Chapter 172 The Money Box

The Gray Badger Gang was a small-to-medium faction that controlled a small portion of the Slums and a few streets in the West District.

Their income, however, was far less than outsiders imagined.

At times, their finances were even somewhat strained.

Those tattooed thugs might roam the streets in groups all day, looking relaxed and well-off.

But in reality, they could barely afford to fill their bellies.

For a mid-tier gang stuck in limbo like the Gray Shrub Gang, income sources were very limited.

First, their most stable source of revenue was naturally the "protection fees" collected from shops within their territory.

They couldn't squeeze too hard, or they would ruin businesses and drive people away, leaving the gang with nothing to earn.

They also actually had to dispatch members to patrol the streets like guards, chasing away malicious customers who might affect business to maintain a relatively stable operating environment.

Only by doing this could they get away with "occasionally" collecting protection fees a few days early, or bumping the rates by ten or twenty percent.

That way, the shop owners wouldn't complain too much.

Then, there was other illicit income.

This might come from a lone rookie adventurer entering the city in decent gear, or an assassination bounty on the black market targeting some down-on-his-luck merchant.

After all, no one expected gang thugs to make a living through hard labor or odd jobs.

Once they donned the mantle of Gray Shrub Gang members, the laws of Nym City became empty talk.

Perhaps on some level, they still retained a shred of conscience.

But when it came to making money, they naturally took the fastest route available.

Of course, this kind of income was highly unstable for the Gray Shrub Gang.

A good month allowed every lackey in the gang to enjoy a few large feasts and take a few trips to places like Nightingale's Nest.

When there was no extra income, they could only squeeze the ordinary residents on the streets to make up the difference.

At the same time, compared to their monthly income, their expenses were massive.

Setting everything else aside, with young men from the Slums following you, you couldn't just let them go hungry, right?

Even if it was just plain water and black bread harder than bricks, you still had to feed them until they were full.

Taking them to a tavern to enjoy themselves once in a while was also absolutely necessary.

Then, there were expenses for weapons and equipment.

Naturally, gang brawls didn't require the expensive gear—often costing dozens or hundreds of gold coins—sold in premium blacksmith shops that catered to adventurers.

But everyone was in the same line of work. If you fought for territory armed only with water pipes and wooden clubs, looking like a pack of goblins, your morale would drop by thirty percent before the fight even started. How could you win like that?

Therefore, expenses in this area were equally indispensable.

Bribing the sheriffs and guards of the relevant streets, occasionally buying useful information from the black market, paying the city's vagrants to spread rumors—adding all these odds and ends together left very little money at the end of the month.

As for more profitable ventures like casinos and brothels, an ordinary gang the size of the Gray Shrub Gang had no chance of getting a piece of that action.

After expanding their influence into the West District, the gang boss, Eight-Fingers, even personally led his lackeys to the Iron Bucket Toad tavern—a place where adventurers gathered year-round—to discuss a partnership with the owner, Stubborn Donkey.

He had wanted to reserve a few tables in the tavern's hall to run gambling games and split the profits evenly.

He was subsequently chased out the front door by Stubborn Donkey wielding a broom.

All in all, these thugs—who lived in the dark sewers just like gray-skinned rats—could absolutely not be called wealthy.

Because of this, when the boss of the Gray Shrub Gang, Eight-Fingers, greeted them with thanks while opening the rather exquisite small money box that served as the reward for saving them from the rat swarm...

...the expression on his face looked incredibly pained.

As his gaze swept over the interior of the open money box in his hands, a bright golden hue reflected in his dark eyes.

There were at least fifty gold coins, and a few sparkling little stones were scattered in the corners of the box.

His gaze once again swept across the stiffly smiling face of the man in front of him.

Xia Nan raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

"Of course!" Eight-Fingers abruptly snapped the money box shut with a sharp clack, handing it over to Xia Nan with both hands.

"If not for the help of you two, my brothers and I would probably have been chewed up by those damn rats until not even our bones were left."

"It's just a small token of gratitude. Please, you must accept it!"

Since the other party put it that way, Xia Nan didn't hesitate. He reached out and took the money box.

He felt a sense of deep satisfaction.

