Schurz woke up abruptly from a nightmare. He turned his head to look out the window. Thick, heavy clouds blanketed the sky, and under the pitch-black night, this ancient yet bustling city appeared so tranquil.

The old wounds that had not yet healed still throbbed intermittently. Even though a high-paid healing mage had worked on him, the injuries from that night, compounded by the effects of forbidden drugs, were proved too difficult to recover in a short time.

But compared to the physical pain, what troubled him more was the unease gnawing at his heart.

In the room, the fireplace burned with high-quality pinewood, its warm glow dispelling the chill of the autumn night. A faint fragrance wafted through the air—a musk strong enough to calm even a frenzied elephant.

Yet the unease in his heart was still hard to quell. Since that day, since the failed attempt to seize the Ancient Dragon's Heart Blood, it felt like something dark had been unleashed. The entire Lower City District seemed to be enveloped in an invisible shadow.

Something was about to happen.

As the most infamous "Hyena" in the Lower City District, Schurz had an unparalleled sensitivity to such matters. It was this very sensitivity and intuition that had helped him evade countless brushes with death.

“Gulson! Gulson!”

“Boss.”

A voice from his trusted subordinate came from outside the door.

“What’s your command?”

“Still no response from the higher-ups?”

“...No. We’ve been reaching out repeatedly, but every letter seems to vanish into thin air.”

“Damn it!”

Schurz cursed, his expression dark and terrifying.

“Those damned nobles—utterly unreliable at this crucial point!”

To maintain his status and secure sufficient support, the Hyena Gang spent more than half its monthly income currying favor with those lofty aristocrats. But now, in a crucial moment like this, he hadn’t received the promised help.

Not even a single response!

Could he have been abandoned?

A flash of panic crossed Schurz’s eyes.

No, that’s not.

As long as the Hyena Gang remained one of the largest gangs in the Lower City District, they wouldn’t be so easily discarded. For those greedy nobles, discarding everything and propping up an entirely new force would be far too costly.

Perhaps they were just delayed by something, perhaps…

Calm down. Stay calm.

No matter what, he needed to get some rest. He hadn’t closed his eyes in days. If he continued like this, his body might collapse before the real crisis even arrived.

With trembling hands, Schurz opened the drawer beside his bed. From the nearly overflowing pile of medicine bottles, he instinctively pulled out one, shaking out two small white pills.

But before he could swallow them, his trusted subordinate’s voice returned from outside the door.

“Boss, the Rat King sent a message.”

“Speak.”

“He wants you to meet him.”

“Now?” A trace of astonishment flickered in Schurz’s eyes as he glanced instinctively out the window.

In the dead of night? What’s this, some kind of romantic rendezvous?

“Not going!”

“But... the Rat King’s messenger said you should seriously reconsider.”

“Reconsider my ass! I haven’t even settled accounts with him for what happened a few days ago!” Schurz slammed a fist against the wall, cracking the precious gemstone on the ring he wore into worthless fragments.

Though fights between gangs were common, with wins and losses from time to time, thinking about what had happened a few days ago made his blood boil all over again, as if his head might explode from sheer rage.

Never had he been so humiliated. If not for the desperate decision to hide in the filth-streaked sewers, he, the mighty boss of the Hyena Gang, might truly have fallen at the hands of those bumbling city guards that day.

He swore that if the Rat King were to appear in front of him, it wouldn’t be the wall he was smashing—it’d be his ugly face!

And those others…

“But…” his subordinate hesitated outside the door. “The Rat King’s messenger said he’s invited more than just you this time.”

“More than just me?”

Schurz’s brows furrowed for a brief moment before realization dawned.

“He’s invited other gang leaders too?”

“That’s what the messenger claimed,” the subordinate said, pausing. “Given the fact that he didn’t break under torture, even after I pulled out all ten of his fingernails, I’d say he’s probably not lying.”

“Inviting multiple gang leaders from the Lower City District at a time like this…”

Schurz subconsciously tapped the edge of his bed, lost in thought. “Rat King, what are you up to now? Have you noticed something unusual too?”

“So, Boss, are we going?”

“Going? Of course we’re going!”

Schurz’s eyes flashed, and he quickly made up his mind.

