Chapter 25
Chapter 25: Iron Finger
Weiss sat on a wooden barrel with his legs crossed, using a hunting knife to peel an apple while looking up at workers unloading barrel after barrel of herring from horse carts in front of the factory building. The entire street was filled with thick, fishy smells.
Time was approaching evening. Gray Cloud Fortress’s sky never made it easy to distinguish changes in color—thick fog blocked the light, only giving a vague sense that it was darker than a few hours ago.
Two or three oil lamps were lit outside the factory entrance. By their firelight, several men with skull-and-goblet tattoos on their arms gathered around the cargo carts, opening this barrel to look, reaching into that one to feel and smell.
The workers dared not complain, just letting them do as they pleased.
“Boss, this batch should be fine. The foreman gave me his guarantee.” A short-haired young man approached to report to Weiss, speaking somewhat awkwardly with occasional stumbles.
Weiss glanced up at the young man without speaking.
Harsh metallic scraping sounds came from beneath the debt collector’s sleeve—the right hand gripping the hunting knife wasn’t flesh and blood, but a silver-gleaming iron prosthetic.
The prosthetic was designed and assembled roughly and carelessly, with ill-fitting drive shafts and bearings crudely forced together, rust spots on rarely oiled joints, steam spraying from pressure release pipes at his shoulder, and water droplets condensing on the cooling pipe surface.
Coal oil steam-driven, connected to brain nerves.
Weiss had found an unlicensed mechanical craftsman in Blackwater District who knew some neurology to perform an unpleasant surgery, compensating for the right arm he’d lost at Georgetown District’s gambling house. With this prosthetic and the stolen Guardian potion, he’d eventually climbed to the debt collector position.
Once a street dog scrambling through Blackwater District, now the alpha wolf of this territory. The methods involved were dirty and ruthless—Weiss Howard had never been any kind of gentle, good person.
“You said that guy gave his guarantee?” he asked coldly.
“Y-yes…” The young man trembled and nodded, intimidated by that fierce gaze.
“Then did you notice his fingers?” Weiss swung the knife down, and half the apple fell to the ground.
The young man’s face immediately turned ugly. “He had bandages wrapped around them, seemed like… no fingers…”
Weiss showed the knife in his hand, chuckling hoarsely. “Listen up, new kid. Here’s a rule for you. On Blood Wine Society turf, guys like that with chopped-off fingers are all lying bastards who screwed up. They can’t be trusted.”
The young man didn’t dare speak, his body rigid.
The hunting knife was now slowly approaching the young man’s face, the blade cutting shallow wounds on his skin surface, seeping red blood.
“You need to do it like this—use the knife to threaten him, interrogate him, tell him his life is in your hands and he could die at any moment. Only then will lying bastards like that cry and kneel and beg you while telling you the truth.”
Metal fingers tapped the knife handle rhythmically and crisply, like death’s approaching melody.
“Iron Finger” Weiss was like a cunning, vicious old wolf, often instilling similar thoughts in his subordinates.
That foreman’s fingers had been cut off by him half a year ago for falsifying numbers on invoices. In Weiss’s view, only losing five fingers was already extremely merciful, but Blood Wine Society wasn’t any charity organization.
“O-okay… boss…” The young man’s legs were both shaking.
“Get lost! Have them check everything again carefully! This is the last shipment before winter—no problems allowed!” Weiss snorted through his nose, releasing the poor kid but giving him a vicious kick.
“Boss, don’t be so harsh on the new guy~”
Just as Weiss was about to bite into the apple, a fawning voice came from behind. He turned around—it was a somewhat corpulent man, also with Blood Wine Society tattoos on his arms.
“Zachary, damn it, where the hell were you just now? This shipment was almost done unloading before you showed up.” Weiss frowned.
This fat guy named Zachary wasn’t entirely his subordinate, more like a business partner who helped manage some affairs. They’d been collaborating in Blackwater District for some time.
“Someone anonymously arranged to meet me. It’s new business! Weiss, we’re gonna make money again!” Zachary waved an envelope sealed with wax, beaming.
“Business? What business?”
Weiss perked up immediately. He jumped up from the barrel, landing and crushing that half apple underfoot.
“West Commerce Association—they want to transfer ownership of that abandoned theater and land plot.” Zachary flicked the envelope, producing crisp sounds. “You know it, right Weiss? That grass-covered, spider-infested broken theater up north. Haven’t you always thought that place was wasted sitting empty?”
Weiss frowned, snatching the envelope from the fat man and opening it suspiciously.
A few short lines in elegant, beautiful handwriting, with a proper red clay seal at the end.
“She wants to meet me near the theater? Now?” Weiss found it suspicious. “Who is this person? You said you met face to face—do you know who it is?”
“Some rich family’s young lady, pale and tender, prettier than flowers. You can’t possibly be fooled by some helpless little girl, can you?” Zachary shrugged. “Think about it, Weiss! That theater troupe refused to sell this land before, but now it belongs to the commerce association through auction. If they want to do anything with it, they definitely need to ask you who manages Blackwater District! Look—one agreement, they give you the land, you set up another factory, they take some commission, everyone profits, instead of staring at a moldy, stinking broken theater!”
Weiss was somewhat tempted.
Just the herring cannery alone was enough to make him rich, but Blackwater District and Gray Cloud Fortress were too small—there was nowhere else to build new factories. Every inch of land was precious, and under the joint supervision of the four major gangs, city-state land ownership was protected. They couldn’t just rob without reason.
The cunning alpha wolf licked his lips greedily.
Profit made him lower his guard. From abducting girls to create witches—even such bloody business, Weiss could manage. For the coins in his pocket, he rarely maintained reason and principles.
After hearing Zachary’s words and the letter’s request, Weiss immediately abandoned the cannery that was still unloading and headed north alone toward the desolate abandoned theater.
But outside the theater, Weiss couldn’t find any trace of that “commerce association representative.”
After waiting around for a while without seeing anyone, he simply walked into the theater to investigate—might as well scout the location in advance.
Dust and spider webs everywhere. The former guest corridor was now so dirty there was barely anywhere to step. Weiss held his breath and passed through, finally reaching the grand theater’s performance viewing area.
The theater interior was dark and lightless. Viewing seats arranged in rising tiers formed a fan shape surrounding the lowest stage. Broken, incomplete red velvet chairs lay scattered across the steps, flying insects and dust floating in the murky air.
The moment his heel crossed the threshold of the broken main entrance, Weiss sensed something strange about the atmosphere.
Instinct warned him of nearby danger, but Weiss saw nothing.
Suddenly, silver bells chimed lightly in the empty stage space, followed immediately by the sound of high heels on the ground.
A slender, delicate figure slowly walked toward center stage in the darkness. Dusky night replaced the missing curtain—a hazy performer gracefully took the stage with natural steps.
What performance could there be in this theater abandoned for years?
Weiss thought he was dreaming. He rubbed his eyes hard, wanting to confirm whether he was seeing hallucinations.
But the next moment, the crystal chandelier hanging above the stage suddenly blazed with light, a beam illuminating the stage center.
A girl in pure white curtsied to the sole audience member in the viewing area.
Silver bells tinkled gently beneath her hat brim.