The Grey Badger Gang.
As a small-to-medium-sized power controlling a small portion of the slums and a few streets in the West District, their income was far less than outsiders imagined.
At times, they even seemed quite strapped for cash.
Despite the sight of tattooed thugs roaming the streets in packs, looking affluent and leisurely, they were, in reality, likely barely making enough to fill their bellies.
For a mid-tier gang like the Grey Badgers, which sat awkwardly in the middle of the food chain, sources of income were very limited.
First and foremost, the most stable source was naturally the "protection fees" collected from shops within their territory. They couldn't charge too aggressively; otherwise, they would ruin the businesses and drive the owners away, leaving the gang with nothing to earn.
Furthermore, they actually had to deploy several gang members to patrol the streets like guards, chasing away unruly customers who might disrupt business to maintain a relatively stable operating environment. Only by doing this would the shopkeepers have fewer complaints when the gang "occasionally" collected protection fees a few days early or raised the rates by ten or twenty percent.
Then, there were other forms of grey income.
It might be a newcomer adventurer entering the city alone, wearing decent gear; or perhaps an assassination bounty on the black market for some fallen merchant.
One couldn't expect the thugs of these gangs to earn money by working as manual laborers. Once they donned the mantle of a "Grey Badger Gang member," the laws of Newm City became mere empty words.
Perhaps, on some level, they retained a shred of conscience. But when it came to making money... naturally, the faster, the better.
Of course, this type of income was very unstable for the Grey Badgers. In a good month, every lackey in the gang could enjoy a few feasts and visit places like the "Nightingale's Nest." When there was no extra income, the ordinary residents of the streets simply had to suffer.
Meanwhile, compared to the monthly monetary income, their expenses were enormous.
Setting other things aside, when young men from the slums followed you, you couldn't let them go hungry. Even if it was just plain water and black bread harder than a brick, they had to be fed. Occasional splurges at the tavern were also deemed necessary.
Then there were the expenses for weapons and equipment.
For gang brawls, there was no need for the expensive gear costing dozens or hundreds of gold from the high-end smithies catering to adventurers. However, since they were in this line of work, if you fought others for territory while clutching water pipes and wooden clubs like a goblin, your morale would drop by thirty percent before the fight even began. How could you possibly win?
Therefore, these expenses were equally indispensable.
There were bribes for the constables and guards of the relevant streets, the occasional need to buy useful intelligence from the black market, and the funding of city vagrants to spread rumors... Added up, there wasn't much money left at the end of the month.
As for more lucrative businesses like casinos and brothels... those were beyond the reach of an ordinary gang of the Grey Badgers' scale.
After expanding their influence into the West District, the gang leader, "Eight-Fingers," had even personally taken his lackeys to the "Iron-Barrel Toad" tavern—a perennial gathering spot for adventurers—to discuss a partnership with the owner, "Stubborn Donkey." He wanted to reserve a few tables in the tavern hall to run gambling games and split the profits.
He was subsequently chased out the door by Stubborn Donkey wielding a broom.
In short, these thugs, who lived in the dark sewers like grey-skinned rats, were by no means wealthy.
And it was precisely for this reason that when Eight-Fingers, the leader of the Grey Badger Gang, called his lackeys over, thanking them while opening the rather exquisite small money box given as a reward for saving them from the rat swarm, the expression on his face looked so pained.
As his gaze swept over the interior of the open box in his hand, his pitch-black eyes reflected a shimmering yellow. There were at least fifty gold pieces, and a few sparkling small stones were scattered in the corner of the box.
His gaze swept once more over the face of the man before him, whose smile was stiff.
Xia Nan raised an eyebrow slightly. "Are you sure?"
"Of course!" Eight-Fingers slammed the money box shut with a "snap" and handed it to Xia Nan with both hands. "Without the help of you two, I fear my brothers and I would have been gnawed to the bone by those damned rats by now."
"It is but a small token of gratitude; please, you must accept it!"
Since the other party put it that way, Xia Nan did not hesitate and reached out to take the money box. He couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction.
