Ugly Merchant

A deadly fight, like never before, happened between the Snakes and the Crows, caused by a single gold coin. Blood shed across the field; no one took a step back, as if they were fighting with their minds turned off, blinded by a radiant coin that gleamed with unnatural brilliance under the harsh sun.

The metallic scent of blood overtook the earthy smell of the dirt, drowning the whole area in a nauseating copper haze. The ground squelched wetly beneath their boots, mud mingling with crimson puddles. Flies had already begun to gather, buzzing incessantly around the fallen.

"You shall be left alone in your gang if you don't give up, Snake," the Crow leader spat through split lips, his face streaked with dirt and blood, breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Hmph, right back at you, Crow." Snake wiped sweat-soaked hair from his eyes, revealing a deep gash across his forehead. "Your men are about to perish," he snarled, tightening his grip on his blade, the leather wrapping of the handle dark with sweat and blood.

"Even if no one is left in my gang, it doesn't matter." Crow's eyes flashed with manic intensity as he circled his opponent, boots disturbing the pools of blood that reflected the cloudless sky above. "At least, I'll be satisfied just by denying you the pleasure to spend that coin."

"Wow, how pathetic can you be." Snake's lips curled into a sneer, revealing teeth stained red.

"Haa haa haa. Thanks for the compliment." Crow's laugh was hollow, echoing across the field of carnage.

Franco kept watching from the shadow of a crumbling wall, his face half-hidden beneath a tattered hood. He was horrified by how ruthless those gangs were, sighing in relief that he didn't plan to recruit them or fight them head-on. His fingers nervously traced the hilt of his dagger as he observed from his vantage point. The fight took nearly the whole day, with the sun about to set, casting long, grotesque shadows across the blood-soaked battlefield. The cooling air carried the stench of death more potently now. Both gangs had less than ten members left, their ragged silhouettes standing among the fallen like grim scarecrows.

"You lunatic, we are really about to exterminate each other." The leader of the Snakes said, his voice hoarse from shouting commands all day. Sweat trickled down his neck, mixing with dried blood. "If any of the other gangs find out, we will be doomed."

'No worries, Snake. We don't need to find out because we are the ones who instigated it,' Franco whispered in a low voice, his breath fogging slightly in the cooling evening air. He pressed himself deeper into the shadows as a crow cawed ominously overhead.

"Don't worry. With that coin, I'll be able to recruit a lot of youngsters to join my gang," the leader of the Crows answered, his eyes gleaming with feverish intensity, reflecting the dying sun's bloodred light.

'Sorry, but that's an impossible dream for you, Crow,' Franco murmured into the gathering darkness, his words lost in the evening breeze that rustled through the sparse, withered vegetation at the edge of the battlefield.

"Ahh, ****. Take the ******* coin. We can't continue this fight anymore." Snake's shoulders slumped in temporary defeat as he reached into his tattered pocket with trembling fingers. "I used to know that crows are smart creatures. For a gang that calls themselves Crows, you are too stupid."

Snake tossed the coin to the Crow's leader. The gold disc flipped through the air, catching the last rays of sunlight before landing in Crow's outstretched palm with a soft smack. Snake turned back to his hideout, with all his members' facial expressions angry yet exhausted, their dragging footsteps leaving dark trails in the mud. Snake couldn't take the risk to fight the lunatic Crows anymore. It wasn't out of fear—he just valued his life more than a single coin.

On the other hand, the Crow's leader caught the coin, smirking as he felt its weight in his palm. His fingers closed around it greedily, the metal still warm from Snake's pocket. All the exhaustion wore off the moment the coin fell into his hand, adrenaline surging through his veins anew.

"Hey, Crows, let's continue fighting." He turned to his remaining men, the coin clutched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "We can't let them leave alive. It's our opportunity to kill them—we won't get another chance like this. Look how they are leaving with their tails between their legs." His voice carried across the field, harsh and commanding despite hours of shouting.

The Crows, despite their wounds and fatigue, felt that it was truly their chance to exterminate them and dominate the whole area. They gripped their weapons with renewed vigor, blood-crusted knuckles cracking.

"Kill them all!" The cry tore from their parched throats, splitting the evening quiet.

The Snakes turned to see that their opponents didn't retreat. The shock on their faces was unimaginable, eyes widening with disbelief before narrowing with resignation. Weapons were raised once more, blades catching the crimson light of dusk.

"I really underestimated your craziness, Crow." Snake spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground. "Kill them, Snakes! Now, there is no peaceful option. Either we kill them, or we lose our heads." His voice cracked from exhaustion, but his men rallied to his call.

