Chapter 115The receptionist at the bar stared bnkly at the mysterious figure cloaked at the door. Judging from the silhouette and the strands of hair slipping from beneath the hood, it was clear the figure was a girl.

  "Excuse me, just one?"

  A voice rang out from under the cloak—excited, yet ced with something twisted.

  "That's right. I'm reserving the pce today."

  "A private venue?"

  The girl didn’t respond. She simply stepped into the bar lobby, her presence quiet but unsettling.

  The receptionist followed hesitantly, trying to expin.

  "Miss, our prices aren't cheap. And if you're pnning to reserve the venue, you need to book ahead. Look here—"

  "I don't have any money right now."

  "What!"

  The receptionist's expression darkened instantly.

  "I knew something was off about you. Why act so high and mighty if you can't even pay? Get out!"

  The girl ignored the yelling. Her gaze swept across the entire first-floor hall, carefully assessing the space like she was making some mental calcutions.

  Then, without a word, she raised her hand.

  "I don't have money, but I wonder if this will do."

  "What's that?"

  The girl revealed a golden object in her palm—shaped like an egg, but more translucent and radiant.

  "Heh heh heh... This is a Source Stone."

  "What!"

  "Access granted."

  A fme ignited in the girl's palm—fierce, crimson, pulsing with destructive energy.

  The firelight danced on her young face, half-concealed beneath her hood. Madness flickered in her wide, childlike eyes.

  "Hellfire, reloaded!"

  In the next moment, an inferno erupted from her, consuming the entire hall in a bst of scorching heat.

  BOOM!

  Windows shattered. Doors blew out. The shockwave flung nearby pedestrians to the ground.

  Fmes surged from every opening. In mere seconds, the entire bar was a tower of fire.

  "Eat up! It's sweet, isn't it?"

  "It really is."

  Yoren, boss of the casino, smiled as he handed out slices of watermelon to everyone.

  "Here, have another! No leftovers now, watermelon doesn’t taste the same once it’s sat for a bit."

  Though still new to the game, Yoren held the same rank as Simon. Seeing him cheerfully pying host like a junior made Simon pause with mild discomfort.

  "Alright, alright, stop being such a servant. Let them slice it up themselves."

  Simon snapped his fingers, and a waiter promptly brought him a gss of wine.

  Raising it, Simon looked at Yoren.

  "Let’s call it even. From here on, we don’t interfere with each other. I’ll be honest, I don’t care about your little casino. So know your pce."

  Yoren grinned, lifting his own gss.

  "Brother Simon, you’re always so generous. Of course my small-time operation doesn’t interest you. But me? I'm rather intrigued by the East District."

  "What!"

  Yoren quickly waved it off.

  "Just interested. I wouldn't dare cross the line. You and I, we’re on different levels. If I had my wish, I'd want nothing more than to see you rise, Brother Simon. The moment you inherit Boss Richie's throne, maybe I'll get a sliver of daylight."

  "That’s more like it."

  Simon seemed pleased. That ambition? It wasn’t a secret.

  "You get it. I’ve never hidden what I want. I will take Boss Richie’s seat. Now with something going on at the Leaf family’s factory, maybe the chance is finally here."

  "Oh? Sounds like you have a pn."

  "Not yet. But mark my words: Hapi City is on the verge of a shift. Give it a month, and the manganese ore market will change. When it does, I'll strike."

  "A month is too long."

  Simon blinked.

  "What did you just say?"

  Yoren’s smile faded.

  "I said a month is too long. I don’t think I can wait that long."

  CRASH!

  The bar doors flew open. A young man in bck burst in, tripping over himself.

  "Brother Simon! Trouble!"

  Silence fell like a curtain. All eyes turned toward the boy.

  Simon stormed over.

  "What happened? Speak!"

  "The Ghost Bar... it’s been bombed!"

  "Damn it!"

  Simon grabbed him by the colr, yanking him up.

  "What the hell happened?"

