"You know?" Chris narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing the usually near-invisible demihuman maid.
Talitha's cat ears flattened against her head, her voice trembling. "My uncle… was killed by them." Her slender fingers clutched her apron tightly. "The werewolves first lured him into their casino. After he lost all his savings, they 'kindly' offered high-interest loans…"
Her voice grew quieter. "In the end, they took his property and livestock… Just last month, my uncle… hanged himself in the cowshed."
Talitha suddenly looked up, rare hatred flashing in her cat-like eyes. "They rent two rooms on the second floor of the Rose Hotel in Wild Bull Town just for lending. I saw those werewolves counting money there myself when I went with my aunt to repay a debt."
Chris shot an inquiring glance at Baruch. The old bear-man nodded gravely, confirming her words. The room fell silent, broken only by Talitha's muffled sobs.
After hearing the story, Chris showed little outward sympathy. Instead, she analyzed coolly: "Rooms in a hotel mean they won't have a heavy permanent guard?"
Baruch stroked the mane on his face. "Usually six or seven on site. But Wild Bull Town has their underground casino—if trouble starts, reinforcements can arrive in ten minutes. Twenty-plus thugs total." He paused, voice dropping. "The real problem is Holt bribing the town sheriff…"
Victoria had already guessed Chris's plan. "You want to hit their lending stronghold?"
"Why not?" Chris shrugged with a sneer. "They rob our goods, they should expect payback. If we're playing this game, let's go big. Better to strike their cash pile first than get dragged to their turf for 'negotiations.'"
In the past, Victoria would never have pictured a proud dragonkin noble scheming like this. But years of disdain had hardened her—she was now more radical than Chris. "Perfect. What's the plan?"
"Holt's men aren't the issue; it's the sheriffs we don't want to provoke yet," Chris frowned.
Victoria lifted her chin confidently. "Leave that to me. The Sylvania name still carries weight here. I can't force their help, but I can guarantee their neutrality." She added pointedly, "Of course, we'll keep paying whatever 'benefits' Holt promised them."
With her aunt's assurance, Chris relaxed. "Aunt, did you get what I asked for?"
"Rifles, shotguns, and the explosives you wanted," Victoria replied. "All second-hand, but well-maintained."
When facing transcendent powers, the gap between humans and demihumans wasn't vast. What doomed the demihumans in the forty-year colonial war was humanity's industrialized firepower—cannons mowing down generations of low- and mid-tier transcendents, creating an unfillable power vacuum.
Post-war, human laws strictly banned demihumans from manufacturing, selling, or owning firearms. But forty years later, those rules were dead letters. Town sheriffs usually looked the other way at armed demihumans. With the Sylvanias' lingering influence, acquiring weapons was straightforward.
Chris planned to arm her dungeon goblins with them.
She'd observed the little green-skinned monsters long enough. Unsupervised, they clustered together, chattering and pulling idiotic stunts. But under her dungeon-king authority and clear orders, they turned into perfectly obedient soldiers, executing every command without fail.
Even more surprising was their learning speed. For complex tasks like moonshine brewing, a few demonstrations let them replicate it flawlessly—and they even optimized the process on their own over time.
Compared to the crude clubs they currently wielded, these firearms would boost their combat power dramatically.
Weapons secured and plan taking shape, Chris issued orders firmly: "We have a day and a half to prepare. I need someone who knows the terrain to guide me to Wild Bull Town for scouting."
She raised a hand to stop Baruch from volunteering. "Not you. As a Sylvania confidant, you're too recognizable."
Baruch nodded and pointed toward the door. "Then take Jakar. The kid's quick, and he knows every town around here like his own paw."
On the porch sat a young man alone. Neat short hair, light fur speckled with dark spots, slender cat ears twitching occasionally. He carved a bone figurine with a small knife, focused and silent. Only when his name was called did he stand, tuck the unfinished piece away, and bow respectfully to Chris—movements precise and graceful.
From his lithe build and spotted fur, Chris recognized a leopardkin youth. She nodded. "You'll do. We leave now."
Two hours later—Wild Bull Town, Freelancer General Store.
This modest shop was one of the few remaining Sylvania properties in town, conveniently positioned diagonally across from the Rose Hotel. After circling the outskirts to map the area, Chris—disguised—followed Jakar through the back door to the second floor.
Through a curtain gap, the Rose Hotel's entrance was in plain view. Jakar stood in shadow behind her, pointing to a young man lounging in a chair outside. A double-barreled shotgun lay across his lap; two bodyguards flanked him, catcalling passing demihuman girls.
"That's Raven—Holt's youngest brother. He runs the lending operation here," Jakar whispered.
Another brother. Chris recalled Garm—also a Holt brother—had shot her cousin. She frowned. "How many brothers does Holt have total?"
"Eight, counting Holt."
Chris clicked her tongue. Werewolves really bred like rabbits.
"Early on, four died in turf wars and smuggling fights. Now it's just Holt (oldest), Garm (fourth), Kari (fifth), and Raven here (youngest, eighth)," Jakar explained.
Chris studied Raven thoughtfully. "How close are they as brothers?"
"Very. Losing four made Holt fiercely protective of the rest." Jakar's ears twitched. "Last month, a desperate gambler who couldn't pay injured Raven. Next day, the guy's body turned up in the woods—gnawed by wolves until barely anything was left."
The story sparked a new idea in Chris. She turned to the table, eyes on the map of the Phoenix City region. "How many routes from Strawberry Town to Wild Bull Town? Fastest time?"
Jakar leaned in, tracing paths. "Seven or eight if you count trails and mountain paths. But fastest is horseback on the main road…" His finger followed two routes. "Only this one's fully open now—the other's under railway construction."
"Take this road," he pointed. "You can reach Wild Bull Town in an hour at top speed."
Chris stared at the map, thinking. "Best ambush spot along it?"
Jakar hesitated, then tapped a river valley marked on the map. "Sheep Intestine Valley behind Golden Sand River. It's the only way into town from that direction. Dense forest on both sides; the road's barely wide enough for three horses abreast."
"Perfect!" Chris decided instantly. "We head out now to scout the terrain."
(End of Chapter 3