On the western peak of Sicily, five hundred meters from the jagged cliffs and two hundred feet above the churning sea, stood the Archnemesis mansion. A heavily fortified monolith of stone and iron, it had been the seat of power for the family for over eighty years.
The long preparation for his travel was now finished. Hermes was ready.
He changed his outfit from noble attire to ordinary merchant clothes: a white long-sleeve shirt covered by a black coat, with dark trousers and leather shoes. He brushed his hair back, noting in the mirror that his natural appearance still carried an unsettling edge. Inside his cabinet, he found a black gas mask. Realizing he might need a disguise to move undetected among the commoners, he tucked it into his chest pocket.
He stepped out into the hallway, carefully fixing the untidy parts of his outfit. After a sharp clap to his own cheeks to steel his nerves, he opened the main hall doors.
In front of him, Justin stood waiting. His posture was impeccable, his expression calm and professional. He placed a hand on his chest and bowed exactly ninety degrees. "Good morning, my Don."
The young Don nodded, his lips pursed.
His eyes were immediately captivated by the vehicle behind his servant. It was a fantastic structure—a heavy, black automobile that fused the 20th-century blueprint of a Ford with the ornate, reinforced specs of a 1930s mafia transport. For Aljen, it was a moment of deep appreciation for his former development team; seeing this advanced technology thriving in a Victorian-era setting was a testament to the game's unique world-building.
Justin looked at his master's merchant clothes. His gaze was level and observant, though a flicker of curiosity crossed his eyes. He wondered why the Don had opted for such "lame," outdated attire, but he remained silent. As a master of his craft, he assumed his liege had a tactical reason for the camouflage.
Hermes walked closer to the car, and Justin moved with practiced efficiency, opening the door for him.
"The vehicle is prepared, my Don. All systems are checked and waiting for your command," Justin said.
"Good. Let's head to our destination," Hermes replied.
The butler waited for Hermes to settle into the backseat before leaning in to buckle the seatbelt with the firm, protective care of a guardian. Once finished, Justin performed a final professional sweep of the car's exterior before taking the driver's seat.
"Where shall we head first, Don Hermes?"
"To the village, Justin. To the village," Hermes said, resting his elbow on the window frame.
"As you wish." Justin's lips curved into a slight, knowing smile. He started the engine, and the car rolled smoothly out of the courtyard.
As they drove, Hermes watched the back of Justin's head. The man was a mystery; he wasn't in the official NPC database Aljen had managed. He suddenly recalled a draft from a junior developer—a girl who had later betrayed him. She had written of a legendary "Heavenly Deity" from the fallen Ratican Empire, a warrior titled the 'Black Sword Demon.'
'If this devoted, strange man is actually a legendary war god, I'm going to vomit,' Hermes thought, heaving a sigh.
Justin caught the sigh and checked the mirror. He noticed his master looked disappointed and adjusted his focus, his keen ears picking up Hermes's low mutterings.
"I guess it can't be helped," Hermes whispered. "Time to focus on my mission. Those bastards... let's see what I can do to fix this. If anyone dares to stop my ambition, so be it. I'm happy to kill them all."
Hermes was thinking of the bandits and the death flags he needed to dismantle. However, Justin's eyes widened with a quiet, intense pride.
"Hehe... understood, my Don," Justin murmured, his voice low and steady. "I see you have planned this thoroughly. You intend to live as a 'normal child' to draw out the rats. You're going to make the people believe things are back to normal... only to identify every soul who dares to think they can move against you."
"Hey, Justin, you're creeping me out." Hermes kicked the back of the driver's seat, causing the car to jolt.
"My apologies, my Don," Justin cackled softly, his professional demeanor momentarily cracking under the weight of his excitement. "But I see it now. You aren't just disbanding activities; you're setting a trap. A wolf in sheep's clothing. You'll deceive the villagers into thinking you've become a saint, wait for the traitors to reveal themselves, and then... a masterclass in brutality."
"What the fuck are you babbling about, Justin?" Hermes asked wearily.
