By evening, the Mech descended into a town after soaring through the sky.
Along the way, they encountered a strict security checkpoint. Only after their identities were confirmed in the database were they allowed entry.
From that alone, it was clear this town was far from ordinary.
Concrete buildings lined the streets, bathed in the glow of soft lights. A massive church stood proudly at the center, its spires piercing the sky.
Strange, bug-shaped cars rolled down the asphalt roads, while lush green trees had been carefully planted near homes, along roadsides, and around government buildings.
It looked like a small utopia. But whether true peace existed here, Igaris wasn’t sure.
After all, a book can’t be judged by its cover.
After parking the Mecha in a designated spot, Wilson said:
"Here we are, boy. Across this road, you’ll find hotels or transportation services, whatever you need there."
Igaris hesitated. He didn’t have any Paradis currency to check in or use their services just yet.
But he couldn’t let Wilson find out about that.
So, he bowed his head slightly and said, "Thank you for your help, Mr. Wilson. I won’t forget your favor."
He looked sincere and honest, yet Wilson, still seated in the cockpit, couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Very wrong. But he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was.
"No need for thanks. It’s my duty, boy. Just stay safe from here on out and don’t go picking fights with the local townsfolk or the gangsters. Your background won’t save you from them, understand?"
"Ohh... so there are problems in this so-called utopia. What was I thinking? Perfection doesn’t exist," Igaris chuckled inwardly.
"I’ll remember your advice, Mr. Wilson. And have a safe journey back to the warzone. Don’t let those monsters break through."
He smiled and waved as the Mecha soared into the sky with a burst of thrusters, disappearing into the evening clouds.
"Now then." Igaris glanced around the streets, scanning the unfamiliar town for a place to gather funds. And what better source than the gangsters?
He smirked to himself and began asking around, subtly inquiring about the local gangs.
After a bit of careful investigation among the common folk, he managed to gather some useful information.
In Oyster Town, there were 4 infamous gangs that ruled the shadows. Each of them operated independently, but they all shared a taste for power, profit, and chaos:
1. The Iron Fangs – A brutal and militaristic group known for running illegal arms deals and mercenary networks. Many of their members were ex-soldiers or rogue Mecha pilots who lost faith in the system.
2. Velvet Vultures – A seductive and manipulative syndicate involved in trafficking rare items, black-market magic relics, and forbidden tech. They thrived in luxury and deception, often operating behind fronts like clubs and fashion stores.
3. Black Dagger Syndicate – The oldest and most secretive of the four, they handled assassinations, information brokering, and sabotage. They rarely appeared in public but held control over critical nodes in the Town’s underground.
4. Crimson Wreckers – A rowdy gang known for high-speed heists, illegal racing, and street-level control. Their Mechas were customized with loud paint jobs, neon lights, and devastating short-range weapons. They were the most visible, and possibly the easiest target to bait.
The Law Enforcement Division had long tried to suppress these gangs, but their roots ran too deep. Each gang was armed with their own arsenal of modified Mechas, making direct suppression nearly impossible without risking full-scale urban warfare.
As a result, the situation had reached a stalemate.
Fortunately, Igaris now had a lead. He learned the general areas where each gang operated.
These information was apparently common knowledge among locals who simply tried to steer clear of trouble.
But, he had a new plan now.
He didn’t just want to rob them. He intended to break them, enslave them if needed, and turn their power to his advantage.
With the right leverage, these criminals could become pawns in his quest to find his family.
After all, what were gangsters, if not unclaimed resources waiting to be converted?
Igaris sat on a wooden bench, gazing at the moon with quiet melancholy.
The sky was dark, just like his heart, but within that darkness, a flicker of hope still lingered, like the moon shining gently through the night.
His mother’s warm embrace, his father’s stern teachings, and his older brother’s encouragement flashed across his mind.
He understood that moments like those, he would never experience them again.
Everyone was gone, leaving behind nothing but a hollow emptiness in his heart.
His eyes dimmed, vision blurring with unshed tears.
"What a freak, crying in the middle of the street!"
A voice pierced his grief.
Several rowdy-looking men approached him, their footsteps heavy with arrogance. They wore mismatched clothes and bore the unmistakable air of street thugs.
Igaris glanced at them. Just once.
From their postures, the way they moved, the faint smell of blood and cheap alcohol, he already knew who they were.
"Kid, are you the one sniffing around for the Black Dagger Gang?" the scar-faced one asked, pressing a sharp knife against his own neck, flashing a mock threat.
The others revealed their weapons too, aiming to intimidate.
By now, any normal boy would’ve been shaking in fear, begging for his life.
But he wasn’t normal.
And deep down, they knew it too.
Because no sane person would go around openly asking about the underground gangs of Oyster Town; especially not the Black Daggers.
That left only two possibilities.
Either he was a suicidal fool...
Or someone with business to offer.
Igaris stood up and calmly walked toward them, tall and unflinching.
The thugs narrowed their eyes.
He wasn’t ordinary—that much was clear now.
But what could he possibly want from them?
"Could it be some kind of major deal?" they wondered silently.
"Alright, we get the message, kid," the scar-faced leader said. ". We’ll take you to our hideout and talk business. But if you’re here to waste our time..."
He grinned cruelly, tapping the blade against his belt.
"...we’ll just sell you to the slave merchants. There’s gotta be some disgusting man to pay for a pretty face like yours."
The others laughed in chorus.
Still, to their growing surprise, the boy remained silent.
Not a flicker of fear in his eyes. Not even a twitch.
Well...what has a lion to fear from a flock of sheep?