Tales of secrets and lies.

By the time the three merchants left the headquarters, the sun was already setting.

After suppressing the power of the Gaustin, business progressed smoothly. It was decided to hire Thorns of Desire for protection. They were the second most influential gang in the city, only surpassed by Magenta Seraph.

According to informants, the organizations were at odds, so their leader would gladly accept. For a modest price, of course.

But the main reason they chose them was for their firepower; they had two Wanderers, one of whom was focused on combat. With that and good sponsorship, they could stand up to Magenta Seraph.

In the end, they decided to pay the gang twenty gold suns for the mission. When the payment was decided, everyone wore a grim expression; even pooling their resources together, it was a large amount.

Hall saw through the window as the last of his guests got into the carriage. His son was busy serving coffee; he had already put away the wine glasses a while ago.

—Today has been a great day, father. A day full of profits. —Damino couldn't hide his smile.

—Don't speak so hastily; Celei never considered victory a done deal. —He sat across from his son, the smell of coffee flooding his nose.

—You're right, father. I acted impulsively. —He let out a barely concealed laugh—. Mirt's performance was truly funny; I almost believed they were at odds.

—There lies the nuance; they indeed were. There was no need to act. In the end, they see each other as competition.

Damino added three sugar cubes to his cup of coffee. He glanced at his father sideways.

—You are truly wise, father.

—Leave off empty flattery; every merchant should know something so basic. What do you want?

His son looked at him with doubt and shame. Then he spoke softly.

—I know what you're thinking, father.

—Oh? What would that be? —A smile spread across his face; it was rare for his son to speak to him defiantly.

—About Basil; I know what you plan to do once this is over.

Hall looked at Damino with dissatisfaction. There was no doubt that he had formed close ties with that scoundrel. Trust was blinding him.

—You shouldn't trust someone from the underworld so much. —His expression was serious and resolute—. You've let that young devil wash your brain.

Damino stared at him for a few seconds and sighed; it was impossible for his father to understand him. Impossible for him to comprehend Basil.

—You don't know him well, father. He can be a bit greedy, but he's a good person.

Hall's gaze shifted from dissatisfaction to disappointment. His son was too young; he didn't understand how the underworld worked.

—Don't look at me like that, father. You have to admit it: without Basil, none of this would have been possible!

Hmm, now you dare raise your voice at me? If he had to admit something, it was that Basil made his son bolder.

—Don't raise your voice at me, brat. When you were nursing from your mother, I was drinking with future officials.

—I'm sorry, father. —Instantly, his voice became muted. It wasn't his intention to make him angry.

Hall sipped from his cup while reflecting. Basil, damn gold-addicted fox.

Basil was an enigmatic figure. According to informants, he had arrived in Promise City two years ago. It didn't take long for him to make a name for himself in the underworld; his sharp mind and charismatic personality set him apart from others.

This played against him as he gained allies and opponents alike. But as time passed, he killed more of his enemies. It reached a point where no one openly judged him anymore, fearful of his reprisals.

He still remembered their first meeting when Basil explained his plan to bring down the competition.

It consisted of winning over other businesses trust by making them fight amongst themselves and stealing their money. In the midst of this chaos, his company pretended to appear much more affected and defenseless when in reality Magenta Seraph returned stolen resources.

While they lost capital, he remained high and stable. The plan was insidious and deceitful; that's why it worked so well. He could have left it there, but Basil added more to the mix.

To prolong the time for the thefts, he suggested paying informants to keep quiet.

In this way, thefts and information trafficking lasted two months without anyone identifying the culprit—plenty of time for it to turn into a crisis.

And as if that weren't enough, he suggested paying the hired group a higher price than what other merchants offered with the intention of having control over the gang.

He truly is a danger.

—Remember this, Basil is a genius, a genius of the underworld. The people from that world are different, son. —He paused to take a sip of his coffee, his gaze absorbed in the past—. In the city, there are two sides. The bright side that many citizens see... and the dark side, discovered only by the poor souls. On the bright side are those who are guided by emotions. On the other hand, in the darkness dwell those who move by logic. Otherwise, they die at a young age.

»A genius who dwells on the dark side is the most dangerous. My son, Basil has only been using you. He knows you are inexperienced; he has filled you with sweet words to gain power. You yourself could notice that hidden greed!

Damino trembled with each word from his father. He still remembered Basil giving him advice, listening to him, laughing with him. Was all that a lie? Are you really just another cunning fox? It can't be!

—You don't understand, father. Basil is... he is special. He may like money, but everyone likes it. He understands the people around him; he knows what happiness is, what sadness is. I had never met anyone as empathetic as him.

—Just a dirty act, worthy of a hungry fox.

—Don't misuse Celei's words, father. —Damino stopped him cold, with an attitude he didn't even know he had—. It's not a lie; I'm sure.

—How do you know? How can you be so sure?

—I just know! What else can I tell you? I live on the bright side of the city; he guided me through emotions... I don't need a reason to trust.

