Merrywick's display of arrogance was a two-way test, the subjects being not just Lehmann, but also the spies stalking him on behalf of the Church and the government. He had no idea where these people were hiding, but it was already a proven fact that they were always nearby. It was only a matter of a simple spell to eavesdrop on such an important conversation.

On one hand, Merrywick wanted to test the limits to which he could push Lehmann with the name of the Earl hanging on his head like a noose. On the other hand, he wanted to see what the spies on his back would do once Lehmann's patience broke. There was little chance of him being able to counter any attack from Lehmann. Either the spies would take action themselves to defend him from Lehmann's spell, or Merrywick would experience what it was like to face a mage far beyond his rank.

Contrary to his expectations, however, Lehmann's limits turned out to be rather resilient. The man took a deep breath and lowered his voice even further, to the point where Merrywick barely caught the whispers. 

"What are you trying to accomplish under Ashby Declan's name? I know the Earl didn't consent to any of what you've been doing here. Your actions have cost him a fortune already. Don't be unreasonable and make your intentions clear. If you try to seize this building in his name, do you think you'll walk out of here in one piece? The Stadia has no lack of people who would kill you regardless of your backers."

"How powerful are these people you're threatening me with? Give me a rough picture, o' wise one."

"...How does a Rank-4 Grandmaster mage sound as a threat, for starters?"

Merrywick's eyebrows rose in response. A rank-4 mage, that too with the title of a Grandmaster was pretty much the peak of that rank. The only person he knew who could perhaps be a match for that realm of magical prowess was Archbishop Wulfric. And that man could easily command the entire foundation of the Deity Tower in the heart of the district. 

That the Stadia had mages of such caliber willing to commit crimes at the drop of a hat was probably an exaggeration. But he couldn't fully deny the possibility either. A strange suspicion formed in his mind as he attempted to rationalize the existence of the threat in various routes. 

If...if a large number of the business syndicates in sector-3 and sector-4 formed a cooperative relationship with the assistance of some aristocrats, extending not only to every corner of Bastion District, but also to the large neighboring districts like Seifert, Arkenhaus, and Blightburn, perhaps such a threat wasn't out of the question. Over the course of a century of magical history, plenty of mages had gone rogue, joined shady organizations, committed inhumane crimes, and escaped the law and justice. 

Progression in magic wasn't a journey to be made by one lone man. It required resources, peers, and at higher stages, institutional assistance. Where else could a rogue mage under fire go if not toward powerful hands who demanded his service in return for shelter?

"Of course, if you think your backers, or more specifically, the people who put the trackers in your body, or the people who have been tailing you since your entrance into the Stadia, have the power to handle a Rank-4 Grandmaster mage, we can just go higher. A Rank-5 Acolyte, Adept, or even a Master isn't out of the question."

Merrywick began to laugh. "If you want to scare someone, you should make the fear factor comprehensible to him. Has anyone in Bastion District's history even reached Rank-5? I don't even know what a Rank-5 mage is capable of, or how he's special from Rank-4 mages. What's the point in boosting up those numerics?"

Lehmann wasn't discouraged. "Just because there hasn't been one in Bastion District doesn't mean we can't find one to deal with your backers. Don't throw your life away for whoever sent you here, kid."

"When you say 'we', does that include that Boss of yours who's been secretly recruiting mages with silver-grade progression systems?" Merrywick asked, growing a bit impatient with the repetitive threats. He wasn't impervious to injuries or pain, and the light bullet wounds were finally getting on his nerves. The Healer he had contacted through Mr. Corvo was taking too long to arrive. 

Lehmann struggled for a moment to answer the question. In the end, he simply opted for a weird smile. 

"Someone with trackers on his body and ears in his shadow shouldn't ask that kind of question."

