Royal Capital.
South District.
Since the Royal Capital was established, the South District has always been an area populated by new immigrants, natives, and various lower-class communities.
Countless dark deeds have been sown here, taking root and eventually blossoming into grand flowers.
Flowers of evil.
Initially, the South District was firmly in the hands of the new immigrants, marking the peak era of the Royal Capital Mafia.
The n donned newsboy caps, hiding razors in their brims, coming and going like the wind, taking the lives of their enemies in the pitch black nights.
They were like the most resilient wild grass, eventually breaking through the oppressiveness of the land.
In the South District, no one dared to defy their orders; even the noble ones in the Central District would shiver at the ntion of their na.
They built lofty sanctuaries, prosperous families, donned lavish suits, and in those days of the Royal Capital, they danced a bloody yet magnificent dance.
And now, it’s all blown away with the wind.
Those once-great surnas are now just empty and gaudy attire with towering hats; no one hides a razor in the brim anymore, nor has the courage to slit throats in the dead of night.
The Royal Capital Mafia of today is but a joke on the lips of others.
Take this mont, for example.
The Sewer Dog Tavern.
Rough n were laughing wildly, drinking heartily.
Then soone, who knows who, started loudly talking about the Mafia.
"Hey, I ssed with a girl last night, man, it was aweso!"
"What was aweso about it?"
"Guess whose girl that was?"
"Whose girl?"
"Golden Tooth Henry’s!"
"Haha! Lucky you, kid!"
Hearing the na Golden Tooth Henry, the atmosphere instantly beca more jovial.
Because Golden Tooth Henry is the eldest son of the head of the Mafia Clan, the Bartley Clan, which has been under fierce attack these last few days.
The Bartley Clan was once as renowned as the Martinos Clan, even controlling the Sanctuary at one point.
Yet now, this kind of family has been wiped out by a group of new immigrants who only recently landed.
The head’s eldest son, to save his life, had to offer his woman.
However, it was all to no avail.
He lost his woman, lost his wealth, lost his family’s honor, his father’s life, and even his own.
The Bartley Clan was essentially declared extinct a couple of days ago.
Except for so peripheral mbers, the core of the family is wiped out, and their business swallowed completely.
This is just part of the Royal Capital Mafia’s extinction picture; at the sa ti, in other taverns, other new immigrants are using other families as capital for boasting.
This is the end of the Mafia.
The tavern’s atmosphere reached its peak amidst waves of wanton ridicule and boasting.
At this mont, the tavern’s lights suddenly went out.
The people in the tavern didn’t react at first, and soone loudly asked what had happened.
The next mont, gunfire erupted.
Intense as muffled thunder through the darkness.
Imdiately, cries of agony rang out.
This was followed by a series of chairs and tables crashing, curses.
And the gunfire never stopped.
Everything seed about to end in this completely saturated firepower.
Just then, a deep and powerful shout rang out: "Praise the sun, grant light, grant fire!"
The next mont.
A small sun rose in the dim tavern, illuminating everything shrouded in gunpowder smoke.
Indeed, many died in the sudden barrage, unable to even react.
But there were also several who found cover and survived.
So stood unscathed, observing the entire battlefield calmly from a safe place.
As the sun rose, it was like a signal, the counterattack began.
The sun not only dispelled the darkness, but the light it emitted also blocked bullets.
"Those cowards are outside, charge out, kill them all!"
With shouts, the survivors began to sprint.
Their movents were incredibly agile, and the remaining bullets couldn’t lock onto them at all; they charged through like beasts through the forest.
The sun gradually moved from the tavern to the darkness outside, leaving the gunners nowhere to hide.
They tried to rely on strong firepower to repel their enemies, but the enemies had weapons stronger than firearms.
That was their bodies, with power hidden within.
They quickly relied on the power of true nas, slaughtering their way to the gunners’ fronts, then like the ancestors of these gunners, coming and going with the wind, slitting their enemies’ throats.
Watching these young faces, dying in terror, the equally young new immigrants began a loud shriek, like a pack of wolves howling in unison.
Soone seized a gun, shouting excitedly: "It’s actually a Wenster typewriter! No wonder the power is so strong! Haha, these old guys really went all out."
The gunners retreated in defeat.
Soone couldn’t bear the fear anymore and began to flee.
Yet so still persisted: "Soone go tell the boss, The Sewer Dog has failed."
This was the team led by Vasini.
Tonight he divided his forces into three groups, intending to launch a desperate attack while the old-world immigrant gangs were relaxed in celebration.
For this, he bet his entire fortune, the family guard he painstakingly gathered over the past three years.
He also spent a fortune, buying a large batch of Wenster typewriters through special channels.
However...
The battle had just begun, and it seed it was already over.
Not just The Sewer Dog Tavern suffered heavy losses.
The team led by Vasini was intercepted too.
He even sensed a whiff of conspiracy, as the other side clearly had precautions.
"Vasini, you’re too naive. You really think you alone can turn the tide? Why do you think no one else is willing to join this action?"
A mocking voice echoed from the darkness.
Vasini held his breath; the fact that the family alliance was unwilling to join this action was one thing, but to say soone betrayed him...
Impossible.
The families have been allied for many years, bound by many things; if one prospers, all prosper; if one suffers, all suffer.
Or perhaps...
Vasini recalled what his father often told him when he was alive: Trust no one, except your family.
"Vasini, your era is over."
The voice in the darkness drew nearer.
He knew it was a top expert among the old-world immigrants; they had crossed paths once.
It was also this person who led most of the actions against the Royal Capital Mafia.
Finally, is it ti to settle this?
Vasini took a deep breath, tightened his grip on his gun, and silently began to pray in his heart.
"Still praying? Your god can’t save you! Die in this darkness!"
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