Kingdom Bloodline

Chapter 668 Retribution

A small guide boat passed the canal dock. A man sitting at the bow, whether boatman or porter, raised a bottle of liquor and began shouting something in a strange southern accent—it was hard to tell if it was a folk song or a ditty:

"When I was a kid, I was the toughest kid in the village. Now that I'm grown up, I'm all talk and no action! My dad owes the landlord taxes on the land, and my mom works as a weaver to pay them off for him. But I refuse to accept my fate and want to come to the city to find a good wife!"

His voice echoed across the canal, drawing responses from many people on both sides of the river and at the docks:

"What a good woman..."

Behind the man, five or six men—also dressed in coarse cloth, laborers and porters in only a shirt and trousers in the autumn season—gathered at the other end of the boat, each with a bottle of wine in hand, shouting and jeering in a completely uninhibited manner.

The arrival of the Jade Festival has brought a much quieter atmosphere to the once bustling docks and warehouses in the canal district.

Those who usually watch the boats, supervise the work, keep accounts, urge delivery, and provide meals—all the people who have the right to yell at others, or rather, the civilized and respectable citizens of Emerald City—have all abandoned everything early on, dressed smartly, and gone to participate in the revelry. Now, in the canal area, apart from a few merchant ships rushing to their schedules still checking accounts, loading and unloading cargo, there are only lowly laborers with no work and no spare money gathering together idly, gambling, drinking, and wandering around, using every means to find happiness, numbness, vanity, madness—or anything else that can give their so-called leisure time even the slightest meaning.

It can be considered an alternative celebration that fits the atmosphere of Queen's Day.

On the other side of the dock, another group of porters huddled around a fire playing cards. One of them threw down his bad hand and responded to his fellow porters on the boat. His accent was still strong, but his voice was loud and clear:

"By the Emerald City, there's a canal pond. I carry heavy loads on my shoulders, the sun rises and sets, but the wages are meager. I have no food, no clothes, and no wife. It's the same year after year. That heartless boss won't live long!"

A sparse chorus of responses arose from the surroundings, drawn out in long voices:

"Life is short..."

In this environment, Grover and Rolf kept a low profile, staying close to the roadside as they passed one dock and cargo warehouse after another.

The zombie was wearing a jacket commonly seen on dockworkers, and because his injuries had not yet healed, he was still wearing many bandages. He tried his best to hunch his back in order to blend in with the locals.

The Ghost of the Wind removed his mask, revealing the remnants of tattoos he had slowly removed over the years, as well as the frightening scars running from his neck to his chin. He walked with a stumbling, limping gait, cautiously and coldly surveying his surroundings.

“The rhythm and volume must be the chants they use while working,” Golov whispered. “It seems they also enjoy singing in their spare time.”

It's just the lyrics, there might be some changes.

Rolf didn't speak, but just cautiously looked around.

"After carrying the seafood, I repair the city wall. With my thick waist and broad shoulders, I'll find a wife. Once I get her, I'll keep her at home and have sex with her from dark until dawn!"

A burly laborer, dressed in worn-out clothes, walked down the street with a heavily made-up street prostitute in his arms, roaring back towards the opposite bank of the canal:

"What good is having a baby if you still have to work hard tomorrow!"

The prostitute next to him slapped him hard, urging him to hurry up and get things done, as she had a lot of business to attend to that day.

Voices of agreement rose again from the surrounding crowd, but this time, the voices were divided; some laughed maliciously, while others roared out bitter, resentful cries.
"It's dawn!"

"Keep carrying it!"

A group of drunken men walked past Glov and Rolf with their arms around each other's shoulders, not even glancing at the two of them.

Rolf withdrew his wary gaze and secretly made a few hand gestures to Golov:
Your appearance is unacceptable.

Golov frowned deeply as he looked at the dazzling string of sign language.

Why did Marius put me with this mute...?