The fight didn't last long before the leaders stood alone in the whole field, with all their gang members dead. The ground started becoming slippery from how much blood was flowing, the liquid black in the fading light. The earth beneath their feet had become a dark soup of mud and gore, squelching with each step.

"How insane is this? It only takes one lunatic to destroy the world," Snake said, chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. His words condensed into small clouds in the cooling night air.

"Hahahaha, now I don't need to share this coin with anyone," Crow said, laughing his lungs out. The manic sound bounced off the walls of the nearby abandoned buildings, returning as a haunting echo.

The light of the day faded, and the dimness of the night started spreading like spilled ink across the sky. The first stars appeared, cold and distant witnesses to the carnage below. Two men stood while hundreds were lying down, their still forms barely distinguishable from the uneven ground in the growing darkness. Both Snake and Crow kept holding their weapons, waiting for an opportunity to strike. The rasp of their labored breathing filled the eerie silence. Snake kept taking a step back each time Crow took a step forward, their dance of death leaving irregular patterns in the bloody mud.

When Crow felt that his opponent was really scared to continue fighting, he dashed with all the energy he had to deal a final strike. As he was running toward Snake, his boot made a sickening splash as his foot stepped into a small pit concealed by darkness and blood. Seizing the opportunity, Snake leaped forward with a primal roar, piercing Crow's neck with his sword. The blade made a wet, tearing sound as it sank into flesh.

Crow's eyes widened in shock at what had happened, cursing his own greed. A gurgling sound escaped his throat as blood bubbled from his lips, black in the dim light.

"Foolish Crow, you didn't know that I was leading you to that hole from the beginning." Snake twisted the blade before yanking it free with a spray of warm blood. "The blood and the dimness covered it too well for you to notice it. Ha ha ha ha!" His laughter was tinged with hysteria, echoing across the silent battlefield. "Thanks for being stupid till the end."

Laughing with all his might after taking the gold coin from Crow's still-warm fingers, he added, his voice carrying triumphantly through the night air:

"What should I do from now on? Should I rebuild the gang or—KHAAK!..."

"Or die by my hand." The words were whispered directly into his ear, carried on breath that smelled of garlic.

Franco had sneaked behind Snake, moving as silently as his namesake, before stabbing him from the back. The blade slid between Snake's ribs with practiced precision, the sound of metal on bone making a distinctive scraping noise before it found its mark.

Snake turned to see who had stabbed him, his movements sluggish and uncoordinated, blood already soaking through his shirt and running down his back in warm rivulets; however, he was able to recognize who it was just by the sound.

"So it was all your doing, Franco. Ha ha ha—COUGH!" Blood sprayed from his mouth, spattering Franco's face. "I should have known that there was something fishy about this war from the first." His words became weaker, bubbling through the blood filling his lungs.

"Sorry, Snake, but I have to kill you all, or this area won't ever be cleansed." Franco twisted the knife, feeling the resistance of flesh and the sudden give as internal organs tore.

Snake fell to the ground with a dull thud as the coin rolled away on the bloody ground with a musical tinking sound.

"Hey, at least keep holding the coin till the end. Crow would do that." Franco wiped his blade clean on Snake's shirt, the fabric already soaked through. "Thankfully, the light of the crescent could be reflected on the coin, or I would have taken time to find it." Indeed, a sliver of moon had risen, casting just enough silvery light to make the gold coin wink from where it had come to rest in a patch of less-trampled grass.

Picking up the coin, he kept staring at it for a few breaths, feeling its weight, surprisingly heavy for something so small. The metal was still warm from Snake's grip, sticky with drying blood. "I prepared a lot for this mission," he muttered to himself, fingering the coin absently. "I even planned that they would not continue fighting after some of their members died. Everything went smoothly, better than what I expected. If only that ******* Rat hadn't betrayed us, I would have gotten two more gold coins. ****!"

Franco went to the Snakes' base, a dilapidated warehouse with crumbling brick walls covered in crude gang symbols. The smell of mold and urine hit him as he pushed open the warped wooden door. Inside, the few candles cast long, wavering shadows as he informed the others about what had happened. Then, he sent someone to inform the other group and asked them to help bury the corpses of the dead gangs—otherwise, the scent of their bodies would make the whole Sunken Slums even more unbearable to live in, or, in the worst case, it would bring diseases. Already, the buzzing of night insects had intensified around the battlefield, drawn by the feast.

