The next day, Darklang still buzzed with the tale of the boy who had humiliated Karso the Scarred in a mere tavern.
Some laughed, others said he had just been lucky. But all began to whisper a name they had never spoken before: Ciel Darkness.
A Strange Invitation
As he crossed the marketplace, a hand slipped into his pocket. Ciel spun around sharply, but saw only a thin silhouette vanish into the crowd.
Opening his pocket, he found… a black card.
No inscription—only a symbol etched in silver: a circle crossed by two parallel lines.
Ciel frowned. He knew the sign. Everyone in Darklang knew it.
The Clan of the Two Lines.
A cartel that ruled over illegal loans, debts, and underground gambling. The Two Lines were not common thugs: they were Darklang's invisible architects.
On the back, a single sentence:
"Tonight, at the Iron Bridge. Come alone."
The Iron Bridge
Night fell, and Ciel went to the appointed place.
The Iron Bridge, a massive rusting structure spanning Darklang's black river, often served as a ground for illicit exchanges.
He walked calmly. The air smelled of metal and dampness. Footsteps echoed behind him. Three men in dark suits approached—impeccably dressed, but with eyes as cold as death.
At their center stood a fourth: slim, elegant, with a razor-sharp smile.
"Ciel Darkness," the man said. "Your name spreads too quickly to be ignored."
Ciel stayed silent.
"I am Ryn, emissary of the Two Lines," he continued. "I've been sent to evaluate you. You have a choice: become our tool… or become a memory."
The men cracked their knuckles.
Ciel sighed.
"Choices imposed are never real choices."
"And what do you propose, boy?" Ryn asked, amused.
Ciel pulled out his notebook, opened it to a blank page, and raised his eyes.
"A contract."
The Test
Ryn burst out laughing.
"A contract? With you?"
But with a signal, he had a small metal case brought forward. He opened it before Ciel: inside lay a pile of bills and gambling tokens.
"Here is your test," Ryn said. "You have one hour to turn this into more than double. Succeed, and perhaps you interest us. Fail… and you'll never have to worry about contracts again."
Ciel studied the money, then glanced at the crowd gathered below the bridge, where a great night fair spread out: gaming tables, illegal bets, improvised auctions.
He calmly shut the case.
"Then let's write the first article," he said. 'Every wager is a public debt. And every public debt becomes a weapon.'
Descent into the Fair
Under the eyes of Ryn and his men, Ciel entered the fair. He sat at a dice table, watching three rounds without playing. Then, suddenly, he placed a bill.
He lost.
A murmur spread. The boy would be skinned alive. Yet Ciel's face remained calm, smiling faintly.
He placed another bill.
Lost again.
Ryn frowned.
"He's wasting it…"
But then, Ciel straightened, his voice ringing out:
"Listen well! I declare before all of you that in three throws, the total sum of the dice will be double six. If I lie, I return my stake to each of you. But if I am right, you double your own—and pay before witnesses."
A tense silence fell. The players exchanged wary glances. A public wager, declared aloud. Darklang's rules were clear: a public bet was binding as an oath.
The dice rolled.
First throw: 4 and 5.
Second throw: 3 and 2.
The crowd grew impatient; some were already laughing.
Third throw…
The dice clattered, rolled across the wood… and stopped on 6 and 6.
A roar of shock erupted.
Ciel calmly gathered the doubled stakes, his expression unshaken.
"Article Two: it is not about believing in luck. It is about making others believe that luck obeys your contract."
Return Under the Bridge
An hour later, he returned before Ryn, the case now overflowing—more than triple the starting sum.
Ryn stayed silent for a long moment, then let out a sharp laugh.
"Interesting. Very interesting."
He stepped closer, locking eyes with Ciel.
"You have just signed your entry into the Shadows of Darklang. But remember this: a contract with us is never broken."
Ciel closed his notebook, a thin smile touching his lips.
"Perfect. Because I never write to erase."
That night, on the Iron Bridge, Ciel Darkness took his first official step into the world of underground organizations.
He was no longer just the clever boy from Sanwi.
He had become a piece on a much larger chessboard.
And already, in his mind, one thought pulsed:
One day, it won't be me signing their contracts. It will be them begging to sign mine.