Chapter 32 The Talk

I made quick work of the low lives. Possessing them one by one, I forced their own weapons into their hands and turned them against each other. Screams and curses filled the church as the scuffle turned into chaos, until one after another, they collapsed on the floor, clutching bruised ribs or bleeding cuts, whimpering like children calling for their mothers. The pews rattled as the rest of the “guests” panicked and rushed toward the exits.

Lydia, without lifting a finger, sealed them in with her illusions. Stone replaced the sight of the door and windows, solid and impenetrable to anyone without the will or magic to pierce the deception. She made her voice boom unnaturally loud, a sharp echo rolling across the chamber. “ALL OF YOU, RETURN TO YOUR SEATS!” The threat carried more weight than any blade could. The crowd stilled, then shuffled back to their places, murmuring in fear, all except Ginny, who remained defiantly in the center aisle with the corpse of Hammer sprawled behind her.

Her eyes locked on me, pupils shrinking, voice trembling. “Who are you?” Lydia must have re-woven the skin illusion over me, letting them see something more tangible than a wandering ghost.

“The old gang is gone,” I said evenly. “Now, there’s only me.” I let the words sink in. Should I kill her here? The thought was tempting.

A timid voice cut in from the pews. “P-please, spare her!” A woman, one of the brothel’s workers, if I had to guess, was clutching her skirt as if it could shield her from the moment. Another voice followed, equally fragile. “L-Lord Renzo, please s-spare her… Matron Ginny is a g-good person…”

Really?

I looked over the crowd. “Are you suggesting I ignore her coup?”

Pietro cleared his throat. “It couldn’t even qualify as a coup, because the Twinfist is not yours—” My glare shut him up instantly.

“Who says anything about this place being the Twinfist?” I said.

The truth was, keeping the gang’s name felt like wearing a dead man’s coat. I didn’t want to inherit their identity… I wanted to strip it down, sell the parts, and build something entirely my own. “The Twinfist is done. I’m establishing a company, a legitimate business venture, where you can belong. Since there is no longer any Twinfist Gang, there is no need for lieutenants. Jandar’s assets are now mine. That includes the businesses he ran. You are free to leave your work and take a small stipend from me to start anew somewhere outside Enmar. If you stay, I can guarantee you a salary, a proper dignified job, and freedom from the debts you’ve been shackled with. Rail tracks are being built near Enmar, and they will bring a new era of commerce. We can thrive without the gang’s old ways.”

It wasn’t so different from being a gang boss, except capitalism dressed it in nicer clothes.

I turned to Ginny. “I’m choosing to spare you because your people asked for my leniency. The same offer doesn’t apply to you, considering you just tried to kill me.”

She shrank back. Her fire magic was tempting to keep, and Lydia had told me magic casters were rare. Still, the hostility between us was set in stone, and I couldn’t gamble Nira’s safety on a dangerous ally. The practical choice was to kill her now. But I wasn’t entirely heartless.

“From now on, you are exiled,” I said. “Never show your face in Enmar again.”

Lydia stepped forward, her hands glowing faintly as she mended the snapped bone in Ginny’s arm with quiet precision. Ginny hissed at the pain, clutching the healed limb to her chest. Without a word, she turned and scurried toward the illusory wall, vanishing from sight as if the city itself had spat her out.

I turned to face the rest of them, letting my gaze sweep over the crowd. The pews were filled with the kinds of people polite society pretended didn’t exist, pickpockets with their twitching hands, prostitutes with bruised makeup hiding bruised skin, petty enforcers with shifty eyes, and drunks who reeked of yesterday’s failures. To most people, they were the bottom of the barrel, but in my eyes, they were raw potential waiting for the right hand to mold them.

“You’ve been living like rats,” I began, my voice carrying across the room, “fighting for scraps in alleys, selling yourselves for coins that barely keep you alive, stealing bread while the rich feast on meat. And every time you try to climb out, someone steps on your fingers and pushes you back down. That ends now.” I let the words hang for a moment, letting them taste the possibility in them.

“I’m not here to pretend this world is fair. It isn’t. But I believe even the lowest street rat can be given a choice, a real one. You’ve been told your whole life that this,” I gestured around at their torn clothes and tired faces, “is all you’ll ever be. I don’t buy that. A pickpocket’s quick hands can count money and write ledgers. A prostitute’s sharp mind can negotiate and run a business. Even a drunk with a strong back can lay bricks or build the foundations for something bigger than himself. You are more than the gutter told you to be.”

I could feel the skepticism rolling off some of them, the kind of deep-rooted disbelief that no words could wash away in one night. But I also caught something else, a small, flickering sparks in a few sets of eyes. Hope. Or maybe just curiosity.

“I won’t lie to you. This isn’t going to be easy, and not all of you will make it. But I can promise you this… if you work, you’ll eat. If you’re loyal, you’ll be protected. And if you have the guts to build something alongside me, you’ll never have to crawl in the dirt again unless it’s to bury the old life yourself.”

They murmured among themselves, some whispering, others frowning. A few looked ready to believe, while others clung to their doubt like it was the only thing keeping them upright.

I allowed myself a small smile. “Tomorrow, I want all of you back here. And when you come, there’ll be food. Free food. Enough to fill your stomachs without worrying about who you have to steal from or sleep with to get it.”

This time, the cheer was louder. It was hesitant, but louder. It wasn’t full trust, not yet, but it was something. A seed. And I had every intention of making it grow.