Blood pooled on the floor of the main hall. The door to the room stood wide open, revealing Wilder seated comfortably on a sofa, sipping wine. Claire stood attentively behind him.
Opposite them, on another sofa, sat a middle-aged man, his face a mask of fury as he glared daggers at Wilder. His eyes burned with rage.
In a corner, the family's senior members huddled together, faces etched with terror. Their eyes darted between the dozen mangled guards lying broken on the floor and the beautiful, composed woman standing behind Wilder, before quickly averting their gazes, trembling uncontrollably.
"What is the meaning of this, Mr. Wilder? Do you intend to make an enemy of my Miatolo family?" the middle-aged man asked, his voice low and strained as he fought to suppress the inferno raging within him.
"Nyehehehe… Why would you say such a thing? Make an enemy of the Miatolo family…? Surely you can see that's not the case, Mr. Bill? Right, Claire? You saw it too, didn't you?" Wilder chuckled, his arrogant demeanor on full display, making no effort to conceal it.
"Pfft… Yes, Boss. Claire saw it too," Claire replied, covering her mouth with a light, conspiratorial giggle.
Bill's expression darkened further, turning almost black like burnt charcoal. If not for his fear of Wilder's terrifying power, he wouldn't be suffering this humiliation, forced to play dumb despite the obvious carnage! Weren't the corpses littering the floor proof enough?! An enemy? Of course, they were enemies! So why even ask?! Because the man before him was Wilder! The vicious criminal infamous for daring to blow up Impel Down and escaping the Summit War unscathed!
"So… what have you decided, Mr. Bill? How about you let my people help manage your business? Rest assured, they are all professionals. They'll undoubtedly make your enterprise flourish," Wilder continued as if oblivious to Bill's thunderous expression. He took another sip of wine, a faint smile playing on his lips.
Bang!
Bill slammed his palm onto the table. The wooden surface instantly splintered, sending shards flying. One embedded itself in Wilder's cheek, and swamp ooze immediately seeped out around it.
"You bastard…! Don't think the Miatolo family is afraid of you! Since it's come to this, I won't hide it anymore! Miatolo is Capone Bege of the West Blue's representative in the East Blue! If you want to swallow us whole, let's see if you have the stomach for it!"
"Men!"
Shhk! Shhk! Shhk!
Suddenly, dozens of men clad in black suits swarmed into the room, leveling scores of guns directly at Wilder and Claire.
The atmosphere instantly grew heavy with tension.
Wilder, expressionless, finished the wine in his glass and gently placed it on the fractured, collapsing remains of the table.
He raised a hand, plucked the wood shard from his face. A shadow fell over his features, obscuring his expression.
An elegant curve touched the corners of Claire's lips. She took a small step forward on her black-stockinged legs.
"Shall we begin, Boss?" Her voice was soft and sweet. Wilder gave a slight nod.
"Shave!"
A vortex erupted where Claire had stood. Having received Wilder's assent, she vanished instantly.
"Tempest Kick: Rose!" Claire's sharp cry echoed through the air as a dense flurry of wind blades whipped up, dancing violently.
The slashing attacks burst forth from Claire's long legs – rapid, dense, and relentless. It was as if a hurricane had been unleashed within the room!
Blooms of blood burst open like sinister roses. The men in black cried out as they fell, one after another. Some tried to dodge, but the sheer density of the wind blades rendered their efforts futile.
The crimson flowers bloomed, vivid and deadly. Wilder calmly raised his wine glass again, the scarlet liquid within mirroring the splattered blood that now decorated the room.
As the swirling red wine settled in the glass, the storm of blades slowly subsided. A brief silence fell over the room, broken only by the rhythmic click-clack of high heels. Claire, with graceful strides, returned to her position behind Wilder.
Splurt! Splurt! Splurt! Splurt!
The sickening sounds of limbs sliding from torsos echoed, followed by the gurgling spray of blood.
Bill's face was deathly pale, his mouth agape as he stared at the scene of carnage, a veritable hellscape within his own hall. His lips trembled, but no words came out.
"I'll give you one day to decide. After that, come to the Black Serpent Merchant Guild yourself." Wilder stood up, delivered his ultimatum without looking back, and strode towards the door. Claire followed closely behind.
Even after Wilder and Claire had completely disappeared from view, Bill remained frozen, utterly drained of color.
He swallowed hard, a bead of cold sweat tracing a path down his temple.
Elsewhere, similar scenes were unfolding. In the back courtyard of a tavern, inside a wooden house adorned with carvings of fish and insects, Vice let out a cold grin as he snapped a man's neck. Dozens of sword-wielding guards lay dead around him. Yves had enveloped the entire building in a thin membrane, ensuring no sound could escape.
On the floor, a thick, sticky film trapped a struggling mass of people. They writhed in agony, slowly suffocating, until their limbs finally went limp.
"What… Are they dead?" Yves murmured, observing the scene with cold detachment, the realization dawning on him only after several seconds had passed.
…
In the eastern part of town, Bacon performed a bizarre, weaving dance, his head bobbing. His eyes held an air of disdain for all life as he dispatched enemies with single swipes of his claws. A tall mound of corpses had already piled up beside him.
Eigg sat on a nearby rock, his typical dead-fish eyes looking half-asleep as he watched Bacon's grotesque performance.
…
In the west, Franpetar wielded two short pistols, plunging into the crowd. He moved with flashing, evasive leaps, appearing more like a close-combat expert. However, the continuous stream of bullets firing from his hands betrayed that illusion.
"One, two, three…"
"Fifty-one."
With every bullet fired, Franpetar would murmur, and inevitably, someone would fall.
"I need new guns when we get back. These are terrible. I miss my old ones." Franpetar tossed his hair, flicking away a sword aimed at him. A frown creased his face, almost too beautiful for a man's.
"Tsk! I don't think you belong behind a desk. The combat squads are where you fit best. Also… about replacing your guns, maybe you should talk to Ashin. He might have some ideas," Sherilmo commented after sending a group of enemies flying with a powerful punch.
…
In the south, Ashin stood atop a protruding cliff. The strange long rifle he usually carried had been dismantled into a compact short-barreled cannon. A shell, only about the size of three fingers held together, shot out, trailing a long tail of fire.
Upon landing, it didn't explode immediately but burrowed into the earth.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Massive explosions erupted from underground, tearing the ground open. Scalding flames surged upwards, engulfing over a hundred people who screamed and ran futilely before collapsing amidst the inferno.
"Ashin, didn't we agree to try negotiating first?" Bica sighed from nearby, shaking his head with a hint of resignation in his voice.
…
For three consecutive days, countless factions, large and small, were systematically crushed. The Black Serpent Merchant Guild indelibly carved its fearsome reputation into the very fabric of Chenoat!
In the days that followed, the Black Serpent Merchant Guild absorbed numerous remaining powers without even needing to resort to further violence. Everyone in the kingdom now knew: the Black Serpent Merchant Guild was an entity you absolutely did not cross.
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