Chris dragged an oak chair over and sat in front of the makeshift operating table. Midday sun streamed through the window, illuminating her silver hair. "Explain clearly—what exactly happened?" Her fingertips tapped the armrest. "I want every detail."
Conrad endured the sharp pain and looked up, sweat dripping down his lion-mane-like fur. He gazed at his older cousin, only a year his senior. Ever since completing the dragonkin coming-of-age ceremony last month, Chris had seemed like a different person. The once quiet, timid girl was gone—replaced by this sharp-eyed, decisive dragonkin woman.
It was she who had somehow convinced his mother, Victoria, to abandon the Sylvania family's hand-to-mouth existence on their ancestral farm and manor and dive into the lucrative illicit liquor business. Victoria proudly called it an awakening of their bloodline—the ancestral sharpness finally rekindled in Chris.
"Hiss~"
Another piece of iron shot was extracted from the wound. Conrad's forehead veins bulged, but he forced himself to speak. "Early this morning, Mokham and I drove the carriage—as agreed—to the Three Stone Pile Fork outside Wild Bull Town for the delivery. Before we even stopped, a dozen armed Graymane werewolves surrounded us. Leading them was Garm, one of the Holt brothers."
He gritted his teeth and continued, "Garm said the illicit liquor trade in Wild Bull Town, Strawberry Town, and the Hornwood Lumber Mill had long been monopolized by their Graymane clan. He accused us of secretly contacting the town's underground taverns without their permission—breaking the rules..."
Chris's golden vertical pupils narrowed slightly. "So you fought back?"
Conrad's face flushed red. Mokham—Baruch's nephew—quickly jumped in. "How could we dare? With so many guns pointed at us..." He stole a glance at Conrad. "But Garm got more and more outrageous. Not only did he demand we hand over the liquor..." His voice dropped. "He also said some vile things..."
"That bastard!" Conrad slammed the operating table in fury. "He dared to say my mother was... was selling her body..." His voice choked; the small dragon horns on his forehead trembled. "And he called me... me..."
He took a deep breath. "I couldn't hold back—I made a move. They pinned me down and shot me in the leg. Garm called it a 'lesson.' He said we should come to Wolf's Home in Strawberry Town by eight tomorrow night to negotiate—or forget about running illicit liquor in the three nearby towns."
Chris slowly leaned back in her chair, slender fingers rubbing her forehead. This was the price the Sylvania family paid for clinging to faded glory. Once high-ranking dragonkin nobles, they now had to grovel before lower-tier demihumans just to scrape by in the black-market booze trade.
After a moment's thought, she looked up at the two. "Was this the Graymane clan's doing, or just the Holt brothers acting alone?"
In the month-plus since arriving in this world, besides grinding for money and advancement, Chris had pieced together a basic understanding of demihuman politics. The werewolves' biggest strength was their fertility and tight-knit clans.
The Graymane Werewolf Clan—one of the larger branches around Phoenix City—boasted nearly ten thousand members. If the Holt brothers could truly rally the whole clan, things would get ugly.
Baruch scratched his furry head. "Quite a few Graymanes work for the Holt brothers..." He glanced at Victoria, voice lowering. "But that's it. Our family still has ties to several major dragonkin houses, and Madam married into the Eisenberg family..."
The old bear-man's meaning was obvious: no matter how bold the Graymanes got, they wouldn't risk offending both dragonkin and lionkin high-tier houses over something this petty. Chris noticed her aunt's mouth twitch unnaturally at the mention of the marriage alliance, but Victoria quickly composed herself.
The words confirmed Chris's suspicion: the long-dormant Sylvania family's sudden foray into moonshine had rattled these rising demihuman powers. Seizing the goods and injuring Conrad was both a warning and a probe—to test how this declining dragonkin house would respond. Mishandle it, and the werewolves would pounce.
"How strong are the Holt brothers? Any real backing?" Chris pressed.
Baruch's face twisted in disdain. "Those brothers started as thugs in Strawberry Town—small-time muscle, barely scraping by on underground casinos and contraband smuggling. Six months ago, when Prohibition hit, they jumped in early on illicit liquor and struck it rich." He counted on thick fingers. "Now they've got casinos in three towns, high-interest loans, and seventy or eighty goons under them."
He lowered his voice. "As for backing... they've bribed the town sheriff. And lately, rumors say they've linked up with the Malkato family in Phoenix City..."
"Hmph. Werewolves cozying up to bloodkin?" Victoria sneered, her tone dripping aristocratic contempt. "This world has truly gone mad."
The bloodkin—traitors to demihumans—now acted as human proxies ruling over their former kin. No wonder the Holt brothers dared target her family; they'd found powerful patrons.
Seeing Chris silent, seemingly hesitant, Victoria mistook it for fear. Disappointment flashed in her eyes. She turned to Baruch, voice firm. "We must strike back! Show weakness, and those filthy wolf pups will do who-knows-what. Baruch—how many can we muster?"
"Time's tight, but I can round up fifteen solid elites by tomorrow night—no problem. All battle-tested."
Baruch hesitated. "But... I think we should still inform Lord Albert..."
"What's the point?" Victoria snapped, eyes blazing. "If he'd acted like a proper family head, the Sylvania name wouldn't have fallen this low!"
Albert—Chris's father.
Unlike her grandfather, who died heroically resisting the human invasion alongside his retainers, the current head had shown a melancholic, artistic temperament since youth. With that charm and the family's lingering prestige, he'd won the hand of Ignis, daughter of the Dragonov family—a fellow high-tier dragonkin noble—during his travels.
Their early marriage was blissful; Ignis bore him two sons.
But happiness faded. Over time, Ignis grew intolerant of her husband's weakness, the family's decline, and their endless quarrels. After giving birth to Chris, she left in fury—never to return.
The loss shattered Albert. He sank deeper into decadence: drinking all day, losing himself in painting and music, utterly neglecting family duties.
Worse still, New Albion law required high-tier demihuman males to serve four years in the army upon adulthood, indoctrinated in loyalty to the human crown. Chris's two older brothers had been conscripted. Now, Victoria—who had married out—truly held the family together.
In short: a decadent father, a vanished mother, brothers in the army, and Chris herself turning to crime to survive.
Watching her aunt teeter on the edge of explosion, Chris raised a hand gently. "Aunt, don't rush..."
"Don't rush?" Victoria's voice sliced like a blade. "My son was humiliated and shot, Chris! You convinced me to enter this business. We've stepped onto this path—we can't dream of peaceful manor life anymore. We will not back down!"
"You misunderstand." Chris's tone was calm but carried unyielding force. "I know better than anyone: retreat now, and those wolves grow bolder. I'm just thinking how to turn this to our advantage."
She turned to Baruch. "You said the Holt brothers run usury too?"
The old bear-man scratched his thick fur. "Aye—their loan methods are darker than their claws."
"Where do they lend most? Strawberry Town?"
"Strawberry's their lair, but too remote." Baruch waved a paw. "They operate in Wild Bull Town—the biggest livestock market outside Phoenix City. Gold flows there like rivers; piles of it every day."
"So there's always a large cash flow?" Chris's voice rose with excitement at the mention of money.
Baruch shrugged uncertainly. "Should be..."
"Do you know their lending stronghold in Wild Bull Town?" Chris pressed.
A timid voice piped up from the corner. "I... I know where they lend money..."
Chris turned. It was Talitha, the family's catkin maid.
The girl—who usually moved like a shadow—was nervously twisting her apron, furry cat ears trembling.
(End of Chapter 2)