30 people looked back at him in disdain.
Where is my respect? Roan complained.
The boss put a hand on his shoulder and addressed the crowd, "This is my little brother from another mother. He will be the advisor from now on. Take good care of him."
That was the story, but the skeptical looks they got said a lot about its effectiveness.
The boss didn't say anything more and went back through the chamber they came from.
Shila followed her—though not before giving him a glare.
What's her problem?
The thirty stares felt like thirty trunks resting on his shoulders. He almost stumbled under the weight but held on.
Weakness wouldn't be tolerated here.
He casually—as casually as he could—sat down on a chair by the window, letting out a deliberate, pleased sigh.
He tried to remember how his second brother sat when they were alone. Mimicking his actions, Roan comfortably rested his hands on the armrests while placing his right leg over his left.
He propped his chin on his right fist and looked at everyone with all the calm he could muster.
Finally, he spoke for the first time in a practiced casual tone, "Need any advice?"
An older man stroked his long beard and looked at him with visible amusement as he asked, "What advice can you give us, lad?"
Roan waved his left hand dismissively while fighting back a wince. "Anything. Just ask, and I'll give answers."
A short woman from the group spoke, "Are you really Boss's long-lost brother? I thought she was an orphan."
Roan didn't know that. He cursed his boss traitorously in his mind while replying mildly, "Is that what you want to know? Why, I wonder?"
He tilted his head slightly and asked, "To give it to someone?"
He didn't mention who, but the implication was clear. Now whoever asked similar questions would receive everyone's scrutiny.
While the boss had assured him there were no traitors, he hardly believed her.
There are always traitors.
A middle-aged woman among them spoke up, "She didn't mean it that way, boy. No one here will betray the guild."
"How can you be sure?" Roan asked, half-curious and half-warning.
Another middle-aged man laughed mirthlessly and spat to the side. "Everyone here is a victim of the other guilds, including those so-called 'allies' of ours."
His lips curled at the word "allies."
He meant the thieves. The captains didn't know they were allied with the beggars.
The boss had used a great method. Hate was always more effective than love—especially among criminals.
Though that made recruiting him all the more strange. He didn't hold any animosity. One could argue he should hate the thieves, but he didn't. He knew Bruce had been lenient. Besides, a rat doesn't have the luxury to hate.
"You still can't be sure," Roan said and shifted gears. "Anyone need advice? If not, let's introduce ourselves. I'm Roan Ninefingers."
At the mention of his second name—carelessly given by the boss—everyone checked his fingers until they landed on his left hand. He ignored their gaze and patiently waited.
The old man from before spoke first, still stroking his beard. He teasingly said, "Whiskey. If you need advice, come to me."
Roan let that pass and looked at the middle-aged woman who had defended the short one.
"Call me Zecky, boy."
He nodded and turned to the middle-aged man. "Robber."
Amusing—how Robber was at odds with the thieves. He nodded again and looked at the short woman next.
"Anthony," the woman said and shoved the boy beside her. "He's Dick."
Roan cocked an eyebrow at said Dick, who glared at Anthony and bit out, "It's Dickerson, sir."
That was new. Everyone laughed at that, to his amusement.
Dick muttered something about killing his parents again if he got the chance.
That sobered Roan. He mustn't forget: this seemingly ordinary group of people were, at the end of the day, hardened killers. They would slit his throat without hesitation if ordered.
Not that he would hesitate.
One by one, everyone introduced themselves—until only a bespectacled, fat man was left.
Roan cocked an eyebrow at him, silently inviting. Though some might generously call it a warning.
"Slovan Kardais," the man said quietly. There was something in his tone—contempt? Roan couldn't quite place it. He'd need to get this one's story first.
He nodded quickly and said, "Well, fellas. As you know, I'm the advisor from now on. If you need to know anything, just ask."
He waited, but only silence greeted him. They didn't trust him—or his ability. He understood. He'd feel the same in their shoes.
