Don Anthony's appearance was exactly what you would expect from a calculated underworld kingpin. He was a forty-year-old man with a remarkably slim build, dressed in a sharp, pristine mafia boss pinstripe suit that looked completely untouched by the soot of the surrounding factories. For dramatic effect, he leaned his weight onto an ornate, polished cane, but my eyes immediately locked onto the real threat resting across his lap: a customized Death Chant Tommy Gun copy. The intricate silver circuits along its frame were pulsing with a thick, volatile dark orange glow… the telltale elemental signature of magma magic. A single burst from that weapon would melt solid iron, meaning a direct confrontation right now would be suicide.
But before I could formulate my response to the Don's questioning, a sudden distraction materialized from the side of the throne room. My single eye narrowed under my hood as Luke's twin brother, Luck Granhart, stepped into the light.
The shock of his transformation hit my memory bank instantly. Back in our hometown of Town Allure, Luck had been nothing more than a timid, fragile boy who actively avoided the guild's violent assignments, cowering in the shadows of his family's legacy. Now, looking at him, he was completely unrecognizable. He had transformed into a grotesque, ostentatious spoiled brat. Every single one of his teeth had been capped in flashing, solid gold. A ridiculously oversized, heavy gold chain hung low around his neck, and his ears and face were cluttered with an absurd amount of gold piercings and sparkling diamond jewelry. He was practically dripping with the syndicate's blood-soaked profits.
"Hey brother! It's nice to meet you again!" Luck shouted in an incredibly arrogant, joyous tone, his golden teeth catching the dim light of the vault.
He marched right up to me, completely oblivious to the fact that a lethal S-rank predator was wearing his brother's flesh, and confidently extended his hand to dap me up. Keeping my composure flawless and realizing that maintaining the familial bond was the quickest way to lower this entire room's defenses, I played along. I extended my newly regenerated left arm and smoothly dapped him up, matching his energy perfectly.
As our hands clapped together, I let a simulated, warm grin break across my stolen face. Let the kid celebrate his brother's "miraculous escape." The more comfortable this spoiled brat and his magma-wielding boss became, the easier it would be to paint these pristine concrete floors with their blood.
Don Anthony chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated with the dangerous energy of the magma weapon resting across his lap. He leaned heavily onto his ornate cane, his sharp eyes narrowing as he locked his gaze directly onto my blonde disguise.
"Well, my question stands, Luke. How exactly did you escape the Citadel? I heard from my deep-cover intelligence men that the Bureau locked you in the third level… the inescapable subterranean abyss where all of your base stats are forcefully suppressed and converted down to a measly 10. No one uses magic there. No one breaks out with brute strength. So, how are you standing in my mint?"
I let a smug, cocky grin cut across my stolen face. I shifted my weight, crossing my arms in a perfectly calculated display of arrogance that mirrored a hardened criminal who had just achieved the impossible.
"Well, it's a secret, alright? I prepared carefully, planning every single move ever since the iron doors slammed shut behind me. Let's just say that manipulating high-tier guards and using desperate cellmates as disposable chess pieces is a highly complex tactical sequence. It's a bit too hard to fully explain over a casual homecoming."
Luck flashed his gold-capped teeth, laughing loudly at my response and nudging one of the elite guards as if to say, 'That's my brother.'
Don Anthony watched me for a long, silent moment, weighing the psychological weight of my words. A man who could bypass a total stat-wipe to level 10 and orchestrate a prison break from the continent's most secure facility was a mastermind he desperately wanted to keep on his payroll.
"Keep your secrets then, Luke, the underworld thrives on secrets, and a weapon that can outsmart the Luminous Knight Bureau Association is a weapon I am glad to have back in my armory."
Don Anthony leaned forward, resting both hands on his magma-infused weapon as his eyes gleamed with pure, unfiltered avarice.
"Well, since you're here, Luke, our guild is planning a massive operation. A mission that will make all of us filthy rich."
I let a subtle, knowing smirk play on my face under the hood. In my head, the strategic gears were turning flawlessly. If I participated in this high-stakes operation and ensured its initial phase succeeded, I would contribute heavily to the guild's profits. That would instantly solidify my position, gain his absolute trust, and cause his guard to drop entirely. My path to claiming his head was getting closer with every word he spoke.
Don Anthony continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial rumble.
"Okay, here's the play: we are going to smuggle our newest military products directly to the Eastern borders. There is a powerful group of rogue criminals operating out of a nearby border village. I personally struck a highly lucrative deal with them last week, and upon safe delivery of the cargo, they will hand over a staggering 20 gold pieces."
The moment the phrase 20 gold echoed through the vault, a wave of visible shock rippled through the ranks of the elite guards. Even Luck let out a sharp, dramatic gasp, his face contorting into an expression of wild excitement that was lightyears away from the timid, stuttering boy he used to be back in Town Allure.
"They ordered exactly 20 of our reverse-engineered Death Chant Tommy Guns, dynamites and a massive crate of tear gas canisters… our newest chemical warfare product manufactured directly by Maine's division,"
Luck boasted loudly, his golden teeth flashing as he pumped his fist in the air. He turned to face the assembled squad, raising his arms in a theatrical display of solidarity.
"We are moving out right now, my men! This guild is our family, and we protect our investments!"
The room erupted into a chorus of cheers as the guards began priming their colored elemental mag-rounds. I stood quietly in the center of the chaos, my single eye tracking Don Anthony's every movement. A 20-gold deal on the Eastern border meant the syndicate was preparing to mobilize a massive portion of their armed forces. It was the perfect stage for a massacre. I would help them transport their precious cargo, play the part of the ultimate weapon, and the moment we reached the isolated border village away from the fortress walls of Carcaka… I would turn their family into a graveyard.
Don Anthony gave a sharp, authoritative nod and planted his magma-infused Tommy gun firmly against the stone floor.
"Well, we need to get going. We will hide our weapons and cover them with cloth, blending in entirely as a standard merchant convoy. And you two apprentices… help them pack the crates."
The underground facility instantly erupted into coordinated motion. Foot soldiers began wrapping the wooden, elemental-lined Tommy guns in heavy burlap sacks and loading them into reinforced crates to mask their true nature from any roaming highway patrols.
Luck slapped my shoulder, his heavy gold chains clinking loudly as he grinned.
"Hey bro, we need to go to Maine first. We will carry our products in the main carriage, but we have to pick up the tear gas canisters directly from his lab."
I gave a silent, confident nod using Luke's face, keeping my posture entirely in character.
"Lead the way."
I followed Luck through the twisting, damp brick corridors of the old Ford Mint facility, steering deeper into the subterranean research sectors. My analytical mind immediately cataloged the target ahead: Maine. He was the very same brilliant, morally bankrupt chemical researcher who had operated out of the shadows back in our hometown of Town Allure. To see that Don Anthony had recruited him to spearhead the syndicate's new chemical warfare division meant the Mafia's reach was far more sophisticated than the Bureau realized. Maine's tear gas formulas were bound to be highly volatile, making him an incredibly dangerous piece on this chessboard.
As we approached the heavy, reinforced doors of the laboratory where the fumes of sulfur and burning chemicals seeped through the cracks, I adjusted the strap of my hidden Death Chant Shotgun beneath my traveling cloak. I was walking alongside my brother to fetch the weapons of an empire, playing the part of the perfect tool until the moment came to break them all.