"Now, can you tell me where Rat King is?"

One second passed.

A crimson flower bloomed, then dissolved into the mist of the night with the breeze.

The "ordinary citizen," who seemingly hadn't done anything out of the ordinary, stood amidst the bloodied ground, calmly holding down the brim of his hat. Polite, graceful, composed, he smiled and asked Swick again.

It was as if he were a lost gentleman, merely inquiring about where to go next.

But at that moment, Moen's smiling face appeared to Swick like that of a demon from the depths of hell. Swick’s face turned pale. Trembling, he raised the crossbow in his hands, aiming directly at Moen's forehead.

Yet, the trigger that would normally take someone's life with a gentle pull seemed as if it had been fused in place with molten iron. It wouldn’t budge.

“You… What are you?!”

"Sigh, how many times must I introduce myself? I’m just a passing ordinary citizen."

Moen approached slowly, pushed the crossbow aside, and looked down into Swick’s terrified eyes.

"Sir, I’m a patient man. This is the final time I’ll ask."

His smile faded, and his deep features revealed a trace of cold ruthlessness.

“…Where is Rat King Sam now?”

"I…"

Swick stammered, his pale lips quivering.

You can’t say it, Swick, you can’t betray him.

You’re Rat King’s confidant!

You’re his right-hand man, his most loyal subordinate!

It’s in moments like these that your loyalty is truly tested!

There was a sharp snap. The crossbow’s string snapped unexpectedly. Moen snapped his fingers, and a glint of icy sharpness flickered in his eyes.

"Sir..."

"The casino! He’s at the casino!" Swick shouted in terror.

"Sam has a gambling habit. Every night, he can’t resist betting a round. So, he must be at the casino now."

"Oh? Which casino?"

"The underground casino on Mink Street. I can lead the way! If you don’t kill me, I can lead you there..."

"Very well."

Moen nodded in satisfaction, politely expressing his gratitude.

"Then I’ll trouble you."

"Helping you is my honor." Swick forced a smile that was uglier than crying. Mimicking Moen’s posture, he awkwardly returned the gesture.

Indeed, the more refined people seem on the surface, the more twisted they turn out to be behind closed doors!

Just like those aristocrats in the upper city!

…

After dealing with this insignificant trouble, Moen turned around and looked at the emaciated man lingering in a dazed stupor nearby.

"Don’t kill me… please don’t kill me..."

Noticing Moen’s gaze, the man broke down in fear, begging for his life again. To him, anyone who could deal with so many Rat Gang thugs so effortlessly had to be even more savage than the whole Rat Gang.

Like one of the shadowy urban legends whispered about in this dark city.

But the expected death didn’t come. Instead, he felt a warm hand gently rest on his shoulder.

Startled, he looked up. He didn’t see the brutality or hostility he expected. Instead, he found himself staring into a pair of deep, calm blue eyes, like a tranquil lake.

"Did you just say you want to be a good person?"

"...Yes."

The man nodded dumbly.

"I’m already trying to be a good person."

"That’s good."

The man felt a firm pat on his shoulder.

"Well."

From afar, a shaft of blinding light from the tower bridge’s searchlight occasionally pierced the darkness.

In the man’s dazed gaze, the “ordinary citizen” more terrifying than any thug waved a hand at him, then vanished into the depths of the blackness.

Swick hunched over, following behind him cautiously, as lowly as a submissive dog.

"Damn it… Who said good deeds go unrewarded?"

The man suddenly burst into tears, bowing deeply in the direction where Moen had disappeared.

"Bruce Wayne..." he whispered reverently under his breath.

…

…

“You’ve lost.”

In the opulent, decadent casino, Rat King Sam slammed his cards onto the table, sneering at the sweating middle-aged man across from him.

“H-how is this possible?”

The man slumped in his chair, disbelief written all over his face as he stared at his cards.

"I have a three-of-a-kind! How did I lose with a three-of-a-kind?!”

"You’ve got three-of-a-kind, but I have four-of-a-kind."

Sam tapped his cards with a sneer, showing the four identical numbers in his hand.

"Winner takes all — that’s the rule of this casino, kid. You’re not thinking about skipping out on your debt, are you?"

"I…"

The middle-aged man’s face turned deathly pale. He tried to say something, but a scantily clad, low-cut dealer had already swept all the chips on the table over to Rat King Sam.

Confident in his hand earlier, the man had gone all-in on one bet, hoping to recoup everything at once.

But now, all his chips, a total of one million Emil, belonged to the diminutive yet intimidating man at the opposite end of the long table.

His dream of a miraculous winnings turnabout was shattered. Now, he had nothing left.

“Wait…”

In despair, the man clutched the last few chips on the table, his lips trembling.

"I’m not done! Please, give me one more chance. Just one more hand! I swear, I’ll win back all the money I lost. Please, give me one more chance."

"Opportunities aren’t given by me."

Sam toyed with the beautifully crafted chips, which felt far more luxurious than mere paper money, chuckling darkly.

“One thousand Emil per chip. Everyone has an equal chance. If you want to make a comeback, go get more money.”

"Money… But I don’t have any more money. The money I brought tonight was already borrowed by mortgaging my house and farmland. Where would I get more money now…?"

“Ah, so you’re out of money.”

Sam sighed wistfully, then his expression turned cold and stern.

"No money, and you still waste my time? Boys, toss him out!"

“Wait! Don’t drag me out! Don’t drag me out! I can get more money! I can get more money, Sam. Sam, I can put my daughter up as collateral. My wife as well! Both of them—anything as collateral! Just lend me a little more money, one last time! I know my luck's turned around—next time, I’ll win for sure!"

The man’s eyes turned bloodshot as he struggled against the casino guards’ grip, desperately trying to return to the place that had already destroyed him.

But Sam remained utterly unmoved. Taking in a deep puff from the cigar handed to him by one of his men, he exhaled a swirl of smoke before sneering dismissively.

"Shit. Who doesn’t know that your wife and daughter are like dinosaurs, old and young. They’re uglier than the dirt under my boots. What the hell would I want with them—treat my low blood pressure?"

The man’s heart-wrenching wails echoed as he was thrown out of the casino, his fate uncertain.

But almost everyone knew that, most likely, he’d return again soon—armed with money from God knows where—only to hurl himself back into the abyss.

"Boss, will you still be playing tonight?"

A subordinate leaned in, whispering cautiously.

“Tonight…”

Sam glanced around the room.

Normally, he wouldn’t call it quits so early.

But recently, the atmosphere across Belland had been unsettling. It had even affected the casino’s business. There weren’t many big fish to catch tonight, most just small fry.

"So there."

Sam reached out and groped the ample chest of a nearby dealer, smirking lecherously.

“Didn’t Swick offer up his sister? I’ll find something else to entertain me tonight.”

"Understood."

The subordinate nodded, preparing to carry out his orders.

But at that moment, a strange black figure appeared behind the once-empty poker table.

“Oh? Calling it a night already?”

The figure removed his formal coat, placing an antique cane and a sleek silver briefcase atop the table. Adjusting the wide brim of his high-top hat, he smiled disarmingly at Sam.

"The night is still young, Mr. Sam. Care for a few more rounds?"