Chapter 2: Black Mud and Thorns

Even away from the harbor, the air in Winster remained piercingly cold.

Ethan stood beside the halted car, gazing at the silent, imposing manor before him. For a fleeting moment, he felt as if he were staring at a tomb.

As one of Winster’s five major mafia families, the Bolletta family naturally owned a private estate.

This manor was situated on the eastern outskirts of Winster, adjacent to the wealthy district, sprawling over a vast area. It was the legacy of Ethan’s great-grandfather’s generation, and now it was about to change hands.

“Let’s go, young master. Al is waiting for you,” Anya spoke calmly, having stood by his side for a while before breaking the silence.

Ethan nodded and stepped into the manor.

It was eerily quiet inside, as if there were scarcely anyone left.

Anya walked beside him, speaking softly, “Yesterday, after the arbitration ended, Al instructed me to dismiss all the household staff.”

Ethan’s father, Alberto, had married only once—Ethan’s mother. After she died in childbirth, Alberto never took another wife.

So, after his elder brother Leonardo perished along with the family’s elite, the house was indeed empty.

Crossing the long lawn, Ethan entered the aged main house of the family.

No lights were lit inside, making the atmosphere gloomy and cold.

Anya picked up an oil lamp, lit it, and led the way.

At last, they stopped before a room deep on the second floor.

Anya gently knocked on the wooden door. “Al, Young Master Ethan has returned.”

Usually distant and almost mechanical in her tone, Anya now spoke with utmost reverence.

“Come in,” came the voice from within after a pause.

Anya opened the door in response. The room was lit, though the curtains were tightly drawn, so only the illuminated areas were visible.

On a bed draped in velvet, a middle-aged man leaned against his pillow, watching them. The lamplight cast his face in a pale, frail hue.

Alberto.

He was barely past fifty, yet Ethan sensed the air of a dying flame.

Anya slipped away silently, closing the door behind her.

Now, only two remained in the room.

“Ethan, come here. Let me take a good look at you.”

Despite his weakened state, Alberto’s words carried the commanding force of a lion issuing orders.

Ethan could only comply, walking slowly to sit at the edge of the bed.

“Listen to me, Ethan. The family is finished, but that has nothing to do with you. You’ve always been a good man, so you need not be afraid. You have only two things to do: first, tonight, sign over everything the family owns in Winster; second, leave Winster and return to the capital. I’ve arranged a ship for you—it sails tonight.”

Alberto delivered all this in one breath, not a single word wasted.

Ethan was momentarily at a loss for words; after a long pause, he finally asked, “What about you… Father?”

“I’m going to die, my son. Perhaps tonight, perhaps the next moment.”

Alberto laughed, and the smile brought a flush to his face, making him look even more uncanny.

Suddenly, he seized Ethan’s arm, his grip so fierce it hurt.

“Listen, son. Don’t cling to anything in Winster. Live out your later years well in the capital, become an artist, just as your mother hoped. The assets I left for you in the capital will suffice.”

Ethan looked at the man who was, in theory, his father, feeling a tangle of emotions.

He had little sentiment, but he could sense the man’s sincerity.

So he nodded.

Alberto released his hand and closed his eyes, sinking back into the pillow.

That was the end.

Ethan rose, preparing to leave.

But as he reached the door, he suddenly heard a crisp sound, like metal falling to the floor.

Turning around, he saw something roll from the bedside to his feet and stop.

In the dim light, he saw it clearly—a jet-black ring, its surface entwined with indescribable patterns, resembling black mud or thorny brambles.

He recognized it as the insignia of the Bolletta family’s leader.

Looking back, he saw Alberto’s left hand limp and open, clearly where the ring had slipped from.

A sense of foreboding seized Ethan. He picked up the ring and came to the bedside, softly calling his father’s name and taking Alberto’s hand.

Alberto’s hand was growing colder by the inch.

There was no need to check for breath. He was gone.

Just as he had said: he was to die, perhaps tonight, perhaps the next moment.

Till the very end, he clutched that ring, his thoughts on the family, yet he said nothing to Ethan.

Because Ethan was a good man, and he wished for Ethan to live well.

Something deeper and more solemn enveloped Ethan. The man before him had done his best for both family and kin.

He stood in silence for a while, holding the ring, then went out to find Anya.

Anya merely nodded at the news of Alberto’s passing. “Young master, your room is ready. You may go bathe and rest; leave everything here to me.”

Her tone remained calm, but grief was unmistakable in her eyes.

Ethan could find nothing to say and simply left.

He entered a room deep on the second floor of the detached house beside the main building, sitting on the bed as the tub filled with hot water.

The day had been overwhelming, filled with events that left him breathless. He needed a bath to clear his mind.

Absentmindedly, he stroked the ring entwined with black mud and thorns. Suddenly, he felt a tremor, and then a fierce light flooded his vision—just as he had seen on the ship. The living, mercury-like entity squirmed, slowly winding around the insignia in his palm.

Immediately, a faint, black radiance shimmered from the ring, quickly swallowed by the entity.

Then, as if a voice spoke to him—or perhaps it was a physiological reaction, like breath or blood flow—he knew he had to do one thing.

Declare your name.

Ethan was startled.

It was real—truly real—not a hallucination.

He had thought it a side effect of crossing worlds when he was on the ship, but now he was certain: it was real, he had indeed brought the “True Name of the God” across.

And this world had something similar.

The black radiance from the insignia proved it.

Did that mean he was invincible?

Because, in that game, possessing the “True Name of the God” was equivalent to becoming a deity. Words became law; whatever name was declared, all the authority and power it encompassed would be his to command.

Staring at the dazzling, living mercury, Ethan took a deep breath and slowly uttered a word.