In the "Gray District" of Piltover, a lawless zone where official authority deliberately turned a blind eye, a group of desperate contractor bosses had gathered for an emergency meeting.
Their nature was identical to that of organized criminals, doing the brutal dirty work that kept Piltover's elite from soiling their hands.
Now, however, some of those white-collar aristocrats were no longer concerned about getting their hands dirty, choosing to personally step into the labor management business. These contractors had suddenly lost their usefulness and protection.
"Piltover really treats us like piss buckets, use us when they need something unpleasant handled, toss us aside when we're no longer convenient. Damn those hypocrites!"
One contractor cursed vehemently while smoking a cigar.
Years of paying tribute and showing proper respect had bought them valuable connections, and someone with access to the Council chambers had discreetly warned them about the recent decision.
To the thousands of indentured laborers they controlled, these contractors were omnipotent figures who could decide life and death at will.
But in the eyes of the Council members, there was absolutely no meaningful difference between contractors and laborers, both were expendable insects that could be crushed without consequence.
"What's the use of complaining like old women? In the end, everything comes down to strength. We're not powerful enough, our fists aren't hard enough, so naturally the Council can do whatever they want to us."
"An enforcer's hextech rifle isn't just for intimidation. What, you think you've got the guts to challenge a Council member?"
Another contractor took a long drag on his cigarette, his tone icy and mocking.
He and the previous speaker had maintained bitter business rivalries for years, so there was no goodwill or solidarity between them. He wouldn't miss any opportunity to attack his competitor.
"We're all drowning in the same sinking ship here, if it goes down, no one's swimming away clean."
"You two idiots, control yourselves! Keep your voices down!"
The elder contractor, his bloodshot eyes radiating murderous intent, crushed his expensive cigar in the crystal ashtray and delivered a sharp warning to the quarreling pair.
Among all the contractors present, he possessed the highest social status, accumulated the most wealth, commanded the largest private army, and owned the most equipment.
Once he spoke, the two antagonists didn't have the courage to continue their petty dispute, merely exchanging venomous glares before reluctantly dropping the matter.
"Which of us hasn't built our current business through years of ruthless struggle and risk? Now a pampered Council member speaks just one word and we're supposed to quietly hand over everything we've worked half a lifetime to build? Since when has the world become so generous?"
"For the sake of establishing this business, I've nearly been murdered by rival gangs more times than I can count. I'm not surrendering my hard-earned livelihood to anyone, regardless of their connections or family name."
His voice carried the desperate conviction of someone with absolutely nothing left to lose.
"That's exactly right. So what if they're Council members? They're still flesh and blood. I refuse to believe they're unkillable."
"Heh, I knew this day would come. Piltover's never represented anything good, they were conducting slave trade in my homeland hundreds of years ago. I've been prepared for this confrontation for months. Paid an enormous sum to acquire military-grade weapons from Noxian arms dealers, even managed to get some of that precious Hextech gear that Piltover prides itself on so arrogantly. If they want to steal my business, they'd better be prepared to lose some teeth in the process."
"You've been hiding that from the rest of us? Sell me some Hextech weapons too, I want to give those Piltover aristocrats a proper 'greeting' they'll never forget."
"Absolutely, I'd be delighted to share. I've got extras. But understand... special circumstances demand special pricing."
"No problem. At a time like this, who would be foolish enough to remain stingy about buying good protection? Piltover could swallow our entire operation whole if we're not properly armed."
"Count me in for a full equipment package, I'll take whatever you can spare."
"And me as well..."
Realizing they were at the edge of life and death, even the usually miserly "Dagobert Ducks" among the contractors were suddenly eager to open their wallets. Everyone wanted to arm themselves with the best available weapons.
These contractors were generally uneducated street thugs, having fought and intimidated their way into profitable business positions. They believed that if they inflicted enough damage on Piltover's forces, they could frighten the authorities into backing down and preserving their operations.
It was a childish strategy, demonstrating no understanding that replacing them was merely one component of a much larger game, but given their limited education and narrow perspective, you couldn't say their reasoning was entirely wrong.
Without Caitlyn and Jayce's refusal to compromise on moral principles, and considering Piltover's historical tendency toward diplomatic solutions, creating sufficient casualties might indeed cost the city enough to make them reconsider.
"Quiet! What are you behaving like, common vendors brawling in a marketplace?!"
The elder contractor slammed his fist against the solid oak table, roaring.
The enemy hadn't even launched their first attack yet, and his subordinates were already descending into chaotic infighting, utterly disgraceful. Veins bulged visibly on his forehead as rage consumed him.
"All of you worthless fools, get your act together immediately! Just Councilor Kiramman's daughter alone represents enough of a threat to make us choke on our own blood."
"Not to mention those two damned Ionian refugees have awakened powerful abilities. With Caitlyn providing them protection, they'll undoubtedly be assisting her in dealing with us."
The elder contractor was genuinely livid. Just contemplating the situation gave him a pounding headache that threatened to split his skull.
After paying an enormous bribe, his well-connected partner Marcus had provided disturbing intelligence that the Ionian siblings possessed extremely potent magical capabilities, strong enough to raise towering walls of roaring wind and swirling air currents, completely negating rifle fire.
With those siblings involved in the operation, conventional weapons would prove utterly useless.
"What's our plan? We'll follow your lead."
When the atmosphere grew heavy, one nervous contractor quickly stood up, thumping his chest to declare absolute loyalty.
He had no choice but to pledge allegiance, the Ionian siblings had once been his personal indentured laborers.
This entire incident had caused the Contractors' Alliance to lose money and reputation. Without the elder contractor's protection, the others would have torn him apart limb from limb to vent their anger.
With one loyal subordinate speaking up, plus several of the elder's other longtime associates voicing similar support, everyone's attention focused on the elder contractor, waiting for his words.
"Last night, someone, who refused to provide their identity, forcibly 'sponsored' our organization with a batch of equipment. Claimed we had no choice but to accept it."
The elder contractor lit another expensive cigar, his face as dark as storm clouds.
"Isn't that a good thing? We're short on gear right now."
One contractor who couldn't read the situation and missed the deeper meaning grinned foolishly.
"Use your tiny brain and actually think for once!" The elder contractor was choked by cigar smoke and cursed. "The bastard was sitting beside my bed in the middle of the damn night, shoving top-grade military weapons into my hands, completely free of charge. You think blessings just fall from the sky for people like us?"
"You're not even afraid about choking to death on poisoned bait."
"What he provided was authentic Noxian military equipment, outdated surplus from their Eastern Front campaigns, sure, but still far above our usual pay grade."
Seeing that most of the contractors still didn't get it, the elder contractor nearly coughed himself to death, hacking violently for over ten seconds until his face turned purple and his neck bulged with strain, before finally catching his breath.
"Damn it, you're all worthless."
"You think you've scored a bargain? This is blood money. Blood money!"
"Before this 'generous gift,' I thought if we couldn't win, we could just run, give up the business, keep our lives, and maybe rise again someday."
He swept a cold gaze over the others.
He knew exactly what kind of cowardly trash they truly were, all brave talk about fighting to the death for their business interests, but the moment circumstances turned dangerous, they'd vanish without leaving so much as a trace.
"But now, that 'benefactor' isn't going to give us the chance to run."
"Put away those pathetic escape schemes you're all thinking. I'll hand out the gear."
"Think it through, if we gamble everything we have, we might still manage to survive. Try to run?"
"Heh... I guarantee you'll end up gutted like fish and tossed into the harbor to feed the sea monsters."
The elder contractor released a cold, humorless laugh, malice twisting his features, his entire body radiating a brutal, murderous aura.