In the Shadows

In a dim and spacious room, a man was admiring a peculiar oil painting.

The subject of the painting was strange: a man holding a long sword stood at the very center, beneath his feet a long staircase constructed from piles of white bones. He tilted his head, gazing up at the pitch-black sky, as if lost in thought.

Watching this painting, the man stood with his hands behind his back, nodding with an appreciative expression.

He was dressed simply, wearing only a robe, yet it was by no means plain. The edges of the dark purple robe featured exquisite embroidery; in fact, the material itself was enough to inspire wonder.

Light, form-fitting, and perfectly comfortable.

In Nostramo, such a garment could signify many things.

He had a long face, with features elegantly positioned upon it. His eye sockets were deep, and two pitch-black tattoos snaked from his brow bones down to his lower cheekbones. His beard was perfectly groomed; all of this made him appear both majestic and noble.

Mantas Skraivok. This was his name.

As for his status—

"My Count."

A strange, hissing voice sounded from the shadows of the room, sharp as if teeth were grinding together. "Tremor-Tooth has sent an envoy; they wish to see you."

"See me?"

Mantas Skraivok chuckled. "What? Have they only now remembered that they had a slave murdered in the Underhive without explanation?"

"Tremor-Tooth's envoy did not mention this matter, my Count."

"Is that so?"

Mantas Skraivok turned his head and nodded toward the person in the darkness. "Then, show the person from Tremor-Tooth to the drawing room."

"As you command, my Count."

Ten minutes later, Mantas Skraivok arrived in his drawing room.

It was opulent to an almost absurd degree, but this was the Skolevok Family. Their drawing room was vastly different from a traditional place for receiving guests.

In the corner of the hall, a woman dressed in black with a terrifying visage was waiting.

He approached quickly, and the woman stood up at once, bowing respectfully. "It is an honor to see you, noble Count Tattoo, Lord Mantas Skraivok. Tremor-Tooth sends you their sincerest greetings."

"Spare me the superfluous words, Magina."

Count Tattoo smiled slightly and gestured for her to come to the long table in the center of the hall. He sat at the head, while Magina took the second seat.

"Speak," Mantas Skraivok said gently. "What is the purpose of Tremor-Tooth sending you?"

"It cannot yet be called a purpose, noble Count."

The woman, who had lost her lips and whose eyelids had been nailed open so she could not blink, replied woodenly.

"We did not come with the intention of making a deal, my Lord. We have no great desire to meddle in Quintus; everyone knows it is already in the pocket of the Skolevok Family."

"Oh, please, do not say that. There are still the forces of four families in Quintus that have not been driven out."

Mantas Skraivok smiled faintly. "So, when have you decided to withdraw from Quintus?"

Magina fell silent for a moment. Her eyeballs did not move as others' do when thinking, but remained fixed in a dull and eerie stillness.

After a while, she spoke slowly. "We can formally announce our withdrawal from Quintus starting tomorrow."

"Mm, I am listening. Continue, Magina."

"However, there is one thing we wish to ask of you, Count."

Mantas Skraivok put on an interested expression.

"Tremor-Tooth is willing to stop pursuing the death of that slave; we will not send anyone into Quintus. In return, however, we hope you can grant us a small discount on hallucinogens."

"A discount?"

"Yes, Count."

"You mean to say that Tremor-Tooth is willing to give up all of Quintus, as well as the preservation of their reputation—all for a small discount?"

"The size of the discount is yours to decide, my Lord," Magina replied blankly. "We trust in your character."

Count Tattoo burst into laughter.

"Very well, of course, my dear Magina."

He winked at the woman affectionately. "Thirty percent, how does that sound? Of course—I will also include a small gift, such as finding the true culprit who murdered your slave."

"We do not care about that matter, Count."

"It is fine; business must naturally be a two-way street. Since you are willing to make concessions, I naturally cannot be too stingy. It is settled, Magina. You may leave. Also, forgive me for not serving you tea."

Mantas Skraivok flashed a toothy grin. "Do you mind?"

"I do not drink tea, Count," the woman said.

She rose, bowed once more, and then left the drawing room. Mantas Skraivok watched her go, the smile on his face beginning to grow wider and wider.

"They are afraid."

Count Tattoo spoke softly.