He had originally thought there wouldn't be any loot from this battle. He was already satisfied enough with the opportunity to raise his combat technique proficiency.

He didn't expect such an unexpected windfall.

Especially since he had just spent a large sum at the Rockhammer blacksmith shop, causing his bank balance to plummet and leaving him feeling insecure about his finances.

Getting this extra subsidy in the middle of a mission was incredibly comforting for him right now.

Of course, Xia Nan hadn't forgotten Wood, who had also participated in the battle beside him. He turned to look at the man, slightly lifting the small wooden box in his hand to signal that they would split it in detail once they got out.

Unexpectedly, the stern-faced, middle-aged man just waved his hand.

"Keep it for yourself. I don't really have a use for money in the city."

"It's getting late. We'd better leave before dark and get back to business."

Hearing this, the nervous Eight-Fingers slightly raised his head and carefully probed, "Ironhead mentioned that you two came here... looking for me?"

Before coming over, he had already asked Ironhead about their intentions and knew they were here to ask for the address of Colander Big Ben.

The reason he hadn't volunteered the information, instead asking them first to hand over control of the conversation, was twofold.

Caution was one aspect.

On the other hand, it was also due to his own minor scheming.

This back-and-forth exchange might only add a sentence or two to the conversation.

But compared to voluntarily offering Big Ben's address, waiting for these two Class Holders to ask for it and then straightforwardly providing it without hiding anything was far more advantageous.

It would allow him—or rather, the Gray Shrub Gang—to build a deeper connection with these two Class Holders.

Even if it didn't reach the level of owing a "favor," if they ever crossed paths again, remembering this interaction would certainly soften their attitude.

With a little more luck, by helping them out with minor issues, becoming friends with them wasn't entirely out of the question.

Standing opposite him, Xia Nan naturally didn't overthink things like Eight-Fingers did. Of course, even if he knew about the man's little schemes, he wouldn't care.

Tucking the money box under one arm, Xia Nan omitted any mention of his mission and directly asked the man for information regarding Buck and Big Ben.

"I do know Buck, but I've barely interacted with him," Eight-Fingers recalled, rubbing the messy stubble on his chin.

"I've only seen him a few times at the Iron Bucket Toad in the past. We don't have any ties."

"As you probably know, semi-retired adventurers who have settled down to live a normal life generally don't associate with our kind."

He spread his hands, a helpless smile appearing on his face.

"As for Colander Big Ben, I was in touch with him a while ago. His address shouldn't have changed much."

"It's getting late today, and that place is a twisting maze. Without someone who knows the way, you really won't be able to find it anytime soon. It's also quite dangerous at night—oh, it might just be a minor inconvenience for you, but it would definitely cause some delays."

"If you're in a hurry... I can have Ironhead guide you tomorrow morning."

Xia Nan had thought that upon arriving, he would have to negotiate with this gang boss for a while, "appealing to emotion and reason," and perhaps display a bit of force.

He might have even needed Wood to flash his status as the City Lord's guard.

He didn't expect Eight-Fingers to be so tactful. Without making them waste their breath, he revealed everything he knew after just a simple question.

And it didn't sound like a lie.

Xia Nan didn't mind a difference of a day or two. In fact, he was doubtful whether Buck was even still in Nym.

Since the man said it was unsafe and troublesome at night, it wouldn't hurt to wait until tomorrow morning to continue the mission.

Xia Nan nodded, agreeing to Eight-Fingers's plan, and arranged a meeting place for tomorrow with Ironhead, who was standing behind the boss.

After asking about a few things to watch out for, they prepared to leave.

Before leaving, his gaze subconsciously swept across the dim, damp sewer environment around them.

His eyes lingered on the gray-skinned rat corpses on the ground, a few groaning, injured Gray Shrub Gang members, and the blurry outlines and crimson eyes flashing in the dark depths of the tunnels.

Without overthinking it, driven purely by curiosity, he casually asked, "Earlier, I heard Ironhead say that these rats went crazy because the Feast of the Moon is approaching."

"But the Feast of the Moon happens every year, right?"

"So do you guys go through this every year at this time?"

As he asked, a trace of doubt arose in Xia Nan's mind.

According to what he had learned earlier from the burly bald man, the Gray Shrub Gang had established its core base in the sewers many years ago.

