"The boss is dead?"
In the small tavern basement, nearly every lackey let out the same cry.
Roger sat in a chair, counting the people in front of him.
One, two, three, four, five…
Sixteen.
Most of them looked sleazy, thin, and weak—like a gust of wind could knock them over.
Asking Babut, Roger learned what their role in the organization was—pickpockets.
Since it was just petty theft, there was always the chance they'd get caught by the Military Police, and when that happened the boss had to bring money to bail them out.
But Red Eye never did. To him they were disposable. If they got caught, they got caught—he'd never waste a single coin on them. If anything, it was their own fault for not being skilled enough.
The rest were mostly core members, the ones who were supposed to step up if the organization was in danger.
And because they were core members, they still held some loyalty to their late boss Red Eye. They didn't respect Roger much at all.
Every time Roger raised his teacup, he could catch their hostile expressions out of the corner of his eye.
"Babut, everyone's here?"
Roger set down his teacup and asked.
"Yes, boss, the whole organization is here. Just give your orders."
Babut was completely deferential, not daring to show even a trace of hesitation, terrified he'd lose his head.
But the others didn't see it that way—especially the older members who'd been around for years.
"Who the hell are you?"
"You think you can be boss? You're not qualified!"
"Get lost!"
"Yeah! Get out!"
The basement filled with angry voices. A strong-looking man stepped toward Roger.
Roger lifted his eyes indifferently and saw the cigarette hanging from the man's lips, his face rough with stubble.
Babut paled, sensing disaster, and quickly retreated behind the crowd.
The big man didn't need words—his mocking grin said it all.
He always liked young men who looked as fresh as Roger. He enjoyed breaking them.
He'd never liked Red Eye either, but with Red Eye's brute strength and sheer ruthlessness, nobody dared provoke him.
Now Red Eye was gone, and the man saw his chance.
Kill this boy, and the rest would rally behind him.
"Heh."
He laughed once, swinging a huge arm and slapping at Roger.
Whoosh—
The strike was fast, bringing with it a gust of air.
The gang members all held their breath. They'd seen this man slap someone to death before—his head caved in and his neck twisted completely.
Now it looked like it was about to happen again.
But just as the blow came, Roger raised his arm without thinking.
Bang!!
A sharp crack rang out.
Papers flew from the table, Roger's chair slid back and hit the wall.
Someone's bones had snapped.
"Ahhhh!!"
In the blink of an eye, the crowd saw the big man screaming, clutching a broken hand.
He held it high, palm bent backward at a grotesque angle.
"No way…"
The others froze, staring at the young man sitting calmly in his chair.
Roger's left arm was still raised in a block—but now it had swelled unnaturally thick, completely out of proportion to his right arm, steam hissing out from his sleeve.
Seeing this, bartender Nelly shut his mouth. Now he knew who the real boss was.
This was the time to cling to him!
Excited, he hurried forward.
But then he saw the new boss pull a pistol from under the table, load it, kick the table over into the big man, pin him down with a boot on his shoulder, and jam the barrel into his mouth.
"Ahhh—ahhh—"
The big man cried, teeth cracking as the barrel shattered two of them, shards sliding down his throat.
"In my homeland, anyone who sticks out gets their teeth smashed in with a gun barrel," Roger said coldly. "But I'm merciful. I won't do that."
He pulled the trigger.
A gunshot thundered. Blood spattered across the floor. The man was dead.
The room fell into stunned silence. Not one person dared speak.
Roger holstered the gun, picked up a cloth, and wiped the blood from the barrel.
He set the table back upright, sat down again, and began his speech.
"No need to be nervous. I didn't come here to kill. I came to ask for a small favor."
A favor?
The men glanced at the corpse on the floor, eyes wide.
I'm supposed to believe that?!
"B—boss, whatever you command, we'll give everything we've got," Nelly hurried forward, flattering him and pouring fresh tea.
The rest nodded quickly.
Taking a sip, Roger continued:
"I want you all to help me kidnap a family."
"…An entire family?"
"The entire family."
"How many people? What's the name?"
"Fritz."
"…Huh?"
The men looked at each other in shock, faces pale.
"Boss, you mean the royal family? You've got to be joking. Just us few?"
"That's why we'll grow stronger first." Roger shifted in his seat. "From now on, I'll lead you to expand. First we'll take control of Stohess District, then capture the capital itself. When that day comes, I promise each of you will be nobles, with lands of your own to rule."
At those words, many faces lit with excitement, smiles breaking out.
But just as many looked nervous, laughing weakly.
Nelly's heart sank. This new boss had been in charge for minutes and was already dreaming bigger than Red Eye ever did. If he actually tried to clash with the Military Police…
Damn it, what would happen then?
"Nelly."
Roger suddenly called his name.
"Boss."
Nelly stepped forward, bowing respectfully.
"Babut says you're the most knowledgeable in the group. Is that true?"
"No."
"…Hm?"
"I just have more time to overhear what customers talk about."
Nelly was humble, though truthfully, Red Eye often sought his advice before making decisions.
"That's fine. I only want to ask you a few questions."
"Please, boss. Anything I know, I'll tell you."
"Nothing special. I just want your thoughts on the royal family."
"Understood."
Roger nodded in satisfaction, then gestured for Babut to take the others out.
Babut slunk from the crowd, plastering on a fawning smile as he left with the rest, shutting the door behind them.
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