Chapter 26
Chapter 26: Trapped Beast
Weiss was somewhat amazed.
The girl on stage wore a luxurious formal dress—exquisite silk woven from premium materials, light and soft as swan feathers. Silver hair flowed like a waterfall from shoulders to knees, a lady’s formal hat adorned with veils tilted slightly, and beneath the gauze veil, slowly opening pale purple eyes sparkled like colored glass.
She was petite and slender, her skin a nearly sickly porcelain white under the lights.
Translucent.
So fragile she seemed like she might shatter at the slightest touch.
Clearly still looking like a twelve or thirteen-year-old child, her tender face was constantly shrouded in an aura of cool melancholy. Willow-like brows carried persistent gloom—she seemed to be saddened by something.
This initial stunning impression made Weiss feel somewhat unreal. Someone who spent his days wandering dark alleys—even his dreams were barren and desolate. This snow-white, transparent, crystal-like girl wasn’t something Weiss could have imagined.
Yet there she was, right before his eyes.
The boundary between dream and reality seemed broken. No matter how many times Weiss rubbed his eyes, the girl remained there, standing properly upright at center stage, never disappearing.
“Mr. Weiss Howard, correct?”
Lighter than silver bells, the girl’s voice was gentle and clear. As her curtsy ended, her thin cherry lips parted slightly.
Only then did Weiss snap out of his daze, nearly forgetting why he’d come here.
“The West Commerce Association representative? I came as you requested. You want to rent this land to Blood Wine Society?” Without losing the initiative despite his momentary confusion, Weiss immediately got to the point.
If he hadn’t guessed wrong, this girl was probably some commerce association leader’s daughter—like Zachary said, a rich family’s young lady.
From a gang member’s perspective, Weiss’s surface attitude was already respectful enough, but he actually looked down on and even hated these people born with silver spoons.
Girls like this who hadn’t seen much of human nature’s ugliness—just show a little fierce attitude and killing intent, intimidate them verbally, and they’d immediately reveal weaknesses and fall into psychological disadvantage. After that, they’d keep making concessions in business negotiations, gradually handing over the benefits they held.
However, just as Weiss was formulating some phrasing that was somewhat fierce yet restrained, he heard the girl on stage ask coldly:
“Are all Blood Wine Society debt collectors as stupid as you? Not the slightest suspicion of such a hole-riddled story?”
Those pale purple glass eyes held a knife.
Weiss felt that knife suddenly, forcefully, viciously pierce his belly. His legs couldn’t help but shiver—this man who’d seen all kinds of bloody scenes in streets and alleys, who’d survived to his current position through extortion and murder, couldn’t immediately suppress his instinctive fear.
Weiss knew that kind of gaze.
That was the gaze of someone who had killed before—a contempt and disdain for others’ lives, a warning to any who dared invade their territory.
In this moment, he finally broke free from money’s blinding temptation and clearly saw the unbridgeable flaws behind this excuse—if West Commerce Association truly controlled this land, why wouldn’t they first consider opening their own factory?
The association lacked neither technology nor funds. Establishing a factory wouldn’t be difficult for those wealthy merchants. Obtaining usage rights to urban land took priority over anything else. Renting territory to gangs while only collecting commission was such an inefficient method—hardly a wise choice. Blood Wine Society would only pay protection money to the association at fixed rates then, and the two parties’ profits weren’t even in the same league.
Weiss had thought he wouldn’t lose anything, so he’d come here with a why-not attitude.
But standing there was still just a young girl.
After regaining his composure, Weiss still didn’t feel any real threat. He couldn’t understand what benefit this girl could gain by going through such trouble to deceive a Blood Wine Society debt collector.
“Ignorant little brat, do you know who you’re messing with? We here never care how much status and wealth your parents have. The four major gangs’ authority in Black City matters more than money and power.”
Weiss began laughing lowly, his metal fingers uncontrollably twitching and tapping together, producing sharp metallic sounds.
Blackwater District was Blood Wine Society territory.
In Gray Cloud Fortress, anyone who dared offend Blood Wine Society never came to good ends. Those who dared insult and challenge the four major gangs’ authority had never left behind any complete remains—countless souls were buried beneath the muddy, floating waters of Blackwater River.
But the girl showed no timidity or fear at Weiss’s threats, maintaining her elegant, upright posture with hands folded at her waist.
Weiss saw no sign of wavering in the girl.
Perhaps she simply couldn’t understand Blood Wine Society’s position, perhaps she simply hadn’t grasped her current situation and approaching disaster. The ignorant naturally felt no fear.
Weiss had never worried about anyone in Gray Cloud Fortress with normal intelligence who still lacked proper respect for Blood Wine Society and debt collectors.
He smiled smugly, lifting his foot to step down from the viewing area toward the stage, ready to personally punish this hollow-beautiful, foolish girl.
That “lender” still needed healthy girls to transform into witches. Skinny poor girls had shockingly low survival rates, while pampered rich young ladies like this who delivered themselves were truly rare. Before Weiss had even taken his first step, he’d already made his calculations.
Force-feeding potions, listening to those girls scream and wail in despair within iron-chained prison cells during painful trials.
It was enjoyable.
Weiss enjoyed listening to whispered trials. Others’ suffering was good medicine.
Though trials ultimately produced maybe one surviving witch out of a hundred girls, that fortunate one was enough to compensate for all costs and even multiply profits thousandfold.
Weiss loved this business. Though he worked for the “lender,” that didn’t mean he himself didn’t enjoy it.
“Weiss Howard, Corenzo native. You lost your right hand at Walter’s gambling house in Georgetown District. The mechanical craftsman who installed that prosthetic for you was Benson, living in Blackwater District. Your Guardian potion was stolen from a lost Benefactor Court apprentice. Three years ago, you became Blackwater District’s debt collector based on your extraordinary being status…”
Coldly, emotionlessly, the girl recounted Weiss’s past with perfect accuracy, even remembering certain details more clearly than he did himself.
Who was she?
What did she want to do?
Weiss felt the unknown and mysterious. He felt fear. His raised step froze mid-air, sweat beaded on his forehead, his spine went cold.
In this instant, he clearly realized the girl wasn’t ignorant.
She simply disdained this boring threat.
“I need what’s in your secret warehouse in this district.”
The snow-white girl’s skirt hem floated slightly as a golden revolver appeared silently in her right hand, her tone ice-cold.
“Speak, or die.”
A choice.
That crystal-like girl had given him a choice.
Or rather, this was a threat—but the positions of threatener and threatened had undergone dramatic, major reversal in just a few words.
Massive stone blocks crashed down behind him with thunderous impact, the entire theater shaking and trembling.
Only then did Weiss discover the sole entrance had been blocked and sealed by rubble and debris. There was no retreat here—once you entered, you could never leave