Although the Rat King’s true intentions were unclear, being excluded in a situation like this was deadly.

A smart person never misses an opportunity to gather intelligence.

“Gulson, prepare the carriage. Let’s pay the Rat King a visit.”

“Yes, sir.”

The subordinate’s presence disappeared beyond the door, and in the courtyard, the sound of hoofbeats soon echoed in the night.

Schurz casually crushed the pills in his hand into powder and got up to retrieve the cane resting at the corner of the table. However, in doing so, he accidentally knocked over the water jug, extinguishing the fire in the hearth.

Gazing at the blackened and smoldering fireplace, the ominous sensation in Shurz’s heart grew stronger. Suddenly, he kicked over the table in front of him, his once-aged face twisting into something feral.

“I’d like to see,” he spat coldly, “after all these decades ruling over the Lower City District, who the hell can take me down!”

---

“I’ve done as you asked.”

Under the desolate shroud of night, the Rat King, Sam, glanced at the entirely black silhouette standing not far away.

The man stood on a narrow bridge, gazing out over the entire city. Though his face was entirely hidden in the shadow of his bowler hat, obscuring his expression, every shift of his gaze sent a shiver of paralyzing fear down Sam’s spine.

It was as if the figure before him wasn’t a gentleman in formalwear, but rather a fierce beast barely containing its simmering bloodlust.

“Is that so?”

Moen suddenly turned his head, habitually adjusting the brim of his hat, revealing a calm, genial smile.

“Thank you for your efforts, Sam.”

Stripped of the additional title “Sir,” Moen’s words sounded almost like casual banter between friends.

But Sam remained stone-faced, responding flatly, “As we agreed, I just handle gathering those people and providing the venue. The rest has nothing to do with the Rat Gang or me.”

“No, there’s one more thing I need from you.”

“You want to renegotiate?” Sam’s eyes glimmered coldly. Apparently Moen was unpredictable, but that didn’t mean the Rat Gang was powerless...

“Of course not.” Moen clapped Sam exaggeratedly on the shoulder, his tone sincere.

“An audience, Sam. An audience. How could such a significant event proceed without you, my dear friend, as a spectator?”

“...”

Sam was silent for a long moment before asking grimly, “What exactly are you trying to do?”

“To do?” Moen blinked innocently. “Obviously, I’m here to bring salvation to your lot—poor, lost lambs that you are. Don’t you see? You’re all headed straight to ruin.”

“Liar.” Sam fixed an icy stare on Moen.

“I don’t believe for a second that someone like you would be so benevolent. You clearly have an ulterior motive.”

“Ah, good people are always so easily misunderstood.” Moen heaved a theatrical sigh and began walking toward a dim, nondescript building tucked away in the shadows.

In the empty alleys, a mix of unseen gazes converged and clashed, sparking bursts of barely concealed hostility.

Yet Moen seemed entirely unbothered, strolling toward the looming threat as if it didn’t exist.

Sam’s lip twitched slightly. After some hesitation, he ultimately followed behind the man.

For now, the path was clear.

But upon reaching the door of the building, Moen suddenly stopped.

“What’s wrong?” Sam tilted his head toward him in confusion.

“Ah, it’s just… still a bit unfamiliar to me.” Moen lowered his gaze to his own hands, sighing with apparent melancholy.

“Unfamiliar?”

Sam frowned. Now what nonsense is this lunatic spouting?

“Still,” Moen continued, a wry self-deprecating grin crossing his lips, “although this posturing of mine feels terribly clumsy, there’s an old saying, no? Being strikingly memorable at first glance... Well, that’s a must-have trait for any blonde protagonist.”

He laughed quietly to himself, adjusted his hat once more, and opened the door to step into the stage meticulously prepared for him.

Behind him, the Rat King Sam stood there dumbfounded.

Blonde? What are you even talking about? Your hair is white!

And that nonsense about someone needing to be memorable at first glance—what kind of ridiculous “old saying” is that? Sounds more like bad advice than wisdom!

---

Reknos Underground Bar.

An unassuming, obscure bar in the Lower City District with nothing to rival the famed dens of decadence—no sultry strip dancers, no adrenaline-pumping music, nor the ever-available forbidden substances.

