They'd Been Played

In the outskirts of Naples, Italy, a black Mercedes-Benz slowly drove along a winding, flat road into a small town near the hills.

Looking at the somewhat old and shabby streetscape on both sides of the road, Horns, gripping the steering wheel, could not help but frown slightly.

"Did we take a wrong turn?"

"Impossible..." Repeatedly checking the documents in his hands, the assistant in the passenger seat said with certainty, "Both the shipping information and the registration records from Italy's Ministry of Commerce point here."

Horns said nothing, but the sense of unease in his heart grew stronger.

To be honest, this really did not look like a place suitable for industrial development. Even if they did not build the factory near a railway or port district, it should at least have been in an area with a relatively dense workforce, right? No matter how stupid a business owner was, they would not open a factory in such a rundown place.

The road grew narrower and narrower.

The car could no longer go any farther.

After getting out of the car, the two walked roughly fifty or sixty meters along a country path and arrived at an old neighborhood beside a community market. Most of the people living here were farmers who worked in nearby orchards or retirees. Aside from a few children darting through the alleys, playing and fooling around, there was not the slightest trace of youthful energy.

Stopping at the gate of a small house built from blue stone bricks, Horns looked around with his assistant, and his brow twitched hard twice.

"...This is the factory?"

His assistant wore the same baffled expression as he took out the documents again, at a loss for what to do.

Perhaps noticing the two strange outsiders standing at the