After waiting a little longer, he said, "If no one has any problem, you're dismissed."
They looked at one another and shrugged. Then, one by one, they left through the back door.
When the short woman was about to walk out, he called out, "Anthony, a moment."
Anthony glanced at the door, then at him, before dragging a chair and sitting across from him.
She crossed her arms and said haughtily, "I'm not easy prey, if that's what you're thinking."
Roan dismissed that with a wave. He was getting used to the pain now.
"I merely want to talk," he said. He wasn't lying.
Anthony snorted. "That's what everyone says—until they show their true colors."
Roan nodded and asked softly, "Flesh merchants?"
"Got captured by bandits. They killed my father and sold the rest of us as slaves," Anthony said, hatred burning in her eyes.
"He looked like you—kind and understanding—when he bought me. I thought I was free... until he showed his true colors. Knifed him in his sleep. Boss found me on the run," she said with open disdain.
Roan changed the subject. "Boss seems to find everyone."
"Everyone's picked by the Boss. Most were brought from the flesh merchants, and some like me were recruited while on the run," she said, scanning his face.
"What about you?" she asked, a little challengingly.
"She picked me up too. Had some... business with the thieves." Saying this much wouldn't hurt.
Anthony smirked. "You'd get along well with Robber then."
"What's his story?" Roan asked, curious.
Anthony rolled her eyes at the obvious fishing but answered anyway. He was right—this one liked gossip.
"He was with the thieves, actually. His former crew robbed a member of the merchant circles." She emphasized robbed. "They succeeded, but pissed off a guild higher-up who had ties to the victim. The guild culled them as an apology. Only Robber escaped."
She leaned in, even though no one else was around. "I heard Robber's woman was pregnant when she was killed—in front of him."
That explained the hate. Hmm. That one needed watching.
Roan grimly nodded and asked without hiding anything, "What about that fatso?"
Anthony giggled. "That fatso was a wealthy merchant. The thieves raided him after he took a loan from the merchant guild for a big investment. He went bankrupt. All his property was taken, and his family sold into slavery."
She looked as if she were savoring a mango as she continued, "Apparently, his former slave—also sold—raped his wife in front of him. His son was beaten to death by a sex slave. The fatso himself might not even have a dick."
Roan felt a surge of grim satisfaction. It was always gratifying when those greedy bastards got what they deserved.
"Boss picked him up? He seems like a problem personified."
Anthony chuckled. "He knows his work. Good with money. Knows where to look. Too useful to kill."
"Should assign him an apprentice," Roan suggested.
"Already tried. Fatso knows what's keeping him alive. He teaches as little as he can." Roan would have to adopt that tactic too, though he had more to offer than the merchant.
Roan smirked. "What about Dick?"
Anthony laughed. "His family worked in a casino. They wanted to use him for entertainment. You know, like one of those clowns? He didn't like that—especially when the girl he liked said she'd never go out with a clown. So, he poisoned his family, raped the girl, and hung her from the ceiling. Boss found him in the streets, bashing some beggar's head."
Roan grimaced. Anthony smiled in satisfaction. That guy was like a bomb with a lit fuse.
He needed to talk to Boss about this.
"What about that old man?" Roan asked.
Anthony shrugged. "Don't know. He was here before everyone else. Doesn't talk about his past."
Dangerous. Roan already suspected the old man was trouble. This confirmed it.
Anthony continued without being asked, "Zecky was the wife of some officer in the Lord's troops."
Roan looked at her in shock. "Really?"
Anthony nodded in satisfaction. "That's the reaction."
She smirked. "She's a snake. Hard to believe, but she is. From what I gathered, she was caught sleeping with her husband's subordinate. Somehow ended up a slave after that. Sex slave."
The husband must've been pissed. Roan mused.
They talked about everyone else. And as Roan listened, he finished forming his plans going forward.
First? He needed to talk to the Boss.