The night sky above Carrowhelm still had a smoky hue from the mana explosion that ripped through the inner district. Word of the explosion had already been shared throughout the city, but it was not the explosion that Grand Mage Linlin was interested in, but rather the boy behind it.
"I told you he was crazy," she said under her breath while reclining in a velvet chair with a glass of wine in hand; "Crazy... or dangerous."
As she ran her finger along the rim of the glass, Grand Mage Linlin couldn't stop thinking about the sheer madness of that explosion, and the secret battle behind the scenes with the gangs. A smile crept on her lips; "Alfrenzo huh?"
Meanwhile, back at the inn, Hunter had leaned against the window frame and saw yet more smoke still rising off to the distance. "Luenor" he started irritatedly, "Why the hell did you cause that explosion? That was a mana blast, in the city. Innocents died."
Luenor who was seated at the table with a map of Carrowhelm on it barely moved, "It was necessary," he said in a cold manner, "they were sacrifices for what was bigger, We needed chaos to cover our true move; and it worked."
Hunter smacked his lips in displeasure, but remained quiet. He had seen enough blood in his life to know that in times of war, morality is often a privilege.
The following day, Luenor stepped into the lowlands. The foul stench of rotting trash, sewage, and degradation filled the air. He walked past ragged tents and shattered homes, until he saw two familiar faces next to a makeshift table.
Ross, a lanky adolescent with hollow cheeks, saluted Luenor nervously. Next to him, Tio—still bandaged from his run-in with the Fangbangs—gave a proud nod.
"We've fanned our people through most of the city," Tio said. "Some act as beggars, some work in and around shops, and some just... listen."
Luenor nodded with approval. "You have done well. As a reward, Fangbangs will offer you their protection now. They work for me."
Tio's eyes lit up with the acknowledgment, but Luenor was already on his way.
He showed up at the Fangbang's processing grounds just before noon. The area stunk of booze, sweat, and something Luenor didn't want to think about. The evidence of their aftermath from the celebration after last night's battle lay strewn across the floor—empty bottles, unconscious men and women, prostitute's getting dressed or passed out.
Luenor stepped over a man snoring across the floor of the den, and passed by a familiar mountain of flesh sprawled out half naked on a fur rug. It was Gurt, the overly fat leader of the gang, who had a satisfied grin on his face and was snoring without care.
Holding back a gag, Luenor gave Gurt a hard kick in the ribs. Gurt bolted upright, angrily rubbing his eyes, and when he saw Luenor glaring at him, his expression changed to one of terror. He scrambled to his knees—naked, of course—stuck his arms wide up above his head and flopped onto the rug. He might have made an impressive effort to recognize Luenor for when he drank too much last night, but the position he was in made it hard to give him respect. Gurt's massive butt stuck up embarrassingly in the air.
"Co-covering up immediately!" Gurt said, stammering.
Luenor tossed him a junky sheet. "You need to meet the Iron Rats today. Your new base is in the lowlands. Don't ask."
"Y-yes, sir!" Gurt squeaked, hastily wrapping himself in the cloth as Luenor left with an expression of utter repulsion.
Later that day, Alfrenzo, Luenor in disguise, came back to meet with Dallast. This time he had his hired mercenary bodyguards in tow. Dallast seemed in great spirits and greeted Alfrenzo with a smile and handshake, pouring them both a glass of wine.
"Refined mana stones like this at this price?" Dallast laughed while he animatedly watched workers load crates into his carriages. "You're either lucky or crazy."
"Both," said Alfrenzo with charm, lifting his glass.
As the final crate was sealed and rolled away, the two men shook hands again. "To business," said Dallast.
"To trust," said Alfrenzo.
But already Alfrenzo's mind was turning. He had formulated this encounter in his mind and now it was time to set the rest into motion.
Hunter had been following Dallast from a roof a block away. After the merchant entered his warehouse, Hunter followed quietly in the darkness and knocked out a solitary guard.
Hunter made his way to the office, waited until Dallast left and slipped in. The office smelled of ink and old wood. Papers, files, were piled on the table, and it didn't take long for Hunter to find what he was looking for. There it was, a small, once-business document attesting to a "Lord Robert Maynard" as a business partner.
"A noble," thought Hunter. "From the capital?"
But he didn't have much time to ponder. He found the storage area and then used some evidence of something—something subtle but damning. That evidence was small pieces of fake mana stone inside a crate that had Alfrenzo's insignia on it.
Then he was gone.
The following day Dallast's warehouse received a royal carriage. Out stepped a tall man in fine robes—Robert Maynard. He appeared calm, almost bored, but his eyes commanded respect.
"My agents say some of the stones are... fake." Robert said as he examined another piece of crystal his man held.
Dallast blanched. "Impossible! I checked it all myself--"
Robert silenced him with a raised hand. "Betrayal is ugly. Are you?"
"No! No, my lord! Please; I'll send the next shipment as a gift, from me. You have my word!"
Robert thought for a moment before he responded with a nod. "You get one chance. Do not waste it."
As the carriage drove away, Dallast punched the nearest crate in frustration.
"Alfrenzo," he growled, "You will regret this."
Back at the inn, Hunter returned with the information and delivered the note to Luenor.
"Robert Maynard," Luenor read aloud. "A ruined viscount now dealing in black market trades under the Duke's protection. Perfect."
"Then we take him out. Linlin gets what she wants. And we move closer to the marquess."
Hunter crossed his arms. "You always play a long game."
Luenor didn't respond right away. He looked out the window, watching smoke rise from the wreckage of the old district.
"Let's just hope we are not the only ones playing a long game."