Chapter 547: Goodwill

"Sam, you really have once again gone beyond my expectations."

Old Ghost’s face was expressionless as he wiped the blood from his cheek.

Flame, blood-light, roaring, screaming. The wind, carrying the smell of gunpowder, whipped Old Ghost’s long coat in the hidden, narrow alley of the Lower District, as if all the rules that people had painstakingly built had completely lost their effect here.

All the most primal bloodlust and sin had been released. What was left was only slaughter, and death.

Gang against gang never cared about any sort of proper “forms.” From the moment blades crossed and blood spattered, almost everyone in this mad feast had gone red-eyed from the killing, not knowing when they’d reached the climax, nor when it had, little by little, begun to subside.

When the Rat King came back to himself, all around him were scattered severed arms and broken legs.

His men were there, and so were Old Ghost’s.

The blood from both sides mingled and flowed into the city’s well-developed sewers, impossible now to tell one from the other.

But the blood and fire of slaughter would, in the end, have an outcome.

In terms «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» of terrain, level of equipment, and the quality of their elites, the subordinates the Rat King had painstakingly trained and that Mr. Bruce had fully armed were, in the end, superior to the makeshift rabble under Old Ghost—those drug-crazed lunatics who, in the killing and pain, had rediscovered fear.

In other words...

"I won..."

The Rat King slowly got to his feet. There was still a crossbow bolt sticking out of his shoulder, but the raw agony in his flesh did nothing to affect the pleasure filling his heart at this moment. He stared at the nightmare that had once stood over him, his blood-stained smile a little ferocious.

"Old Ghost, I beat you head-on... I really beat you!"

Ten years ago, he had been nothing but a down-and-out street punk begging in the Lower District, personally watching how this man had used terrifying methods to bring the entire Lower District into his hand, bit by bit.

Ten years later, he was already the head of a major gang, with the finest elite subordinates and the best equipment, yet he still felt fear at this man’s return.

And whether ten years ago or ten years later, he had never once imagined that there would be a day, like now, when he would stand in front of this man in the position of the victor.

This feeling was really... extremely strange, and extremely wonderful.

"Yeah, I have to admit, this time I lost that move. I didn’t expect that in not even ten years, these bastards would have degenerated to this degree."

Old Ghost let out a light sigh and casually tossed a severed head at his feet.

It belonged to that Brotherhood man, Tslok.

In the fight just now, because he’d tried to run away in fear, Old Ghost had personally taken his head.

That was when the collapse had started.

"Lost is lost. I didn’t think you’d have a time where you’d look for excuses for your own failure, Old Ghost."

The Rat King mocked him with open ridicule, savoring this feeling of being the victor.

"Or is it that you already don’t have the drive you had ten years ago?"

"Indeed, in this round, I lost."

Old Ghost shrugged, took a cigar from his breast, and lit it on a shard of metal beside him that was still glowing red from the bombardment just now.

He blew out smoke in a lazy cloud and looked at the victor in the distance, without any of the panic or fear a loser should have had.

"It’s just that... winning one round doesn’t mean you’ll keep winning."

Clang—

Sharp bolts tore through the air, stirring the cold wind in the night as they shot toward Old Ghost’s face.

The Rat King was no fool. While they had been talking, his secretly prepared offensive had long since been ready. The subordinates who still had fighting strength had already taken up hidden positions, and at the Rat King’s order they raised their crossbows without hesitation and launched a volley straight at Old Ghost.

But those bolts were clamped motionless by an invisible force in front of Old Ghost.

He closed his hand with a sudden clench, and the bolts instantly twisted together into a useless lump of scrap iron.

"This is experience distilled from your elder’s personal life. You really ought to listen a little, Sam."

Old Ghost exhaled smoke, using the pale smoke to cover his equally pale face.

From his slightly trembling palm, it was clear that this man, who had once nearly ruled the entire Lower District, was not nearly as composed as he appeared.

But... as Old Ghost tilted his head, as if hearing something, a strange smile once more appeared at the corner of his mouth.

"Ooo—"

That wailing came with the night wind, eerie and chilling, like whispers from the underworld.

The Rat King’s face shifted slightly. "You still have a backhand?"

"A backhand... doesn’t really count. Let’s just say they’re some things I prepared a long time ago."

Old Ghost studied the Rat King’s changing expression and suddenly said:

"But to be honest, Sam, I still can’t understand why you chose that so-called Bruce and not me. You should know, that Bruce is probably someone’s great noble’s man too. He and those noble lords who want to take control of the Lower District again are, in essence, no different."

"And I am the one who truly wants to liberate the Lower District. Everything I’ve done is to restore this area to the freedom it should have."

"I already told you, didn’t I? I’m not going to be some dog’s dog." The Rat King bared his teeth in a cold grin.

"No matter how many times I hear that line, it still makes me just as angry."

"Heh, someone like you, I don’t believe you’ll bring any good future to the Lower District."

