“What’s going on?”
In different places, different people spoke the same words at the same time: “What the hell is happening here?”
Cooper, leader of the Flame Rose Mercenary Group, was a man with an effeminate appearance. It was said his ancestors had once been nobles, purged from the aristocracy for siding with the wrong faction, reducing the family to commoners. After losing honor and status, the Coopers declined rapidly—families with moderate wealth but no ability to protect themselves were always seen as easy prey by various forces.
Cooper narrowly escaped death, then abandoned scholarship for martial arts. Through relentless training, he became a Level 4 swordsman, not far from the rank of Level 6 titled swordmaster. The trauma of his family’s fall warped his mentality: beneath his scholarly demeanor lay ruthless cunning. Using tactics learned from his noble upbringing, he quickly gathered a band of desperados to serve him after fleeing to Pramisburg.
Ability, strategy, and brutality—these were the prerequisites for rising in a city like Pramisburg.
When several subordinates burst into his house armed, his hand instinctively rested on the hilt of his sword, body angled in a defensive counterattack posture. His narrowed eyes hid his gaze as he addressed the intruders in a calm voice: “What’s this commotion? Outsiders might think you’re plotting a rebellion.”
The men flinched and quickly sheathed their swords. Cooper relaxed slightly, but his grip on the hilt remained firm.
“Boss, the casino was robbed!”
Cooper stiffened and demanded, “Explain. We had at least a dozen elites there. Who has the nerve to steal from us? The East District gangs?”
His question was not unfounded: Hutt’s death had ignited turf wars among small gangs. Once suppressed by Hutt’s terror, they now saw an opportunity—such power shifts came once a decade, and missing out meant a life of squalor.
The men spoke over one another, their words overlapping chaotically. Cooper, sharper than most, rubbed his smooth chin. After pacing back and forth, he sat down again and said, “Tell the men to stand down. No one is to leave the compound.”
They stared at him, confused. “Boss, are we just going to let them get away? We have the largest stake in that casino. If we don’t take action, they’ll think we’re weak!”
For gangs, honor and status meant everything, maintained by both wealth and violence. A weak response would embolden their rivals, sparking whispers of vulnerability and inviting ambitious underlings to challenge them.
Cooper smiled, ever the composed noble, with no trace of anxiety on his face. “The new city lord, Arno, is no ordinary man. His methods are deadly. Without Guild Master Sarkomo’s intervention, Barto and Kuma would already be dead. With this chaos at the casino, we must stay out of it. Others have stakes in it too. Let them make the first move.”
Cooper understood his position: he was not the strongest mercenary leader, but the most cunning. Arno had eliminated Hutt and Les without lifting a finger. Cooper knew his limits. Challenging Arno would be suicide.
Moreover, today’s events reeked of conspiracy. The lord had survived an assassination attempt, and now the casino was in chaos? He’d sooner pluck out his own eyes than believe it was a coincidence.
“Stay put. Anyone who disobeys…” He snorted coldly, “One sacrifice is better than the destruction of the whole group. Understood?”
The subordinates exchanged glances. They didn’t fully understand, but fear and loyalty made them nod. Simple orders: restrain the men and keep them indoors.
After they left, Cooper’s hand lingered on his chin, a sinister smile spreading across his face. This was a trap, and someone would fall into it. Without Sarkomo’s interference, Pramisburg was about to lose more players in the game.
Kent, who was indulging in pleasure with a beauty, flew into a rage when Pulth brought the news. The “gold noble” Arno had already humiliated him by beheading his subordinates in front of the city guard, sowing discontent. Now commoners dared to challenge him? He would make examples of them—he needed to remind everyone that he was still in control.
The casinos and businesses in the city lined his pockets. Honor and profit demanded action. He selected two subordinates, mounted horses, and galloped out of the guard compound. There was no need for a large escort—excessiveness would show weakness.
The street cleared at the sound of hooves; pedestrians knew better than to interfere. Kent spared no expense on his warhorses, knowing that a good mount was essential for both attack and escape.
As he neared a corner, Kent reined in his horse, but a wooden cart loaded with logs burst out from an alley. He cursed and yanked the reins, but the horses couldn’t stop abruptly.
The collision threw Kent and his men off their saddles. Kent hit the ground hard and couldn’t move, as pedestrians fled in terror. Before he could call for help, two lifeless puppies were tossed into his lap, and their warm blood seeped into his collar.
He cursed violently in his heart, vowing to find whoever had thrown the dead dogs and make them suffer the same fate.
Just as he struggled to process what was happening, the frenzied barking of dogs grew closer from a distance. His face paled instantly. Straining to turn his head, he saw several mangy, hairless stray dogs with glowing green eyes racing toward him.
Kent couldn’t fathom the dogs’ mood, but in their eyes, he saw hatred.
He remained silent, struggling to control his fear, but reality offered no comfort.
Hot, rough tongues licked his face, reeking of decay. The dogs lapped at the blood on his face, chin, and neck, as well as the freshly dead puppies in his lap. Their expressions seemed almost human, shifting from shock and grief to murderous intent. Beneath their curled lips, yellow fangs glinted coldly. Kent shuddered, as if this were the signal for what was to come. A massive dog lunged, its teeth sinking into his neck, and he felt as though his neck would break.
Breath grew labored, his face turning ashen. He struggled violently, but the harder he fought, the tighter the dog’s grip became. Others joined in, tearing at his flesh. He could almost feel his body being torn apart…