"What's going on here, Franco?" Wolf asked, his voice echoing off the dank stone walls of the hideout. His scarred face looked even more menacing in the flickering candlelight.

"Our plan succeeded with less effort. That's what happened." Franco stripped off his blood-soaked gloves, dropping them into a corner. "What? Did you wish to kill them yourself?" he answered, splashing water from a cracked basin onto his face. The cool liquid ran pink as it dripped from his chin.

"Oh, please. It's a relief that they killed each other. I don't wish to stain my hands with their blood," Wolf said, running a whetstone down the edge of his blade with a rhythmic scraping sound.

"Tell us how the fight went, Franco," Falcon requested, leaning forward eagerly, his chair creaking under his weight. The candlelight reflected in his eager eyes.

"Let's finish burying them first, then I'll tell you all at once." Franco grabbed a shovel from against the wall, its metal head clanging dully against the stone floor.

"Good." The word came from several throats at once, accompanied by the sounds of men rising from their seats, grabbing tools, and preparing for the grim task ahead.

Before midnight, under the watchful eye of a crescent moon that cast everything in silver and shadow, they finished burying all the corpses and covering the blood with sand. The night air had grown cold, carrying the distant sounds of dogs barking and the occasional shout from elsewhere in the slums. Afterwards, Franco told them how the fight had gone while they all sat around the fire. Its flickering light added atmosphere to the story, dancing across their attentive faces, and its crackling sounds punctuated it. The smell of smoke mingled with the ever-present stench of the slums—decay, filth, and too many bodies pressed into too little space. He also didn't forget to order some members to block all the slums' entrances before sleeping, the sound of their booted feet fading into the night as they took up their positions.

Now, it was the twelfth day of the mission, and Rat was nowhere to be found. They had unified the slums, but they had failed to preserve the gold. Franco was about to lose all his hair from the stress, constantly running his fingers through it until loose strands clung to his sweaty palms. Tertius' patience was running out, his foot tapping an increasingly agitated rhythm on the dirt floor of their hideout, the sound setting everyone's teeth on edge.

The days passed without any trace. On the fourteenth day, just as everybody had surrendered to despair, the afternoon quiet was shattered by a distant cry that rang out, echoing between the crumbling buildings:

"Block all the paths in this area! I found that ******* Rat!"

Hearing the shout, life returned to Franco's expression. His eyes widened, pupils dilating with excitement. He instantly jumped up, knocking over his stool with a clatter, and started shouting orders to block the whole area as well, his voice carrying through the open windows.

After a few moments, Rat was caught and dragged before Franco. The sound of his struggling filled the small room—feet scraping against dirt, curses, and the thud of fists meeting flesh.

"Hey, Rat. You played us really well these past two weeks, huh?" Franco circled the captured man like a predator, his boots kicking up small clouds of dust from the floor. "Did you know that if we had finished the mission in one week, we could have gotten two more gold coins? Tell me…" He paused, bending down to look Rat in the eye, close enough that their breaths mingled. "No, no need to tell me anything. I'll torture you until you beg for death—just so I can take revenge for my fallen hair." He ran his fingers through his thinning locks for emphasis.

"You can't do that, Franco!" Rat's voice was defiant despite his split lip and the bruise blooming on his cheekbone.

Slap! The sound echoed sharply off the walls, followed by Rat's gasp of pain.

"Say it again?" Franco's voice was dangerously soft, like the whisper of a blade being drawn from its sheath.

Spit! A glob of bloody saliva landed at Franco's feet, spattering his already-dirty boots.

"You can't do that, Franco!" Rat's words were slightly slurred now through his swelling lip.

Slap! Punch! The wet sound of knuckles meeting flesh was followed by a pained grunt.

"I dare you to say it again!" Franco's face was flushed with anger, veins standing out on his forehead, spittle flying from his lips.

"You can't do that, Franco! The boss is the one who told me to steal the gold!" The words burst from Rat like water from a broken dam.

"Huh? The boss told you?" Franco's eyes widened in shock, his raised fist frozen in mid-air. The whole area fell so silent you could hear the drip of water from a leak in the corner.

"Why would the boss tell you that, you liar?" some members said in denial, their voices overlapping in an angry chorus. Someone spat on the ground in disgust.

"It was to test your capability in sudden events." Rat's words were calm now, almost smug despite his battered appearance.

Franco grew agitated for a moment, then he realized something was off. His brow furrowed as he thought, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "When did the boss ever tell you that? You were with me the whole time—from when I spoke to the boss until you stole the gold."