  "Someone attacked! I don’t know what they used—a Molotov, maybe. The whole pce just exploded into fmes! It’s a disaster!"

  "Did anyone see the culprit?"

  "No."

  Simon growled and kicked the boy away.

  His voice trembled with fury.

  "It must be those Blood Harbor bastards! I swear I’ll skin them alive!"

  Without another word, he stormed out, rage radiating off him.

  His subordinates moved to follow, but Yoren raised a hand.

  "Don’t be rash. If this is retaliation, there could be more attacks pnned. They might be waiting for us to clear out. Cssic bait-and-burn. Sweep the whole bar. Now!"

  "Makes sense. Let’s go!"

  The Ghost Bar wasn’t far—two alleys away. Simon stormed down the street, his presence so intense that passersby fled at the mere sight of him.

  These were dangerous times. He couldn’t afford to let his turf fall.

  BANG!

  Simon kicked aside a trash can and entered a shadowed alley—a shortcut.

  A few drunken men were colpsed at the entrance. Simon stepped over them with no hesitation, drawing curses in their wake.

  Halfway through the alley, it was pitch bck. Simon barely noticed the figure leaning against the wall ahead.

  As he passed, a voice stopped him cold.

  "Simon."

  "Huh?"

  He halted.

  "Who are you? Get lost—I’m not in the mood."

  Despite the darkness, the man ahead wore sungsses, clearly waiting for him. He straightened from the wall.

  "Friend, I can't wish you a smooth journey. Because your road ends today."

  Two hours ter.

  A bck Jeep crashed through the gates of the Golden Coast vil district, tearing through the road.

  SCREECH!

  With a sharp drift, the vehicle came to a stop in front of Richie’s estate.

  Yoren jumped out and sprinted inside, not bothering to remove his shoes. Mud trailed behind as he charged up to the fourth-floor study.

  BANG!

  He kicked the door open, startling Richie and Reddy, who were deep in discussion.

  Breathing heavily, Yoren shouted,

  "Boss, it’s bad. Simon’s dead!"

  Both men turned pale. Clearly, the news had already reached them.

  Reddy stepped forward, eyes narrowing.

  "Yoren, it wasn’t you who killed Simon, was it?"

  Yoren gasped, looking completely offended, like someone had just accused him of burning down the universe.

  "What?! How could you think that? Even if we butted heads, I’d never kill a fellow brother."

  He threw his hands up.

  "You don’t believe me? Ask anyone! I was with Simon the whole time. His boys saw us together. Hell, the watermelon rinds we shared are still sitting on the damn bar table!"

  "Tick tock, tick tock!"

  The rhythm of the clock echoed in the study, each tick drilling deeper into the stifling air. It was so thick it could suffocate.

  Yoren sat stiffly. He didn’t know whether Richie would believe him, but based on everything so far, he was innocent. Unless Richie wanted to believe he was guilty, there would be no evidence to pin the murder on him.

  Twenty minutes ter.

  Reddy put down his phone, turning to Richie, who was slouched in his chair, his expression dark as a storm.

  "Boss, we have confirmation. Around six tonight, the Ghost Bar in the East District went up in fmes. Simon was killed en route. His body was found in an alley less than a hundred meters from the Ghost. There were signs of a struggle."

  Richie's face twisted into something cruel.

  "And the killer?"

  "The fight was quick. All of Simon’s joints were twisted, and his Adam’s apple was crushed. The technique used is simir to one practiced by Colombian mercenaries—deadly grappling, efficient, unarmed."

  Richie’s gaze slid to Yoren like a bde.

  "Colombian mercenaries, huh?"

  Yoren immediately stepped forward.

  "Boss, I know that technique, but I don't use it. It's not my style. You saw how I handled Benji—brutal, direct. That kind of finesse? Too slow. Too soft."

  Reddy chimed in.

  "It wasn’t Yoren. Witnesses in the East District say Simon was with Yoren at the bar. Yoren never left."

  "See? No matter what, I don’t kill my own. I’d never touch a brother from the gang."