“Yes, there’s a minor leader in the Blood Bottle Gang in a warehouse nearby. I heard he’s going to host a gathering for other gang members,” the zombie said, pretending to have a smooth conversation with the other person. “Morgan asked several people before he found out. You know, he asked them ‘politely’.”

Rolf gritted his teeth and tried to slow down his gestures:

No! Your height and attire have attracted attention!

In Golov's eyes, all he felt was that the other person shook his palm and the back of his hand.

His face was stiff as he strained to process the logic of human communication, trying to decipher what Rolf had said in order to respond:

“You’re right. The Blood Bottle Gang has been here for many years, involved in half of the transportation and warehousing business at the docks. From porters and laborers to cart drivers and warehouse guards, they have many informants and are deeply entrenched.”

Rolf took a deep breath, trying to recall the prince's teachings on etiquette, and made the gesture:
Do you understand what I'm saying?

"Yes, so we can't be too careful on their turf."

You are an idiot.

"Thank you, you too, good luck."

[Idiot! Idiot! Idiot!]

“I know, that’s why we have contingency plans.”

【fuck your mother.】

"Yes, if something unexpected happens, you find the way, I'll cover the rear."

[Damn it—never mind.]

"We'll be fine."

【…】

Rolf gave up completely. He stopped making any gestures and just stared blankly ahead, utterly despondent.

No longer having to play "Pictionary," Golov breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that it would be great if DD were here. Although that young master couldn't sleep without his teddy bear at night, at least he knew sign language and could communicate with the mute without any problems.

They walked past a messy stack of warehouses where two men were fighting, their faces red with anger. Some people were trying to break them up, while others were cheering loudly.

More and more idlers gathered around, and the shouts from the dock echoing back and forth grew louder and louder:
"Why not give birth to a little girl, marry a rich man and become a phoenix? But the rich man still complains about the dowry, I'll get so angry I'll rip his guts out! My parents gave me one life, but she's made me suffer all my life!"

"A lifetime is long..."

"After chopping up the rich, I'll chop up the boss. First ask the duke, then the king: Why didn't I get a share of the good days? You son of a bitch, can't you give me some compensation! Let's strip down our disguises and become warriors. With land, money, and plenty of wives!"

"What a bunch of old women..."

The two passed a guard post where two warehouse guards sat on two chairs, frowning as they watched these idle men with nothing to do.

“These damned porters, drinking, gambling, and whoring are one thing,” one of the young guards spat, “but they even dare to shout these reckless tunes! If the boss hears them, he’ll whip them…”

“Let them be. These poor folks only get to vent their frustrations at this time of year,” another older guard said leisurely, lighting a cigarette and opening a bag of dried fruit. “Otherwise, they’ll go stir-crazy. The boss and the rich folks will be fine, but us warehouse guards, hehe, we’ll really be short-lived.”

"We're protected by the Blood Bottle Gang here, they wouldn't dare!"

"Ha, where do you think the legend of water ghosts claiming lives at the docks came from?"

The young guard paused, his voice trailing off:

"Water ghosts? But aren't those just made-up stories to scare kids?"

“I’ve been working here for almost twenty years. This city can be a monster,” the old guard said contentedly, chewing on some dried fruit. “There are certain things, certain rules. Even if it’s not the Blood Bottle Gang, or even the big shots from the Guard Hall or the Sky Palace, they can only walk away silently. They still can’t do anything about it.”

eat human.

The young guard swallowed hard and whispered:

"I heard a few days ago that the old duke of Kongming Palace wasn't killed by assassins, but was eaten by water ghosts?"

The older guard paused for a moment, then his expression changed instantly:

"I never noticed before, why do you talk so much? Are you bored? If you have nothing better to do, go patrol the warehouse!"

Grover and Rolf exchanged a glance and continued on, turning onto the next road.

The dockworkers' chants can still be heard clearly:
"Kill all the nobles and ruthless merchants, and the officials will have to pay their debts: I'll remember every bad deed, and repay every good deed a hundredfold! At worst, I'll take a trip down the River of Prison and get justice on the ferry!"

