Patena.

Four men and women sat around a circular table.

The heads of Coterel’ five divisions were there, but they did not look at each other. Either they studied the documents in their hands or spoke to the minions awaiting orders behind them.

It did not feel like they were from the same organization at all. Things were not yet at a hair-trigger stage, but their wariness against potential enemies was obvious enough. However, that much was only to be expected. They might be in the same organization and worked with each other, but the fact was that they mainly cut into each other’s profits with the occasional bout of what might be considered cooperation.

The slave division was the prime example, handling all aspects of abduction and trafficking by themselves. The smuggling and other divisions would not raise a finger to help them. Even if they did not openly oppose each other, it was common enough for them to try and trip each other up behind the scenes.

These activities — which did no good to the organization — stemmed from the fact that they had once been disparate crime rings which had banded together.

The reason why these viceroys of vice gathered on specific days for Coterel division head meetings was because not doing so would be disadvantageous to them.

That was to say, not taking part in these meetings could be taken as a sign of treachery, and absent parties would thus be marked for elimination. Therefore, even those people who did not commonly come to the Patena would do so just for these meetings. 

Even those people who typically spent their days hiding in a safehouse would essentially come here to expose themselves. Those who were so afraid of assassination that they surrounded themselves in guards would do the same. There was a limited number of people allowed at each meeting, and so each of the participants brought two of their finest men from their own divisions, in addition to themselves.

—However, one person stood as an exception to this.

“Since we’re all here, let’s begin the regular meeting.”

As that male voice spoke, the gathered people returned to their seats and their chairs creaked.

The speaker was the host of this event, the coordinator of Coterel. This man — who looked to be in his 50s — wore a holy symbol of trinity on a necklace and had a compassionate face. He did not look at all like a denizen of the underworld.

The only woman in the meeting had long blonde hair in a fountain curl hairstyle. 

She had considerably above average sized breasts which her cleavage was viewable from the revealing upper clothing. 

She had pale fair skin which was a proof of not being exposed to sunlight for long time. 

She was the head of the smuggling division of the criminal organization, Hilma Cygnaeus.

Hilma Cygnaeus was born from the union of her mother and her father like all other children. The unfortunate thing was that her mother was a high class prostitute under Coterel and her father, whose identity she learned when she was 8 only because he came back to have fun with her mother and didn't care if Hilma watched, was the third son of a poor noble house.

She grew up between whores, some willing and some just broken toys for the enjoyment of the most sadistic customers. She learned how to please a man at the age of 10, courtesy of her mother, and lost her virginity at the age of 14.

Her mother was beautiful, but she had wasted herself with drugs. She slowly lost her beauty and as she began to lose customers, she became paranoid about turning into one of the broken toys. She made Hilma work in her place. Those years were the hardest. Hilma remembered how the faces of those men… no, those pigs, would haunt her in her nightmares.

Fortunately for her, her mother died of an overdose only a year later. She remembered as she watched cloaked men bring her body away. Her lifeless eyes, the smile of ecstasy still plastered on her face. Only after two years did she learn that her mother's body had been brought to another customer, who felt like having a different experience that day, before burning it.

That day was the day she swore to never touch a drug in her life. And to conduct such a life without drugs has been hard… oh so very hard. She wanted to end it all sometimes. Those pigmen continued to haunt her. More and more faces were added to her nightmares.

This could have broken a lesser woman, but Hilma was no lesser woman. She refused to break. She refused to end like her mother, a plaything for a sick pig.

When she wasn't haunted by her nightmares, she began to dream of greatness, of reaching the top and looking down on everyone else.

Her mind steeled, her body softened for the enjoyment of the pigmen. She felt the fear being replaced by indifference. Disgust became hate. She would reach the top no matter what. She would endure everything to achieve it and then she will crush them all like the insects they were.

During these long years, she advanced into the corrupted side of the Dioral Kingdom. Step by step, position by position, she rose in power.

She used her contacts with him to get even more important jobs. She became a spy, an assassin. She began to be noticed by the Coterel leaders as a capable woman. During that period of time, she was finally ordered to kill her father. Surprisingly, the contractors for this assassination was his family. They had finally discovered how he stole money from them for his sick pleasures and wanted him killed. It was truly ironic, that she had been the one to put poison in his drink as he was too occupied smacking her ass. She remembered the sick pleasure welling up as she saw the pig drink the wine. How she was turned on as he began to cough and fell on the ground, hands around his throat. They burned him like all the others.

She continued to live. Her life was devoted to reach the top and nothing would stop her.

Hilma now held a pipe which emitted purple fumes in one hand.

Her lipstick was the same purple as her eyeshadow. In her diaphanous clothing, she was the very picture of a high-class prostitute, complete with the dissipated air which hung about her.

“Huwah~” she yawned in an exaggerated manner. “Couldn’t we have started the meeting earlier?”

A man, head of the thug division spoke,

"I heard your storehouse in Patena was burnt. Many of the Margrave's men were killed."

"Yes, they hit the villages we were using for smuggling. Cost the margrave quite a sum. We might need to cut down our activities."

The leader asked, "Any idea who might be behind this?”

"Could be Lothair de Doucy. Margrave Etienne de Chevin had conspired with Saxon that took over Doucy's faction. Doucy must have avenged his loss by sabotaging Patena."

"Then, next on—”

“—Oi.”

It was a low voice. It was a male voice, and it concealed incredible power within its depths.

All eyes turned to the source of that voice. The speaker was a bald man. His muscular frame was evident even through his clothes, and his cold eyes were those of a warrior.

All the other division heads had brought guards along, but only he had nobody behind him.

The man stared at Hilma, head of the smuggling division. No, he was probably not staring; just that his razor-thin pupils appeared to be doing so.

The guard behind her lost their cool for a moment and their breathing turned chaotic. It was a reaction born of knowing exactly how overmatched he was in fighting strength.

After all, this man was a monster. He would have no problem slaughtering everyone in this room.

“Why not hire me? Do you think the mooks on your payroll can protect anything?”

The man, Fitwalter the head of mercenaries division, which handled everything from simple bodyguarding to escorting nobles. He was famous for his battle prowess. 

"I will consider it after proposing to the margrave."

Fitwalter opened his eyes again, as though his interest was reignited.

"Gotten ourselves into big trouble, haven’t we? Have no fear. My strongest subordinates will protect your assets.”