Giovanni quickly pulled the leather pouch toward him. After lifting it to check the weight and giving a quick glance inside to make sure the metals were indeed gold coins and not some useless scrap, he spoke in an indifferent tone:
"Looks like it's all here. Just a moment."
Giovanni then tied the leather pouch to his own belt before crouching down and disappearing behind the counter. Demon and the spoiled brat remained standing, waiting, while the three criminals continued sitting, drinking silently at the bar, indifferent to everything happening around them.
After nearly a minute, Giovanni reappeared behind the counter, holding a small cloth bag.
Demon noticed Giovanni looking at him with a smile before the handsome man stepped out from behind the counter, walking toward him. He heard the sound of Giovanni's expensive shoes tapping against the wooden floor and waited eagerly until the man finally stood in front of him, holding out the cloth bag and saying:
"As always, it was really hard to get these things for you! I really don't get why you keep buying them... I think they were in fashion once, but no one uses them anymore. Ah, whatever! It's not like you're going to tell me why, right?
Anyway, thanks for buying from me! I left a little gift in there for you, but I really don't know why you like those things so much either... Well, whatever! Come by anytime if you need to buy something or grab a drink man!"
Demon smiled after hearing Giovanni's words. Of course, as much as he'd love to come back whenever he wanted, he wasn't allowed to. Besides, even if he was, he wasn't of legal drinking age yet... He wasn't allowed to drink... Nah, who was he trying to fool? No one cared about those rules anymore. If he had permission, he'd probably be getting wasted right now.
After all, plenty of people did it every day, so drinking must be amazing. But he'd never had the chance to experience that feeling, unfortunately.
'Hey, hey, this isn't the time to be thinking about that. Stay focused, man!'
After reprimanding himself internally, Demon finally extended his hand to take the cloth bag Giovanni was holding. As soon as he felt its weight, he was surprised — what he had purchased didn't weigh more than a few grams. So he quickly became curious about what kind of "gift" Giovanni had given him.
Without wasting time, he opened the bag slightly and took a quick peek inside. The moment he saw what was inside, a rare smile appeared on his face as he spoke:
"Thanks, man!"
Giovanni simply shook his head and smiled:
"No need to thank me! See you around, man!"
Right after finishing his sentence, Giovanni started walking back behind the counter, not even bothering to say a few parting words to the spoiled brat standing there, fuming with irritation.
Demon then closed the cloth bag and held it firmly before looking at the irritated face of the spoiled brat. The brat didn't need to say anything to Demon — just as that wretched lump of fat started walking out of the establishment without a word, Demon knew it was time for them to leave.
The moment they both stepped outside, the spoiled brat spoke without even looking back:
"We're heading back now."
Demon just sighed. As much as he enjoyed seeing the brat frustrated and angry like this, he was a bit sad — his lovely city tour had come to an end.
***
After walking for some time, the cityscape began to change as the spoiled brat and Demon entered the outskirts. The dirt roads, lack of sidewalks, piles of garbage, and small, poorly constructed buildings crammed into any available space, created a rather chaotic scene.
Demon glanced around without a hint of surprise — after all, he was used to this place. A place where most people had no idea how they would eat tomorrow. A place where having a house was a luxury, and having a decent roof over that house was nearly impossible. These were the Favelas — the place he had lived in for over a decade.
But unlike the filthy and miserable environment, the people who lived here were actually interesting. Those who lacked the money and power to survive in the city, yet also lacked the courage and ambition to leave this world and step onto God's Path. Pathetic people trying to turn their pathetic lives around — that was the kind of person who lived here.
But of course, these people were living in an illusion. The city's powerful used them as much as they wanted, and in return, paid them as little as possible so they could survive and be exploited again. It was truly an endless cycle of exploitation, yet for some reason, the exploited continued fighting day after day, hoping to change their fate.
Hope built on nothing, yet for some reason, incredibly strong. Well, not that he could understand that feeling. People like Demon, who had their freedom stolen from them, didn't even have the right to feel that stupid and unreachable hope. They were condemned to live under the will of others until their lives were no longer necessary.
Thinking about it that way, Demon couldn't deny that he had a bit of envy for these pathetic people. He wanted to feel that useless thing called hope too.
But after everything he had endured in his young life, a different feeling had been engraved into him. Acceptance. Long ago, he had accepted his fate and given up on things like hope.