"Justice will prevail..."

The canal disappeared behind them, and locked warehouses and stacks came into view. Many men with fierce expressions sat by the roadside or leaned against the wall. When they saw the two approaching, they slowly stood up, their expressions malicious.

One of them, who was leading the group, was playing with a thin stick in his hand and was wearing a bright red headscarf.

Golov and Rolf's expressions hardened. They exchanged a glance and stepped forward.

found it.

"stop."

Before they could move forward, the man wearing a red headscarf lazily waved the thin pole in his hand and called them to a halt.

“We’ve been watching you for a while. You’re not from the docks, are you?” The man in the red headscarf squinted. “Where are you from? What are you doing here?”

Golov frowned and turned to look at Rolf.

The Ghost of the Wind raised an eyebrow.

Ok.

Golov took a deep breath.

Although negotiation wasn't his forte, but...

Who else can we rely on?

The zombie turned around awkwardly and coughed:
"We heard this is the Blood Bottle Gang's territory, so we've come to find someone."

As soon as Golov spoke, the red-turbaned man's eyes lit up.

"Hey, out-of-towner," he gestured to his henchmen to make way for him, tapping a thin stick in his palm, "Knowing this place is protected by the Blood Bottle Gang, you still dare to come looking for someone? Don't you want to live?"

Can he speak more directly? Can he stop dragging out his words?
And—Groofer was getting annoyed—why did he keep tapping that thin stick?

Rolf gave him a shove, and Golov came to his senses.

“Um,” the zombie began awkwardly, asking instinctively, “do you know Morse or Diop?”

The man in the red turban and his men were all taken aback.

"What? Who?"

Rolf felt a pang in his heart and let out a long sigh.

Hold.

The next second, a cold wind suddenly blew up in front of the warehouse, making Golov shiver.

“Oh, um,” Golov looked at Rolf, finally remembering the plan, “They said that Boss Zimicas is recruiting here, and we want to join.”

Upon hearing this, the man in the red headscarf's expression changed.

He unconsciously straightened his back and raised his chin.

"Boss Zimicas? Oh my, that's one of the fiercest men under Boss Fogg—a key henchman of Boss Duro! The warehouse tyrant of the Seventh Wharf in the Canal District!"

The man in the red headscarf revealed a profound and inscrutable expression, his tone ethereal:
"He's very picky. Not everyone can catch his eye and successfully join his group, you know that?"

The henchmen around him all nodded in agreement.

Golov frowned: Damn, can't he really talk to me with his fists?
“However, seeing that you’re not small either, alright, I’ll give you a chance,” the man in the red headscarf said, his expression changing as he looked troubled. “The situation is special lately, and we have stricter rules. You need to pay a deposit first…”

Golov's gaze changed:
Why is the situation special?

"This is none of your business. I'm the boss in charge of this area. If you want to join, bring one person over..."

"you are not."

The man in the red turban, who was waving a thin stick and talking incessantly, was taken aback by what he heard:
"what?"

Golov gestured with his chin: "You're not the boss of this area."

"why?"

“You are wearing a red headscarf.”

The man in the red headscarf's expression changed, and he snorted coldly:
"Hey, do you know what this headscarf is? Let me tell you, in this Emerald City, anyone who sees a headscarf of this color has to give it to you, no matter who it is..."

On the other side, Rolf chuckled.

The man in the red headscarf felt insulted.

"What are you laughing at? What's so funny? What, you look down on the Blood Bottle Gang?"

He raised his voice, his expression fierce, and his henchmen around him cooperated by showing equally fierce expressions.

Rolf waved his hand, but still couldn't stop laughing, so he had to tear off a piece of his scarf to cover his face.

"Speak up! Are you mute?" the red-turbaned man shouted sternly.

Golov coughed.

