Leon lowered his head.
"One last request," he said hoarsely. "For everything I've done for the family, spare my wife and daughter. Let my brothers continue serving."
After so many years at Chebel's side, Leon understood the logic. His men had pushed for him to take over more than once. They had even suggested renaming the family after him. In another world, Chebel's fears might have come true.
So Leon stopped protesting and begged instead.
Chebel shook his head again, this time without hesitation. "Leon, I once heard a saying from a man I killed. It stuck with me. If you don't remove the roots, the weeds grow back. If my son is to inherit what I built, there can't be even the slightest risk."
Leon snapped.
He lunged forward with what strength he had left, only to be kicked aside by one of Chebel's guards. Blood smeared across the concrete as he collapsed.
"Don't struggle," Chebel said calmly. "I'll personally deal with your wife and daughter. Maybe you'll see them again. Though men like us aren't going anywhere pleasant."
A guard stepped on Leon's back and raised a pistol.
Leon roared, his voice tearing apart. "Chebel! I regret everything! If there's a hell, I'll crawl out of it and drag you and your son down with me! If demons exist, I'll trade my soul for revenge!"
Chebel smiled faintly. "There's no hell. No demons. If there were, I'd have died long ago. This world rewards people like me. And my son will inherit it all."
Then a voice drifted down from above, curious and amused.
"I'm not a demon. And I don't want your soul. But if you're willing to work with me, I can grant that wish."
Everyone turned.
Standing atop the rooftop water tank was a figure in a long black cloak, a bone-white reaper's mask staring down at them.
"Kill him," Chebel ordered immediately.
Guns came up in practiced motion.
And then every weapon tore itself from its owner's hands.
The pistols floated into the air, barrels pressed against their former masters' foreheads, slides racking back with a sharp metallic click.
"I wouldn't move," Rowan said lightly. "Accidents happen."
He stepped off the tank and walked down as if the air itself supported him, stopping in front of Leon.
"Well?"
Leon stared at the impossible scene for two seconds before answering, his voice steady.
"Save my family and my people," he said. "And my life is yours."
"I don't need your life," Rowan replied. "Just your cooperation."
He snapped his fingers.
Every floating gun fired at once.
Chebel's men fell without a sound.
Chebel, the only one left alive, sat frozen in his wheelchair, sweat pouring down his face. "I can help you," he said desperately. "Anything you need. You don't have to work with him."
Rowan shook his head. "No. You're too old."
He flicked his wrist. Thin blades sliced through the ropes binding Leon's hands.
Leon stood, picked up a fallen gun, and ended Chebel's life before the old man could say another word.
Five seconds passed.
"Thank you," Leon said quietly. "What should I call you?"
"No need for thanks," Rowan replied. "This is a transaction. As for my name… that won't be shared."
Leon glanced at the mask. "Then I'll call you Death."
"Suit yourself," Rowan said. "I'll contact you when I need something."
Heavy footsteps echoed from the stairwell door.
"They're already coming," Leon said tensely.
Rowan turned toward the exit, cloak fluttering. "Then let's leave."