Well, at least that's what he told himself, every single day.
Without even realizing it, Demon and the spoiled brat had arrived in front of a large stone building. Unlike the rushed, poorly built structures that dominated the favelas, this building had clearly been planned to be something great. Of course, now it was old and poorly maintained, but remnants of its detailed architecture could still be seen.
The structure had the shape of a circular tower, but unlike normal towers, its diameter was absurdly large, and its height was relatively low — about ten meters tall with only three floors. There were very few windows, making the building resemble a massive stone wall rather than a typical residence.
Yes, this tower was a residence — a home to many, to be precise. And one of its most "special" residents stood there, in front of the tower, while the wound on his chest continued staining the fabric that covered his body with red. This was Demon's home.
"What the hell are you staring at?! Don't make me hit you again! Get inside already!"
The spoiled brat's angry voice reached Demon's ears, and along with it came an intense wave of hatred. But of course, since he didn't want to invite unnecessary punishment, Demon did his best to suppress that feeling and spoke in a low tone:
"Yes, sir! Thank you for accompanying me today."
The spoiled brat seemed satisfied with Demon's words, as he didn't try to create more trouble for him and left shortly after making a few more arrogant remarks:
"Hmph! At least you understand how valuable my time is!"
Demon took a quick glance at the brat's broad back before sighing. As much as he hated that bastard, there was nothing he could do against him.
Then, Demon turned to the large stone tower's entrance. The arched doorway was big enough for three tall people to pass through at the same time. It was the only external part of the structure not made of stone, but of wood — dark, aged wood, but Demon knew that was extremely sturdy.
Well, not that it was necessary, since two armored guards armed with iron spears stood on either side of the entrance, guarding the tower. It wasn't like anyone wanted to steal anything from the tower — there was nothing valuable inside anyway — but even so, day and night, guards were always stationed there.
But the guards rarely stopped anyone from entering the tower. In reality, the reason they were posted there at all times was to prevent the tower's residents from leaving.
I mean, this place was practically a prison, after all.
Without hesitation, Demon walked toward the door, and as always, the guards didn't even glance at him as he stepped up the small ledge and pushed open the wooden door, entering his good old home.
The moment he stepped inside the tower, Demon felt that familiar atmosphere of war. Yeah, this felt right — the tension in the air created by a group of killers trapped in the same place, ready to murder each other at any moment. This was the warlike atmosphere in which Demon had grown up.
But before he could take another step, a deep and energetic voice reached his ears:
"Hey, Demon! You're back already? Some new rookies arrived today while you were out — I figured you'd want to know."
Demon turned toward the source of the voice. A strong man, nearly two meters tall, with long black hair and a thick black beard braided with several silver rings. But what stood out the most about the man's appearance was a hideous scar — a horizontal line that stretched across his face from ear to ear. Because of that, he was called Scar.
Ehhh... Well, no one besides Demon called him Scar. He had a real name, after all. But the thing was, Demon didn't remember it. To be honest, he had never bothered to learn it. I mean, with a scar that ugly, it was just easier to call him Scar.
Besides, people here could die at any moment, so it wasn't exactly practical to learn their names. They were going to die soon anyway. Maybe Demon himself would be the one to kill some of them — if not all.
Demon looked at Scar with a disinterested expression, wasting no time on greetings or pleasantries. Instead, he asked in a cold voice:
"Rookies? How many?"
Scar didn't seem offended by Demon's lack of manners. In fact, he seemed completely used to it. He responded with the same energetic tone as before:
"Two or three dozen, I don't know the exact number. But I do know one thing — the boss scheduled a special event for tomorrow because of them."
For a brief moment, Demon couldn't hide his reaction upon hearing about the event. His brows furrowed, his eyes narrowed, and the rage he felt was unmistakable.
But quickly, after nearly digging his nails into his palms from clenching his fists so hard, Demon controlled his emotions and returned to his usual indifferent expression. He then spoke in a cold tone before heading toward his room:
"An event, huh? I see..."
Scar watched Demon's back in silence. There was something else hidden beneath Demon's cold words — something extremely intense and terrifying. Killing intent, and a very strong one.
But... the only thing Scar did after sensing Demon's killing intent was smile. A yellowish, mysterious smile that grew wider and wider as he watched Demon walk away.