“Well, people who’ve been in the Blood Bottle Gang for a while usually don’t wear red headscarves, unless they’re out getting into a brawl,” the zombie stated. “Only newbies do—are you new here?”

The man in the red headscarf was stunned.

His underlings were equally stunned.

Golov recalled another possibility and blurted out:

"Oh, or is it an imposter?"

There was a moment of silence in front of the warehouse.

The next second, the man wearing the red headscarf, enraged, swung the thin pole:

"You son of a bitch—"

But halfway through the swing of the thin pole, Red Bandana looked at Golover's size and hesitated.

"Tsimikas!"

At that moment, a deep but gentle voice rang out, attracting everyone's attention.

"Boss!" Zimicas—the man wearing a red turban—sounded as if he had heard heavenly music. He immediately regained his anger and straightened his back with his underlings.

A smart-looking man walked out of the warehouse. At first glance, he seemed no different from an ordinary warehouse worker, but Golov and Rolf both changed color.

The man who spoke walked up to Golov and Rolf. He had sharp eyes, was muscular, and his left arm was particularly thick.

“What a fine man,” the burly man said, looking at Golov with astonishment at his physique. “Looks like he’s not just cannon fodder sent by someone else to cause trouble.”

Zimicas, looking smug, hid behind the boss.

"Hey, this is Boss Duro, one of Boss Fogg's most formidable henchmen! You guys are in trouble, you actually had to trouble the boss himself..."

But before he could finish speaking, Duro made a slight movement of his arm, delivering a seemingly light elbow strike that made Zimicas pause in his speech, clutching his chest in discomfort and backing away.

“Looks like you guys know your stuff,” Duro said, squinting at Golov and Rolf. “Holy crap, could you be a vigilante who got wind of this and came in undercover to investigate?”

Golov and Rolf frowned. They didn't need to talk to each other to sense that their boss was different from his subordinates and was exceptionally powerful.

“In Emerald City, vigilantes don’t need undercover agents.”

Golov spoke in a muffled voice:
“They can swagger in, just like you can walk into the guardhouse.”

Duro's eyes darted around.

“That makes sense, this is Emerald City after all,” he rubbed his hands together. “So you’re from Black Silk’s side?”

Black silk.

Zimicas and his underlings all tensed up.

“No. I used to be in the gang too,” Golov said after a moment of silence. “I’ve been away for a long time, and now I’m back to find work.”

Duro raised an eyebrow:
"Interesting, someone from the gang? Which leader are you working for?"

“I used to be in the capital, at the circus, and I would go door-to-door with Kex.”

Duro was taken aback: "The capital? The circus, Kex? Street sweeper? You're a street sweeper?"

"Oh, you mean the Joker? Joker?"

Zimicas's expression changed, and he excitedly waved his arms a few times: "The legendary boss of the capital who can conjure flying knives out of thin air and take lives invisibly, one of the eight most powerful superhuman warriors?"

Golov frowned.

Tsimikas ripped off his red headscarf and moved closer to Duro:
"Boss, that's how it is. Street sweeping is just a pretext..."

Duro was clearly not very familiar with these stories about the Blood Bottle Gang, and he frowned as he listened.

Zimicas was speaking when his expression suddenly hardened.

"Wait a minute, I've heard that the clown has been dead for ten years, and his circus has been gone for a long time. Where did you guys come from?"

Duro's expression shifted.

"Seven years."

After a moment of silence, Golov spoke with difficulty:
"Kex died seven years ago in the capital, on Red Street, in a night of war."

"I collected his body."

Rolf couldn't help but glance at Golov, noticing the latter's extremely complicated expression.

Duro understood and remained silent for a while.

"Hero, what's your name?"

name?

This question stumped Golov; he opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated for a long time:

"Fatty, chubby boy."

Duro was taken aback, while Tsimikas burst into laughter.

Even Rolf looked at him with disdain.

"Pfft—the boss is asking for your name, the kind that can be written on paper!"

Golov gritted his teeth, feeling his mind go completely blank.

