A Brewing Storm and New Ambitions

The familiar ceiling.

As was her custom, Saranya rose from the bed in her tavern room. Drawing back the partially closed curtains, she spent a moment gazing at the tranquil dawn over the West District.

Early rising had become a cherished habit in this new world of hers. Yet, it wasn’t discipline or exercise that fueled her vigor, but rather the simple truth that when one needn’t fret over morning commutes or work, their spirit naturally soared.

Leaning against the windowsill, Saranya’s gaze settled upon the Old Freedom Square before the tavern, a faint frown creasing her brow.

Across the square, encircled by commercial buildings, refuse and debris swirled in a chaotic dance. The ground itself was coated in a viscous, damp slurry—a concoction of spit, spilled beer, rotting leaves, and even excrement. The hour was still early, and most vendors had yet to set up their stalls. Only a handful of figures, armed with shovels, grumbled curses under their breath as they painstakingly cleaned their designated spots.

Saranya’s room, a premium guest chamber in the tavern, offered more than just a view of the square; it also overlooked Glory Street on the opposite side. This street, another entrance to Old Freedom Square, now pulsed with a cacophony of voices. A procession, shouting slogans, was streaming into the square.

‘Another parade today…’

Saranya propped her chin in her hand, idly smoothing her slightly curling black hair. Her gaze followed the throng as it slowly converged upon the center of the square.

“Drive out the foreigners!”

“The Committee must stop sheltering witches!”

“Return the Governor’s statue to our West District!”

As usual, their slogans lacked cohesion, yet what truly caught her attention was the palpable escalation of the crowd’s fervor. Faces contorted in fury, arms flailed wildly in the air, and their fervent shouts vibrated against Saranya’s eardrums.

‘This doesn’t bode well, does it, honorable Committee members…’

Old Freedom Square, and particularly the statue of the first Governor that once stood proudly within it, had long been Vero’s most iconic city landmark.

Vero’s inaugural Governor, Zorlar Konque, had once solemnly vowed to its citizens that while Vero might perish, its essence would never corrupt. The Governor, he declared, would forever stand with Vero’s broadest citizenry, and thus his statue would eternally grace the Freedom Square in the West District.

However, during a renovation project in the Upper District three years prior, the City Committee had decreed a new Freedom Square be established there, relocating the Governor’s statue along with it. Their stated rationale was that Upper District citizens required a recreational square—a perfectly reasonable need—and placing the Governor’s statue there would ensure its better maintenance, perpetually preserving the Governor’s majestic image.

In truth, the Committee’s reasoning was not entirely incomprehensible.

Ever since the demonic scourge had swept across the Empire’s northern frontiers, the southward migration of its populace had become a common sight. As the jewel of the Empire’s south, Vero bore a tremendous demographic burden. Once pristine and picturesque suburbs had devolved into squalid lower-city slums; factions proliferated within the city, and law and order in both the East and West Districts steadily deteriorated.

The Committee had always regarded Freedom Square as the city’s public face. Witnessing its decline into filth and disarray, they naturally sought to relocate it to the Upper District, thereby preserving the ‘decorum’ of governance by the elite.

Perhaps it was this decision, a blatant betrayal of ancestral principles, that ignited an irrepressible antagonism between Vero’s Upper District, its East and West Districts, and the Lower City. Social tensions began a gradual, yet inexorable, slide toward outright hostility.

The Tidal Mirror Hall incident, now almost a month past, had directly propelled these simmering antagonisms into an even more volatile new phase. The entire city felt increasingly charged with a dangerous tension.

If this continued, the people of Vero would surely succumb to their internal strife long before the demonic scourge ever reached their gates.

As for Saranya, through the machinations of the Shadowscale Gang, she and Kaelan had been transformed into heroic figures, lauded for exposing corrupt noble dealings and dismantling foreign dens of iniquity. Whether she should feel fear or honor regarding this new status, she truly couldn’t say.

Perched precariously at the apex of public attention, risk was an unavoidable companion, regardless of her desires. Fortunately, this newfound prominence also afforded her an opportunity to restructure the Redwater Gang’s operations.

