The Truth of Red Quarter

Red Quarter.

8 PM.

Vigilant Hall and City Hall had pulled out two days ago.

Aside from the ruins still awaiting reconstruction, Red Quarter was open for business.

The entire street blazed with light, alive with noise, men and women of every stripe flowing past. The lowest streetwalkers beckoned furtively in dark alleys, haggling for a price before rushing into a nearby shanty with their catch.

Before the upscale clubs, graceful hostesses lured in every kind of customer—from drunken regulars to wide-eyed newcomers, from freshly minted nobles of the kingdom to merchants reeking of coin—devouring their wallets with a dazzling array of services and a blur of bare flesh.

At the top tier, well-dressed coachmen pulled up before each club, their carriages unmarked yet quietly luxurious. Servants respectfully helped ladies and misses down from the clubs and into the carriages, which then drove off into the distance, not returning until the next day. These were the true big spenders, wielding power that made even the club owners' teeth chatter.

Everything was just as it had been twenty days ago, as if Red Quarter had never endured a bloody, terrifying gang war, as if the street's protectors and tribute-collectors hadn't switched from the Blood Bottle Gang to the Black Street Brotherhood.

Except for the center of Red Quarter.

There, the ruins of a dozen buildings blasted to pieces by the Air Elementalist still lay in pitch darkness.

And in that darkness, dozens of people toiled, digging through the rubble with effort, the clang of shovels against earth echoing endlessly.

Under the moonlight, Corbion Lancer, the Six Titans' intelligence chief and the "Sleepless Eye," stood in the ruins wrapped in a scarlet cloak. He looked at the darkness around him, then at the sea of lights in the distance, and couldn't help frowning.

Too close, he thought.

Those clubs that had reopened were still too close to where we need to dig.

In the distance, a Sleepless let out a whistle—a signal: two people passed by, all clear.

Lancer nodded to another Sleepless in the dark.

But he noticed a neighboring club had lit its top-floor lamp, its glow faintly illuminating a path leading here.

Lancer let out a dissatisfied snort through his nose.

Too close.

Immediately, a perceptive Sleepless slipped away from behind him, spoke briefly with another Brotherhood member, and the latter strode toward that club.

Before long, the top-floor lamp went dark, and the ruins sank back into complete blackness.

Only then did Lancer nod.

I should have that kid Rick extend the business ban a bit longer.

It's too disruptive to our work.

And we can only do this at night.

But Lancer knew that banning Red Quarter's business—making those nobles endure one more day—would be easier if they each just gave up an acre of their own land to the Brotherhood.

Lancer walked forward slowly.

Ten days and ten nights. Beneath that Chess and Card Room, they'd dug ten meters deep and twenty meters wide, and found nothing.

Now, they could still cover it with the excuse of "searching for clues about the Air Elementalist" or "finding the truth behind the Taren Brothers and Moria's deaths." But if they didn't find anything soon...

If we don't find it soon, someone with sharp eyes will catch on eventually, Lancer thought darkly.

Whether it's the Secret Section, or the Blood Bottle Gang, still clinging to life.

Or even those other vipers hiding in the shadows.

Even if Red Quarter is the Brotherhood's now.

Thankfully, the Air Elementalist had blown the area open for them. Otherwise, they'd have to scheme endlessly to wrest ownership of all nearby houses from their owners—each with some background or other—before they could start digging.

But this wasn't bad either—in the original plan, the excavation might have taken a year and a half or longer to even begin. Now, they could start just days after taking Red Quarter.

Of course, the exposed dig site made it harder to hide their secret.

That's why we need to dig it up fast, Lancer thought, a flicker of irritation rising.

Just then.

"Found it!" A rough, booming voice rang out from afar!

Lancer's expression shifted!

He waved back the Sleepless behind him and strode forward.

"Found it, Corbion!" A tall, gaunt figure strode up, clutching a cloth-wrapped long object tightly.

This was a man with a narrow, elongated face, restless dark-gold curls spilling over his shoulders. He wore a black leather harness, with three short knives tucked at each side of his ribs and waist. His arms were wrapped in thick bandages. His height nearly matched Qinzha's two meters, but his lean build undercut his presence.

"Ripper" Anton Levandowski—one of the Six Titans, the big shot in charge of smuggling strategic resources like Eternal Oil and Pitch Crystal—came toward Lancer excitedly, hugging the mud-caked long bundle.

Behind him, a fat figure—Morris, another Titan handling the human trade—walked up with a sour look.

"This should be it! I lifted the cloth for a peek, wow... it's almost exactly like the painting..." Anton's rough voice grated harshly.

"You'd never guess—you guys dug for ten days, nearly down to the sewers, and it wasn't buried in the ground at all. It was hidden in the paneling between the basement and the floor!"

"If I hadn't slipped while taking a piss and stepped on it... haha, I told you not to overthink things. You and Morris dug like madmen for ten days... haha..."