He had originally thought this battle would yield no loot and would have been content just to take the opportunity to increase his combat skill proficiency. He hadn't expected an unexpected windfall.
Moreover, having just spent a large sum at the "Rock Hammer" smithy, his bank balance had plummeted, leaving him feeling insecure. An extra subsidy like this during a mission was the most comforting thing he could imagine right now.
Of course, Xia Nan did not forget Wood, who had also participated in the battle. He turned to look at him, slightly flashing the small wooden box to indicate that they would distribute it in detail after leaving.
Unexpectedly, the stern-faced middle-aged man simply waved his hand.
"Keep it yourself. I have no use for money in the city."
"It's getting late. We had better leave before dark and hurry to handle our business."
Hearing this, Eight-Fingers, who stood before them with a constrained expression, slightly raised his head and tentatively probed
"I heard from Iron-Head that you two... came here looking for me?"
He had already asked Iron-Head about their purpose before arriving and knew they were looking for him to ask for "Sieve" Dabben's address. The reason he didn't bring it up proactively, but instead asked them first, was to give the other party control of the conversation.
Caution was one reason. On the other hand, it was due to his own little scheme.
This back-and-forth might only add a sentence or two. But compared to proactively providing Dabben's address, giving it freely and without concealment after the two professionals requested it could create a stronger bond between himself—or rather, the Grey Badger Gang—and these two professionals.
Even if it didn't reach the level of a "favor," if something happened in the future, remembering today's interaction would inevitably change their attitude. If he were luckier and could help them with some small matter, it wouldn't be impossible to become friends.
Standing opposite him, Xia Nan naturally didn't think as much as Eight-Fingers. Of course, even if he knew about this little scheme, he wouldn't care much.
Tucking the money box under one arm and omitting the details of his mission, he directly asked for information regarding Buck and Dabben.
"Buck... I know the man, but I've had basically no contact with him normally," Eight-Fingers recalled, rubbing the messy stubble on his chin. "I've seen him a few times at the Iron-Barrel Toad, but we have no social ties."
"As you probably know, adventurers like him who are semi-retired, have started families, and returned to ordinary life generally don't interact with people like us." He spread his hands, a helpless smile on his face.
"As for 'Sieve' Dabben, I was in contact with him recently; his address shouldn't have changed much."
"It's already late today. That place is winding and twisting; without someone who knows the way, it's truly hard to find in a short time. It's also quite dangerous at night. Oh, for you, it might only be a minor nuisance, but it will still cause delays."
"If your time is tight... tomorrow morning, I'll have Iron-Head lead the way for you."
Xia Nan had thought that after arriving, he would have to negotiate with the gang leader for a while, "appealing to emotion and reason" and perhaps showing a bit of his capabilities. He might have even had to let Wood reveal his identity as a guard of the City Lord's house.
He hadn't expected this "Eight-Fingers" to be so sensible. Without them having to waste much breath, a simple inquiry brought out everything he knew. It didn't sound like a lie.
He didn't mind the difference of a day or two; in fact, he harbored doubts about whether Buck was still in Newm. Since the other party said it was unsafe at night and troublesome, there was no harm in continuing the mission tomorrow morning.
Xia Nan nodded, agreeing to Eight-Fingers' plan, and arranged a meeting spot for tomorrow with Iron-Head. After asking about a few things to be mindful of, he prepared to leave.
Before departing, his gaze subconsciously swept across the dim and damp environment of the sewers. His eyes specifically lingered on the grey-skinned rat corpses on the ground, several wailing wounded members of the Grey Badger Gang, and the blurred silhouettes and crimson eyes flashing in the dark depths of the corridor.
Without thinking too much, driven simply by curiosity, he asked casually
"I heard from Iron-Head earlier that these rats went mad because the 'Moon Feast' is approaching."
"But the 'Moon Feast' should happen every year, right...?"
"So, do you go through this every year at this time?"
As he asked, a sliver of doubt arose in Xia Nan's heart. According to the information he had previously learned from the bald strongman, the Grey Badger Gang had established its core base in the sewers many years ago.
