Chapter 23: Marcus After Drinking

“Twenty-one! Blackjack!”

Marcus slammed his last card down on the table.

A scantily clad woman was nestled against his side, her fingers tracing circles on his chest.

Marcus didn’t even notice; his eyes were fixed on the card game in front of him.

Across the table, his gambling partner looked at the few copper coins he had left, then at the small mountain in front of Marcus, and shook his head.

“I’m out, I’m out. You’ve taken all my luck for today.”

The man stood up, pushing his chair back.

“Did you step in shit or something, you bastard?”

Marcus didn’t get angry at that.

He grinned, revealing a set of teeth yellowed by tobacco.

He scooped up the copper coins on the table and tossed them into the air.

They clattered to the floor in a cheerful ring.

“Drinks are on me tonight at the tavern!”

The whole place erupted.

Drinkers raised their glasses and cheered.

Even the old regular in the corner, who had been drinking in silence, looked up at him.

The woman seized the chance to wrap her arms around his neck and plant a kiss on his cheek.

“Lord Brent is so generous tonight~”

Marcus puffed up with pride, pulling her closer.

With his other hand, he fished out a cigarette and stuck it between his lips.

As the match flared, he noticed someone sitting in the empty chair across from him.

A young, plain-looking man had sat down there sometime without Marcus noticing.

“How about a few hands?”

The young man’s voice was neither loud nor soft.

Marcus gave him a once-over.

Plain clothes, no jewelry, didn’t look like someone with money.

But Marcus was on a hot streak tonight.

He’d take anyone who came to hand over cash.

“Sure.”

Marcus stuck the cigarette in the corner of his mouth and started shuffling.

First five hands: Marcus won two, lost three.

He didn’t worry about it, figuring his luck was just cooling off.

After ten more hands, he’d only won one.

Marcus’s brow furrowed.

The young man across from him was expressionless, playing at a steady pace, as if calculating every hand.

Every time Marcus thought he was about to win, the other guy would turn it around at the last second.

“One more!”

Marcus pushed out his last few copper coins.

He lost again.

The coins in front of him were almost gone.

The woman said something angrily in his ear, but he didn’t catch it; his eyes were locked on the young man.

“I’m done.”

Marcus shoved the cards away, leaned back in his chair, and gulped down a mouthful of beer.

He’d had a lot to drink tonight, and his head was starting to spin.

But he remembered one thing: most of the money he’d won tonight had been lost to this guy.

The young man didn’t signal to continue.

Instead, he raised a hand to call the bartender.

“Two vodkas.”

The bartender paused, glancing at the young man.

Vodka in the Federation city wasn’t cheap.

Usually only nobles or wealthy merchants could afford to drink it.

Two glasses were set down.

He slid one in front of Marcus.

“My treat.”

Marcus had never tried the stuff before, but the aroma made his throat tighten.

Without a word, he picked up the glass and downed it in one gulp.

The liquor burned like a mouthful of fire, searing all the way from his throat to his stomach.

Marcus coughed violently a few times, but soon a wave of warmth spread through him, and he felt lightheaded.

“That’s some damn good stuff!”

He gave a thumbs-up.

The young man smiled and signaled the bartender for another round.

After the second glass, Marcus’s mouth was wide open.

He started talking about his days at the blacksmith shop, about the master who was always yelling at him, about the boots he’d saved three months to buy.

The young man listened, nodding occasionally, asking a question now and then.

Once he felt Marcus was thoroughly drunk, he leaned forward a little and got down to business.

“I heard your family, the Brents, came into money recently. I was hoping you could clue me in on how to make a fortune too, brother.”

Marcus grinned.

“Came into money? You could say that.”

He swirled his glass, his voice rising a few notches without him noticing.

“I’m telling you, my old man…”

He stopped abruptly.

The smile froze on his face for a second, as if something had rung in his head.

“What about Mr. Brent?”

Marcus stared at the glass for a moment.

Then he swallowed that flicker of caution and opened up again.

“My old man,” he said, lowering his voice and leaning forward until he was almost on the table, “knows some important people.”

“Important people?”

The young man leaned in too.

“Important people in the Merchant Guild.”

Marcus’s tone was dripping with pride, as if sharing in the glory.

“Think about it, what was my family like before? What are we like now?”

He patted his bulging pocket.

The clink of copper coins was crisp and sweet.

“From now on, my family’s got money to burn!”

“What kind of important person is that powerful?”

Marcus was about to answer, then suddenly pulled back.

He looked left and right, making sure no one was paying attention to them, and lowered his voice even further.

“You wouldn’t get it even if I told you. Anyway… someone above the guild.”

He downed his glass again.

“My old man says, these days, the ones who talk the most die the fastest.”

By now Marcus was slouched in his chair, barely able to keep his eyes open.

The woman clung to his arm, whispering something in his ear.

He answered her in slurred mumbles.

“I’m heading out, brother!”

Marcus staggered to his feet, fished a few silver coins from his pocket, and slapped them on the table.

“Next time you come find me, I’ll treat you!”

Then, with the woman on his arm, he wobbled off into the night.

The young man who had been fishing for information didn’t leave through the front door.

Instead, he slipped through the dim hallway beside the bar and out the back door of the tavern into an alley.

Someone was already waiting for him.

“How did it go?”

Victor stepped out of the shadows.

“He said his old man knows ‘someone above.’”

“Someone above?”

Victor’s brow furrowed slightly.

“Above the guild president. That’s what he said.”

“Who exactly?”

“I couldn’t get it out of him. He was too drunk to say it out loud. No way he’d tell me sober. But…”

He paused.

“But what?”

“When he said ‘someone above,’ his expression changed. It wasn’t fear. More like… smugness.”

