CHAPTER 51: BIG BOOM?

Prestor was flung onto a couch just outside the room by those guards who grabbed and dragged him outside the office of the Patriarch of the family. Fortunately, he landed squarely on a cushion, which softened the impact and spared him any pain.

It was at that moment, sprawled on the seat, that Prestor had a realization. His uncle’s cryptic question from earlier suddenly clicked. "Wait a damn second," he muttered, eyes widening as he sat upright. "So that’s what he meant..."

The Baron owned the entire City. Everyone else? They were merely tenants. Prestor and his family had been living in a place ruled by someone else’s whims. The Zorthars had failed to pay the required taxes, and worse, they had muscled in on multiple businesses. Now, the Baron was specifically cracking down on those very businesses, which meant there were limits to how directly he could go after the Zorthars themselves, so he was going after their outer shell first.

Prestor left the estate and made his way to the streets. The sky had dimmed into a deep shade of violet as the night had officially taken over.

All across the City, the glow of lanterns spilled from windows, brothels, taverns, and inns, dotting the darkness with life. He took a winding path through alleys and dark corners, finally arriving at a modest house which was his current safehouse.

His men were already waiting. One of them approached, placing a cigarette between Prestor’s lips and lighting it with a flick. Prestor inhaled deeply before exhaling into the night. "Are they ready?"

"Yeah, boss," one of his men replied. "They’re waiting in the other house."

With a nod, Prestor headed to the designated meeting spot. Inside, three rough looking men sat around a wooden table, each with a red snake head tattoo on their biceps which were clearly from a gang he had ties with. They all rose when he entered, greeting him with a bow of respect. "Pleasure to meet you, boss."

Prestor had earned his name in the underground world. He wasn’t a mage nor a wielder of aura, but he knew how to gather people, settle scores, and remove nuisances. His targets were never the magically gifted but rather just regular men, still that didn’t make him any less dangerous.

"Where’s your boss?" he asked, scanning the room.

"Ah," one said, rubbing the back of his neck. "He is prepping things in the central region. We’re just here to finish the payment and get your crew in place."

Prestor waved a finger. "Payment? Yes. My men? Absolutely not."

The three looked confused and a bit offended. "But we had a deal-"

"We still have a deal," Prestor interrupted coolly. At his signal, five large duffle bags were dumped onto the table. His men unzipped them one by one, revealing stacks of neatly bound cash. "This is more than what you asked for and there’s more coming."

With another gesture, two more men rolled a heavy barrel into the room. Its weight thudded against the wooden floor, drawing stunned expressions from the three gangsters.

"Wait... Is that-? That’s a Thunder Barrel!" one of them gasped.

Indeed, it was. Thunder Barrels were meant for large scale destruction, which was capable of flattening buildings or shattering massive fortress walls. They were strictly military grade, issued only to the Royal Army, and filled with rare Thunder Powder which was a volatile substance mined solely under the jurisdiction of the government done by certain noble houses.

"You didn’t tell us you had this kind of firepower," one said, kneeling beside it in awe.

Prestor smirked. "Of course we do. The Zorthars can get anything. But remember..." His tone hardened, his gaze sharp. "Just because I’m handing you one, doesn’t mean you can use it however you like. We have more barrels and if you think of stealing or repurposing this, we have the resources to find and gut every single thug in your little circle."

They nodded quickly, understanding the message. Possessing Thunder Barrels was practically treason. The Kingdom didn’t wait for trials or explanations as execution was immediate. Even being seen near one could earn a death sentence.

"We’d never dream of crossing the mighty Zorthar family," one man said nervously. "It’s an honor to do business with you."

They began to haul the money and barrel away, though the process was slow and cautious.

"Make sure this goes off at the gate," Prestor said before they left. "It’s not about causing damage, it’s about sending a message. A warning to the Baron and grab a few City Guards while you’re at it. Do whatever you want with them, but come sunrise, I want their corpses hanging in the square."

The three men agreed readily and left to prepare for the operation.

As Prestor stood there, puffing on his cigarette, one of his men asked, "Why the gate, boss?"

Prestor chuckled. "Because it’s symbolic. We’re telling him that if we can breach the gate, we can reach him."

Another asked, more seriously, "What if Big Boss finds out? About the barrels and the money?"

Prestor’s face straightened. "The money’s from my personal vault. He won’t complain. As for the barrels... Those were my acquisitions, too and those guys are the ones handling the dirty work. We’re not officially involved."

He continued, "That’s why I didn’t give them any of our men. If this backfires, the Baron will have no proof to pin it on us."

The men exchanged impressed looks. One clapped. "Damn boss, you really thought it through."

"Of course. Look, we may be breaking laws, but on paper? Our businesses are clean. We hand out loans, run shops, manage legal guards and everything looks proper." He stepped outside, the others trailing behind him.

"It’s not like anyone will report us," Prestor added. "Last guy who tried? We turned him into a street beggar. His whole family? Sold off to some brothels, others to slave markets."

They all laughed at the memory, pride in their voices, their sense of invincibility echoing in the night air. None of them realized just how fragile their illusion of power truly was.

[To be Continued]