"They fear that if they enter Quintus at this critical juncture, I will cut off their supply of hallucinogens, so they simply stopped pursuing the death of that servant."

"How truly pathetic. To possess such noble blood yet remain addicted to flesh and chemical concoctions. What do you think, Shadow?"

In the darkness of the hall, in a corner where the burning candles could not reach, a strange, hissing voice sounded slowly, carrying a sharp, tooth-grinding edge.

"I agree with every one of your assessments, my lord."

Mantas Skraivok chuckled. "Three heirs, one gang, all in a single night. Truly terrifying efficiency."

"And we still cannot even determine who did it."

"The culprit hung the corpses of my son and my eldest daughter at our servant quarters, let them bleed dry, and left them to sway in the wind, yet we do not even know the identity of the murderer."

The smile on his face began to grow, reaching a certain critical point, after which it vanished.

Only a strange, eerie calm remained.

"This is truly unbearable to me," Mantas Skraivok said gloomily.

"Jando is arrogant and incompetent, but in some respects, he possesses the tenacity of a hound. Lena is foolish and empty-headed, yet she has decent military talent. And my eldest daughter."

He took a deep breath, his tone abruptly softening.

"My eldest daughter, Irene. She was perfect. She was supposed to inherit the Black Mark after killing her siblings and lead the family forward after I grew old. But she is dead, Shadow. My eldest daughter is dead."

"Please accept my condolences."

"No, I am not sad; I merely feel it is a pity," Mantas Skraivok said. "At the same time, I feel rage. But not because of their deaths, rather because—"

"Because at this juncture, where the Skolevok Family has spent a full sixty years planning, at this juncture where we could finally become the first family on Nostramo to fully rule a Hive City."

Mantas Skraivok's hands clenched tightly, his cheeks twitching, yet his voice remained soft.

"—someone actually dared to provoke us."

"What would you have me do, my lord?"

"Investigate," Mantas Skraivok replied indifferently. "Investigate at any cost. The Great Purge is approaching, so I shall let it begin early. Send men to preach tomorrow, and once the preaching is done, initiate the Great Purge immediately."

"Scour the earth if you must, but find the murderer. I will interrogate him myself, and I will make him say aloud before the Noble Council exactly who instructed him to do this!"

"As you command, my lord."

Within the resplendent hall, a shadow quietly slipped away.

The cold wind bit, and two shadows streaked across the pitch-black horizon. They moved through the darkness like ghosts, soon coming to a rest atop a gargoyle.

Karyl looked down, his expression calm, though cold blue light flickered in his eyes. Wraith stared at his back, lips pursed, saying nothing.

"Look," Karyl said suddenly, raising a hand.

Following his lead, Wraith looked down. Amidst the overlapping spires, there was a wide plaza that had been deliberately left clear. Compared to the rest of the Underhive, it was much cleaner, clearly maintained by someone every day.

Around the plaza, many gang members were patrolling back and forth, which was quite unusual.

"This is the place," Karyl said in a low voice. "Look, Wraith. They have already begun sending men to patrol and station themselves in the surrounding buildings."

Hearing this, Wraith frowned and observed the surroundings carefully. With his superior vision and ability to see in the dark, he quickly realized that Karyl was correct.

The buildings around the plaza had all been occupied by gangs, with figures appearing in twos and threes behind the windows. Wraith could see their forms clearly from a great distance, and he did not believe the people appearing in his field of vision were civilians.

No civilian would have tattoos or wear bizarre clothing. Only gangs used such methods to mark their differences and the gangs they belonged to.

One must know, civilians were lucky to have clothes to wear at all; how could they possibly be picky about such things?

"What are we going to do, Karyl?" As always, Wraith asked.

Karyl turned back to look at him but did not answer immediately. Instead, he shifted the topic: "How did you feel about your improvisation last time?"

"I felt it was not bad?"

"Answer me with a definitive tone, Wraith."

"I felt it was very good, Karyl."

"Excellent. Then, it shall be the same this time, Wraith."

Karyl smiled slightly: "We wait first."

"Hmm, patience is a very important quality?" Wraith asked hesitantly.

"Yes, patience is a very important quality."

In the cold wind, Karyl's chuckle gradually dissipated. Beneath their feet, the gangsters busied themselves, oblivious to everything.

No one would know what would happen tomorrow.

Yes, no one would know.