Justin didn't answer. He simply gripped the wheel tighter, his mind racing with the "brilliant" logic of his master's plan. To Justin, this wasn't an act of goodness; it was a high-level psychological war. By acting like a "good merchant," Hermes would find the root of the rebellion and crush it with a smile.
'Truly, a brilliant plan,' Justin thought, his heart swelling with devotion.
As the car ate up the miles, Justin's mind was a whirlwind of tactical admiration. He had convinced himself that Hermes's weird attire and the gas mask tucked in his pocket were tools for a masterful masquerade. In Justin's eyes, the Don would eradicate his enemies in disguise, allowing the "merchant" to take the credit, while the phantom reputation of the Archnemesis family reached legendary heights.
He felt a twinge of guilt for ever doubting his master's sudden change in demeanor. 'He was practicing his "good guy" persona on me this morning,' Justin realized, biting his lip. 'And I almost failed to see through the brilliance of the scheme.'
"Well, I didn't realize you were doing it on purpose, boss. Well then, I will play along with you too," Justin nodded, his lips upturned in a sharp, loyal smile.
"What the fuck are you murmuring now? Just focus on the fucking road, you moron," Hermes commanded, unaware of the labyrinthine logic his butler was constructing.
"Y-yes, boss," Justin followed gladly, pressing the accelerator.
An hour passed. The sky turned a humid, heavy grey, casting a dull light over the Sicilian plains. To pass the time, Hermes decided to probe for more world data.
"Say, Justin. Who is the current Godfather of Italia?" Hermes asked, his hands clasped together.
"Hmm, it's still Don Urie Alkaline. Does that ring a bell? Right now, he's not planning anything. Do you want me to show my skills and assassinate him by myself?" Justin stated, his tone as casual as if he were suggesting a change in the dinner menu.
Hermes heaved a heavy sigh. "No, don't do anything stupid. We are not warmongers. I won't give a stupid order like that, and I know how pathetic you are compared to a Godfather's guard, so don't get too conceited, Justin."
"My apologies, sir. Then why the sudden interest? Are you aware of any odds happening 'there' that I don't?"
"No," Hermes declared with a grave, dimpled grin. "But if I know anything, I will tell you. Right now, there's nothing to concern us regarding that place."
Justin pursed his lips. "Well, are you aware that the situation in Borne has been getting worse for the past few months? The rumor is that a civil war is about to spark."
Hermes's ears perked up at the name. "Borne, huh? Isn't that the city divided and controlled by four powerful clans in the top ten? Which family is facing the crisis?"
Justin chuckled. "I don't know the exact details. They are all trying to outsmart each other with parasites and spies. If the rumors are true and one is on the verge of collapse, its rivals will surely dismantle them at once. It's a perfect economic crisis to remove an opponent. A new war is coming, though the timing is still uncertain."
Hermes folded his arms, his eyes turning sharp. This was a major event from the game.
"It will eventually happen," Hermes nodded. "Think about it. The mistrust is too high. If one finds a mole, they'll use it as a casus belli. Look at the massive amount of immigrants coming here from central Italia—they are fleeing the instability of that state. People know this island is poor, but it's far away from the front lines. They'll take the risk. It's interesting... Borne is following the plotline perfectly. Players... I mean, people love these kinds of power vacuums."
Justin's eyebrows shot up. He was incredibly gratified. "I thought you weren't listening to my lessons on politics, but to think you're this well-informed is amazing! If war is inevitable, I recommend using that moment to create a profitable alliance."
'Profit. That means big money,' Hermes thought, his mind racing.
"We could get money from this war, my Don. By supporting the clan guaranteed to win, we increase our prestige through war subsidies. It would help improve your global status," Justin added impulsively.
Hermes contemplated the advice. In the game, war was the fastest way to get rich, but the risks were astronomical. A small-time clan like theirs could easily be crushed by the "high-ranking" families of Borne.
"Justin, listen. I don't think it's a wise idea. The leaders of those clans aren't dumb. War is bad for business in the long run," Hermes reminded him, closing his eyes.
