Arc#3 Chapter 43: Hostile Takeover (2) (Patreon)

"Good afternoon, everyone."

Reivan smiled as he stood in front of about fifty men. Although his Akhanian was a bit rough around the edges, it seemed to be enough to convey his thoughts.

""We greet the Boss!""

The gang members all bowed at a ninety-degree angle and greeted him at the top of their lungs. Their clothes were all of visibly better quality, and all of them looked much cleaner too. Putrid body odor was no longer left behind wherever they went, and one wouldn't even know that these men were members of gangs if one saw them on the streets.

Even if he'd only just gathered feedback from some very smart and experienced men, Reivan hadn't been sitting around these past few weeks. With what little funds he had, he'd bought them some decent second-hand clothes, threatened them into being more hygienic, and even went as far as to rent a slightly less dilapidated warehouse where all of them could live in together.

As for food and drink, there were no problems as long as Reivan purchased the food in mainland Aizen. Worgon Outpost aside, basic foodstuffs were dirt cheap in his nation, which was a welcome fact for his dwindling personal wealth.

Honestly, these expenses had practically exhausted his allowance. The only thing stopping Reivan from beating these men up out of frustration was the thought that it was an investment. Fostering some sense of loyalty in these fools would help him out in the long run.

And in fact, they were all visibly more respectful and receptive to his presence, despite his young age. Or perhaps the fact that Reivan was 160 centimeters tall despite being twelve years old masked his youth a little.

'Maybe they just think I'm short and baby-faced...'

Regardless, the provision of clean clothes and ample food, even if they were simple and inexpensive, seemingly brought about a sense of gratitude among them all. These were luxuries not easily attainable for no-name ruffians like them, which made them appreciate it even more.

'At least these guys still have a sense of gratitude...'

Reivan was aware that most of these men had only ever picked pockets or snatched some fruit from stalls. A few may have extorted money out of kids or women too. But very few of them had ever actually committed anything outside of petty crime.

'Maybe that's why there's still some hope for them yet.'

None of them seemed as far gone as the numerous criminals Reivan had encountered. He'd had the opportunity to be in close proximity to rapists, mass murderers, pedophiles, and all sorts of other heinous lawbreakers that would be personally welcomed by the devil himself. As such, he liked to think he had a good sense of when someone was truly hopeless. Given the chance, perhaps they could return to being law-abiding members of society.

'Too bad they met me.'

Reivan snapped his fingers, and one of the knights-in-disguise pushed a wheeled crate to a spot between the prince and the columns of gang members. He nodded, prompting the knight to open the box.

Gasps filled the room as the gang members marveled at the crate's contents. The box reached up to their hips, was as wide as their shoulders, and was filled to the brim with guns.

Piled haphazardly into the crate, were numerous black pistols. Although they did look a bit worn and used, with chips and scratches here and there, they were without a doubt the lethal weapon that could claim an ordinary mortal's life easily.

"Take one each." Reivan gestured.

The gang members momentarily stood dumbfounded, until one of them mustered the courage to sprint forward and secure a weapon, prompting the others to follow suit with eager shouts. After everyone procured their firearms, each swiftly returned to their designated spots — a testament to their good training.

Very satisfied by the sight, Reivan smiled. "You'll be spending the next two hours practicing your marksmanship before we head out to try them out."

"Wh-what?"

"Try them out? What does that mean..."

"Crap, are we gonna rob a guardhouse with these...?"

"Idiot. What the hell could you steal at a guardhouse?"

Reivan ignored their clamoring, signaling for another knight to push an even bigger crate in front of him. Once opened, the contents were revealed to be countless pistol magazines, all of which were already loaded with bullets.

"Later, take a belt from over there." He pointed to the corner. "That way, you can strap loaded magazines and won't have to fumble about as much in the heat of battle. Understood?"

""Yes, Boss!""

"Oh, and I guess this is as good a time as any to set the hierarchy..."

Reivan clapped his hands to regather the attention that had been dissipated by the news of their first battle. He then pointed at himself.

"Naturally, I stand at the top as the Boss. My orders are law. And nobody is above me."

Nobody had anything to say to that, so he moved on, pointing at some of the knights.

"These guys, the ones that beat you all up at the start, are Shadows. Know that their orders are my orders. So they are entitled to beat you within an inch of your life if you disobey, or talk back."

The gang members visibly shuddered at his cruel words, but he ignored them. His fake blue eyes scanned each of their faces before he spoke again.

"And you all, are given the rank of Peon. It's a provisional rank, which means you can be kicked out of the gang at a moment's notice. If you do decently well for a certain amount of time, you become a Grunt. Which means you'd become a full-fledged member of the gang, preferably for all eternity."

The peons all had strange looks on their faces when such a long period of time was mentioned, but most of them seemed more concerned with how much effort it would take to become an associate.

Reivan, as if reading their minds, continued. "The provisional period is three months. If your superiors don't have any gripes about you, and you dutifully follow orders, then you automatically get promoted. If not, your provisional period is extended by a month."

All the peons stirred. Three months? It was both a very long time and not at all.