"You know the boss is a monster, Franco. He approached us soundlessly the first time we met. He did the same this time, but this time, it was a message asking me to do what I did." Rat's eyes darted around the room, never settling on any one person.

Franco took the bag from Rat with rough hands and counted the gold—exactly a hundred coins, no more, no less. The soft clink of metal on metal filled the tense silence as he worked. Then, his eyes darted toward Rat, threatening to kill him. He took his dagger from his belt with a metallic whisper, stepped forward, and pressed it against Rat's neck. The blade gleamed in the dim light, cool against Rat's sweaty skin.

"Guess what?" Franco asked, his breath hot against Rat's face, smelling of garlic and onions.

"What?" Rat answered weakly, a trickle of sweat running down his dirt-streaked cheek.

"You're a liar, and today is your funeral!" Franco made it seem like he was really about to kill him, swaying the dagger back and forth before stopping when he saw how Rat was shaking yet still confident. The tip of the blade left a thin red line on Rat's throat, beading with droplets of blood.

"Tsk, let's go to the boss. I'll check it myself." Franco stepped back abruptly, wiping his blade on his pants.

The whole gang wanted to go to the boss's building, but Tertius didn't allow it; he only permitted Franco, Wolf, Falcon, Rat, and Richard, the sub-leader of the Northern Castle gang, to follow. The rest were left grumbling, kicking at stones and sharing swigs from a communal flask.

At the front gate of the building—an imposing structure that seemed out of place amidst the squalor of the slums, its stone facade rising above the surrounding buildings—Tertius asked for permission to enter. His knuckles rapped against the heavy door with three distinct knocks. Ivar heard him and hurried to inform Jasper, his footsteps echoing on the floor inside.

"Ivar, go quickly and tell the others to hide." Jasper's voice was calm but authoritative, filling the vast chamber.

"Including Breeze?" Ivar asked, already backing toward the door, keys jangling at his belt.

"Yes. Then, escort that eloquent guy to my desk—and don't forget to follow along." Jasper straightened papers on his immaculate desk, the rustle loud in the cavernous room.

"Yes, Master." Ivar nodded before turning to leave, his shadow stretching long across the floor from the light of the wall sconces.

Ivar hurried and opened the iron gate with a creak, allowing Franco to enter the building while Tertius remained as the gatekeepers, his massive form silhouetted against the evening sky, as for the others they stuck with Tertius. The smell of expensive incense wafted from inside, a stark contrast to the stink of the slums.

Franco walked straight to Jasper's desk, boots echoing on the polished stone floor, with Ivar positioning himself beside Jasper. The monstrous figure kept knocking on the desk rhythmically with long, pale fingers, making Franco feel stressed. The sound reverberated in the high-ceilinged room, keeping time like a heartbeat.

"So, you completed the mission in two weeks." Jasper's voice was deep and resonant, filling the chamber. "I thought you would impress me and finish it in one week at most." He leaned forward, the leather of his chair creaking slightly.

'If what Rat said is true, it's all because of you. So why are you blaming me?' Franco thought, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool interior of the building.

"Boss, I want to ask you a question before I start speaking." Franco's voice echoed slightly in the room.

"Go ahead." Jasper's fingers continued their rhythmic tapping, the sound now more like the countdown to an execution.

"Did you ask someone to interfere in our mission? If yes, what mission did you give him?" Franco asked with an unreadable expression.

Jasper stayed silent for a moment, analyzing what he had just heard. The only sound was the soft hiss of the oil lamps and the distant cry of a night bird through the open window. Then, he said:

"Oh ho, and why do you ask?" His head tilted slightly, the movement reminiscent of a predator sizing up its prey.

'Tsk. Just answer me—why are you playing hard mode?' Franco thought, his jaw clenching visibly.

"Well, there's someone who betrayed us. He's the reason it took us so long to finish the mission. Otherwise, we would have finished it in three days." Franco's words came out clipped and tense.

Ivar whistled, a sharp sound that cut through the tension, making Jasper turn to him and say, "This kind of talent isn't your usual one, right?" Then, he turned back to Franco, chair creaking with the movement. "For him to make you all waste that much time… it's really admirable. Bring him over."

Before Ivar could move, Jasper raised a hand, bringing Ivar to a stop.

"Oh, wait—I don't know your name yet, human." His eyes, big and scary as usual, fixed on Franco's face.

"I'm called Franco, sir." Franco stood a little straighter, though his exhausted body couldn't play along.

"Hmm. I also don't know the name of that guy you were speaking of." Jasper's gaze shifted to the battered figure standing behind Franco.

"His name is Rat." The name fell from Franco's lips with undisguised contempt.