"My name is……"

Rolf, sensing something was wrong, secretly nudged him.

"My name is Wyman!"

Golov snapped to attention and realized:

“Yes, everyone calls me ‘Fatty’ Wyatt.” At that moment, Rolf just wanted to suffocate himself in his face towel.

"Wyman?"

Duro frowned, as if remembering something:
“With your build, being chubby is understandable, but as for Wyman… wow, there are quite a few people with that name these days.”

He turned to Rolf:

"And you? The one with scars?"

Zimicas dared not say anything to Golov, but as soon as he saw the target shift, he immediately became arrogant:

"You! The one with the scars! The boss is asking you a question! Are you mute?!"

Rolf frowned as he looked at him.

Until Golov awkwardly spoke up:
"He is indeed mute."

Oh... Oh?

The group remained silent for a moment, and the atmosphere became slightly awkward.

"He's my brother, his name is... his name is..."

Glov's Instinct Tunnel:
"Teto, his name is Teto, I call him Little Teto."

What the hell is that name?
Rolf's face darkened further.

“Very good, Wyman—I’ll still call you Fatty, Fatty, Teto,” Duro pondered for a moment, “You say you’re from the gang, that you followed that clown in the capital, how do you prove it? Do you have an introducer?”

Upon hearing this, Golov's expression darkened.

Just when Rolf thought he was speechless and they would have no choice but to run away, Golov breathed a sigh of relief.

"Among the people the Joker trained, one from my generation was Dalton: a hot-headed madman who robbed the entrance to the guardhouse, went to jail, and then disappeared."

Golov's expression darkened.
“‘Three-Handed’ Fountain was a thief, but unfortunately he didn’t have a fourth hand. After being caught, he was beaten to death.”

Zimicas quickly recalled something.

Duro remained silent.

"And then there's Dorno, who was terrified of the clown's throwing knives since childhood. He was cowardly and treacherous, only daring to attack from behind. He also died in Red Street."

"And Spencer, that guy was strong and lucky. He offended the Joker once, but he didn't die. He went to collect debts from other bosses. Later, well, he probably died too."

After saying this, Golov clenched his fist.

Rolf looked at him, his eyes darting around.

Duro looked at the zombie's fist, but still questioned:
"So that means that since these people are all dead and can't testify, no one will know if you make things up?"

Golov was silent for a moment:

"And then there's Tinker, he became a thug, and Lillian, she's the most successful, she was taken away by Aunt Leia and is now running a club business, it's very successful."

"Ah, I know Lillian!" Zimicas exclaimed excitedly. "Last time I went to the capital to lend my support, I passed by the club, and holy crap, those huge breasts..."

Duro waved his hand gently, and Zimicas bent over again, clutching his stomach.

“I believe what you’re saying is true,” Duro said, looking at Golov. “But the people you’re talking about are either dead or far away in the capital, so there’s no way to prove it.”

prove.

Rolf swallowed hard, and unconsciously reached for the two short blades at his lower back.

Golov glanced at Duro.

"When the clown practices throwing knives, he likes to have living people hold up the targets, saying that's how he gets the feel for it."

He stepped forward and rolled up his sleeves:

“The marks left by the clown practicing throwing knives are not found on ordinary people.”

Duro and Rolf looked closely and sure enough, Golov—the fat man's palm had countless scratches on the side.

Zimicas leaned closer, grinning crookedly, and said:

"How do I know you didn't cut yourself with a knife..."

Golov suddenly turned his head, his expression full of murderous intent, which startled Zimicas, causing him to shrink back.

“When you’re holding a target, you’ll try to turn your arm to the side to avoid injury, so the scars are concentrated on the outside of your forearm,” Golov said in a low voice. “But the marks left by a flying knife are different from the marks left by a knife.”

Duro's gaze toward Golov was different now.

Rolf stared intently at Golov, lost in thought.

