It was just noon, and the streets of the Third District were crowded.
Workers who had been busy all morning poured out of the factory, noisily jostling toward the restaurants and taverns along the street, hoping to erase their grievances and fatigue from the morning.
No one noticed a middle-aged man had blended in among them.
Amid the surging heads and pungent smell of sweat, he quietly moved toward his target.
“A factory called Sventovit in the Third District?”
Bres quietly left the crowd and stopped at a rare secluded corner.
He looked at the somewhat old building not far away.
It was a three-story building.
Most of the red paint on the outer walls had peeled and faded, and even the sign at the entrance was half fallen off, with the words “Sven…tov…” barely legible.
“The Giant Gang’s hideout is in a place like this?”
Bres muttered doubtfully.
But considering they were essentially a gang that had only emerged in the past few months, it made sense that they hadn’t had enough time to relocate or remodel their base.
Or perhaps this was also their method of hiding themselves.
Bres lowered his head and confirmed his current attire.
A standard set of synthetic fiber work clothes, hair wet and messy from sweat, plus the oil stains all over—a perfectly standard worker’s outfit.
Dressed like this and appearing in this area at this time, not many people would be suspicious.
He pretended to be casual and began to circle around the Sventovit Factory.
After more than ten minutes, he came to a conclusion.
“This way won’t work…”
Unlike the factory’s somewhat shabby appearance, the defensive measures here were quite tight.
The outer walls were densely covered with sharp barbed wire, the blades glinting coldly under the blazing midday sun.
‘Anyone trying to climb over would probably end up badly,’ Bres thought.
He had personally seen a fugitive try to climb such barbed wire, and that person’s screams were etched into the memory of everyone present that day.
After making a full circle, Bres confirmed that the factory’s walls were absolutely airtight—barbed wire all over the top, and not even a hole for a rat at the bottom.
And…
Bres looked up and saw the red flashing cameras at the factory entrance and on various walls.
From his observation, these cameras covered almost every blind spot.
“That sissy Veles really wasn’t telling the truth…”
The other side’s surveillance measures were equally tight.
Bres could now be sure that this job was absolutely not as easy as Veles had bragged.
Lingering around would eventually make the guards suspicious.
Bres randomly picked a roadside restaurant and found a table with an empty seat on the periphery, sitting down.
“What’ll it be?”
“First, give me a glass of water.”
Ignoring the plump landlady’s look of disgust and dissatisfaction, he took a pack of energy bars from his pocket, tore open the wrapper, and started eating.
With an empty wallet, there was no other choice.
Chewing on the dry energy bars and ignoring the landlady’s murderous glare, Bres used his peripheral vision to study the dilapidated factory building.
It was obviously suspicious.
Even though it was the lunch break, not many people came out of the factory.
On the contrary, several big men were guarding the factory entrance, using fierce looks to drive away pedestrians who accidentally got too close.
Although those big men were also dressed as workers, their clothes didn’t have a speck of dirt, which was obviously abnormal in this place.
Bang.
A dull sound rang out. Bres turned his head and saw the landlady rolling her eyes and a glass of murky water.
“…Thanks.”
He picked up the glass, brought it to his lips, then set it down.
The water was obviously terribly cloudy—he didn’t know if someone had spat in it or coughed up phlegm.
‘Did they have to add stuff to it?’ he thought helplessly.
Suddenly, his peripheral vision noticed something unusual at the factory.
A van with a restaurant logo drove up to the factory entrance.
The guards walked over, exchanged a few words with the driver, and then let the van in.
He stared at the logo on the van—it was the logo of a restaurant not far from here.
Bres’s eyes lit up.
It seemed he had found a breakthrough.
As the daylight faded, workers gradually came out of the factory.
But by now they had lost the midday’s vigor, and even their grievances had worn away.
Everyone’s face was etched with exhaustion.
They only looked forward to eating dinner, going back to their lodgings for a good sleep, and saving enough energy to face another similar tomorrow.
Just then, a van with “Declan Restaurant” written on its body pulled up to the factory’s main gate.
The guard walked over familiarly and struck up a conversation with the driver.
“You’re here?”
“Yeah.”
The driver pointed behind him. Several foam boxes lay quietly in the cargo area, piled up like a small mountain.
The guard just casually glanced and waved his hand.
“Go ahead.”
The driver acknowledged and started the engine again. The van drove into the factory.
The van stopped in the parking area.
The driver got out and opened the rear door. Straining, he unloaded a box of food from the van and placed it on a small handcart, then headed deeper into the factory.
Soon, the sound of the handcart’s wheels scraping against the rough ground grew faint.
For a moment, only the van’s engine echoed in the parking lot.
After a while longer, a figure slowly crawled out from the van’s cargo area.
“Phew… Good thing it was spacious enough.”
Suddenly, as if remembering something, the figure crawled back into the van.
After a rustling sound, the figure crawled out again and then disappeared into the depths of the parking area.
The deliveryman placed the last box of boxed lunches on the ground.
Before he could catch his breath, a man called out to him.
“Hey, how come my portion is missing a fried chicken?”
The man was covered in tattoos, and one arm had been completely replaced with a combat prosthetic.
He glared and panted heavily, looking exactly like a fierce demon.
“Uh!”
The deliveryman stared at him and couldn’t help but lower his head deeply.
The deliveryman didn’t bother to confirm whether what he said was true.
Years of experience working in the Nightless City told him that the only thing to do now was to obey, or worse things would happen.
“S-sorry, the store must have made a mistake when serving… How about I give you a discount on this portion? Would that work?”
“…”
“Then, I’ll send you a free one tomorrow?”
“That’s more like it…”
Watching the man’s receding back, the deliveryman wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.
‘What bad luck,’ he cursed inwardly.
As for who he was cursing—the unreasonable customer, the careless chef, or some mysterious person who stole the fried chicken—he didn’t know.
The only thing he cared about was that this money would most likely be deducted from his salary.
“I’ll have to pay out of my own pocket tomorrow…”
The deliveryman’s sigh drifted away in the wind.
His distress was never known to anyone.