"Someone like me... are you talking about my brutality?"

Old Ghost shook his head. "You have to understand, Sam, brutality is just a means, not an end. Besides... even I will occasionally do a little good deed."

"A good deed?" The Rat King raised a brow.

"Yes. For example, handing out bread to the poor, giving them something to eat for free. During this time, I’ve done that kind of good deed a lot, you know. Those people were very grateful to me."

"What exactly are you trying to say?"

The Rat King’s expression grew darker and darker, and the bad feeling in his heart grew stronger and stronger. In his understanding, Old Ghost was not the type to do “handing out food” good deeds, much less the type to specially bring it up and boast about it.

"So..."

Old Ghost flicked his cigar and stepped into the darkness behind him.

"Next, just enjoy this goodwill of mine properly, Sam."

"Stop!"

The Rat King shouted in rage, wanting to stop Old Ghost from leaving.

But one of his subordinates suddenly grabbed him.

"Lord Rat King..."

"What are you doing? Hurry up and chase Old Ghost. If we let him go, there will definitely be endless trouble!"

"No, please look..."

That subordinate stretched out a trembling finger and pointed to the side.

"There’s someone... no, a lot of people... coming."

...

...

"Dear, I’m home."

Old Luke, covered in the dust of the road, pushed the door open.

The door was already a little worn, and when it opened it let out a sharp creak. It worked better than most doorbells, quickly alerting the other people in the house.

"Dad!"

First came several cries of delight, then the dim flame of a candle extended out from the inner room as an already somewhat aged woman walked out carrying an oil lamp, and several children darted out from behind her.

"You’re finally back!"

The children gathered around Old Luke, bouncing and hopping with excitement.

"Sorry, the guests were pressing me a bit urgently tonight, so I had to work a little overtime."

Old Luke first gave the woman an apologetic smile, then rubbed each child’s head one by one, smiling until wrinkles crinkled at the corners of his eyes.

"You little rascals, did you behave and listen to your mom?"

"We did!"

"Good. Come here!"

Old Luke reached into the cloth bag at his waist and pulled out several pieces of bread.

He handed the bread out to the children, and they immediately let out even louder cheers.

This wasn’t the black bread they usually ate, but bread baked from fine flour dough, fluffy and sweet. The moment it came out, it filled the air with a strong fragrance.

The children wolfed it down. They hadn’t eaten such good bread in a long time. To them, this was nothing short of a fine gourmet meal.

"Eat slowly, there’s more."

Old Luke stroked the children’s heads even more tenderly.

"Where did the bread come from?"

The woman leaned against the doorframe, smiling as she watched this warm scene.

"At this hour, the bakeries should all be closed already, and payday for this month hasn’t come yet. You shouldn’t have the money to buy this bread."

"I ran into a kind lord on the road. He was handing out this sort of bread on the street."

"Which noble lord this time?"

The woman said in surprise, "Winter is almost over, and there are still noble lords who will specially come hand out bread? And this bread..."

In past winters, nobles from the Upper District would often send people down to the Lower District to hand out bread, but what they handed out was always black bread even worse than what was sold on the market, practically inedible. Bread like this made from fine flour was something they didn’t even dare to imagine.

"Hey, why overthink it? Truly kind lords like that don’t come along often."

"You’re sure there’s not going to be any problem..."

"What problem could there be? In those noble lords’ eyes, lives like ours probably aren’t worth as much as the bread itself."

Old Luke hastily shoved the last piece of bread into the woman’s hand. "Here, eat, eat, so you’ll finally stop talking."

"And you? Did you eat?"

"I did!"

Old Luke patted his belly and said loudly,

"I ate first. I ate until I was stuffed!"

"Really..."

The woman glanced doubtfully at Old Luke’s flat stomach, laughter flashing in her eyes, but in the end she said nothing.

She secretly hid half a piece of bread away, then pinched off tiny bits of the remaining half to taste.

But that slow motion wasn’t because of elegance or refinement. It was because she wanted to savor it properly. For people used to eating black bread, even ordinary baked bread was a rare delicacy.

Old Luke looked at the woman’s blissful expression, then at the children, who were full and starting to roughhouse, and secretly licked the crumbs he’d fished out of his pocket. He couldn’t help but show a satisfied smile on his face.

Clearly it was just an ordinary night, but because of a few pieces of bread, it felt like a holiday.

"Come to think of it, there seemed to be a really loud noise from a nearby block just now. I hope nothing’s happened."

"What could happen? Isn’t this just how the Lower District is? Maybe it’s two gangs going at it again. Just don’t let your curiosity get the better of you and sneak off to see, and it’ll be fine."

"True."

The woman licked her fingers.

"I’ll go heat water for your bath."

"Take out the wine I’ve been keeping. We’ll be extravagant for once tonight!"

"All right."