Even as a bar, it was simply too… quiet.

Unnervingly quiet.

As Moen stepped in, the first thing he noticed was the plume of smoke curling under the dim lighting and, beyond that haze, a collection of somber faces.

Hyena Gang — Schurz.

The Brotherhood — Zylok and Dolan.

Cerberus — Frangie.

Tradesmen’s Guild — the Tycor brothers.

…

Face after face, each aligned with the intelligence provided by Ann. In this tiny bar, the majority of the Lower City District’s major gang leaders—or, rather, powers—had gathered.

“Well, well. Without their leashes, it seems these house dogs have grown uneasy,” Moen remarked with a cynical chuckle.

For this, he supposed he should be grateful to the Moon of Silence for stirring up such chaos in the shadows. Without the pressure of its machinations forcing the nobles to comply with the palace’s summons—leaving these “house dogs” forgotten and untended—it might’ve been nearly impossible to gather all these figures here in such a short span of time, even under the Rat King’s name.

But now that all the actors of this play had assembled, it was his turn to—

“Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce myself. I am—”

*CRACK.*

The crisp breaking sound cut off Moen’s introduction.

So sudden.

He adjusted his hat, tilting his head as he turned to glance at the object that had hurtled past his face—a bottle of liquor.

The bottle had shattered, vivid red liquid splattering like droplets of blood.

Needless to say, the bottle had clearly been aimed straight at his head.

Who…?

Moen’s eyebrows arched in mild intrigue as he turned to face the man who had hurled it.

“The Hyena Gang’s Schurz…”

“And who the hell are you?”

Staring at this inexplicable stranger before him, a man he didn’t recognize at all, Schurz felt the flames of anger in his head burning more intensely, nearly impossible to suppress.

“Let the Rat King come out!”

“Rat King...”

Moen's gaze flickered toward the shadows nearby, where the Rat King was cheerfully observing the commotion without any intention of showing himself. Then, Moen returned his eyes to Schurz and flashed an elegant smile.

“Mr. Schurz, you were not invited tonight by the Rat King, but by—”

Smash.

A second wine bottle flew over.

This time, Schurz was clever enough not to aim for Moen's head. Instead, he made sure the bottle exploded at Moen's feet.

The wine mixed with shards of broken glass splattered upward, grazing the pure black suit and leaving noticeable marks on its surface.

Moen did not dodge. He lowered his head, silently studying the stain on his suit for a long moment.

“Cut the crap! Bring the Rat King out here already! I have no interest in talking to you!”

Schurz roared, his bloodshot eyes blazing with fury.

To be fair, Schurz wasn’t usually so aggressive. He had always intended to carry himself as a polite, gentlemanly elder.

But the sharp stabbing pain in his brain from days of sleeplessness, coupled with an escalating sense of unease, made it impossible for him to stay composed.

More importantly, he had finally pinpointed the source of his anxiety.

The moment he stepped into this bar and saw the same unease hidden deep in the eyes of others, he realized the Rat King’s true intentions.

——Band together for survival.

Now it wasn’t just him; it seemed every gang in the Lower City District had been abandoned by those above.

This was an alarming message, signaling an impending storm.

And when faced with a storm, the best option was indeed to band together for survival. Though the gangs of the Lower City District had never united before, given the magnitude of this unknown threat—one they had never encountered and didn’t even know the origins of—it wasn't entirely impossible for such unity to happen, even if just once.

But unity would inevitably mean the emergence of a true leader.

A leader who might potentially rule not just the Lower City District but all its gangs—a dark emperor.

It was now obvious why the Rat King had summoned them tonight!

He wanted to become that dark emperor...

In fact, he already believed he had a solid chance of succeeding since he had sent a nameless young brat to put them in their place.

But how could that be possible?!

Given his own vendetta with the Rat King, if that man truly ascended as the ruler of the Lower City District, there would be no way Schurz could escape unscathed!

So, no matter what, he had to disrupt the Rat King’s plans and force him to show himself!

“Ha! The hyena’s gone mad again.”

Someone sneered from behind him.

But Schurz merely responded with a cold grin.

A bunch of fools.