"That said," Reivan interrupted their thoughts. "If you join the operation this afternoon, you will be promoted to Grunt immediately afterward. Provided that you survive, at least."

There was a clamor yet again, but Reivan's casual remark exacerbated it.

"Oh, did I mention that all grunts will get ten lumens a day as a wage, even if they don't do anything? Naturally, peons don't get shit."

"Ten lumens!?"

"Woah!"

Reivan preemptively took out a gun and fired it in the air, the loud noise immediately silencing the exuberant lackeys, who were about to start their own little celebrations.

"I'm not done talking yet. Actually, if I don't say so, nobody can talk. I'll shoot you if you do," he threatened, a grimace on his handsome face. "Moving on. Those who show merit in tonight's operation will be promoted yet again. From grunts, they'll become Raiders, obtaining the right to command grunts and peons. Their authority will be below the Shadows though."

Knowing what they were most curious about, Reivan rolled his eyes and told them what they wanted.

"Raiders will get thirty lumens as their daily wage."

The peons erupted in silent excitement at the thought of becoming a Raider. Thirty lumens a day was a tremendous amount for them. Although they could steal that amount from time to time, it was never a regular thing and would also have to be split with their accomplices. They also wouldn't be able to do it that often, since guards exist and their appearances didn't really encourage people to let them come close — their body odors didn't help either.

But with this, they could get the same amount just for staying in the gang! Of course, they would obviously be ordered to do some very dangerous things, but none of them seemed to care about that.

"I see that you're all very motivated. It's best that you get to practicing then. Since this is most likely your first time holding guns, the Shadows will give you a crash course."

Like a loosed arrow, the peons immediately got to work, practicing gunmanship with glints in their eyes.

##########

Elsamina took in the sights and sounds of the bustling night market. In a rare turn of events, her usually unexpressive face was filled with curious wonder. As the child of two wealthy merchants, she inherited their dreams of someday being allowed to step into Aizen's borders and conduct business there, eventually establishing a guild in the country.

Although the current circumstances were much more depressing than what she'd dreamt about, Elsamina couldn't help being moved.

Unwilling to let her be happy for any amount of time, Ballor chose this moment to ruin it. "Elsie, babe. Stop fucking gawking around like a stupid bumpkin. We gotta meet up with the others."

Elsamina grimaced but still hasted her steps. She was unable to resist the desire to take frequent peeks though.

'It's a bit less... impressive than I thought. But I suppose it's because it's out in the boonies for them...'

Still, even for a place that stood as the equivalent of a hick town, it was a wonderful city.

Until they went into the alleys.

Elsamina followed Ballor's lead, with Xanthus following from farther behind them — his job essentially being to protect Ballor and his merchandise.

As expected of Aizen, even the alleys inhabited by the scum of society were much cleaner than Elsamina's usual haunt. There weren't people blatantly committing crimes within the darkness either. Still, that didn't stop shady people from being present.

As Elsamina and Ballor passed by, Ballor sneered and held up his middle finger at a group of menacing strangers, causing them to visibly bristle at his disrespect.

However, the group reluctantly backed off after they saw Xanthus and the sword on his hip. They all backed off without a word.

"Aizen's scum dwellers are all pussies, it seems!" Ballor yelled, most likely thinking that the men had backed off because of him. "I own this shit now, you buncha cocksuckers!"

Elsamina rolled her eyes, not bothering to correct his misunderstanding. She just obediently walked forward, hoping that their destination spontaneously combusts before they got there.

Unfortunately, her luck wasn't the best, nor was it decent.

"Ah, this is the place." Ballor pointed at a pub's sign. "A black chalice with a white cross on it. Yep. This is definitely the place."

While she was inwardly exasperated that some idiot didn't think that a pub so far away from foot traffic was suspicious, Elsamina was suddenly jerked back by a thin hand grasping at her neck.

"Listen, bitch. And listen well." Ballor's face was serious as he spat his words out in a coercive whisper. "I don't want any fucking funny business. The people we're about to meet are very important. And we need them to think very favorably of us. So I don't give a fuck if you have to strip the moment we get inside, kneel down, and deepthroat all of their cocks until you choke to fucking death. Do a sexy dance with jizz all over your face for all I care. What matters is that you get this done, and you get this done right."

His fingers tightened around her neck, much like the slave collar she'd worn for the majority of her life. Her lungs screamed for air as her body convulsed. Just as her vision started to darken, the bastard let go, causing her to fall to the cemented ground.

"If you mess this up, I will fucking butcher those girls and make you eat them, bitch. Do not dare to test me."

Elsamina greedily sucked in oxygen and glared at him while rubbing her neck. But she knew for a fact that he was far more serious than she initially thought.

She nodded reluctantly. "I... haa... I get it..."

"Good girl. Sorry about getting rough with you, babe. Here, lemme help you up."

"I can do it myself..." Elsamina struggled up with rough breaths, ignoring his offered hand.

"Suit yourself." Ballor shrugged and turned around. "Xanthus, you're the warrior, you go first."

The ever-silent guardian threw a glance at the pitiful Elsamina before he wordlessly stepped in front of them and opened the door to the pub.