Merrywick leaned back on his seat and gazed outside, scanning the mini platoon of thugs surrounding the building.  Feeling rather resigned, he said, "This building can't be the only storage house of the Stadia. Other than the drugs and illegal substances in the crates, there are very few materials of value here. The only reason why you're being so stubborn about the transfer of ownership is to protect your image as the supreme existence in this region of Bastion District. If someone, even a person with the backing of an Earl, takes over a property you've been possessing against your wish, it'll not do you any good."

"That's what I've been trying to say for so long!" Lehmann affirmed, sounding relieved and annoyed at the same time.

"But then again, I really like this building. It's just perfect, tsk~" Merrywick shook his head quite dramatically. 

For the briefest moment, thin threads of golden light flashed around Lehmann's right hand as Merrywick finished speaking.

"Sabalta-Heos-Summa!" 

However, the follow-up for the spell didn't take place, whatever it might have been intended for. The outburst of mana was suppressed the very second it showed itself.

Someone had activated the Voidcoil inside the building. Both Merrywick and Lehmann understood who it could be.

"How about this? Why don't we take a route that can satisfy all the parties involved?" Merrywick said, still secure in his seat. His confidence went up a notch upon realizing that those spies wouldn't sit back and watch him get murdered. If not directly, they'd try to interfere with indirect methods.

"...." The veins on Lehmann's fists bulged as he silently gnashed his teeth.

"When I was going through some basic information on the internet about the Stadia, I found a very interesting feature among your gambling business schemes. Inside the Fifth Gallery, there's said to be a certain dealer who accepts bets on the person proposing the bet."

"The Pimp, you're talking about the Pimp, the Boss of the Fifth Gallery," Lehmann said coldly.

"Right, him. From what I've gathered, people go up to him, ask him for a challenge, or propose one themselves in exchange for a prize. If he likes the challenge, he accepts the bet, publicizes it inside the Stadia and even online through certain private networks. People bet on whether the challenger will win or lose, but the most interesting aspect of the deal is that while performing the challenge attempt, everyone involved in the bet gets to watch it live through their data terminals. To many, these livestreams are quality entertainment, because most challenges accepted by the Pimp are either bizarre or deadly."

Lehmann sneered at Merrywick. "Do you really think anyone can just go up to the Pimp and throw challenges to his face?"

"Not anyone, but as the Boss of the Second Gallery, you certainly can," Merrywick replied almost immediately.

"...You want me to do that job for you? Hehehe!" The laugh escaping Lehmann's mouth was ugly. 

"You work for the Earl, what's the harm in working for whom the Earl supports?" he whispered back, cutting Lehmann's laugh off. Hastily, almost a bit too hastily, Lehmann denied the accusation.

"Earl Declan has nothing to do with the Stadia, or me. But we were indeed contacted under his name recently and asked to test a newborn mage. And one of the Gallery Bosses had the idea to temporarily recruit you for a job. I just played along for a share of the remuneration."

"Very Enlightening," Merrywick remarked in a flat tone, having predicted the response. "Now, as I was saying, I would like to issue a challenge to the Pimp, with this building as the prize, and the crux of the challenge is that every 25 hours, the Pimp can ask me to face another mage in combat. For fairness' sake, the opponents must not be higher than me in terms of magical prowess and rank progression. The routine and venue are entirely up to them to decide. Until the day I am defeated, I'll keep occupying this building. How does that sound, hm?"

"You can't seriously think that I'm going to help you negotiate with MY people!" Lehmann sounded apoplectic, as if the very notion of doing what Merrywick asked of him was a slap to his face.

"You aren't helping just me, Mr. Lehmann. You're helping Earl Declan too, remember?" Merrywick said. Seeing Lehmann still look unconvinced, he gestured at the unfriendly gang members standing at the periphery of the property. 

"Baron and his people fucked up big time. Since they aren't under your command, you can easily use this opportunity to suppress their backers inside the Stadia. Or are you telling me that you have no desire to fight for power, inside or outside the Stadia? If you do have it in you, go back and inform the Pimp, make the challenge sound like your idea, to which I have agreed under pressure."