  Richie’s expression eased—barely. His voice stayed cold.

  "Then why did you go to the East District looking for Simon today?"

  Yoren spoke, righteous and unflinching.

  "To apologize. We had words at the party—you remember. I was worried he’d take it the wrong way. So I bought a watermelon and went to make peace. Cost me over twenty yuan."

  Reddy nodded to confirm. It checked out.

  Silence settled again.

  Richie sat brooding in his chair. His face was thunder. Yoren stepped forward, voice steady.

  "Boss, what’s the move now? The East District is the heart of our operation in Happy City."

  "Let me think."

  Yoren pressed on.

  "We don’t have time. First the Liye family’s chemical pnt goes up in smoke, and now our bars are next. Look around you."

  "Enough! I said let me think!"

  "Dee-dee-dee-dee-dee-dee!"

  Reddy’s phone rang.

  He checked the screen. "Boss, it’s from the East District."

  "Take it."

  "Yes."

  He answered. A moment ter, his face paled.

  He hung up, voice tight.

  "Boss, another bar’s been hit. The Wolf Cn Bar. Worse than the Ghost. The first and second floors are blown apart. The whole building’s on fire."

  "Damn it!"

  Richie smmed the table with a growl.

  Reddy wasn’t finished.

  "There’s more."

  "What now?!"

  "Simon’s close guys—missing. Military police and fire brigade are on scene. Ajie’s holed up in his territory, won’t move. Simon’s turf? Completely leaderless."

  "Boom!"

  Yoren kicked the bookcase, splinters flying.

  "We’re being hunted, boss!"

  Richie and Reddy blinked, stunned by the sudden burst of fury.

  The back-to-back assaults had rattled Richie. His thoughts were spiraling. Yoren’s intensity only drove the point home—Happy City was under attack.

  The fire at the Liye factory had already undermined Richie’s position in the Fredo Chamber of Commerce. Now, someone dared strike again, burning his bar, killing Simon, tearing into their foundation.

  It had to be connected.

  Richie clenched his fists. He needed someone to step up—someone who could turn the tide.

  "Yoren!"

  "Here."

  Richie stood, walking toward him, eyes locked.

  "Take your men to the East District. Lock it down. Shut every bar, arrest anyone suspicious. But do not cross the military or police. I’ll call the Security Bureau. Go now. I’ll contact you with further orders."

  Yoren gave a crisp nod.

  "You got it, boss. As long as I’m standing, the East District stays ours."

  Richie cpped him on the shoulder.

  "I knew I could count on you. I’ll have Ajie assist you. Reddy’s on call—whatever you need."

  "Understood."

  Richie’s voice dropped, hard with rage.

  "Yoren, I don’t want to see another one of these attacks. And whoever’s behind this? We make them pay."

  Yoren’s jaw clenched, his voice like steel.

  "Not only will I crush this uprising—I’ll find the bastards who dared touch us, rip their skin off, drain them dry, and feed them to the dogs."

  Richie nodded, satisfied.

  "Go."

  "Yes."

  Yoren turned and flew down the stairs. His back was that of a man on a mission.

  Outside the vil, he climbed into the passenger seat. He rubbed his jaw, aching from how hard he’d clenched it.

  He nearly ughed.

  A Guang, behind the wheel, gnced at him.

  "Brother Yoren, where to?"

  "East End."

  Yoren paused, then added, "Get all the boys. Protection runners, casino muscle—everyone. Time to get to work."

  "Got it."

  A Guang still looked rattled. It was probably his first brush with real, bloody gang war.

  "You think the ones who bombed the bars are the same ones who torched the factory?"

  "Yes."

  "That sure?"

  "Guaranteed. I’d bet my head."

  A Guang gnced at him again.

  "Then why are you smiling, Brother Yoren? You’ve been grinning since we got in the car."

  Yoren looked out the window.

  "I’m not smiling."

  "You are. You haven’t stopped."

  Yoren shrugged.

  "I just remembered something... funny."