CHAPTER 307: CHAPTER 307: [HOT SUMMER AFTERNOON]

Once July passes, there’s not much summer left.

But the weather in the Royal Capital is getting hotter and hotter.

It’s almost impossible to go outside during the day; stepping out guarantees a drenching sweat.

Perhaps it was the earlier typhoon, the Royal Capital wasn’t this hot in previous years.

On this afternoon, the heat felt as if metal would melt.

Port District.

Garette Street.

This street is also known as Migrant Street.

Due to its extremely delicate location—it’s in the Port District but bordering the South District and just under two hundred meters from the legendary land of freedom, Little Ibia.

There’s only a wall separating the two; from slightly taller buildings on Garette Street, you can glimpse some of Little Ibia’s details.

So naturally, this has become a very ambiguous area.

The people of Little Ibia occasionally visit the hotels, casinos, and various shops here.

And the people of Garette Street also engage in clandestine transactions with those from Little Ibia.

After all, there are things only available in the Old Continent.

With the growing number of immigrants from the Old Continent, over time, it naturally gained the name Migrant Street.

Currently, this street belongs to Sea King Lockeby. Starting from the docks, Lockeby’s influence has grown stronger over these two years, and his territory has basically covered the entire Port District.

He naturally does business with Little Ibia, also his former ally.

Just before three in the afternoon, at a certain section of the wall separating the South District and the Port District, two people emerged from within, though it was unclear how.

They wore flamboyant shirts, and their necks and arms bore strange, terrifying tattoos, clearly marking them as freemen from Little Ibia, probably from the Cloze people of the Old Continent or a neighboring country.

Only people from that region have the tradition of tattoos; it’s said that even now, they maintain hunting, fishing, and grazing habits, with very low industrialization.

The two men, likely from Cloze, carried a suitcase, crossing the street with wild steps, and flipped the bird at a car that almost hit them, shouting abuse.

The driver initially stopped, seemingly to retaliate, but sped off upon seeing the two men instinctively reach for their waists.

"Damn Antustat bastards!"

One of the Cloze men with sparser hair cursed angrily.

Even though they’ve come to the Antustat Kingdom, they don’t consider themselves part of it, harboring hatred for its people who generally lived wealthier and more comfortable lives than them.

"Forget it, Nat, focus on the task. Mollen is pressuring us, we need to finalize this deal; otherwise, we won’t have a good time."

The other Cloze man advised.

"Is our time good now?"

The man named Nat was quite agitated, for reasons unknown, perhaps the weather, he started shouting.

"How long has it been since we had a good time? What do we eat every day? Damn it, Cormick, we didn’t come to the New Continent to suffer!"

"It’s those damn Femgcui Men, they’ve been blocking our business. Otherwise, why would we need to beg those Antustat bastards?"

Listening to his companion’s furious complaints, the Cloze man named Cormick found it hard not to agree.

These days have indeed been difficult for them.

Since that stormy night, everything has changed.

Initially, Little Ibia had some degree of self-sufficiency.

Furthermore, the Mafia in the South District had always been lax and didn’t bother them. They were fine staying in Little Ibia.

But last time, aiming for more territory in the South District, Old Xi Wen directly joined the siege against the Martinos Clan.

No one anticipated it, but the seemingly sure thing ended in disaster.

It’s said an elite squad from the Kingdom Defense Bureau vanished entirely in the South District.

Travis in the West District was also severely beaten.

The Martinos Clan won a decisive victory.

Even so, they could have just withdrawn back to Little Ibia like in the past decades.

But truly, Little Ibia isn’t an independent kingdom; it still needs external resources.

The Royal Capital Mafia couldn’t do anything to them before because they were disorganized, but they aren’t disorganized anymore.

Now, with just the Martinos Clan having a voice, they’re facing oppression. Snatching business is just the beginning; total blockade is the major issue.

Blockades not just from the Martinos Clan, but also from the authorities.

The most notable change is that the Security Bureau, who never managed Little Ibia before, now starts intervening, with officers frequenting Little Ibia.

Even Old Xi Wen’s intervention is useless.

They even plan to have a permanent presence in Little Ibia.

This is unprecedented.

Ever since Little Ibia was established, law enforcement officers had no interest in it, as successive former alliance leaders had their relations managed well.

As long as nothing major happened in Little Ibia, no one would bother looking.

Now, they’re even considering tearing down Little Ibia’s walls, rumored to be true.

This is an absolute shock.

Plus, the internal conflict within the alliance, several people have silently left Little Ibia recently.

The situation is growing more and more grim.

Thus, there’s a rush from the top to find a new path.

The negotiation with the Sea King’s people is one such endeavor; Mollen, one of Old Xi Wen’s four adopted sons, wants to resolve the crisis for Old Xi Wen.

The two Cloze men cursed as they crossed most of Garette Street, arriving at the largest hotel, the Golden Coast, on Garette Street.

This is Sea King Lockeby’s stronghold here, where today’s negotiation is arranged.

At the entrance, Sea King Lockeby’s men conducted body searches and inspections.

After confirming they carried no weapons, Sea King’s men let them in.

Meanwhile, in a nearby cold drink shop, a man in a loose shirt observed the situation outside while sipping a cold drink. He pulled out an inconspicuous walkie-talkie, saying into it, "Hey hey, Crenzo, kid, stop sleeping, time to work. If you can’t do it, let me take over."

The response was an immature but exceptionally blunt and foul curse.

"Shut your damn mouth, Aaron."

Aaron chuckled, saying no more, just pondering inside whether he was getting old, seeing these wet-behind-the-ears youngsters working, while he hadn’t made a name for himself yet.

Moreover, the Royal Capital was just too hot; he preferred Wenster. Even if it’s hot, at least there’s a comfortable sea breeze.

But, never mind, he’s here now, having sold his life to Ethan, what else can he do?

Hot, it’s really too damn hot.