If it were truly as the other party explained—that every time the Moon Feast arrived, the grey-skinned rats in the sewers would go mad and become extremely aggressive toward humans—then after so many years, the Grey Badger Gang should have had precautions.
Whether it was setting up defensive facilities in advance or temporarily evacuating the sewers to avoid the rat swarms, both would be good countermeasures. It shouldn't have reached the point where even the gang leader was trapped in his own nest by the rat swarm, nearly facing total annihilation.
At this, a bitter expression appeared on Eight-Fingers' face, and he shook his head in bewilderment.
"Actually, we had already made arrangements near the base in advance."
"Based on previous years, although these big rats show extreme aggression during this period, they still retain their fear of fire and light."
"No matter how many there are, as long as you don't actively expose yourself to their sight, they will instinctively avoid brightly lit areas."
Eight-Fingers casually picked up a relatively intact grey-skinned rat corpse from the ground, his gaze looking toward the deep, dark corridor ahead.
"But this year, these rats seem to have been stimulated by something. They aren't even afraid of torches or incendiary bombs; they just surged forward in packs like they've gone insane."
"It seems that by this time next year, I'll have to take my brothers and hide outside for a while."
Stimulated?
The answer seemed to make Xia Nan vaguely think of something. But just as he sensed he had discovered something and wanted to grasp the clue for deeper thought, the fleeting idea vanished like a fading dream, and he could no longer recall it.
"It's late; we should leave."
Beside him, Wood raised his head, his focused gaze seemingly able to penetrate the thick stone walls above to see the increasingly dim sky outside.
Shaking his head, Xia Nan also temporarily set aside the cluttered thoughts in his mind and nodded in agreement.
"You two intend to leave?"
Eight-Fingers spoke up at the right moment, pointing to the bald strongman behind him. "Iron-Head, you lead the two gentlemen—"
Halfway through his sentence, he saw the other man crouching, frantically winking and gesturing at him, and immediately understood.
His voice paused, his finger shifted, and he pointed to a scrawny youth with a tilted neck standing next to Iron-Head.
"Ahem, Crooked-Neck, go! Lead the two gentlemen!"
...
A thick scent of blood mixed with the characteristic sour stench of the sewers filled the air.
The lackeys of the Grey Badger Gang dragged their exhausted bodies, clearing the rat corpses from the site. During the special period leading up to the Moon Feast, the blood scent and rot emitted by corpses could easily attract dangerous trouble and needed to be handled quickly.
Additionally, the thugs of the Grey Badger Gang who were injured in the battle with the rat swarm were complaining to each other while treating their wounds. They didn't have extensive medical knowledge; they only knew through word-of-mouth that their damp and filthy environment could easily cause injuries to worsen.
But with no money and no means, the thugs naturally couldn't go to the clinics above for formal treatment.
Currently, under the direction of a few older leaders in the gang, they were peeling "Iron-Scab Moss"—unique to the Newm sewers—off the walls, using simple tools to grind the dark red crystals on its surface into powder, and applying it to the wounds to stop bleeding and accelerate healing.
As for the potential side effects... they couldn't afford to worry about that now.
Watching the figures of the two professionals disappear around the corner of the distant corridor, Eight-Fingers couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief.
The constrained and cautious expression he had maintained before Xia Nan and Wood instantly vanished; he puffed out his chest and raised his head, returning to his posture as a gang leader.
Turning around, he beckoned to the eager Iron-Head, his attitude showing a somewhat deliberate friendliness
"You brat, speak. What good news do you have?"
Iron-Head hurried forward, pulled a blood-stained bundle from his bosom, and handed it to the other with both hands.
"I got it off a drunkard in the tavern."
"Boss, you'll definitely love this!"
Glancing at Eight-Fingers' slightly frozen expression, he quickly added
"Don't worry, it has nothing to do with those two professionals."
"Just a lazy bum with no background; no one would care if he died in the street."
"I've cleaned everything up!"
Hearing Iron-Head say this, Eight-Fingers' expression relaxed.
He pulled open the tight fabric strips of the bundle.
What came into view was a palm-sized, upright humanoid figure, resembling a cross between a sheep and a deer.
(End of Chapter)