—And he only needs a reason to betray you! Enough of this nonsense talk; you've ruined the taste of the coffee! Get out of my sight!

Damino left the room without delay; heavy footsteps accompanied his protesting march.

Meanwhile, Hall could only sigh. His son had already grown up to raise his voice at him. He had the education required of a merchant; he only lacked vision.

His concern was reflected on his face; the business could fall into bad hands, all because his son didn't know how the world worked. I won't allow it. It's time to tighten your chain, Basil.

***

It was past eleven when Mirt headed to the slums. He was accompanied by two of his burliest men following him with straight backs. Simple hoods concealed their faces.

They passed by beggars who asked for alms in weak voices. Others just slept, seeking in their dreams the relief they couldn't find during the day.

The simple thieves avoided looking at them; their revolvers, whose holsters were displayed freely, scared them away like flies.

Mirt grimaced at the foul smell coming from some unfortunate souls. At first, he was reluctant to come, but being the intermediary would leave impressions on the gang. When Thorns of Desire finishes off Magenta Seraph, they will be the most influential criminals in the city. It would be good to obtain some connections for the future.

Turning around the corner, they entered a dark alley with no exit in sight.

At the end waited a group of six men. In the middle, sitting on some boxes, was a large man whose long hair was tied back in a ponytail.

—You're late, Graytonne.—The man had a southern accent; he probably came from the Frozen Mountains.

—It's hard to arrive while avoiding gazes. I'm a very sought-after man.

Gurad looked at the merchant with a spark of amusement. It was funny to see how despite wanting to form connections, the man acted arrogantly in their first meeting. Is it because of my accent? Are you looking down on me?

—It's that... or you're afraid they'll turn you into mush.

Mirt turned pale and swallowed hard, but before he could refute it, the man continued.

—Just because I'm from this world doesn't mean I'm ignorant; I know a lot about the situation of big merchants.—An arrogant smile spread across his face—. You should start acting more submissive, fool.

He clenched his teeth fiercely; he had come intending to form connections, but Gurad knew his worth. They were the only gang capable of saving his company.

Thinking about this made Mirt lose any trace of pride he had left.

—I... apologize for being late, Mr. Gurad.—he spoke softly with an unfriendly face.

—Heh... Alright, I don't like beating around the bush, just tell me the job. If it's not good, I'll be the one to end your company.

—The job consists of... protecting us from Magenta Seraph, preferably annihilating them in the process.

Gurad did not hide his surprise. Seeing it as a sign of interest, Mirt continued confidently.

—The Graytonne company has formed an alliance with the companies Difial, Drist, and Gaustin. The reward is ten gold suns.

There was silence in the alley; Gurad rested his fingers on his chin, showing a thoughtful expression. His gaze was lost in nothingness, occasionally letting out "aha" and "makes sense."

This scene repeated itself for about two minutes. Mirt was about to rush him, but Gurad turned to look at him with a calm expression.

Mirt returned the gaze, waiting for him to speak. But far from doing so, Gurad's look became tenacious as the silence stretched.

—Excuse me, it goes to... —Before he could finish, Mirt was interrupted by a sharp pain coming from his ear. Or rather, what was left of his ear.

—Ahhgg!—He bent over while tightly gripping his wound, from which blood was shooting out.

His bodyguards had no time to react; none of the men in front had pulled a weapon. Not even the sound of a gunshot was heard!

They drew their weapons slowly, and the men behind Gurad followed suit.

—!!Stop, idiots!! —The merchant shouted while breathing heavily.

Fighting was not an option, so he clung to diplomacy; staying alive was proof that Gurad was willing to listen.

—Do you think I'm a fool? I won't put my people at risk for so little.

Ten gold suns were enough for a family of four not to work for three months, but it still wasn't worth it; it was too risky.

—Then... Let it be fifteen! —Mirt struggled to speak, pressing on his wound.

He raised the reward but only received a cold look from Gurad.

—Fine! Twenty then! Let it be twenty!

Gurad's face became thoughtful. Ten seconds of silence passed, only broken by Mirt's groans.

—Alright, we'll take the job. My men will head to your headquarters.

With this, he began to speak in whispers with his subordinates.

Mirt didn't think twice about leaving the alley. The negotiations went well; he managed to establish the agreed price for the alliance; the only real cost was half of his ear.

He needed to hurry and request a healer from the Great Headquarters. Thinking about the expenses, he couldn't help but curse Gurad in his mind.

Damn dog! Just wait until it grows back, I'll pay this wound back tenfold!

Gurad watched Mirt leave; his mind was occupied with the letter he received earlier.

In it, Hall Gaustin wrote to him, promising him a greater amount of gold soles in exchange for pretending to work for the alliance.

In addition to that, he tasked him with attacking certain members of Serafín Magenta. All anonymously, to avoid risks.

Suddenly, he began to tremble. His right-hand man, Ferei, looked at him with a puzzled expression.

Basil, damn lunatic... He has it well planned out. Gurad didn't know if he was trembling from the cold or something else.