Chapter 475: Old Ghost
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 475: Old Ghost
"Damn it! This is the 'good stuff' you were talking about? This crap?!"
The Rat King’s expression shifted drastically. He bolted upright, his sudden movement knocking the small box off the table with a sharp blow from his palm.
The exquisite wooden box clattered to the floor, spilling a small bag of colorful powder. Instantly, a faint, exotic fragrance began to drift through the air.
The Rat King immediately held his breath. He lunged for the cabin’s porthole and shoved it open, forcibly venting the scent that made his brain feel heavy with a drunken, floating sense of euphoria.
"Crap?"
Gentleman Gro didn't bother to pick up the box. He didn't seem surprised by the Rat King’s reaction; he merely squinted his already tiny eyes and chuckled.
"I’m not sure I follow, Your Excellency. Wasn't this once the hottest-selling commodity in Belland’s Lower District?"
"This is a forbidden drug! It’s only 'hot-selling' in the past tense!"
The Rat King hissed through gritted teeth, "This stuff has been completely banned!"
"How strange. Isn't your smuggling of magic materials also banned? Or have I mistaken the situation? Is the mighty Rat King, who carved out such a massive territory in the Lower District, actually a law-abiding citizen now?"
Gentleman Gro suddenly leaned in, lowering his voice. "Don't forget, the profit margins on this are far higher than the magic materials you work so hard to move. With this, the income from your casinos and brothels alone would triple overnight!"
"..."
At the mention of "profit," a strange glint flickered in the Rat King’s eyes.
Though he acted as if the substance were a venomous snake, he couldn't argue with the numbers. Aside from the channels controlled by the high nobility, there were few businesses in the world more lucrative than this.
In fact, those high-and-mighty nobles likely had their hands in this filth as well.
"But it’s still a no," the Rat King said, taking a deep breath. The glint in his eyes faded, replaced by his usual cold composure. "I will never sell this. No one in the Lower District sells this anymore."
"And why is that?"
"Because those are the rules left by that one!"
The image of a cold, profound face flashed through his mind. Even though it had been months since they last met, the Rat King couldn't help but shudder.
That person hadn't appeared in a long time, but when he restructured the entire Lower District, he left behind two absolute rules: no forbidden drugs and no human trafficking. Those rules still governed the Lower District today.
It wasn't necessarily because that man was kind-hearted or couldn't stand the filth of the slums. On the contrary, it felt more like a red line he had drawn specifically to assert his dominance.
It was a boundary marker standing in the heart of the Lower District, announcing to every restless soul: Cross this line and die.
Otherwise, they would end up like the Red Fire Gang and the Hyena Gang, both wiped out in a single night.
That was the weight of his authority.
The Rat King felt that, as of now, he hadn't done anything to trigger that line...
"That one... Oh, you mean that so-called 'Dark Emperor' who reigns over the Lower District?"
Suddenly, a dry, raspy voice—sounding like two pieces of raw iron grinding together—interrupted the Rat King’s thoughts.
"Who’s there?"
The Rat King looked toward the guard wrapped in a black robe standing behind Gentleman Gro. He frowned and barked, "How dare you!"
"Heh. It’s not that I’m too daring; it’s that over the years, the Rat Society, the Brotherhood, the Three-Headed Dog, the Trading House... one by one, you’ve all grown so cowardly. It’s truly disappointing. I thought you would have made some progress by now."
The black-robed figure took a few steps forward with indifference. To the Rat King’s surprise, Gentleman Gro didn't seem offended; instead, he bowed his head and stepped aside to make room.
It was as if the true master here wasn't Gro, but this guard who had barely drawn the Rat King’s attention.
"Who are you? What is the meaning of this?"
The Rat King grew wary. He stepped back slowly, signaling his subordinates behind him to draw their weapons.
However, the black-robed man simply raised a hand and pointed a finger.
The subordinate who was about to draw his blade froze. His face turned beet-red as he strained with all his might, but the sword remained jammed in its scabbard as if welded shut.
Horrified, the Rat King whipped out a pre-cocked military repeating crossbow and aimed it at the black-robed man.
"Who the hell are you? What do you want? This is my territory!"
"Don't be nervous, don't be nervous. We know this is your territory, Your Excellency. It’s just a little joke, a small joke."
Gentleman Gro waved his hands frantically, still wearing that smiling mask to try and ease the tension.
But the Rat King didn't even look at him. His eyes remained locked on the black-robed man. His instincts, which were rarely wrong, told him that this man was the true source of the mortal danger he felt.
"Heh."
The man let out another dismissive chuckle and pulled back his hood.
"All these years later, has Sam—the little thug who could only fight on street corners—finally earned the right to point a weapon at me?"
"You..."
Inside the cramped, narrow cabin, a few candles provided a flickering, uncertain light.
As the candlelight hit the man’s face, the Rat King’s pupils constricted. His expression twisted into pure terror, as if he were looking at a ghost drifting through the night.
"Old Ghost? You’re Old Ghost? You’re not dead?!"
