He had seen what he wanted to see. After confirming that this transaction wouldn’t implicate him too deeply, Victor sought to escape the stench of the room before it overwheld him completely.
Once they were outside, the details—paynt included—could be finalized.
But just as he took a step toward the door, the man blocked off his path.
Victor stopped. His eyes narrowed. His voice dropped low, deep and authoritative.
"What exactly are you doing?"
The man flinched slightly.
"Oh, er, sorry boss—sir, I an."
He cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Aren’t you going to check the condition of the products? You’re just going to trust like that?"
He gave a dry chuckle.
"Let tell you now—I’m not trustworthy at all. Most people call a rat. I might’ve mixed in a few of the sick ones, you know? Seems reckless not to check, in my opinion at least."
Victor’s voice ca cool and flat.
"There’s no need to worry about that."
The man blinked.
"Seriously? But what about—"
"Move."
Victor bellowed.
Sothing felt off.
A brief flicker of hesitation crossed the man’s face, but he finally stepped aside, grumbling under his breath.
Victor hurried past him, re-entering the room. Nothing looked out of place. Three people still sat at the table, casually playing cards. The sa as before.
Then sothing clicked.
What about the girl who had been sitting in the corner earlier?
He turned sharply, suspicion rising—but there she was. Now seated at the table, cards in hand, as if she’d been there all along.
He let out a low, skeptical hum, then turned back to the man who had guided him inside.
"So. What’s the final cost?"
The man cleared his throat.
"Well, you know what they say—you can’t put a price on life. But in this case, I’ll offer you a discount, seeing as you’re a distinguished gentleman."
He gestured vaguely toward the boys.
"Among them, one is semi-literate, which has to count for sothing. We’ve also checked—they don’t have any of the nasty stuff that can get transmi—"
"Stop wasting my ti."
Victor cut in coldly, impatience thick in his voice. He didn’t want to spend another mont longer in this stifling, reeking interior.
The man rubbed his hands together, lips curling into a shrewd smile. After a mont of half-hearted calculations, he finally spoke.
"One gold coin. I feel like that price is very reasonable, do—"
Victor was already fishing into his coat. He pulled out a gleaming gold coin and flicked it across the air. The man’s words died in his throat as his eyes locked on the shimr.
He scrambled to catch it, barely managing to snatch it before it hit the floor.
He held the coin in his palm like it was divine. Eyes bulging, mouth agape.
He had actually paid it.
The three others—two n and the tattooed woman—stared in similar disbelief. Their expressions mirrored the man’s.
Victor’s gaze swept across them with pure displeasure.
"Stop wasting my ti."
The command jolted them from their daze.
"R-right away, sir! I’ll have them ready to move imdiately!"
Victor asked,
"Do you have a wagon?"
"Of course!"
The man’s enthusiasm was a little too quick.
Victor’s expression didn’t shift an inch. He asked again, tone sharp,
"How much to rent it?"
"It’s free!"
The man paused mid-bow, realizing how unsightly he looked. He straightened, cleared his throat, and anded,
"I an—it’s complentary. On the house."
"Then hurry with it,"
Victor muttered, already turning toward the door.
The slums weren’t exactly fresh air, but they were leagues better than this cramped, sweaty interior. His boots creaked on the rotting wood floor as he opened the warped door and stepped outside.
He exhaled, silently cursing Selaphiel again.
But the mont his boots touched earth, a violent impact slamd into the back of his head. The world lurched sideways.
In the few seconds before unconsciousness claid him, Victor’s mind raced faster than ever.
’Weren’t there three n inside?’
’Goddammit.’
His body crumpled to the dirt with a dull thud.
From the shadowed corners of the alley, figures erged, lting out of the gloom.
They moved toward the house, converging around the assailant still holding the heavy piece of wood.
"Well that was easy,"
Soone muttered.
"He went down like a sack of wheat. Here I was thinking we’d have to step in."
The door creaked open again. The house’s forr occupants stepped outside—now carrying very different expressions.
The skinny man, the one who had attended to Victor earlier, had a new look in his eyes. Cold and sharp.
He barked,
"Get him inside. Fast. We need to be done before this place starts crawling with authorities."
The tattooed woman pursed her lips.
"What about the kids? They’ve seen him."
"Then we get rid of them,"
The man replied flatly, no hesitation in his voice.
No protest followed.
They got to work. Victor’s unconscious body was lifted and dragged back inside. The door slamd behind them.
And just like that, the slums regained their quiet.
...
The sll of alcohol filled Lugh’s nostrils as he ducked low, pulling another bottle from beneath the shelf. He spun and slamd it into his assailant’s head, knocking the man out instantly.
Whether it was the broken tables, the blood on his shirt, or the chaotic ss of bodies mid-brawl, everything scread pure, unfiltered chaos.
Sela and Mirelle—who could easily be nad the ringleaders—moved like hurricanes. Controlled madness. Elegant brutality.
Mirelle, delicate and feminine in appearance, refused to bruise her hands. Dodging a few wild swipes, she grabbed a bar stool, swung it overhead, and cracked it against the face of a bald, tattooed man.
She didn’t miss a beat—managing sohow to avoid staining her clothes with blood.
A marvelous feat, considering the fact that she was, at that mont, completely wasted.
Sela, by contrast, was locked in hand-to-hand combat. No weapons. No finesse. Just raw, drunken aggression. Her intoxication only sharpened her movents, making them unpredictable and feral.
As for who their attackers were?
Even they didn’t seem to know.
Lugh highly suspected no one else in the bar did either. People simply punched, kicked, shoved, and bit anyone within arm’s reach.
Two attractive, sharply dressed won out drinking this late? Of course it would stir trouble.
The whole thing had begun when—
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