Chapter 218
Chapter 218
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>Translator: Ryuma
>Chapter: 218
>Chapter Title: Who... Do You Take Us For, Thugs?
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The cartel Svetlana ruled the black market of the Second Black-White Slums.
Boss Timur sat alone in a darkened room, lost in thought.
His right hand rested on the table, elbow propped up, a thick cigar smoldering between his thumb and forefinger.
Acrid smoke wafted through the room. A sliver of noon sunlight slipped through the blackout curtains. The glowing red tip of the cigar.
In his mind, the meeting from a few days ago with the Godfather who ruled the Second Black-White Slums replayed endlessly.
- Timur, hard times are coming.
- The winds outside are unsettled. Lortel is mustering troops, and Decullan is on the move. It's not hard to see that the two great houses will clash soon.
It was rare for the word "hard" to come from the Godfather's mouth. It was rare for him to even mention the outside world's currents.
But the rarest part of that conversation was something else.
- Time passes, and eras change. The bastards who flowed into the Black-White Slums become vagrants, turn into thugs, form gangs in their prime, and before you know it, they're silver-haired old men.
The Godfather, who never looked back, was speaking of the past. And beyond that... his mouth discussed the future.
- But what will that boy leave behind?
What do the dead leave behind?
- Commoners leave their children, heroes leave their names. Nobles remain in their family histories, great houses leave their pride.
But.
- What can we leave?
It was a question Timur had never considered, so he couldn't answer.
No, his mind was racing, in fact.
What was the Godfather's intent in bringing this up? How should he respond here?
He knew that when these Zen-like riddles came up, the meeting rarely ended well.
...But it was a misunderstanding.
While Timur was thinking of his own neck, the Godfather was speaking of something greater.
So, what was it?
- The Second Black-White Slums.
Just as commoners leave bloodlines, heroes leave names, nobles and great houses leave their legacies.
- I want to leave the Second Black-White Slums.
It was incomprehensible.
The Second Black-White Slums were eternal.
As long as the empire's wealth gap persisted, vagrants would keep flowing in, and as long as corrupt officials remained, the sun would never shine.
Yet, to leave the Second Black-White Slums?
But before Timur could grasp the meaning, the Godfather got to the point.
And that point was exactly why Timur was agonizing now.
- Hormei has returned.
Nothing new there.
Hormei had once been the head of a cartel eyeing the Godfather's power, but after engaging in human trafficking and drug trade—both forbidden by the Godfather—his forces were torn apart, forcing him to flee the Second Black-White Slums.
For him to return was as natural as a salmon swimming back upstream.
Whether for revenge or to build a foothold for a comeback.
But this time, it felt a bit different.
- He demanded I choose: join him or step down.
- ...!
Timur couldn't regain his composure at the bold declaration of war. But one thing puzzled him.
- You... let him go?
- He brought some force with him. I couldn't touch him easily.
- Hm.
He had backers.
They must have been heavyweights the Godfather couldn't handle. If not, Hormei would've been ripped apart and fed to the dogs before his name was even mentioned.
As Timur thought that far, the Godfather's voice came right then.
- There's one thing I want from you.
- What...
- Succeed me.
- ...!
- I don't know what force that blood clot has backing him, but hold him off. Do that, and the seat is yours.
Hand over the Godfather's seat?
It was a shocking proclamation.
Almost enough to make one question how it connected to the earlier talk of leaving the "Second Black-White Slums" and passing the "Godfather" position to him.
But at the same time, alarm bells rang in his head.
'...Why me?'
Timur respected the Godfather.
The Second Black-White Slums were still a sewer, but it was the Godfather who kept it from total collapse.
Could you imagine?
Drunks lay unconscious in alleys now, but in Timur's childhood, starved vagrant kids' corpses littered every corner.
But for all Timur's respect, the Godfather didn't hold him in special regard.
To the Godfather, Timur was just one of many cartel bosses.
Sure, controlling the black market made him stand out more than others...
"Hoo."
Timur took a deep drag from the cigar and sighed.
Acrid smoke billowed and spread everywhere.
'Troublesome.'
Without knowing the Godfather's intentions, he couldn't act rashly. But sitting idle...
'...Hormei's the problem in the end.'
If Hormei aimed to rule the Second Black-White Slums, he'd target the black market first.
Wars against the Godfather needed funds.
"In the end... no way around it."
Realizing his position, Timur understood he had to move.
To protect his turf, and...
- Bro, I'm hun... grr.
To ensure the dark ages that once engulfed the Second Black-White Slums never returned.
He still didn't understand the Godfather's words about "leaving the Second Black-White Slums," but Timur harbored a similar wish.
'The Black-White Slums must remain the Black-White Slums.'