Zimicas glanced at his boss, then at Golov, looking rather aggrieved: "Tch, whatever you say goes..."

Duro sighed: "After that clown died, why didn't you go work for one of the other bosses?"

"Nobody likes the Joker's henchmen because people feel they're controlled by the Joker..."

Golov paused, a barely perceptible glint in his eyes:
"Tormented to the point of madness, just like him."

"So, Fatty, where have you been all these years?"

"I went to the Western Wilderness to join the army."

Zimicas's eyes lit up:
"You mean the Western Wilderness? Ha, ha! You can't deny that now! Let me tell you, our Boss Duro retired from the Western Wilderness!"

Glov and Rolf were both startled.

Surprisingly, Duro frowned.

Zimicas had a look on his face that said, "You're all doomed."

"Our leader is a general who leads troops on the battlefield! He's been through countless battles, fighting bloody battles against orcs and skeletons! He even fought alongside the famous Winged Legend, drinking at the same table, calling each other brothers, and practically confiding his heart to him—"

The third time, he was forced to stop talking by Duro's elbow.

"You said you've been to the desert," Duro's tone tightened, revealing composure and vigilance, "Which unit did you serve in?"

Rolf glared at Golov.

“I fight for the Chromar family, Raven, Second Assault Team,” the zombie replied calmly.

"Oh, the crow of Thunder?"

Duro's eyes darted around:
"I heard there's a really tough guy in there named Wanda. He took down 'Meat Grinder' Shesa Dead Iron?"

Golov shook his head:
"I don't know. I can't even read many words. I only know that a long time ago, there was a big, tough guy in that army named Cohen. He was a rich young master."

Duro raised an eyebrow:

"Oh, really? I remember the Ravens were an elite unit, and they were the sons of the Clomar family. You must have made quite a bit of money over the years, right?"

"Quite the opposite," Golov shook his head in denial. "'The Head Raven' is the real son of the Clomar family, and we are just stepchildren. They get the lion's share of the spoils. And what's left, we have to fight with those sons of bitches and mad dogs in the regular army."

"well said!"

Unexpectedly, Duro suddenly raised his voice, startling everyone:
"You son of a bitch, you mad dog!"

"Boss, boss?" Zimicas asked cautiously.

Duro took a deep breath:

"Then why come back to the gang?"

“The regular army won, so we withdrew. The Cloma family won’t support us anymore, so we can only do some small business here.”

Golov raised his head cautiously:
"But to do business on the street, you need someone to protect you."

Duro squinted:

"Since you used to hang out in the capital, why don't you go back to the capital?"

“The capital is great, with plenty of opportunities and quick fame,” Golov replied, feeling a cold sweat break out on his forehead. “But here, the Emerald City is much more lucrative.”

"And you're short of money? Why?"

Short of money?

Golov was speechless again, but then a thought struck him.

“This is my brother, Teto. When I went to the Western Wilderness,” the zombie grabbed Rolf, who looked astonished, forcing himself to look sad, “his legs were broken, and his voice was… well, he’s mute. He needs money, lots and lots of money!”

Upon hearing this, everyone looked at the "brothers" with strange expressions.

Except for Rolf.

The Ghost of the Wind looked at Golov with disgust: This idiotic acting, who are you trying to fool?

We'd better get ready to run away!
Just then, Duro raised his thick left arm and slapped Golov on the shoulder.

Even the zombie's expression changed.

"Good man!"

Duro was visibly shaken, wiping his glistening eyes:
"What does dignity matter? Making money for your family is nothing to be ashamed of!"

Glov and Rolf stood together, staring blankly at him.

“Very well, Wyman—I’ll still call you Fatty, Fatty. You’re from the military too, and you’ve even been in a gang, so I won’t beat around the bush with you,” Duro wiped away his tears. “My name is Cusack Duro, I’m from the Western Wilderness, new to the Blood Bottle Gang…”

Zimicas quickly added from the side:

"Upon arrival, he was personally greeted by Boss Fogg and promoted exceptionally—"

Duro waved his hand to interrupt him: "I just arrived in Emerald City and only settled at the docks a month ago, but as you can see, the other leaders in the gang all want to see me make a fool of myself, and I, well, need manpower."

