charity initiatives to manage.

Charity initiatives, they termed it—though it truly signified accumulating obligations to the Empire.

A misfortune stemming from costs climbing far more rapidly and sharply than predicted, owing to traders inflating them as though they had been anticipating the conflict all along.

Concurrently.

The Second Black-White Slums’ displaced souls and destitute residents were experiencing unparalleled abundance.

“I-Is this truly… without cost?”

“It is.”

“N-No conditions attached, like an obligation or…?”

“Silence! Truly. Why, do you desire that I record it as an obligation? Another utterance from you, fellow, and I will not merely obligate you—I will ensure you never witness the light of day again. Collect your nourishment and depart, understood?!”

The coordinator, exhausted by the destitute man’s persistent inquiries, shouted and cast a stern glare.

Under normal circumstances, the destitute man would have recoiled and fled from such behavior, but instead, he offered multiple deep bows with eyes overflowing with appreciation.

“Th-Thank you. Thank you!”

“Ugh, standard trouble. Why shed tears like a child? Ah, regardless—take your leave now!”

He muttered awkwardly, yet the destitute man grasped the coordinator’s utensil-bearing hand and persisted in bowing.

“B-But I have children at my residence…”

“Aw, damn! You ought to have stated that sooner! Fetch them! Portions cannot be distributed without the children present!”

“Th-Then I shall return immediately!”

Such entertaining occurrences were taking place throughout the Second Black-White Slums.

Conversely, the destitute and displaced could not help but experience skepticism.

“What is the matter with those corrupt scoundrels all of a sudden?”

“Did they consume something toxic?”

“Listen, we are not complaining… but it feels unnatural.”

Syndicates had always extorted from them in the past, but had never provided.

That was the precise reason the Godfather commanded the devotion of the slums’ inhabitants.

But at present?

Even the notoriously cruel syndicates were putting on protective clothing to distribute sustenance.

“Did the Godfather mandate this?”

“Be rational, even he lacked the power to control all those savage hounds!”

“Nonsense regarding the Godfather. That elderly man is merely distributing the capital he extracted from us under the guise of ‘charity.'”

Amid the conjecture surrounding the syndicates’ unusual conduct, a piece of information infiltrated the destitute community.

“Ahem. Word indicates that this is entirely owing to Svetlana’s Boss Timur.”

“Boss Timur?”

“You are aware of him, the individual who operates that hidden bazaar. But why would he…?”

“Who can say… Regardless, that is the rumor.”

The suspiciously muscular individual who had inserted himself among the destitute finished his statement and slipped away quietly.

The rumor circulated concurrently through the entirety of the Second Black-White Slums, as though it had been intentionally distributed.

The individual in question, Timur, appeared deeply troubled.

Svetlana’s sanctuary.

“Are you certain… this is acceptable?”

“What?”

In response to Timur’s inquiry, Aster flung a question back at him.

“You are entirely comfortable attributing all the acknowledgement to me?”

“Pfft, what? Concerned the remaining syndicates will grow resentful?”

“No, that is not the issue. The reality is, the appreciation ought to be directed at you and Duke, rather than myself…”

“Ah, remain silent. I am concentrating.”

Timur silently observed Aster, who had interrupted him and was staring fixedly at the strategic board on the surface.

‘He truly… possesses no comprehension.’

He was utterly terrible at the game.

Duke had detailed the identical regulations, they commenced in the exact same manner, yet he dropped every single one of the ten matches.

…No, that was not the point.

‘Ahem. Am I becoming influenced as well?’

Timur believed he could not maintain a serious demeanor around this individual, then persisted with his initial line of reasoning.

The day he had assembled the leaders and examined their account books.

Following the exhausting session, as Timur proceeded toward his residence, a blood-spattered Knight materialized.

And declared straightforwardly:

• Permit me to utilize your identity.

• My… identity?

• Direct your associates to propagate the word. Not myself, Duke, or the Godfather—but that you spearheaded the initiative.

Confused by the bewildering demand, a realization flashed.

‘Or is he avoiding animosity… No, that is highly doubtful.’

He had already unmasked himself in front of the syndicate leaders. Why utilize his identity at this juncture?

It lacked logic, considering the circumstances or Knight’s individual capability.

So what did it signify?

‘…All the acknowledgement directed to me.’

Knight was elevating him through sheer influence.

But that factor alone would not have perplexed him.

Knight had previously stated he originated from the Black-White Slums as well, but within the Second, he remained an outsider. Advancing a resident like Timur was logical.

However.

The accounts that surfaced shortly after intensified Timur’s misgivings.

• Kolknir… had his head removed.

• Sobera as well.

• …During the previous night, more than one or two perished.

The missing leaders discovered as lifeless forms.

Every soul recognized the perpetrator.

Knight.

He had made no effort to conceal it. Word indicated he had marched blood-drenched through the early morning paths.

And the result?

Those who associated with the departed leaders nurtured animosity toward Knight. The remainder held him in absolute terror.

To what degree?

“Boss, I must report a matter swiftly… Uh, I shall return at a later time.”

“…Very well.”

Even Collin, who was typically cordial with Knight, was avoiding his presence currently.

Timur could not comprehend the motivation.

‘Why…’

Why pursue this specific course?

Attracting animosity, transforming into an object of dread.

Ultimately, unable to restrain himself, Timur inquired.

“Why?”

“What is it now?”

“Not a soul within the Second Black-White Slums fails to dread you at present. Was there truly a necessity to select that… “

Timur hesitated, searching for appropriate phrasing.

Experiencing discomfort, he voiced his precise reflection.

“That… isolated course?”

If the Aster Timur perceived was a bloodthirsty executioner or an unfeeling monster, he would not have inquired.

But the Aster he recognized was simply a human being.

An eccentric, disrespectful, erratic madman—but a human being possessing sentiments.

So for what reason?

“Scarcely…”

Aster dissolved into a chuckle.

He repositioned a piece, then spoke.

“Aristocratic houses invariably delegate such matters to their hidden operatives.”

“But an individual of your standing surely commands subordinates for such unpleasant tasks?”

“Well… indeed, presumably.”

The apprentices he had escorted on this occasion possessed capability, sufficient for the Second Black-White Slums despite their lack of experience.

In addition to the former agents like No. 17, stationed with Riheim senior.

However.

“I extracted them from the gutters with great exertion. I can hardly just thrust them back down, correct?”

“……?”

Timur tilted his head in confusion.

But Aster merely smirked.

“Comprehend it or do not. Let us persist with the match.”

Aster redirected his attention to the board.

Timur’s gaze twitched subtly at the sight.

“In all seriousness…”

“What, are you unable to contain your admiration for my grand generosity?”

“What nonsense.”

Timur shifted a piece and spoke.

“Checkmate.”

“……”

Timur reflected inwardly.

“You are absolutely dreadful at this game. Incompetent.”

“……What did you say?”

“Ahem. I intended that strictly as an internal thought.”

An uncomfortable quietness enveloped the space between them.