Chapter 541: Lackey
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 541: Lackey
The Rat King’s expression soured instantly as he watched the man emerge slowly from the flames.
The man had a cigar clamped between his teeth, his expression composed as he stepped casually from the shadows where he’d been lurking. He appeared riddled with openings, devoid of any threat. Yet, as the firelight illuminated the hideous scars marring his face, the mere presence of the man known as Old Ghost felt like a dark shroud descending over the entire Lower District, a weight so heavy it left Sam struggling for breath.
"Old Ghost..."
Meeting him again, Sam found himself unexpectedly intimidated by the aura this man had commanded ten years ago. He felt a surge of humiliated rage but quickly suppressed the unwanted emotion. Wiping a smear of his subordinate's blood across his face, he bared his teeth in a savage grin.
"So you finally showed up. I thought you were going to keep playing the coward in your hole."
"A coward? Sam, is that some new trend in Lower District humor?"
Old Ghost flicked his cigar away and sneered.
"Did you really think that during this time, I was so intimidated by the 'majesty' of the Rat King’s little raids that I stayed home to babysit? Ha! Don’t make me laugh, Sam. I didn’t give a damn about you ten years ago, and now... it’s exactly the same."
Old Ghost clapped his hands.
The explosions in the street ceased. For a fleeting moment, the entire district seemed to fall into a vacuum of silence.
Then, a sudden roar of commotion erupted.
Figures surged out from the ends of the streets, from quiet courtyards, and from the doors of shuttered bars.
These were true cutthroats—eyes bloodshot, expressions thirsty for slaughter. Every one of them had at least several lives on their hands. The ruthlessness and fanaticism ingrained in their bones had been pushed to a fever pitch by the influence of alcohol and drugs.
And in the hands of these desperate men, who knew nothing of fear, were lethal and dangerous military-grade weapons.
"The Brotherhood? Cilock! Dolan!"
The Rat King glared at the men leading the thugs.
"And Frangi from the Three-Headed Dog! You two-faced bastards actually chose to betray us?"
"Betrayal? No, no, no. Choosing the strong and obeying the strong—hasn't that always been the rule of the Lower District?"
The tall, thin Cilock stroked the sharp edge of his blade as if it were the skin of a lover.
"Just as we previously chose to submit to that Mr. Bruce, we have now chosen the stronger Mr. Old Ghost. Is there a problem with that?"
"Perhaps not. But when your whore of a mother was dying in a street gutter, do you think she imagined her son’s betrayal would lead to this?" the Rat King sneered.
"Don't you dare insult my mother! She died ten years ago!" Cilock roared.
"I thought as much. Otherwise, you wouldn't have turned into such pathetic, loathsome creatures."
The Rat King shrugged, a cold glint flashing in his eyes. "But... do you really think that just because you’ve found a new master, you have the right to bark at me? With those scraps of equipment that you can't even form a full set of?"
Cilock and Dolan’s faces twitched with embarrassment. Although their gear had seen a major upgrade, there was indeed a stark difference between them and the Rat King’s fully-equipped forces. For instance, they were sharing sets of Magic Armor; one would wear the breastplate while the other wore the greaves. It looked ridiculous, and the protective effect was severely compromised. Of course, the physical enhancement provided by the Magic Armor was still there.
But there was no helping it. If several gangs were to be as fully equipped as the Rat King’s small elite force, it would be no different from raising a private army inside Belland. Even the person backing them didn't have that kind of capability.
"Rat King, do you really have the right to talk to us like that?"
Frangi, who had been silent until now, finally couldn't stomach the Rat King’s collective insults. He mocked, "Right now, aren't you just a dog for that Mr. Bruce? Ha! Rat King, Rat King Sam... look at you now. Such a good, loyal dog. I never knew you were so devoted."
"You're right. I admit it—I am a dog now. I am the most loyal dog under Mr. Bruce’s command. But what about you? What are you?"
The Rat King’s gaze swept over the faces of those who had once stood as his equals. He suddenly found the situation absurdly hilarious, and his expression became wildly exaggerated.
"You don't actually think your current master, this 'Old Ghost,' is ruling the Lower District by his own merit like he did ten years ago, do you? Don't make me laugh! The only reason he could crawl back here is because he got help from someone behind the scenes! He isn't the same Old Ghost who could do whatever he wanted ten years ago! Now, he’s just a tool in someone else's hand! A tool to take back the Lower District! He’s a dog, too!"
The Rat King watched their faces turn increasingly grim, his own expression growing more delighted.
"Do you get it now? I’m a dog for a man, but you lot? You’re being dogs for a dog! So what right do you have to talk to me like that? Eh? Is it because—"
"Shut up, Sam!"
Old Ghost suddenly interrupted him. The scars on his face writhed like centipedes as his muscles trembled. His earlier composure was gone, replaced by a terrifying expression that looked ready to devour someone whole.
"Shut your mouth, unless you want me to snap every bone in your body one by one in a moment."
"Ah..."
Sam suddenly froze, appearing as if he had been cowed by Old Ghost’s roar.
He stood there perfectly still, his entire being seemingly paralyzed. One could only faintly see that he was forcefully suppressing a tremor.
The others watched him with strange looks. They hadn't expected the Rat King, who had been so arrogant just a moment ago, to fold so easily at a single shout from Old Ghost.
Cilock and the others wore sneers, ready to hurl insults.
But then...
"Ha... Hahahaha!"
The Rat King suddenly burst into manic laughter.
He clutched his stomach, his laughter exaggerated as his body shook even more violently. His voice drowned out the sound of the explosions starting up again in the streets.
"Hahahaha... It’s true... It really is true! You admitted it, Old Ghost! You actually admitted it! I was only guessing... Hahaha! The invincible Old Ghost from ten years ago, the man who looked down on the big shots of the Upper District, has actually... actually..."
The Rat King stared into Old Ghost’s increasingly murderous face, enunciating every word with chilling clarity:
"Actually become someone else's dog!"
His raised voice echoed through the night sky of the Lower District, circling like a bird for a long time.
After the laughter, there was another silence.
But within that silence, the atmospheric pressure condensed into something colder and more horrific than ever before.
Creeeeak—
The sharp screech of twisting metal shattered the bone-chilling silence. The military repeating crossbow in Old Ghost’s hand had been unconsciously crushed into a mangled lump of scrap metal.
He tossed the scrap into the burning flames, letting it glow red from the heat. Then, staring with murderous intent at Sam—who still wore a provocative smile—he spoke in a low, heavy voice:
"Kill. Kill him for me. Whoever brings me Sam’s head, I will grant them the profits of three extra districts!"
The moment the words left his mouth, countless pairs of bloodshot eyes fixed greedily on the Rat King.
But the Rat King showed no fear.
He no longer feared even Old Ghost; why would he fear these wastes whose brains had been fried by booze and drugs?
"Heh. It seems I’m not so insignificant in your eyes after all. I’m worth at least three districts, aren't I?"
The Rat King raised his repeating crossbow, gave Old Ghost a composed smile, and issued his command:
"Lads, the weather is fine tonight—perfect for a grand event. So let’s make sure these whelps, who aren't even fit to be dogs, stay here forever."