Chapter 63: Red Scarves
’This is sad. I don’t have any artifacts on me, let alone weapons,’ Michael sighed.
All of his artifacts had been looted after he was beaten to shit by Victor’s men. So now, he had nothing.
He took a swig from his hip flask and smacked his lips. ’Currently, I only have 59 Crowns and 10 Francs, and most of that came from being a blood donor for Signor Dante. Since I have to see a high priest afterward for a healing to recover the blood, I need to spend 18 Crowns. It’s a good thing Elio reimburses me for it, and I told him the high priest charges 25 Crowns. Heh. The Fioravantis are rich, so Elio doesn’t even bother checking and just sends the bill to Signora Isabella. I would have said something like 30 Crowns, but that would look suspicious.’
Michael took another swig and sighed again. ’Even though I get paid a generous wage of roughly 40 crowns a month, it’s still going to take a while to save up enough to start buying weapon artifacts.’
Michael sighed a third time, and through all of it, his eyes never left the artifact in front of him.
It was a massive, two-handed executioner’s sword, and this artifact was the cause of his current frustration.
[Name: The Gravebound Greatsword]
[Tier & Grade: Tier 2 (Blue)]
[Description: This artifact grants a 17% increase to strength. It naturally generates an aura that increases impact damage with every successful swing. There is a 50% chance of it breaking all forms of physical barriers of the same tier with one swing, and an even higher chance that it shatters or bypasses physical armor of the same tier.]
[Note: This weapon does not have any active skills.]
[Cost / Drawback: It drains stamina rapidly, requiring high physical endurance to wield for prolonged fights.]
[Compatibility: Most suitable for Warriors.]
[Price: 599 Crowns]
’Tsk. How long would it take before I can save 599 Crowns for a sword with no active skills?’
While he was still pondering the price tag with a saddened expression, a female appraiser approached the counter and nodded politely. "Excuse me."
She gestured for him to shift out of the way, and when he did, she picked up the weapon.
Apparently, it seemed that someone had decided to buy it.
’She could have at least asked me if I plan on buying it before taking it from right in front of me. Rude!’
Michael tried to hide his mild annoyance as he moved on to a different counter. A few minutes later, he noticed that Dante was done with his own purchases, and was handing over a cheque to the man at the front counter.
Once it was settled, the female appraiser, who stood beside Dante handed over the items one by one to him. He then stored them away in his spatial ring.
’Damn. He spent more than about 2,000 Crowns in one exchange. Tut, tut. These nobles really are a different breed.’ Michael thought as he took another swig of his alcohol. ’If I spent that much in one day, I might have trouble sleeping for a few days.’
Just then, Dante shoved one hand into his pocket and turned to Michael. Then smiled a bit to show he was done.
Michael began walking toward him when a sudden thought struck him.
’Wait. We’re going to Sylveria for some weekend mishaps. What if I give him the targets for this weekend? Like Red-Scarf? Those are bastards with money... heh. We kill them, I satisfy my aching heart that’s screaming for vengeance, and I loot their money and artifacts. Two birds with one stone!’
A grin spread across his face, and before he even realized it, he was smiling right at his boss.
As Dante started walking, Michael downed the last drop of his alcohol, capped the flask, and pocketed it. He stepped up beside him, looped an arm around his boss’s shoulder pulling him close, and grinned broadly. "... boss. I have a feeling this is going to be a great weekend."
Dante turned his eyes toward him, and the corner of his lips curled upward.
’I knew he’d get my drift.’
***
At twelve-thirty in the afternoon, a deep whistle blast echoed from the Imperial Express as it began to pull away.
In the dining car, a small acoustic ensemble was playing classical music. It wasn’t overwhelmingly loud, blending smoothly with the soft clinking of plates and cutlery and the chatter of the upper-class passengers.
Currently, both Dante and Michael were eating fettuccine loaded with rich butter, aged Parmesan, and shaved black truffles.