The knife was already at their throats, yet they were completely oblivious.

At this rate, none of them would live long either!

This thought ignited an ardent glint in Schurz’s eyes.

Indeed, his own premonitions were uncannily accurate. If he could eliminate the Rat King as the source of unease, then perhaps he himself might—

“My name is Bruce Wayne.”

“Hm?”

Schurz turned his puzzled gaze toward the unfamiliar young man the Rat King had sent forward.

Finally, the stranger lifted his head, using his handkerchief to wipe the wine off his cheek. Calmly and gracefully, he smiled, still maintaining that gentlemanly demeanor as he introduced himself:

“Bruce Wayne, Mr. Schurz.”

“I don’t care what your name is. Just bring out the Rat King already!”

Who was this fool?

No wonder the Rat King would push him forward.

If that was the case...

A flicker of irritation crept into Schurz’s eyes as he silently gripped his weapon.

“What a pity.”

But just then, he heard the man, Bruce, sigh regretfully.

Such lament was akin to mourning the wilting of flowers, the falling of leaves, or the passing of life itself.

In that instant.

An unprecedented wave of unease surged within Schurz’s heart, like an inflating balloon, pressing against his pounding nerves.

Death!

Death!

Death!

What was going on?

Surely, the source of unease... wasn’t this man but the Rat King, right?

There wasn’t time to think.

Schurz heard the stranger finish his second sentence:

“Tonight is so beautiful. Yet, Mr. Schurz, you show me no respect at all. You refuse to even address me as Mr. Bruce Wayne.”

Lost in bewilderment, dread, and incomprehension, Schurz opened his mouth, ready to speak.

But by then, he could no longer say a word.

The world suddenly spun. Amid the dissipating unease and fury, he saw the dimly lit ceiling, the terrified and shocked expressions of those around him, and... a headless corpse.

His own corpse.

His head rolled across the ground, staring blankly at everyone. There was still a trace of smugness at the corner of his lips.

Schurz of the Hyena Gang had suffered sleeplessness for three full days and two nights. Now, finally, he would sleep forever.

...

“Maniac! Lunatic! That man’s a complete lunatic!”

From the shadows, Rat King Sam, who had witnessed the entire scene, hissed in disbelief.

What had he just seen?

That guy had so effortlessly and elegantly, right in front of everyone, chopped Schurz’s head off?

Did he even know who Schurz was?

Although Schurz was always irritating, the Hyena Gang was nonetheless one of the big factions in the Lower City District.

Was this man trying to ignite a gang war in the Lower City District?

Besides, after Sam had gone to the effort of gathering everyone together, what was he supposed to do now? Schurz hadn’t come alone tonight!

While these thoughts raced through his mind, Sam suddenly saw Moen turn and glance at him with a sinister smile.

“Ah, Sam, my dear friend, I’ll leave those other Hyena Gang fellows outside to you.”

“What… Wait!”

An ominous dread swelled within Sam. The man’s voice was noticeably louder now, loud enough for those outside the room to clearly hear him.

Before Sam could shout further, the sound of arrows slicing through the air rang out.

Sam's elite Rat Gang guards stationed outside for his protection, following Moen’s deliberate words, had fired mercilessly at the Hyena Gang members without hesitation.

“Rat King, you—”

Outside, Schurz’s right-hand man roared in rage, but that fury quickly turned into cries of anguish.

Screams erupted one after another.

Then, just as quickly, they abated.

Silence reclaimed the scene.

Staring at the blood seeping in from beneath the door, Sam, now trembling with rage, understood what had just occurred.

That blood, like an invisible blade, wounded everyone’s eyes.

Amid the incomprehensible turn of events, the room was enveloped in nearly suffocating stillness.

This silence, however, did not last.

Unperturbed by what had transpired outside, Moen raised his gaze, sweeping across the stunned and horrified faces around him. He smiled in satisfaction.

“Good. Now, no one will interrupt me anymore.

Given that time is limited, I’ll cut to the chase.”

In this insignificant bar, a man claiming to be Bruce addressed the gathered bigshots of Belland’s Lower City District with words that would later become legendary:

“Ladies and gentlemen, please be my dogs.”