The young man thought for a moment, finding the right word.

“He felt like he’d latched onto a big shot.”

Victor nodded after hearing that.

He pulled a small pouch from his inner pocket and handed it over.

“Your payment.”

The young man opened it and looked inside.

“Gold coins?! This is… this is too much, Mr. Victor!”

“Take it.”

Victor waved a hand.

“You earned it. Don’t you have your sister and parents to support? Give them my regards.”

The young man clutched the bag and nodded firmly.

“Mr. Victor, if you ever need me for anything, just say the word. I’ll come running.”

Victor didn’t answer.

He just patted the young man on the shoulder and turned, disappearing into the other end of the alley.

The young man pulled up his hood and left quickly.

The next morning, Marcus pushed open his front door and stepped outside.

“Shit…”

He clutched his head.

The hangover from last night made his skull feel like it was splitting apart.

He had no memory of how he’d gotten home.

He only remembered the tavern, the card table, that strange young man, and those two glasses of vodka that burned his throat.

He patted his pocket.

Empty.

Not a single copper or silver coin left.

“Damn,” he muttered, but he didn’t care too much.

He’d won a lot last night.

Spending it all was normal.

He started thinking about where to go today.

He never wanted to go back to the blacksmith shop.

He’d had enough of that master’s sour face.

That woman from last night was pretty to his liking…

Screaming her head off at night.

He decided to head to the brothel to blow off some steam.

Halfway down a street, as he passed an alley, a hand suddenly reached out from behind and covered his mouth.

Before he could struggle, he was dragged into the alley.

Another hand pressed down on the back of his head, slamming his face against the wall.

A knee dug into his back, keeping him pinned.

He tried to yell for help, but the first thing he felt was something cold against his neck.

The dagger pressed against his skin.

He could feel the chill running down his throat.

Marcus sobered up instantly.

His whole body went rigid, frozen, not daring to move.

A muffled sound came from his throat, as if something was stuck.

“Had a good time drinking last night?”

The voice came from above his head.

Marcus didn’t recognize it, but the fear made his teeth chatter.

“Who… who are you?!”

His voice went high and shrill.

A warm liquid trickled down his pant leg.

He had pissed himself, but he couldn’t feel any shame right now.

Only one thought occupied his mind: he might die here.

“I ask, you answer.”

The voice again.

“Who were you drinking with last night?”

“I… I don’t know…”

Marcus’s voice trembled.

“I blacked out… I don’t remember anything…”

The dagger pressed lightly against his neck.

The blade sliced through the top layer of skin.

A trickle of warm blood ran down his neck.

“I’ll ask once more. Who were you drinking with?”

“I really don’t know!”

Marcus was almost crying.

“A young man… I don’t know him… He said he’d buy me a drink… I really don’t know him!”

The man released the dagger.

Marcus’s legs gave out, and he collapsed to the ground.

He held his neck and coughed violently.

There was only a shallow cut on it.

“Next time, keep your mouth shut.”

The man crouched down and patted Marcus’s face.

The hits weren’t hard, but each one felt like a slap to his heart.

“If you ever blabber again, your old man won’t be able to save you. Understand?”

Marcus nodded frantically, the hood rubbing against his face.

Footsteps receded.

Probably two people, or more, he couldn’t tell.

When the alley fell silent, all that was left was his own heavy breathing.

It took a long time before he tremblingly pulled off the hood.

He looked down at the wet spot on his crotch.

He tried to stand up several times before he finally got to his feet.

His legs were as weak as if they were filled with lead.

When he stumbled out of the alley, he ran home like a madman.

Along the way, he knocked over a stall, stepped into a puddle, and almost got hit by a carriage.

He didn’t care about any of it.

He just wanted to get home, lock the door, and hide under the covers.

When he finally pushed open his front door, he collapsed on the floor.

“Marcus?”

His mother’s voice came from the kitchen.

“What’s wrong?”

He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

He just lay there, panting, staring at the ceiling, his mind a complete blank.

And at that very moment, a few streets away, Hilda stood at a stall, looking down at the goods, picking through them.

She didn’t glance toward the alley.

But her ears had been capturing every sound from that direction since the beginning.

From the moment Marcus was dragged into the alley, the dagger drawn, the man speaking, Marcus falling to the ground, and the two men leaving.

Every detail, every word, every breath—she heard it all clearly.

Then she turned and walked slowly back along the street.

She only glanced into the alley as she passed.

On the ground lay a small puddle of water and a few drops of dried blood.

The alley was empty.

By the time she returned to the villa entrance, Rex was sitting on the garden bench, soaking up the sun, looking thoroughly bored.

Hilda walked over and stood beside him.

“My Lord.”

“Hmm?”

“Marcus Brent was warned.”

Rex sat up straight and looked at Hilda.

“When?”

“This morning. As he was leaving his house, he was dragged into an alley and threatened with a dagger.”

Hilda repeated the conversation she had heard verbatim.

Every word was clear.

“They acted faster than I expected.”

Rex seemed to have anticipated this.

“What does this mean, My Lord?”

“It means Hermann’s higher-ups have already noticed someone is investigating. They wouldn’t go out of their way to warn a drunkard’s son for no reason. Unless they think that drunkard’s son might become a weak point.”

“But Marcus didn’t say anything.”

“He almost did, didn’t he?”

Rex looked at Hilda.

“Last night, the young man Victor sent got four words out of Marcus: ‘someone above.’ That’s enough.”

“Marcus was warned. Hermann will find out soon enough. A frightened father is easier to crack than usual.”

“When do you plan to visit him?”

“Not yet. Let him panic for a few days. Then I’ll go with Li Ya to see him in person. When people are afraid, their minds slow down, and their mouths open faster.”