After taking a drink of his whiskey, Michael set the glass down and rested his elbows on the table as he leaned forward. "I’ll be honest with you boss. I don’t know how you guys do it."
When Dante lifted his head and slowed his chewing, Michael continued, gesturing toward the empty plates stacked on the table. "This is my third plate, and I’m still far from satisfied. Places like this focus more on presentation than actually giving you a meal that fills you up. You get what I mean?"
He sighed and leaned back. "If I order anymore, people will start looking at me like I’m a barbarian. Tsk. It’s not even that good, honestly. Just exotic stuff they throw in for the sake of it... raw oysters, caviar, bone marrow, escargot. The textures are weird and the flavors are just off-putting."
Dante swallowed and slowly looked down at his pasta. In a way, Michael was right. After eating high-end food for years, there were times he genuinely craved something simple.
While he was still thinking about it, Michael grinned. "I miss some real home-style gnocchi with thick sausage stew." He leaned forward, his smile widening. "Hey, when we get there, I’ll take you to a small tavern in the Lower District where you can eat until you actually burst. Trust me, it beats this fancy trash any day."
Dante didn’t say anything and continued eating. But for some reason, he found himself actually looking forward to it.
He picked up the glass of wine by his side and took a sip before setting it down on the table. "Oh, by the way. When we get there, I’m going to need you to secure explosives."
Michael raised an eyebrow. "Explosives?"
"Mm-hm." Dante nodded calmly, wiping his mouth with a linen napkin. "You’re going to blow up an important place later."
’...blow up an important place? What exactly is boss planning?’ Michael couldn’t help but feel a bad premonition which caused his brow to furrow slightly.
Just then, Dante raised his hand and a wide brimmed leather hat appeared in it.
"Here." He said as he extended the Crow Feather Fedora to Michael. "You’ll return it to me when it’s time for some action. In the meantime, while we move around the city, you’ll have that on. You are supposed to be... ’you know.’ This will make people forget you even after seeing you."
Micheal took the wide brimmed hat and studied it. As he did, Dante added in a low voice, "You’ll still need to put on a kerchief around your face. Just in case."
***
Six hours later, the duo arrived in Ravena, then took an almost three hour first class train to Sylveria, with Dante sleeping for the entire trip.
Sylveria was divided into just the High Quarter and the Lower District, which held the industrial factories, the docks, the rail yards and tenements. By the time they got to the Lower District, it was already almost ten in the evening.
As usual, the night fog was already out, and it was a bit denser here due to the fact that there was a Labyrinth in this city. Regardless of that, the city was as lively as it could be. Slag-fires glowed in the green mist and the raucous noise of drunken shift-workers and flat-cap thugs echoed out of every tavern and alley under the yellow flicker of gas lamps and magi-tech.
After some time, the carriage carrying them came to a halt in front of a tavern. After the duo alighted, Michael took out a cigarette, lit it, and exhaled. "This turf is under Victor’s gang, the Red Scarves. But you don’t need to worry. This particular tavern is run by my aunt and her daughter. You can trust both of them."
Dante didn’t say anything and just looked at the building.
From what he knew beforehand, gangs typically claimed specific neighborhoods, often centered around the train tracks, docks, markets, or industrial factory fringes, and their operations were strictly defined by their jurisdiction.
As for the Red Scarves, their domain was the local businesses, driven by two primary rackets. The first was high-interest loan rings, where they found ways to trap desperate people under predatory debt. The second was a classic protection racket, forcing tavern owners, shopkeepers, and tenement landlords to pay steep weekly "insurance" fees just to keep their windows intact and their patrons unmolested.
To be honest, Dante wasn’t judging their hustle. That was simply how men like them earned their bread and butter, and he was certainly no saint delivering moral justice. But he needed blood, the thrill of the hunt, and a proper target.
And what better target to bleed than the scumbags of the Red Scarves?