Jasper held back laughter, as did Ivar, their amusement filling the room like a physical presence. Ivar quickly brought Rat to the room.

"So, Rat, how was your mission?" Jasper leaned forward, elbows on the desk, the wood creaking slightly under his weight.

Rat was surprised but quickly answered after realizing what the boss meant, his eyes widening before narrowing with calculation. "I did as you told me, sir. I stole the gold bag to test their capability in an unexpected event." His words came out rushed, desperate.

'Wow, this guy is really cunning. He understood how bosses like skilled individuals and fabricated a story to save his head. He probably knew I'd be impressed by his talent.' Jasper thought, fingers steepled beneath his chin.

"Good job, Rat. You really did well. Your talent is something I need." Jasper's voice was smooth as silk, betraying nothing of his thoughts.

Rat grew excited that Jasper admired his skill, his battered face lighting up with hope. "No, sir. My skills are not worth your praise." He bowed his head in a show of humility, though the effect was somewhat marred by his obvious eagerness.

Franco kept glaring at Rat with hatred, but he couldn't do anything since it was supposedly the boss's mission. His fingers twitched toward his dagger, then stilled.

"No, you truly did well. However, I have to punish you—otherwise, the others won't accept it. You made them feel depressed for nearly thirteen days." Jasper's voice hardened almost imperceptibly. "But first, let's hear the mission story from Franco. Then, I'll give you your punishment." He settled back in his chair, which groaned under his weight.

Franco's eyes flickered briefly to Rat, who stood with head bowed, blood dripping slowly from his split lip onto the pristine floor.

"Yes, sir. Thank you for your mercy." Rat's relief was palpable, flooding his face and loosening his tense shoulders.

Franco felt annoyed, a muscle twitching in his jaw. He took a deep breath, the smell of incense filling his lungs, then began recounting the story from the first day until now. His words painted vivid pictures in the air between them—the bloody battlefield, the crazed Crow, the dying Snake, all brought to life in the hushed chamber.

Jasper admired Franco's intelligence. He and Ivar listened carefully, reacting as if they were witnessing it firsthand—a raised eyebrow here, a soft gasp there, the occasional nod of appreciation.

Once Franco finished, Jasper clapped—the sound sharp and loud in the quiet room. He had enjoyed the story, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

"Give me back the bag of gold, Franco." He held out a hand, palm upward, rings glinting.

"Yes, sir." Franco placed the heavy bag in Jasper's hand, the coins clinking softly.

"Now, for you, Rat… you are sentenced to death." Jasper's voice was casual, as if commenting on the weather.

"Thank you, sir… What?! Sir, but—" Rat's voice rose in panic, breaking on the last word.

"No 'buts.' I never gave you such a mission—" Jasper began, his voice hard as the stone beneath their feet, but Franco interrupted.

"Hah! I knew you were a liar." The words burst from him with savage satisfaction.

Jasper and Ivar stared at Franco in awe. The room fell silent except for Rat's panicked breathing. Realizing he had spoken emotionally without thinking, Franco lowered his head, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, sir. I lost control of myself." His voice was barely audible.

"Sigh. Anyway. Rat!" Jasper leaned forward, his small frame casting a longer shadow across the desk as he moved closer to the lamp. "While I like your talent, I despise—no, I loathe traitors more than anything. I could foolishly spare you, and I know your talent would benefit me, but the risk is far greater. This is a lesson for you and the others, Franco: any betrayal will be met with death. Take him out and kill him in front of all the gang members." His voice had dropped to a dangerous whisper.

"No, sir! Please! Anything but my life!" Rat fell to his knees begging, hands clasped in pleading, tears cutting clean tracks down his dirty face.

"Quiet! Ivar, take him out and inform Tertius." Jasper waved a dismissive hand, as if swatting away an annoying insect. "As for you, Franco, I liked what you've done so far, but since you didn't finish the mission in a week, I can't give you two gold coins. However, I'll give you these ten silver coins because I appreciate your work." He pushed a small pouch across the desk, the coins inside clinking dully. "And don't blame yourself—traitors are a plague that must be eradicated. No matter how good your plan is, a traitor can ruin it. So, be sure to cleanse the whole slums of them." His words hung in the air, heavy with implication.

"I'm truly grateful, sir." Franco smiled foolishly.

After they left, the wooden door closing behind them with a thud that echoed through the building, Jasper relaxed in his chair and stared at the ceiling. Raising his hand, he whispered, "This is another step toward my dream. Be prepared, nobles—your demise is nearing."