Old Tom approached quietly from the side. "Master Erwin, the royal family's calling again."
Erwin didn't bother looking up, fork midway to his mouth. "How many times now?"
"The fifth," the butler replied.
Erwin nodded thoughtfully. "I don't like fives. Let's make them sweat a bit longer—wait for a number that suits me better."
"As you wish, sir." Old Tom retreated silently to his post.
Time dragged on. Before long, the sun dipped low, signaling dinnertime. Erwin settled at the table, savoring the meal his personal chef had prepared. Oddly, it paled against the house-elves' cooking back at Hogwarts. Those little creatures had a knack for magic in every dish—effortless, flavorful perfection.
Meanwhile, the streets of London churned with chaos. The invading gangs—ruthless upstarts nipping at established turf—were crumbling under the Selwyn family's relentless assault.
This rival outfit was the Morgan clan, led by their iron-fisted patriarch, Thor Morgan. The name might evoke the thunder god, but Thor's life had been no myth of glory. At sixty, he'd clawed his way up from nothing, building a sprawling empire of loyal enforcers and shadowy deals.
Now, he brooded in the dim study of Morgan Manor, his face drained of color. "What in blazes is going on? Why has the Selwyn family flipped into a frenzy, hitting us like this?"
Two bandaged underlings shifted uneasily. "We don't know, boss," one stammered. "Word came down that their patriarch's back from holiday in London today. That's when they struck—hard."
Thor's eyes widened. Holiday? He'd dismissed the whispers about the Selwyn head being just an eleven-year-old boy as absurd tavern talk. "Rubbish," he'd scoffed before. "A kid causing this much storm in London? Pull the other one."
But his own digging had uncovered the impossible truth: Erwin Cavendish, current Selwyn patriarch, was indeed only eleven. He'd vanished from London last September—no trace. School, the rumors went, but details? None.
Thor had seen opportunity in the boy's youth. A child, no matter how cunning, was manageable. London was his for the taking—a fat prize on the block. Still, he'd played it smart at first, holding back until a discreet nod from the royals greenlit his move.
They'd poured everything into the fight, ripping chunks from Selwyn territory. Victory felt close... until Erwin returned. On day one, the city trembled.
A door slammed open then, another henchman bursting in, bloodied and breathless. "Boss, it's over! Defenses are gone—manor's the last holdout. They've reclaimed everything outside. Our lads... they're all dead. No survivors. The Selwyns don't take prisoners; they cut down anyone who surrenders. Cold as butchers, no mercy."
Thor's gut twisted. He lurched, collapsing into his chair, the weight of it all crashing down.
The newcomer pressed on, voice urgent. "What now? They're closing in—we've got to run, or we're done!"
Despair etched deep lines into Thor's weathered face. He shook his head. "Too late for running. I misjudged that boy. Never dreamed he'd be this merciless—gives me the shivers. He won't let us slip away; he's got us boxed. I'll meet my end here, but my sons need to know: the Selwyns are monsters. Survive this, and the Morgans rise again."
He wasn't wrong. Erwin had no qualms about crushing the royal family's proxies. He wouldn't challenge the crown outright—not yet—but these lapdogs? They'd learn the Selwyns weren't soft clay to be molded.
Thor steeled himself for a defiant last stand. But before he could rally, another subordinate barreled through the door, pale as a ghost. "Disaster, boss! The old estate's hit—the eldest and second sons, gone. The daughter's dead too!"
Thor gasped, clutching his chest. "Those damned Selwyns... heartless bastards!" Rage surged, then broke him. He retched up blood and slumped unconscious to the floor.
Elsewhere, in a dimly lit conference room, a tense cluster of figures huddled. Royal insignia gleamed on several lapels. At the head sat a sharp-featured woman, her poise cracking. "Who gave you the nerve to sic your thugs on the Selwyns?"
Silence hung heavy. She slammed a fist on the table. "I made it clear: we have a pact. They keep the midnight shadows in line for us, and we stay out of their way. They don't push boundaries without reason. Now hear those shots outside—this is your mess! Why wasn't I looped in? Whose brilliant idea was this?"
Her composure shattered, elegance giving way to raw fury. She rubbed her temples, exhaustion plain. These fools had no clue about the old arrangements—the tangled history that made the Selwyns untouchable. That boy, Erwin, wasn't some naive lad; he carried shadows deeper than they knew.
The royals had handed London's underbelly to the Selwyns for good reasons, hard-won concessions. And now? Ruined by idiocy.
She turned to her secretary. "Still no line to Cavendish?"
The aide shook her head. "Afraid not, ma'am."
Disgust flickered in the secretary's eyes toward the group. She'd served long enough to grasp the stakes—the fragile balance her boss had nurtured. This blunder? It would cost dearly to fix, and blood would spill on both sides.
...
Guys, today's 20 chapters have officially been uploaded! And now I'm putting a massive challenge on the table for you all.
OUR WEEKLY TARGET: 500 POWER STONES
If you want those massive bonus drops, here is the deal:
- Milestone 1: Reach 200 Power Stones → I will drop 15 BONUS CHAPTERS instantly!
- Milestone 2: Reach 500 Power Stones → I will drop a staggering 30 BONUS CHAPTERS!
You guys have shown incredible power so far—let's see if we can smash that 200-stone target before the week even gets started!
Power Stones: [20]/200
Smash that Power Stone button, stay healthy, and keep reading!
— MrGrim