Half-step Purgatory

Durin stroked the black cat on the armrest of his chair, sitting on the black leather sofa. Through the glasses perched on his nose, his gaze passed over the long table in front of him and settled on the man kneeling on the carpet:
"I understand, you've made money in Naples, your business has been very successful, and you've led a happy life. You've had those secret police, friends in both the law and the underground, and even the Royal Family speaking on your behalf."
"You don't need a friend like me, I know that. You're afraid of owing me a favor, and you don't want to get involved in troubles."
"But now you come to me and say, 'I beg you, Mr. Durin of the Corleon family, please help me seek justice, so that my life and my family will not suffer and sink into despair.'
Yet, in your eyes, I was nothing more than a second-rate artist involved in movies and music. Even at the brink of death, you still show me such disrespect, not even willing to call me by my title... Keeper of Secrets."

Durin's Diary

The black market in Melitopol City swiftly became a hub for the heads of green-skinned brutes, even the Nobles at the foot of Nubilis Mountain came to spend money—whether it was for the Prime Creator or the various War Gods' sacrifice rituals, such heads were always in great demand.


Duke Alessandro had watched the battle at the front lines and saw how his side, comprised of low-sequence and low-level Old Profession professionals, relied on the large-caliber short-barreled automatic guns and finely crafted weaponry given by Durin to brutally slaughter the green-skinned warriors. His sole opinion was that in his younger days, all of these men put together wouldn't have been able to defeat the green skins they faced.


But times had changed, now these men would fire a few rounds with their guns and then could go up and chop off the green skins' heads from their necks.


Chapter 167: In Series