The Rat King stumbled back in a panic. The moment he saw that face, long-buried memories were unearthed. The terrifying figure who had once nearly unified the entire underworld of the Lower District reappeared in his mind, overlapping with the old man before him.
It was a piece of history that had grown distant. Many in the Lower District had forgotten it entirely, but those who had lived through those years could never erase the marks etched into their bones.
Ten years ago, long before Mr. Bruce appeared, there was a gang leader codenamed "Old Ghost." Through iron-blooded methods, ruthless schemes, and a reign of terror that made men tremble, he had nearly consolidated the entire Lower District.
Unfortunately, just before his final triumph, he had somehow offended a legendary figure from the Upper District.
He was hunted by experts sent by that figure. The massive syndicate Old Ghost had built collapsed overnight like a tree falling in the wind. He himself vanished. Rumors said his body had been hacked into thirteen pieces and dumped into the deepest part of the Old Rhine along with his life’s fortune.
That rumor had once sparked a treasure-hunting craze, with many seeking his wealth and remains. And now, this "dead man" who had been gone for a decade was standing right in front of him?
"Yes, I am Old Ghost. I didn't die. And now, I’ve returned."
Old Ghost smiled and opened his arms wide, as if warmly welcoming an old friend.
In the flickering orange candlelight, his face looked incredibly weathered, carved with the deep lines of time. His hair was white at the temples, and there was a hint of refinement in his eyes.
However, a hideous scar running from the top left to the bottom right of his face completely shattered that refined air, leaving only a ferocity that seemed to simmer with endless hatred and rage.
Even though he was unarmed and staring down the barrel of a lethal crossbow, the Rat King felt like he was the one being locked onto by a vicious predator. His body began to tremble uncontrollably.
His lips turned pale as he rasped, "No... impossible. Old Ghost is dead. He died ten years ago! Otherwise... otherwise, all these years..."
"Yes, it has been many years."
Old Ghost sighed with genuine emotion, turning to look out the window at the night view of Belland.
"So many things have changed. I barely recognize some of these streets. When did that street turn into that? A shame. There used to be a tavern there that I quite liked."
"What do you want?!"
The Rat King snapped back from his memories. He forced a look of ferocity back into his squinted eyes, glaring at the old man who was casually reminiscing.
"So what if you’re really Old Ghost? You’ve already died once! You’re no longer the ruler of the gangs. You have nothing now!"
"True, I have nothing. Sam, as you know, ten years is a very long time. Long enough to turn a fierce warrior into a hunched old man. Long enough for a painstakingly built tower to crumble. And the most frustrating part is, I might not have another ten years left."
"So..."
Old Ghost turned his head slowly, a bizarre, faint smile playing on his scarred face. He stared into the Rat King’s eyes and spoke slowly.
"I’ve come to take back what belongs to me, Sam."
"What belongs to you?"
The Rat King’s cheek twitched. His finger tightened on the trigger as he hissed, "There’s nothing for you here! Go back to your grave!"
"There is! Of course there is! Isn't it right here?"
Old Ghost picked up the box from the floor, carefully tidied it, and then—as if he didn't even see the crossbow that could fire at any second—he gently placed the box into Sam’s palm.
"It lies within your choice, doesn't it? Everything depends on you."
"You want me to rejoin your ranks?" The Rat King finally understood Old Ghost’s intent. "You want me to be your dog again?"
"Heh, 'dog' is such an ugly word. Sam, you’re different now. You’re not just qualified to be my dog; you can be my ally, my companion, even... my right hand."
Old Ghost’s expression turned fanatical. "Think about it, Sam. You won't have to be bound by those childish rules anymore. You will gain so much more! The forbidden drugs are just the first step. What you see shouldn't just be what’s in front of you..."
"Shut up!"
The Rat King violently slapped the box away, letting the expensive powder be swept into the night wind. He pressed the crossbow hard against Old Ghost’s forehead and snarled, "You think you can take everything I’ve worked for with just a few words? Old Ghost, I admit, the old you might have had the right. But this isn't ten years ago! And you aren't the Old Ghost of ten years ago! You’re just a pathetic stray!"
"Heh. Yes, I’m certainly not the Old Ghost of ten years ago. I’m old, and I was once left with nothing."
Old Ghost’s expression went cold, seemingly unfazed by the sharp bolt-tip piercing his skin. He gave a chilling smile.
"But... Sam, aren't you overestimating yourself? Who gave you the courage to speak to me like that? Your current status? Or that ridiculous, childish, nonsensical... 'Dark Emperor' you all talk about?"
The Rat King’s face paled. As if suddenly realizing something, he whipped his head around to look at his guard, who still couldn't draw his weapon.
The subordinate caught Sam’s gaze and hurriedly pulled out a Voice Transmission Stone, attempting to send a distress signal to the troops surrounding the shore.
But... no matter how he adjusted the frequency, there was only silence on the other end.
The world had gone quiet. The only sound left was the water lapping against the boat.
It was as if they were suddenly truly alone on a solitary vessel. No matter how loud they screamed, they would never receive a response.