Behind him, Morris crossed his arms with a scowl, jaw clenched.

"Look! I've only been here five minutes, and I was about to leave when I needed to take a leak..."

After enduring more than ten seconds, Lancer finally had enough of the Eastern Continent Nieders who had been droning on and on for over a decade.

"Shut up, skinny!" Lancer snarled, snatching the long object from Anton's hands, ignoring the dirt clinging to it as he tremblingly peeled back a corner.

Anton wanted to say more, but Morris behind him gave him a malicious shove, sending him stumbling.

"You fat bastard... you're just jealous I'm more..."

"Shut up, Anton!" This time it was Morris, vicious.

Lancer gently covered the cloth back over it.

"That's right," he said softly, though the strange excitement in his voice was unmistakable. "This is it."

His trembling hand stroked the long object like a lover. "After all the hardship, taking the Red Quarter without alerting the Elementalists or the Secret Bureau—finally, it paid off!"

"Hey," Anton spread his hands in displeasure. "Who said we didn't alert the Elementalists? Who do you think blew up this ruin?"

"The Air Elementalist's appearance was an accident. The Black Sword couldn't lure him away, but he really doesn't know about this thing," Morris said steadily. "But I'm thinking Ashida must know something—why else would he abandon the chance to kill the Black Sword, risk rushing back to the Royal Capital, and meddle in a petty turf war? He might even know we're looking for a weapon that can deal with him."

"But we still found it right under his nose, under the Air Elementalist's nose." Lancer studied the object's outline, his voice dark.

At the mention of the Air Elementalist, all three fell silent for a moment.

"When I got the news, I thought you and Qinzha were both dead in the Red Quarter." Lancer broke the silence with a faint sigh.

"We were lucky enough," Morris said, head bowed, eyes shadowed. "You should have seen Moria and the Taren Brothers—he still likes squeezing people into balls."

"What's wrong with him?" Anton's eyes flickered with a strange light.

"Maybe he met his match," Lancer said, gripping the bundle tightly, eyes closed. "But he's definitely not dead."

"Speaking of which... twelve years... I still can't believe it..." Anton gritted his teeth, recalling with a mix of fear and hatred. "I saw it with my own eyes. The Black Sword killed him three times... three times..."

"Then he came back," Morris said darkly, teeth clenched. "Two hours, three resurrections."

"Four," Lancer added quietly. "Outside the palace gates, after the Crown Prince was poisoned, Great Saridon killed that monster once more."

The air between them seemed to thicken.

Anton stared at the long object before him, shaken and doubtful. "We've searched for ten years—but will this thing really work? I mean, Anti-Magic Weaponry is all over the continent..."

"The stuff those Guards carry can only slightly weaken the influence of magical energy," Lancer said without hesitation. "Only the Legendary Anti-Magic Weaponry bestowed by the Imperial Kingdom can truly deal with an Elementalist—Morat told me that when I was still in the Secret Bureau."

"I'm not sure I trust your former boss's intel." Anton's expression shifted, as if remembering something, and he shuddered again. "...That Old Man, even his spit is venomous."

"By the way, about this operation," Morris said worriedly. "The Kingdom Secret Bureau didn't interfere? I mean, according to you, this is an unregistered Legendary Anti-Magic Weapon... that's worse than privately owning a Magic Energy Gun..."

Privately owning a Magic Energy Gun? Lancer snorted inwardly.

Private possession of a Magic Energy Gun was just the death penalty. But concealing an unregistered Legendary Anti-Magic Weapon? Hmph.

But Lancer just shook his head. "The King is about to turn forty-eight. The matter of selecting nobles to establish an heir is enough to keep them busy. Besides, I made a deal with Exeter's Dark Chamber. They'll release information that interests Morat, and Ramon will draw all the Secret Bureau's attention. Morat won't discover our goal—I know my Teacher too well."

"But thankfully, neither the Blood Bottle Gang's Elementalist nor the Secret Bureau knows how important this thing really is..." Lancer stroked the cloth-wrapped bundle, lost in thought.

"By the way, are we really not telling Qinzha, Feisuo, and Luoda the truth?" Anton mentioned the other three of the Six Titans, frowning like the others. "I mean, the Air Elementalist has gone missing anyway."

Lancer shook his head gravely, handing the bundle to Morris. "Nekla and Catherine have already set out to find the Blood Elementalist. Trust me—I've read the Secret Bureau's records. Compared to the Blood Elementalist, Ashida is practically as kind as Your Highness Midir."

"It's enough for us three Titans of the Brotherhood and the Black Sword to face the Elementalists. The less others know, the safer they are." Morris nodded, tightly binding the long object, his voice tinged with sorrow. "For the sake of the former Nine Giants."

Anton and Lancer's faces turned solemn, and they murmured in unison, "For the sake of the former Nine Giants."

This chapter seems to have a lot of spoilers—I feel guilty.