"Good point, my Don. I'm glad you understand the nuances," Justin defended, "but it shouldn't be a loss to grab the opportunity to increase your popularity with the public."
Hermes shook his head, looking out at the passing grassy plains. "Justin, I admit I'm a risk-taker, but I'm not stupid enough to put our family in danger. I told you: I'm changing the organization for good. I want a normal life—quiet and safe."
"But my Don, this is your chance to shine in the world!" Justin insisted, looking at Hermes through the rearview mirror.
Hermes met his gaze in the glass, his expression unyielding. He knew that 'shining in the world' usually ended with a target on one's back.
"My goal isn't to be a star in a war, Justin. It's to ensure there's a family left to speak of when the smoke clears."
He sighed.
"Justin, don't disappoint me too much. You're my acting adviser and instructor, but you fail to see the board. How shameful," Hermes said, his voice dropping into a cold, practiced register. "Don't you realize that the moment we join this war, the Godfather will intervene? He won't let a conflict drag the other families into a mess that ruins his interests. He will do anything—dirty or ugly—to stop it. Capiche?"
'Oh, my gosh. My Don is truly magnificent,' Justin thought, his heart swelling. 'Not only does he analyze the situation, he corrects me with such authoritative grace. He is growing into a monster.'
"Good point, my Don. You surprisingly surprise me too much," Justin conceded, his tone humbled. "Once the Godfather learns we are selling firearms to those families, he could break the truce to destroy us. Right now, we are vulnerable—we've lost ninety-nine percent of our strength since I voided the mercenary contracts. I don't want to put your life in danger. Forgive me."
The atmosphere fell silent. Hermes watched Justin sulk through the rearview mirror. Deep down, Hermes was trembling. Every time he spoke, he was terrified that one wrong word—one slip of modern slang or a moment of genuine kindness—would expose him as an "entity" possessing this body. He had to keep the "Don" persona dialed up to eleven just to survive the man driving the car.
"Those who seek victory must make a plan," Hermes quoted solemnly, hoping it sounded like something a ruthless prodigy would say. "No man can win a battle without proper strategy. The victors look upon the properties they stole; the losers are simply forgotten."
"That's a great quote, boss! So, what is the secret plan?" Justin asked eagerly.
"It's a secret for a reason," Hermes replied, leaning back and trying to look bored. "I will tell you once I enter the village. Pouring too much water into a glass makes it leak, Justin. I don't want to ruin the masterpiece by rushing it. The Borne situation is on hold."
"I see. Impressive," Justin whispered. "Oh, one more thing. A spy reported that the Verdugo family is plotting to occupy our territory. I knew it was a lie—the Mafia Council would never tolerate such a move—so I killed the spy for spreading treacherous misinformation. I disposed of the body in the forest. No witnesses."
Hermes felt a drop of cold sweat slide down his neck. His heart hammered against his ribs. 'He killed him because he thought it was a lie? What if it wasn't?!'
"Why did you have to kill him?!" Hermes shuddered, his "Don" mask nearly slipping. "If the Verdugo attack, my entire mission is ruined!"
"My apologies, my Don. But think further," Justin explained with terrifying level-headedness. "If the Verdugo conquer us, you can use it as an excuse to declare a legitimate Mafia War. The Council will take your side. Your reputation will skyrocket. You could annex the East and unite the island under one banner!"
Hermes's jaw dropped. 'Optimistic, realistic, and a total lunatic,' he thought. 'To think this butler has a more aggressive plan than I do. He's actually looking forward to a war that would kill me in minutes.'
He covered his eyes in disbelief. "Seriously, I should hire a psychologist to check your brain."
"Oh, really? I am honored by the compliment!" Justin chirped, genuinely believing it was a sign of Hermes's "sadistic" humor.
"Shut the fuck up. Just focus on the road," Hermes commanded, his voice trembling with a mix of disgust and the sheer effort of hiding his fear.
