The Mafia Empire

His departure went unnoticed. With the boss dead, everyone was too preoccupied with their own thoughts and actions to care about what anyone else was doing, which explained the bickering and divisions.

Wood slipped away, and as he reached the sidewalk, he felt as if he had just stepped into a new world. He glanced back at Gador\'s grand estate, shook his head slightly, and with a vague smile that hinted at something undefinable, began walking away. Though he had lost, he still had money. He could retire somewhere else, leave Ternell, and even Kanros, to start anew.

A smile lingered on his face—until he heard someone speak.

"Julian sends his regards!"

Wood hands were already trembling, much like a drained, deflated sack once filled with barley. One hand pressed against his abdomen, where a steady stream of warmth gushed into his palm. He looked down, and the sight of bright red blood met his eyes. Stumbling a step or two, he grasped a nearby lamppost, leaving a twisted, gruesome red handprint on the gray pole.

"Oh, my God, what happened to you?" A woman in a blue dress and a pale yellow sun hat stood a short distance from Wood, covering her mouth in shock. She screamed, "Someone, help! This man is hurt!" Soon, people of all sorts gathered—beggars, barely clothed homeless people, and well-dressed professionals in suits.

Their curious, satisfied, or surprised gazes focused on Wood, but no one stepped forward to tell him what to do or to help the unfortunate soul.

The more blood flowed, the weaker his body became. His feeble legs struggled to maintain the last shred of dignity, but his muscles, suffering from severe blood loss, refused to obey. He slid down the pole and collapsed to the ground, blood gushing from his mouth. His body convulsed slightly, eliciting gasps from the crowd, which began to disperse in confusion.

The spasms grew more frequent, and the intervals between the crowd\'s gasps shortened. These were complex reactions processed by the central nervous system, but the knife wound in his abdomen, which had torn apart the muscle tissue, rendered all responses futile.

He felt cold, and his vision grew blurred and dim, like a newborn child entering this world—naked, cold, and helpless.

A young man stood among the crowd, indifferently watching Wood\'s now still body. He lowered the brim of his hat and disappeared into the pulse of the city with the other spectators, who dispersed once there was no spectacle left to watch.

Wood was dead. The onlookers sighed, seemingly mixed with a hint of satisfaction, then quickly dispersed, leaving only the lifeless body of a wealthy man in the street.

As the news of Wood\'s death spread throughout the city.

When Gador was forced to jump to his death, choosing to die to keep secrets.

Another name began to circulate among the upper echelons of society alongside these two figures—Julian.

Every action had a clear target, and although the target might be misleading, the executor would never get it wrong. Therefore, some people never wasted time observing the artificial facade, instead, they saw past the false cover and targeted the true beneficiary.

As mentioned earlier, all planned actions—even some unconscious ones—were beneficial to the individual. Wood was dead, and Gador was dead. Who then reaped the most benefit from these two events? Was it Gador\'s subordinates? Wood\'s subordinates? Or perhaps some tycoon or a boss?

None of them!

The beneficiary\'s name was Julian, a once ordinary figure a month ago, now someone people would remember—Julian.

He had climbed to the pinnacle of life by stepping over Wood\'s corpse, accomplishing in less than a month what had taken many others half their lifetime. However, he still lacked a crucial identity, a key that would grant him entry into the higher echelons of society—his stance.

Stance did not refer to his occupation or his attitude, but to his political position.

New Party?

Or Old Party?

Everyone was watching him, waiting for his final decision.

"We are businessmen!" Julian pounded the table with his knuckles. When he returned to the newly renovated corner store, the room was filled with excitement from the members of the hometown association and the newly renamed "Southern Star Empire" Trading Company.

Ever since Julian had visited the slums, a legend that might seem laughable to outsiders had spread among the Guar people. The legend initially circulated among elderly Guar women and gradually gained acceptance.

"The Resurrection of the Guar King" was the core of this legend. The elderly women, using their rich life experiences, crafted a story in which King Alderrow returned from the realm of the dead, tore apart the decayed veil, and created a new world where all Guar people lived happily.

Julian saw the story as a metaphor for himself, especially the first time he heard it. He simply laughed it off, knowing it wouldn\'t harm his reputation or his standing among the Guar people, right?

Driven by the legend, many considered joining Julian as a promising path. Had he not requested to avoid absorbing too many Guar people, the room might already have been too crowded.

The young faces were filled with excitement and a reverent expression, almost like pilgrims. Wood was dead, and Gador was dead; all threats to Julian had been swept away. Nothing could now stand in the way of his rise, and they, being part of it, felt proud, exhilarated, and full of vitality.

"I must emphasize, we are businessmen, not gangsters, not thugs. We are law-abiding citizens, legitimate subjects of the Star Empire!" Julian said, pacing back and forth before speaking again, "Our happiness should not be built on fear. Fear only brings resistance and destruction, but respect can make us eternal. Today, I will share the key to achieving this."

"And that is..." He paused to draw everyone\'s attention before smiling and saying, "You must have money!"