Golov glanced at Tsimikas, who stood tall and proud.

Duro paused for a moment, then said awkwardly:
"Better manpower."

Golov paused for a moment:
"If...we have two people."

Duro glanced at Rolf, a look of relief on his face saying, "I knew I hadn't misjudged him: Your brother isn't in good health?"

“He can fight,” Golov said, “but his legs aren’t good.”

"And he's mute," Zimicas remarked sourly.

Rolf snorted unhappily.

Duro pondered for a moment.

"So, if you want to join the gang, come and show up first, give us some support," he said. "If you're not scared to death, then we can talk about joining."

Glov and Rolf exchanged a glance.

"Don't worry, I won't mistreat my brothers," Duro patted his chest, "even someone like Tsimikas."

Zimicas was taken aback and quickly defended himself:

"I was Boss Duro's tour guide on his first day in Emerald City. He's generous and loyal..."

"What kind of stage are you standing in? Do you want a fight or bloodshed?" Golov interrupted him.

"What a huge place!" Zimicas exclaimed indignantly.

“There’s not much of a venue,” Duro shook his head. “Boss Fogg is coming here for a meeting. What, are you scared?”

Golov remained silent for a moment.

"Why, if it's 'The Wanderer' Fogg, why would he open a shop here for a newcomer like you?"

Duro's eyes lit up.

“Good question, because Fogg doesn’t just want to hold a meeting,” Duro gritted his teeth, “he wants to invite a few other gang leaders, those who are on par with him, to negotiate.”

negotiation.

Rolf frowned.

"Negotiations? What happened?"

“Hehe, we and the Black Silk Guys… well, let’s put it this way, Fatty: recently, something big has happened in Emerald City, or rather, something big is about to happen.”

Important

Golov and Rolf exchanged a glance.

Duro chuckled:
"So no one under Boss Fogg dares to host this event—except me."

Golov was silent for a moment:

"Okay, so what about our payment?"

Upon hearing this, Zimicas's expression changed:
"Hey, you fatso, it's a rare blessing that Boss Duro has taken a liking to you—"

Before he could finish speaking, Duro slapped him again.

"The payment is great, I like your directness," Duro laughed heartily. "Here's what we'll do: after I finish my shift today, I'll visit a few places, and whatever amount I collect, I'll give you half a percent."

"Half percent?"

"It's just today, during the trial period."

Golov and Rolf exchanged a glance:
"make a deal."

A few hours later, Glov and Rolf stood in an empty warehouse, mingling with Zimicas and a group of Blood Vial gang underlings, waiting for the first guest to arrive.

"Look, that's Boss Fogg, and a few of his most trusted men."

Zimicas, having removed his red headscarf, straightened his back and was sandwiched between Golov and Rolf, or more precisely, Fat Wyatt and Little Teto, as he watched a group of strong and fierce Blood Vial gang members walk through the alley and arrive at the warehouse.

"Is that the Blood Bottle Gang leader in Emerald City, 'The Wanderer' Ferguson?" Golov nudged Rolf, indicating that this was the target the prince wanted them to keep an eye on.

"Don't call him that! The boss doesn't like that nickname!" Zimicas corrected him sternly.

"The Wanderer" Fogg, though not tall, possessed an imposing presence. Surrounded by his men, he opened his arms to welcome Duro:

“Brother Duro, my friend, only you dare to take on this job. Hmm, I knew I could trust you.”

“No, Boss Fogg, this is an opportunity you’ve given me,” Duro greeted him with a smile, took Fogg’s arm, and winked. “Is there anything else you need me to do at the meeting later?”

Ferguson studied Duro for a moment, then gave him a meaningful smile.

"Friend, do you know what's bothering me the most right now?"