Hermes was captivated by the beauty of the landscape. The horizon was a jagged silhouette of basalt peaks against a bruised purple sky, while the air hung heavy with the electric scent of ozone and ancient pine. Moss-covered ruins of the old Republic peeked through the gnarled roots, their weathered stones whispering of a forgotten age amidst the shimmering heat haze of the plains.
He slowly slid down the window, tucking his head out to see properly. His scarlet eyes glistered as he spotted a beast emerging behind two small figures.
"Boss, sit down and put your head back inside! It's dangerous!" Justin barked, reaching back to pull Hermes by the collar.
Hermes stubbornly resisted, his gaze locked on the children—a little girl and a young boy—carrying massive baskets of herbs. They looked exhausted, their faces pale with terror.
"What the hell are they carrying? Herbs?" he murmured.
Behind them, a Demon Wolf emerged. It was a nightmare of fur and teeth—huge fangs as long as a man's forearm and a body the size of a grizzly bear. In the game, players hunted these for experience, but the sheer pressure of its killing intent here was suffocating.
'Wait... this event,' Hermes thought, his pupils shaking.
A bright idea sparked in his mind. This was the ultimate cliché—the "heroic rescue." If he wanted to increase his favor with the villagers and erase his name from their blacklist, these children were the perfect tools. He imagined the villagers praising him, accepting his apology for his former tyranny.
"The time has come. Justin, stop! I said stop!" Hermes demanded.
Justin slammed on the brakes. "Why?"
"Go toward them," Hermes commanded, pointing at the children.
Justin stared at the scene, his expression grave and level-headed. "What? For what? Boss, I advise you to ignore those insects. The strong eat the weak; it's common sense. Those worthless lifeforms are already destined to be food."
Hermes knew he had to play his only card: a bluff. He leaned forward, his voice dropping into a cold, manipulative register. "Have you considered demonstrating your skills to me? This is the right time to do it."
Justin's eyes snapped wide. He froze, analyzing the statement. 'Demonstrate my skills? To prove I can rival the Godfather?' A delighted, manic grin spread across his face.
"Oooh, why didn't I get it earlier? My apologies, sir. To show my power, I must execute this beast as an offering. It shall be my present to you! I won't hold back."
Justin slammed the car into gear. The maneuver was so violent that Hermes lost his balance, his face slamming into the back of the front seat with a dull thud.
"Gwoob... ouch! God damn it, that hurts!" Hermes fumed, clutching his nose. He stayed hunched over, terrified that his pained reaction would reveal he wasn't the "Don" Justin worshipped, but a fragile intruder in this body.
The car roared, its speed screaming to 200 kilometers per hour. A cloud of dust erupted as the vehicle tore across the grassy plain.
The little girl tripped over a rock and tumbled. The boy stopped to help her, but his legs crumbled in fear. The Demon Wolf lunged, saliva dripping from its fangs. The children embraced each other, closing their eyes to accept their fate.
The car slammed into the beast mid-leap. The wolf's body was sent tumbling across the dirt, skidding ten meters away. Miraculously, the front of the vehicle remained unscratched.
The children opened their eyes, gasping. "Brother... July... we're saved!" They hugged each other, weeping. But the relief vanished as the Demon Wolf scrambled back to its feet, eyes glowing with murderous miasma.
"Hiiiiiiiiieeee!" the girl screamed.
"Oh my, you're still alive even after a hit like that?" Justin said. He tipped his hat, jumped out of the moving car, and landed with perfect grace. He pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket and dusted off his shoulders, ignoring the snarling monster.
"Grraaawll!" The wolf's dark aura thickened.
"It's a pleasure to fight you," Justin said, bowing sarcastically. "I need to demonstrate my skills to my Don today. Please, entertain us well. I'll make sure to put your life in misery."
The children watched in horror. "M-mister, be careful! That creature is dangerous!" the boy shouted.
"Yeah, run while you can!" the girl cried.
Justin let out a dry, professional chuckle. "Oh my, you commoners don't know the difference between a cockroach and a superior being. Well then, I should show these kids how a professional handles a stray dog. Forgive me, doggy... let's see what you've got."
He beckoned the beast forward with a single, insulting finger.