Her initial move was to seize the chance to recruit new subordinates. Now hailed as ‘Haia the Ranger,’ her untarnished public image and lack of scandal attracted no small number of ambitious individuals. Among her numerous supporters, she primarily sought out those with legitimate past professions—laborers, self-employed farmers, and artisan apprentices. While this demographic was not vast, most were diligent and hardworking, making them easy to manage and allowing her to enforce strict discipline, paving the way for a more elite, streamlined force.

Presently, the Redwater Gang boasted over four hundred members, a size that could no longer be dismissed as a minor faction. This expansion, however, brought forth a second pressing issue: a lack of ‘territory.’

This ‘territory,’ or rather, ‘business,’ encompassed not merely a physical place of operation, but broadly referred to all activities and patrons that could guarantee them a stable income.

For instance, this included the tavern’s revenue, regular orders from other shopkeepers, and third-party commissions undertaken by some of her subordinates. As their superior, she also claimed a share of these earnings, all considered legitimate avenues.

As for traditional trades like smuggling contraband, collecting protection money, and usury, these could not, of course, be entirely abandoned simply because they were illicit.

This was Vero; to emerge from the muck entirely unstained would mean to remain forever buried within it.

Previously, the Redwater Gang had operated by progressively decentralizing authority, fostering minor leaders who were given full autonomy over their respective affairs. Following Haru’s betrayal, Saranya had come to acutely understand the flaws of this model. Consequently, she resolved to strip these minor leaders of their power, consolidating administrative control of the gang firmly in her own hands.

Now, no one was permitted to deploy gang members without her direct command. Regarding income, all funds collected by subordinates had to be fully submitted to her. She would personally review the ledgers, and only after thorough verification would the profits be distributed downwards.

“Sister Saranya…”

The door opened, and a silver-haired girl cautiously stepped inside, clutching a syringe which she held up for Saranya to see.

“Oh, Aquilis, come here.”

Following the surgery, and adhering to Cecilia’s prescription, Aquilis arrived each morning to administer a dose of ‘Restorative Blood Essence,’ intended to accelerate Saranya’s recovery.

“I’m going to inject it now—”

Aquilis, cradling the syringe, carefully inserted the needle’s tip into Saranya’s inner arm, gently pushing the reddish liquid inward.

Under Cecilia’s tutelage, the mermaid girl’s nursing skills had markedly improved. Aquilis had been exceptionally well-behaved during this period, spending her days in Sister Cecilia’s attic, where she would even attend to the needs of Saranya, her gang leader. Come nightfall, she would dutifully return to the dungeon to sleep, demonstrating an impressive degree of self-management.

‘Has that impostor Lenix revealed anything to you?’

“Not yet. As you instructed, Sister, I used my ability on her. She cried all day after her dream, and I seized the opportunity to comfort her… She seemed to appreciate my concern, but she still refuses to divulge anything. Perhaps she remains wary of me.”

“Good, you’ve done well. Tonight, you may stay with Cecilia; there’s no need to return to the dungeon.”

“Eh?! Thank you, Sister Saranya!”

With Saranya’s offer of a reward, Aquilis’s eyes immediately brightened. Then, the little mermaid propped her chin in her hand again, as if a thought had just struck her.

“Oh, by the way, Lady Kaelan—”

‘Has my Master been here?!’

Saranya leaped to Aquilis’s side, seizing her shoulders in an excited grip.

‘When was this? Did she give any instructions?!’

Her intense reaction stemmed from a simple truth: she hadn’t seen her Master in a long time.

Since their return from the Tidal Mirror Hall, and the rather… intense scene that had unfolded in the operating room, Kaelan had moved back to the manor the very next day. Not only that, but before leaving, her Master had issued a command: Vireta and the others were to be sent from the manor to the tavern, and Saranya herself was to remain at the tavern, taking charge of its business. She was forbidden from returning to the manor unless expressly permitted after reporting through Leif.

In essence, they had parted ways.

‘She couldn’t fathom her Master’s reasons for returning to a solitary life. Was it for recuperation? But if so, why wouldn’t her Master confide in her…’

‘Had her Master grown weary of her?’

For the past month, while her endeavors flourished around her, this single matter gnawed at Saranya most deeply. As time wore on, this vexation even began to curdle into a faint resentment, accumulating within her heart, drop by agonizing drop.

‘When you return… I’ll make sure to get my fierce revenge…’

Until then, however, she harbored no qualms about establishing her own enterprise, leveraging her Master’s tavern to first amass sufficient power within Vero.