Two days after the Iron Bridge trial, a black convoy came for Ciel. The car carried him far from the chaos of the markets, into a fortified zone on the outskirts of Darklang.
The gates opened onto a sealed compound: massive buildings, armed guards, and a heavy silence. Here, everything breathed discipline—yet also an invisible menace.
"Welcome to the house of the Two Lines," said Ryn, seated beside him. "If you want to survive here, open your eyes wide… and sometimes, shut your mouth."
The Hall of Contracts
They led him into a vast room lit by stark white lamps. On the walls stood shelves stacked with ledgers and notebooks. Men in suits moved about, some counting wads of cash, others drafting agreements.
Ciel watched in silence.
Here, it looked like a bank… except the smiles were cold, and debts were sometimes paid in blood.
At the center stood a long marble table. Behind it, an old man sat—thin, white-haired, with eyes sharp as blades.
Ryn bowed.
"Master Kaien, this is Ciel Darkness. The boy from Sanwi."
Kaien raised his gaze, studying Ciel the way one inspects merchandise.
"A child who thinks words replace weapons?" he asked in a calm voice.
"A child who knows words decide who holds the weapons," Ciel answered.
A heavy silence followed. Then Kaien's lips curved in the faintest of smiles.
"Sit."
The First Internal Contract
A sheet was placed before Ciel—simple in form, but heavy in meaning.
"By this contract, Ciel Darkness acknowledges his service to the Clan of the Two Lines. He shall obey orders, respect hierarchy, and pay his debts of loyalty. In return, the Clan grants him protection and the rank of Player."
Ciel read every word carefully. "Player." Not a position of power. More a promising pawn: useful, but replaceable.
He lifted his eyes toward Kaien.
"May I add a clause?"
The guards stiffened, but Kaien gestured for him to continue.
"Which one?"
"That any contract signed by me, even in the name of the Clan, remains valid only if the given word is respected on both sides. A broken promise voids the bond."
Kaien stared at him for a long moment. In his eyes, a spark of interest flickered.
"A child daring to negotiate his own chain…" he murmured. Then he stamped the seal.
"So be it. You are one of us. But remember: even a fragile chain can strangle."
Ciel signed.
The Rival Branches
In the days that followed, Ciel observed. The Two Lines were split into two branches:
1. The Black Line – led by Ryn. Brutal, specializing in illegal debts, racketeering, and fear through violence.
2. The White Line – led by a mysterious woman, Lady Yura. Master of rigged legal contracts, disguised loans, manipulations of exchanges.
All served under Kaien, but each sought to secure his inheritance.
Ciel quickly understood: he had fallen into a nest of snakes, where every smile concealed fangs poised to strike.
The First Mission
One evening, Ryn summoned him.
"You want to prove you're more than a boy? Fine. Tomorrow, you'll join a collection."
Ciel frowned.
"A collection?"
"A debt. A merchant owes us fifty thousand. You'll see how we make a man who refuses to pay bend."
The next day, they entered a run-down shop. The merchant, an old man with trembling hands, pleaded.
"I'll repay you… give me just one more month!"
Ryn drew his pistol and set it on the counter.
"We don't eat promises."
Ciel, silent, observed. His notebook seemed to burn in his fingers. Everything in him screamed to intervene.
He stepped forward calmly.
"What if I turned his debt into a public contract?" he asked.
Ryn shot him a glare.
"Explain."
"If we break him today, we gain fifty thousand and a corpse. But if we publish his debt, posted in the marketplace, every future transaction passes through us. His shame becomes our permanent profit."
Silence. The old man lowered his head in defeat. Ryn hesitated—then burst into laughter.
"Little snake… you think like us. Fine. We'll do it your way."
The contract was signed, posted publicly on the market walls. From that moment, the merchant could not sell a single grain without the Clan taking its share.
The Notebook Grows Heavier
That night, Ciel wrote in his notebook:
A private contract feeds for a day. A public contract feeds forever.
The fear of shame is more profitable than the fear of death.
Visible debts become invisible chains.
He closed the notebook, heart pounding.
He had just given the Two Lines a new weapon. But he knew—one day, that weapon would turn against them.