What? Where'd These Ruffians Come From? They Dare Cause Trouble on the Savages' Turf in Transia!

"This place is a godforsaken hole! I actually believed those bastards when they said we'd get our sentences reduced and be released after fighting in Transia? Hah! This dump is even worse than the sewers in Northwind Fort."

On the streets of Batasin, a small border town in Transia, a man in a loose-fitting Northerner military uniform sat by the roadside, looking thoroughly disgruntled as he chewed on hardtack mixed with sawdust. He eyed everything around him with a cynical stare. The scar on his face and his fierce expression made it clear he wasn't some kindhearted soul with a peaceful disposition.

The complicated black tattoos visible on his wrist, each with a special meaning, revealed that he had another identity besides that of an ordinary person.

He was a "mafioso."

Well, that was the high-class term for it. The less flattering one was organized thugs and bullies.

The tattoos on these guys' hands and bodies weren't random. Every design had its own meaning, and few people besides them could understand the complicated messages they conveyed. But Transia had its own experts in the field, such as Lady Doris, leader of the Blood Rat Gang.

The tattoos covering her arms, shoulders, and back were a reminder that although Doris was now Murphy's goofy big sister in charge of a goofy gang, she'd once been a big deal among these "criminal elements." She'd reformed since then—though from another angle, joining a vampire clan and working her way into middle management was the very definition of getting ahead in the Mafia.

By that measure, Doris had been very lucky indeed.

"Boss, we're supposed to assemble soon. Are we going or not?"

Three disreputable-looking fellows stood beside him. They were all wearing Northerner military uniforms, but no uniform could hide their hooligan swagger.