Chapter 424: Chapter 424

For a baron like Jenkins, the insignia of nobility was squared at the top and rounded at the bottom. The outermost ring had to be silver, signifying that he was a life peer whose title could not be inherited. Hereditary nobles, in turn, were distinguished by whether or not they held land, their insignias colored with pure gold or red gold.

On either side of the insignia's main body were two wing-like ornaments extending outwards. A viscount had four, and so on, up to a duke, who had a total of ten wings, five on each side.

A baron was considered true nobility and was therefore permitted to design the central motif of their insignia. This would become the family crest for Jenkins Williams's descendants until a higher title was obtained.

He couldn't be bothered to design such a thing, so he simply had Papa Oliver, who was well-versed in heraldry, do it for him. The final design he proposed was a golden book entwined with green branches, but he never explained its specific meaning to Jenkins.

Since he had a ball to attend in the evening, he set out early, around three in the afternoon.

After entering the city, he wandered around for a bit and even bought a red scarf for Papa Oliver at an interesting shop.

After confirming he wasn't being followed, he slipped into an alley. When he emerged from the other side, his appearance had completely changed.

The Black Rose Bar was a small tavern in the southern slums. Besides serving both legal and illegal drinks, it also dabbled in arms dealing, contraband smuggling, and the flesh trade.

He had deliberately chosen a burly, coarse-looking disguise. Meanwhile, Chocolate had miraculously changed its fur to a mottled color, making it look like a common stray.

He spoke in a thick, feigned accent, casually leaning against the bar. He laid out three copper coins and pushed them toward the bartender.

"Sir, this isn't enough. Prices are higher in the winter."

He shrugged and began to fumble around in his baggy clothes again.

Callahan Higgins sat in a private booth inside the Black Rose Bar, clutching his cards and glaring fiercely at the lucky bastard across from him.

Around the gambling table, a crowd of rowdy men had gathered to watch the spectacle, their eyes fixed excitedly on the final deal.

The one-eyed old man looked at the two gamblers and slid the cards to them with a wooden ruler.

Higgins kept his head down, using his thumb to peek at the corner of a card before raising an eyebrow. He licked that same thumb, then grabbed a wad of banknotes from beside his wrist and crudely tossed it into the center of the table.

The man opposite him nodded and did the same.

Higgins roared with laughter, slamming his hole card onto the table with his right hand, while the card in his left silently slipped into the top of his black leather boot.

"Oh, damn it! A one-in-a-hundred chance, and I had to hit it!"

His opponent exclaimed in frustration. A few seconds later, he was shoved aside by another eager gambler.

The new opponent looked just as confident.

"You guys carry on. I'm gonna take a break."

Higgins stood up, made a vulgar gesture, and pushed the door open to the sound of the room erupting in laughter.

He walked over to the bar and made a gesture to the bartender, who pulled a dark beer bottle from under the counter and placed it in front of him.

"This bottle's a bit light, isn't it? Don't tell me you took a swig?"

"The delivery guy said this is all there was."

The bartender shrugged and said no more.

Higgins snatched up the bottle, roughly grabbed a nearby patron's glass, downed its contents in one gulp, and then strode out of the bar.

"Cough, cough... Damn this air."

He too choked on the fog. His stomach felt bloated, so he turned into another alley, placing the hand holding the bottle against the wall to avoid any splashback. It landed right on a patch of filthy graffiti. He then unbuckled his belt with his free hand.

It was the sound of a pistol's safety being released, a sound Higgins knew well.

He sighed, buckled his belt again, and turned around. The man whose drink he had just stolen was pointing a gun right at him.

"A real gangster values his dignity, but he values his life more. I never risk my neck over petty things—it's not worth it. And you don't even get that? Who do you run with? Boss Lewis? Or Big Sis Katyusha?"

The man gestured with his chin toward the bottle in Higgins's hand.

"This? Oh, so it's a robbery. My opinion of you has dropped quite a bit. You had the balls to point a gun at me, so I thought you were at least a brave hound, but now I see you're not even worth the crabs on a streetwalker."

An expression of genuine disappointment crossed his face.

"Do as I say. No funny business."

Higgins's expression turned to one of contempt. He suddenly raised a finger toward the gunman and traced a complex pattern in the air.

But nothing happened. The man's aim remained steady, the gun still pointed at him.

"You're just a level 1 Enchanter. It's hardly surprising your illusions don't work on me."

Now it was the gunman's turn to look contemptuous. "Now, hand over the bottle."

The tough man's demeanor softened instantly, replaced by a fawning smile. "Sir, if I'd known who you were, I never would have done something so foolish." Thɪs chapter is updated by novel·fıre·net

He raised his right hand and crouched down, placing the bottle on the ground with his left. Then, with both hands raised, he began to shuffle backward inch by inch.

"Please, take it. If it's not enough, I can let you know when the next shipment comes in."

"You're not going to fight back?"

"Oh, what are you talking about, sir? There's nothing more precious in this world than your own life. Besides, I'm clearly no match for you."

"Oh. So you really don't have any other tricks up your sleeve."

The man said as he lunged forward.

When Higgins came to, he found himself in a cramped room. The air was thick with the suffocating stench of mildew. Such rooms were common in the slums; after all, not every bachelor who left for work had the chance to return.

He struggled for a moment and found that one side of his body was covered in frost. His hands and feet were bound. The man from before was sitting on a chair about six feet away, watching him in silence.

The room's window was boarded up, with only a few slivers of sunlight piercing through the cracks and wormholes. Motes of dust danced in the beams. It was impossible to make out the man's expression, but Higgins knew he was in serious trouble this time.