Roger had worried too much.
Under "Reiner's" warm welcome, Kamen followed him into the room, leaving his men at the door.
He looked over the shabby furnishings, the nervous faces of "Reiner's" subordinates, and burst into laughter.
Perfect—just the kind of expressions he liked.
To Kamen, this little Stohess gang had no foundation, no guts.
If they'd been his men, he would have beaten them bloody long ago.
And yet here, in the most crowded quarter for petty gangs, only this one showed such fear of the Kamen crew.
Not because they were weak—though they were—but because they were safe.
A boss who only licked boots, with a handful of cowardly thugs—how could they ever be the ones who hit his casino?
The thought made him laugh at himself for being paranoid. Looking at "Reiner," young, eager, deferential, he clapped him on the shoulder.
Good kid. Keep it up.
Roger meanwhile poured out every flattering word he could recall, piling them onto Kamen until the man beamed red-faced, the heist already fading from his mind. Soon, they were even discussing "organizational growth."
Roger posed as the junior, humbly asking advice on running a crew.
Kamen roared with delight.
"Hah! Already better than most, just knowing to seek guidance from your elders!"
He lit a cigarette. Roger leaned in with the flame.
Not long after, Kamen grew generous.
"Here's how it'll be, Reiner. Scorpio will be a subdivision of my crew from now on. I'll fund you regularly, let your outfit grow. One condition, though."
"What condition? Please, tell me."
"You'll prove results. You'll wipe out every other gang in Stohess. If you don't, I'll send men to take over your operation myself. No objections, right?"
"Of course. Just give me time."
Kamen chuckled. Time, yes. Money, yes. But when Scorpio was big enough, he would be the one to cut the young boss's throat and claim Stohess whole.
Eyes narrowing, smug, he drained his cup.
Roger himself escorted him out, all of Scorpio lined up to see them off.
They were baffled—why was the boss not only unharmed, but sending Kamen off laughing?
None dared ask.
Still, Kamen's grin looked like that of a fool.
Robbed, yet leaving happy—and even promising money.
Soon the Kamen crew was gone.
Roger returned, sat down.
At last, a fat purse to solve funding. From here on, all he needed was training.
Nelly knocked, came in.
"Boss, the men are dying to know—what did you do? How did Kamen not only ignore the robbery, but leave smiling and ready to bankroll us?"
Roger shrugged.
"Who knows. Maybe he's just stupid."
Truth was, his plan had only been to feign alliance, let Kamen sneer at their poverty, dismiss them as suspects. But the more they talked, the more Kamen warmed—until funding was on the table.
Of course Roger saw through his real intent.
But it didn't matter. Once the Founding Titan's location was uncovered, Scorpio could be discarded. In the end, not just Kamen's gang, but every Eldian would kneel.
"Nelly. The task I gave you a few days ago—finished?"
"Already found it, boss."
He circled a spot on the map.
The capital's underground district.
Roger nodded. He knew of it—chaotic, crowded, a haven for criminals where even Military Police feared to tread.
If he wanted to expand Scorpio, recruit real talent, that was where to look.
"Good. Call Turs. We're going."
Turs—the one who had fired the first shot at the casino, holding the guards at bay. When Roger asked later, the others had pointed to him.
Roger had trusted him since. Without that shot, they would never have escaped.
But he'd scolded him too, and decided to keep him close, train him.
Two hours later, Roger, Nelly, and Turs left Pete Ridoz Tavern.
A carriage was ready. They rode toward the underground.
At the long stairway down, a gang of ragged thugs blocked their way.
They flashed knives, demanding a toll.
Roger had expected this. He thought of paying—until he saw the endless warren below. If he gave once, he'd be giving forever.
"Turs. Hit him."
Sighing, Roger gave the order.
"Got it."
Turs tied back his ponytail, stretched, then shattered a thug's nose with one punch.
The rest rushed in, but froze when Nelly pulled a pistol from his coat.
"Go on through," the thug whimpered, clutching his face.
Roger now understood the saying: a man with a gun is king.
Down the final steps, foul air rushed them. Cramped alleys opened up.
"Boss, where do we start?"
"No rush," Roger said. "Word is, the Ada crew in east Stohess is moving a shipment of Cloyin through here. We'll wait for their cargo to get stolen."
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