Perhaps because of the good food, the woman, who normally kept a very strict rein on Old Luke’s drinking, was suddenly much easier to talk to.

She picked up the oil lamp and turned to go heat the water, while Old Luke sat on the edge of the bed in the now-dimming room, soothing the little ones to sleep and glancing out the window.

The night was deep, the white fog eerie.

It might not have looked particularly beautiful, but for Old Luke, who had lived here his whole life, it was a sight he was long since used to.

Mm, it was indeed a bit noisy outside, but aside from that, today might be a pretty good day.

"Hey, I haven’t had a drink in a month. I’ve got to enjoy it tonight. And it’s almost the boss’s birthday too. When I get paid in a few days, I’ve got to buy him a present. That kid’s been looking forward to it for ages."

"On his birthday, I can seize the chance to have another drink. Just thinking about it feels great..."

As the children fell asleep one after another, Old Luke started quietly running his little calculations.

Being able to drink twice in a month—this was something he never would have dreamed of before!

"And the third one, what did he say he wanted... huh?"

As he was thinking, Old Luke suddenly leaned his head close to the window and tilted his ear.

"Feels like... there’s crying from somewhere. A kid?"

"Clink!"

Just as he was muttering, a crisp shattering sound came from the kitchen, making Old Luke jump.

"Dear? What did you break?"

Old Luke frowned and quickly got up, heading in the direction of the sound.

He faintly felt that something was off. For a family like theirs, tableware counted as relatively valuable possessions. His wife was always extremely careful when using it. How could she possibly break something?

"Dear, what hap..."

Old Luke lit a candle, illuminating the kitchen—then froze.

The woman had fallen on the ground, her eyes rolled back, convulsing in extreme pain. Beside her was an overturned tray, a shattered wine glass, and... half a piece of heated bread.

"Dear, you... what’s wrong with you?"

Old Luke lost his wits. He hurriedly bent down to help his wife up.

But the instant his hand touched her body, he froze again—then panicked.

With trembling hands, he lifted his wife’s sleeve, and was horrified to see that her thin hand had, at some point, become a bloody mess. Sharp bony claws were forcing their way straight through the flesh, growing out.

"Th-this is..."

"Lu... Luke, dear..."

Perhaps feeling the warmth belonging to her husband, the woman recovered a bit of consciousness, but her expression was still twisted from time to time, as if she was struggling against something.

"Run... run..."

"Run... what happened? What’s wrong, what’s wrong with you..."

Old Luke was in total panic, at a loss for what to do. After hesitating for a moment, he clenched his teeth and lifted his wife into his arms.

"H-hold on, I’ll take you to the doctor, to the doctor..."

But just then, a familiar voice came from behind Old Luke.

"Dad."

The voice belonged to the eldest son he was so proud of.

Old Luke turned his head stiffly.

In the flickering light of the candle, he saw his little boy open a mouth full of blood and fangs and start to cry.

"I’m hungry..."

...

...

"So it really wasn’t going to be that easy, huh?"

Looking at the crying little girl coming out of the white fog, Muen let out a sigh.

Even thinking with his knee, a little girl appearing at a time like this was obviously not some cute, moe mascot. And that bad feeling rising like a shadow in his heart seemed to be confirming that.

"What should we do?"

Albert asked.

"Just charge straight through?"

"Relax, I’m not that stupid. If they made preparations, obviously I made some too."

Before Muen had even finished speaking, several figures wrapped in black robes sprang out of the shadows in a nearby alley.

"My lord."

This time, the black-robed figures did not launch an assassination attempt on Albert, but instead bowed their heads respectfully to Muen.

"They’re yours?" Albert said in surprise.

"Of course. Who doesn’t have a few subordinates in black clothes? Good thing they made it in time, too. Otherwise this would be a pain."

Muen nodded and said to the black-robed figures:

"See that little girl? Whatever she is, you block her for now and cover us."

"Yes."

The black-robed figures accepted the order and were just about to move.

But in that instant, Muen’s eyes narrowed. Sensing something, he suddenly shouted.

"Careful!"

Something flashed through the darkness.

One of the black-robed men blankly lowered his head to look at his abdomen—at the thick tail that had punched straight through his body.

"Spurt."

The tail retracted. Blood sprayed. There was still disbelief on the black-robed man’s face.

"Damn it."

Muen watched helplessly as the black-robed man fell and swore under his breath. He yanked on the reins, forcing the skittish horses under control, and at the same time points of starlight flared to life, lighting up the darkness around them.

One.

Two.

Three.

...many.

They were monsters with sharp claws, ferocious fangs, hard scales, and scarlet eyes. They... or rather, it would be more accurate to call them “it,” still had tattered scraps of clothing hanging from their bodies, marking who they had once been, and still kept some striking traits from when they had been human.

But on those almost-human faces, what remained now was only the cold and bloodlust of true beasts.

They slowly walked out, low growls rumbling from their throats, like a real... pack of beasts.