If it was truly as explained—that whenever the Feast of the Moon arrived, the gray-skinned rats in the sewers would go mad and become extremely aggressive toward humans—

Then after all these years, the Gray Gang should have been prepared.

Whether it was setting up defensive fortifications in advance or temporarily evacuating the sewers during this period to avoid the rat swarms, both were solid countermeasures.

There was no way they should have ended up like they just did, with even the gang boss trapped in their own lair by the rat swarm, nearly facing total annihilation.

Hearing this, a bitter expression surfaced on Eight-Fingers's face, and he shook his head in bewilderment.

"Actually, we did set up defenses around the base in advance," he said.

"Based on previous years, although these giant rats display intense aggression during this period, they still retain their fear of fire and light."

"No matter how many there are, as long as we don't expose ourselves in their line of sight, they instinctively avoid brightly lit areas," Eight-Fingers said, casually lifting a somewhat intact gray-skinned rat corpse from the ground and staring into the deep, dark depths of the tunnel.

"But this year, it's as if these rats have been agitated by something. They aren't even afraid of torches or incendiary bombs, just swarming over in droves like crazy."

"It looks like when this time comes next year, I'll have to take the brothers outside to hide for a while."

'Agitated?'

The man's answer seemed to faintly remind Xia Nan of something.

But just as he realized he was onto something and tried to grasp the clue to think deeper, the fleeting thought vanished like a fading dream, impossible to recall.

"It is getting late. We should leave."

Beside him, Wood raised his head, his focused gaze seemingly able to pierce through the thick stone ceiling above to see the increasingly gloomy sky outside.

Shaking his head, Xia Nan temporarily set aside his tangled thoughts and nodded in agreement.

"You two are leaving?"

Eight-Fingers spoke up at the right moment, extending a hand to point at the bald, burly man behind him.

"Ironhead, guide the two gentlemen—"

Halfway through his sentence, Eight-Fingers noticed the subordinate crouching slightly and winking vigorously at him. He immediately understood the hint.

He paused, shifting his finger to point at a scrawny young man with a tilted neck standing next to Ironhead.

"Ahem, Crooked Neck, go! Show these two gentlemen the way!"

The rich stench of blood, mixed with the sour odor unique to the sewers, permeated the air.

The Gray Shrub Gang lackeys dragged their exhausted bodies around, clearing the rat corpses from the area.

During this special period when the Feast of the Moon was approaching, the blood and rot emitted by the corpses could easily attract dangerous trouble.

They needed to be disposed of as quickly as possible.

Besides that, the gang thugs who had been injured in the battle against the rat swarm were complaining to one another as they tended to their wounds.

They didn't possess extensive medical knowledge. They just knew from word of mouth that the damp, filthy environment they lived in could easily cause their injuries to worsen.

But lacking both money and proper conditions, it was naturally impossible for the thugs to go up to the surface clinics for proper treatment.

Right now, under the direction of a few older gang leaders, they were just scraping Iron Moss—unique to the Nym Sewers—off the walls. Using simple tools, they ground up the dark red crystals on its surface and applied them to their wounds to stop the bleeding and accelerate healing.

As for any potential side effects—they couldn't afford to care about that right now.

Watching the figures of the two Class Holders disappear around the distant corner of the tunnel, Eight-Fingers let out a sigh of relief.

The cautious and nervous demeanor he had maintained in front of Xia Nan and his companion instantly vanished. Pushing his chest out and raising his head, he returned to his posture as a gang boss.

Turning around, he waved at the eager Ironhead, his attitude displaying a somewhat deliberate warmth. "You brat, speak. What's the good news?"

Ironhead hurried forward, pulling a bloodstained bundle from his pocket and handing it over with both hands.

"I got it off a drunk in the tavern."

"Boss, you're absolutely going to love it!"

Noticing Eight-Fingers's slightly freezing expression, he hurriedly added, "Don't worry, it has nothing to do with those two Class Holders."

"He was just a bum with no background. No one would care if he died on the street."

"I handled it cleanly!"

Hearing Ironhead say this, Eight-Fingers's expression finally relaxed.

He tore open the tightly wrapped cloth.

What caught his eye was a palm-sized, upright figure resembling a cross between a sheep and a deer.