Duro shook his head, pretending to listen.

“I’m worried about my whole tank of piranhas that I caught from the Razor River while I was away,” Fogg sighed, his face turning worried. “What will happen to them if no one feeds them and they go hungry?”

Piranhas?
Duro and his gang members behind him were taken aback by what they heard.

“So,” Fogg said, his frown vanishing and a smile returning, as he patted Duro on the shoulder, “let’s hurry up and get this done so we can go home!”

“Of course, boss, of course.” Duro looked at Fogg as he walked into the warehouse, still completely bewildered.

Behind Fogg, a large group of gang members in various poses filed in.

"What do you mean?" Rolf asked Golov quietly.

This time, the zombies don't need to think to understand what the other party means.

"Does that mean he likes raising fish?" Golov squinted at Ferguson's retreating figure.

On the other side, Zimicas was visibly excited and couldn't help but show off his knowledge:
“Look! That’s ‘Barber’ Balta, yes, he really is a barber, and also the gang’s famous information broker; Tommy, ‘Good Guy’ from the Old Tomb Street, he got that nickname because, let’s put it this way, if you want to buy building materials in town, you can’t go around him, so no one dares to say anything bad about him; and Franco, ‘Script Supervisor,’ in the Goddess District, no theater owner can open a new play without his approval…”

"And then there's 'Newspaper Vendor' Zeka, who monopolizes the printing business in three districts; and 'Bad Shoemaker' Jaga, who started out repairing shoes in the Craftsmen's District, and I heard he's doing pretty well for himself, now he's in some lousy merchant guild; and 'Dung Ball' Roger, wow, that's quite a nickname, the dung collectors and sewer cleaners only listen to him, anyone who offends Roger can expect their house to stink to high heaven..."

“These people, they sound like good citizens,” Golov said, frowning.

Zimicas nodded:
"Hey, you're right, this is our Blood Bottle Gang. We have plenty of ways to make money, especially in Emerald City. It's not just about fighting and killing, unlike those shady Black Silk gangs at North Gate Bridge..."

Just then, Zimicas spotted the approaching figure in the distance, his eyes widened, and his breathing quickened.

"No way! I didn't mistake him, did I? But why is he here?"

"what happened?"

Zimicas took a deep breath and shook Golov's arm with a mixture of surprise and delight:

"That's right! I've seen him before, I can't be mistaken! Look! Fatty! Boss, the real boss!"

Golov followed his gaze and saw a group of ruthless characters who were clearly not locals approaching from the direction of the docks. They all had sinister expressions, like wild beasts.

But the zombie immediately sensed something was wrong—the wind around it had become stronger and faster.

The wind howled back and forth, making one involuntarily close their eyes.

On the other side of Zimicas, Rolf stared intently at the group of new Blood Vial gang members, his gaze as cold and ominous as a sharp blade.

what happened?
Golov frowned deeply, shielding his eyes from the strange wind. He looked at the group of fierce visitors and asked Zimicas, who was so agitated he was almost about to rush out:
"Who is that?"

"Are you joking?"

Zimicas pointed to the leader in the distance and shouted into the wind:

"That's a big shot from the capital, a pillar of the Blood Bottle Gang, a legendary figure!"

"Legend has it that he fought against the Black Street Brotherhood for many years, resisted the Black Sword without falling, and upheld the dignity of the Blood Bottle Gang—'Red Viper' Nekra!"

At that moment, Golov instinctively shuddered.

He vaguely sensed an indescribable chill emanating from Rolf beside him.

The wind grew stronger, carrying with it the distant cries of the boatmen.

"The ferryman on the Hell River also steers the boat; we're half-professionals, collecting money and transporting people. On the road of life and death, we recognize fellow villagers; we're also skilled at killing and soul-reaping! Fellow villagers, you're no longer alone; you'll be resurrected as corpse demons to claim your lives!"

"—You're demanding my life!"

(End of this chapter)