"I understand."
Luosang the Second spoke hollowly:
"So that was why Turnbull said those things before he died."
[I understand... You were right, kid. I shouldn't have... shouldn't have thought I could play their game...]
The assassin's gaze was utterly dead.
He seemed to return once more to that ruined house beneath the rain, watching the old gang leader howl in despair and madness, grief and unwillingness, amid an endless pool of blood.
"So, during the Iris Family's uproarious internal strife, Turnbull thought himself clever. On one hand, he humbled himself and swore loyalty to the powerful Duke; on the other, he secretly colluded with the restless Viscount..."
Belicia sneered:
"According to that old wall lamp himself, one of his ancestors was even a bastard left behind by Cavendil. They were all relatives, after all. Helping one side was helping family."
Luosang the Second did not laugh.
But he understood.
Turnbull had watched as the feuding Iris Family's efforts to win him over and dependence on him gradually deepened, allowing him to obtain more resources and privileges and rise from a commoner to a partner.
At the same time, he had secretly observed and influenced the situation, occasionally adding fuel to Emerald City or dousing it with water, keeping the pot at just the right temperature for the Blood Bottle Gang to grow.
The woman folded her arms:
"Once he returned to the Blood Bottle Gang, besides balancing his subordinates and eliminating dissidents, he had to pretend that his family business was so vast that he could barely manage everything, and that the newborn Brotherhood gave him endless headaches. He had to nurture enemies to strengthen his own position and appear weak to outsiders."
Belicia's smile flashed and vanished, her expression gradually hardening.
"Clearly, our old gang leader handled everything