It could never shine pure white, but it mustn't turn pitch black either.
Timur didn't need to do anything grand. He had no grand sense of mission or conviction.
Just...
Better his moderately soiled black than the pitch black of human trafficking, drugs, and unspeakable horrors.
Anyway, decision made—it was time to act.
"Collin—"
Timur opened his mouth to call his right-hand man—or tried to.
Bang!
"B-Boss! You have to get away!"
"...?"
Timur narrowed his eyes at Collin bursting through the door.
But instead of rebuking the rudeness, he asked why.
"Get away? What do you..."
Collin kept glancing back and, before Timur finished, drew his sword from his waist.
Clang!
A sharp metallic ring echoed through the space.
With a grim expression Collin had never shown, he took stance and smiled at Timur.
"Boss, I'll hold them here. Escape through the window—the boys are waiting."
"No..."
"It was an honor serving you."
Collin bid farewell with a resolute face, ready for death.
Right then, a voice came.
"No, seriously."
A bizarre voice, gender and age indeterminate.
"Who said we came to fight? Huh? We just want to see the boss? Why make us out to be killers?"
Timur's already narrowed eyes narrowed further.
"Hormei's men?"
"Hormei? Who's that?"
"..."
Timur fixed a sharp gaze on the intruder.
"Boss, he's no ordinary guy. Hurry...!"
"Enough."
Timur stopped the frantic Collin and rose from the table, stepping forward.
He didn't know who they were. But breaking into the hideout alone meant they were beyond handling now.
"You wanted to see me... Have a seat."
Timur offered seats to the uninvited guests.
* * *
Tick, tick, tick, tick.
The clock's second hand echoed in the hazy room, smoke still lingering.
Timur sat on a black leather sofa, eyes fixed ahead.
Two visitors—no, intruders.
One was...
A swordsman standing in a posture far from courteous.
The other intruder sat on the sofa.
'...Lord and retainer?'
Probably.
Otherwise, a swordsman of that caliber wouldn't refuse a seat at the table.
Right then, a voice came to his ear.
"Done observing?"
"...Hm. Mind if I smoke?"
"Go ahead."
"Then..."
Timur pulled not a cigar but a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. Acrid smoke soon filled the room.
His mouth opened shortly after.
"Where are you from?"
"First, let me thank you. Despite our rude entrance, you've kindly made time—I'm at a loss."
"Hm."
A polite refusal to answer. Timur let out a grunt.
"So, no names either."
"Call me 'Master' or 'Duke.' The one behind me is 'Knight.'"
"...Hm, never heard of them."
Abstract titles.
The most distinctive was 'Duke,' meaning 'duke'...
'...Not nobility.'
'Knight' was the same.
As Timur pondered their identities, Master spoke soon after.
"But does who we are matter? I'd ask 'why' we came first."
Timur, who had stayed composed throughout, suddenly burst out laughing. "Pfft."
A short burst that soon filled the room with his laughter.
Like hearing a ridiculous tale, he laughed long, wiped his eyes, and spoke.
"Listen. I welcomed you as guests not because I truly see you as such. I went along because I know you'll take what you want no matter what. And now? Hahaha."
"..."
"Generous? Or pretending to be? Either way, pointless theater. Duke, you have one thing to do."
Timur inhaled deeply from the cigarette, exhaled smoke, and grinned.
"State your business."
"..."
"Ah, then two options after. If we can give it, take it and leave quietly. If not..."
Timur stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray, leaned back fully on the sofa, and tilted his chin up.
"...all you can take is my head. Grab it and go—if you need it."
As his words ended, a chilling silence settled.
Collin behind him trembled, face stiff.
Meanwhile, Aster thought.
'Who... do you take us for, thugs?'
What? Take what you can, or our heads?
We climbed up without killing the rushers, and now treated like murderers.
Utterly wronged.
But.
Evelyn's thoughts differed slightly.
"This is really..."
Her voice oddly hyped.
"Cooperative, huh?"
Chilling silence fell again.
Undeterred, Evelyn beamed genuinely and continued.
"I have a business project in mind. With that attitude, we could be great partners. What do you say?"
Perhaps the unexpected response.
Timur furrowed his brow.
"What do you..."
"What else? You're partnering with me on a project from now on. Oh! It'll be great for the black market too. How about... hearing it out?"
Timur's eyes twitched at the unprecedented situation.
Bursting in, seizing a cartel boss, yet instead of taking turf... a business project?
Dire straits, but the thought unavoidable.
'This guy's... solidly crazy.'
But what to do.
As he said, Timur had no choice.
...Thus, Aster and Evelyn's first "Second Black-White Slums" outing ended successfully.