As the name suggested, Foothill Street was a street at the foot of a mountain.
Elsewhere, a place with such a name would have been the most inconspicuous of places, but Flame City was different.
Because...
Great Marsh lived on the mountain.
The closer a district was to that mountain, the more prosperous and wealthy it became.
Once one reached the foot of the mountain, that prosperity and wealth surpassed anything ordinary people could imagine. Its security, in particular, was astonishing.
There were not only fixed police posts and patrol cars passing every fifteen minutes; more importantly, every resident here had professional bodyguards.
Open guards and hidden sentries, combined with modern technology, made every building at the foot of the mountain as impregnable as a castle.
As a result, some things became even bolder.
A stretched black sedan drove through the gates of a certain building. It circled the fountain before the entrance, passed through three inspections, and only then stopped before the main building's grand hall.
Without needing the owner's servants, the driver and the bodyguard in the passenger seat opened the car door for their master.
A man who was immensely fat yet extremely short stepped out.
He was in the prime of his life, yet his skin was exceptionally loose. Two slabs of flesh drooped beneath his eyelids and hung over his cheeks, making him resemble a pug.
Except he was nowhere near as adorable as a pug.
His gloomy expression and vicious triangular eyes made everyone uncomfortable upon seeing him.
Even so, he was far more pleasant than the person who arrived afterward.
It was another stretched black sedan, with equally shrewd and fierce-looking drivers and bodyguards.
The difference was that the person who stepped out was not a fat man, but a bald, burly man.