Chapter Three: The Midwives and Guardians of Violence

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The Sun.

Undoubtedly, if any name held the greatest authority, it would surely be the Sun.

Yet, after waiting for a long while, nothing changed within that intense light.

He tried a series of names one after another—“Bearer of the Stars,” “Master of the Moon,” “Lord of Darkness”—but none worked.

This meant either the powers of those names were already claimed by others, or his method of unlocking them was incorrect. It was also possible that the “True Divine Name” was not as powerful as he had imagined.

After attempting many more names without success, water overflowed from the bathtub, scalding Ethan’s foot.

He had no choice but to pause his thoughts and soak in the bath first.

Fortunately, after acquiring the emblem, Ethan could now summon the “True Divine Name” at will. He simply slipped the ring onto the ring finger of his left hand—it fit perfectly.

Immersed in the warm water, Ethan continued to ponder his names. Unconsciously, he fell asleep.

He didn’t know how long had passed before Anya woke him.

Outside, the sky was pitch dark, and the water had grown cold.

Anya stood at the door, facing outward, and spoke softly, “Master, dinner is ready. After you eat, you should go out to handle some matters.”

She kindly handed him a bath towel.

Ethan awkwardly accepted the towel, hurriedly wrapping it around himself, and asked, “What’s the matter?”

“The price of mediation is that the Poletta family must surrender everything—including the docks, casino, tavern, and brothels. Before his death, Alberto granted you full authority. You need to sign all related contracts tonight and then leave,” Anya said calmly, her emotions steady once more.

“I’m leaving? What about my father’s funeral?”

“I will arrange the funeral. You must leave tonight. That was Alberto’s final order. He also said that once he’s gone, you must leave as quickly as possible.”

From those words, Ethan sensed the danger lurking this night.

Clearly, even with Sandro mediating, Alberto still felt unsettled.

Ethan was at a loss for words again.

On one hand, he felt no connection to these people or affairs; on the other, he did not want to die.

So he returned to his room. On the bed lay a brand-new suit, evidently prepared by Anya.

Ethan tried it on—it fit perfectly. In the mirror, the pure black single-breasted suit made him look elegant and handsome.

Dinner was a simple meal of roasted veal with buttered asparagus, accompanied by a bowl of mushroom soup and half a loaf of bread. At the long dining table, Ethan dined alone, with Anya standing quietly by his side.

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Ethan ate somewhat distractedly; by the time he swallowed half the meat, he was full.

“My father’s body…”

“Has already been taken care of. Alberto’s death must not be made public—at least, not tonight.”

Ethan wiped his mouth with a napkin and rose.

“Let’s go.”

If that was the case, it was time to end it all and leave this place.

They left the manor in the latest model car from Klaus Motors, with Anya driving toward the city.

Ethan leaned back in the rear seat, fingers tracing the emblem on his ring finger, beginning another round of attempts.

Anya noticed nothing unusual—indicating the “True Divine Name” was visible only to Ethan.

After testing every name he could think of, Ethan fell into deep contemplation.

Perhaps his approach was flawed; tracing back to the source might be the key.

The fully activated “True Divine Name” was the emblem of the Poletta family’s head. Poletta—mafia, crime?

King of Sin?

No.

Thug?

Protector and master of thugs?

Suddenly, the “True Divine Name” vibrated. The mercury-like substance twisted rapidly, quickly darkening until it formed a line of strange characters Ethan had never seen, yet he understood their meaning:

“Progenitor and protector of violence.”

In the next moment, the line of strange characters engulfed him, as if he had plunged into a vast ocean.

Then, he heard a voice—distant at first.

But instantly, it became crystal clear, as if whispered right beside his ear.

“…He’s just a useless nobody with no ties to the family. He has no influence. Do we really want to kill him? Joan, after all, we promised Sandro to stop the war.”

“We only promised to stop the war, not to stop killing. Fred, the prohibition is about to start. If we want to establish ourselves firmly, we can’t miss this chance. Even if that Ethan kid is worthless, he’s still a Poletta. He must die. We have to make the old guards of the Poletta family give up hope. Only then can we consolidate all power quickly.”

Not just voices—there was light, an image.

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It was a smoke-filled, high-class guest room where two men sat facing each other, smoking.

“Or are you feeling nostalgic, Fred?”

“Nostalgic? Joan, from the moment we ambushed Alberto together, I severed all ties with the Poletta name. I’m just worried about Sandro’s reaction…”

“Sandro won’t come himself tonight. He sent his fourth-in-command, Emilio. Emilio’s strong, but I believe you can hold him off for half a minute, and I only need ten seconds to kill that Poletta nobody.”

“You want to act directly?”

“I want to tell everyone that anyone who stands in my way cannot remain in this world.”

Smoke rose. Ethan sensed something flowing within those two men—he could perceive it, even manipulate it.

“Master, we’ve arrived.”

Anya’s voice shattered the vision, pulling Ethan back from the deep ocean.

The car had stopped. Outside the window, amidst dazzling lights, stood a palace-like building.

The most prominent was its sign: Northern Star.

The most luxurious hotel in Winster, rumored to be owned by Sandro himself.

Tonight’s deal was arranged here.

Looking at the hotel, the voices he had just heard echoed in Ethan’s ears.

Now, two choices lay before him.

One: leave immediately and flee overnight to the royal capital.

He could expect an endless pursuit, and whether he could escape safely was uncertain.

Two: enter the hotel and face a murder destined to happen.

Ethan’s heart pounded fiercely.

Only when Anya knocked on the car window did he snap out of it, taking a deep breath.

He opened the door. The October cold wind howled through Winster, carrying the scent of alcohol and drunken shouts and songs, as if bidding farewell to the god of wine and all that he embodied.

A brand-new era was about to dawn.