Chapter 41: The Counter-Thrust

Vaelen woke up in a state of excruciating pain.

He felt no joy in being alive; instead, he was gripped by fear. It was not the fear of torture or impending agony. Throughout his long life, he had endured far too many hardships and dangers to be rattled by his own suffering. His only fear was that he might bring trouble upon his young master and the Poletta family.

Fortunately, a familiar voice drifted into his ears.

"Bear with the pain. We have no anesthesia here."

It was the young master’s voice.

He was safe.

Vaelen immediately relaxed, though the pain surged through his body with doubled intensity. He gritted his teeth, refusing to cry out, his muscles twitching in constant spasms.

"Well done, Vaelen. I am proud of you," Ethan said, gripping Vaelen’s hand.

He had already learned the full account of the day’s events from the gunmen who had managed to escape. Had it not been for Vaelen, Ethan would not only have lost a massive shipment and a new distribution channel, but the new force the family had worked so hard to build would have been completely wiped out once again.

Vaelen had single-handedly saved the Poletta family. This loyal veteran, left to him by his father, was far more resilient than he had ever imagined.

"Young Master... the money... I didn't collect it beforehand. I let them take the liquor away," Vaelen said, his voice strained with pain and a hint of shame.

"Vaelen, are you trying to make me feel unworthy? You did your best, and that includes the money—it was the best possible course of action. Do you really think that fat bastard Sindorei would dare to stiff me after taking my goods? No one could have handled this better than you. Rest now. You should rest. How about a drink?"

Ethan patted his hand and poured a glass of wine, holding it out to him. Vaelen nodded and took a sip, feeling the pain dull slightly.

"Young Master, how did I get back? Shouldn't I have..."

In theory, he should have been dead. Even if he hadn't been killed by the explosion, Lewis would have surely tortured him to death.

"Anya reached you in time."

Ethan had been feeling restless that morning—it was hard to say if it was a premonition or something else. After Vaelen departed, he had sent Anya to follow him, just in case. As it turned out, disaster had struck. She hadn't arrived in time to prevent the confrontation, but by the time Anya reached the scene, Vaelen had already blown up the vehicle.

Vaelen was still alive, though he was severely wounded and unconscious. After Anya drove Lewis back with her gunfire, she brought Vaelen away. Her original plan had been to take him to the city, where the Poletta family maintained their own underground surgeons. However, Vaelen’s wounds were too critical, especially his leg; without immediate amputation, he would likely have bled to death. Anya had no choice but to bring him back to the Poletta estate.

They were currently in an emergency medical chamber beneath the Poletta manor. It was rarely used, but not so rarely that it was unprepared for a day like this. Anya had been trained in first aid; she was Vaelen’s most brilliant pupil. Assassination, marksmanship, combat, first aid—she was even capable of handling administrative work. While amputation was a bit beyond her level of expertise and the procedure had been rough, she had managed to complete it.

Vaelen’s stump was already bandaged. Anya was now tending to the burns on his body, which were relatively minor and not life-threatening.

After finishing the wine and smoking a cigarette, Vaelen’s mind had finally settled. Then, he noticed his empty left leg. It had been severed entirely. He looked visibly dazed.

"I will have the finest cane crafted for you," Ethan said, seeing where his gaze had fallen.

"Thank you, Young Master. I shall cherish it," Vaelen replied with a faint, forced smile.

Just as they were about to speak further, a bell rang in the outer room—a signal passed through the mechanism indicating activity on the surface.

"Anya, keep an eye on Vaelen. I’m going up to see what’s happening."

Ethan patted Vaelen’s shoulder once more and headed toward the surface through a secret passage. Upon reaching the ground floor, a family guard approached him urgently. "Young Master, a group of people is trying to force their way into the estate. They claim to be Prohibition agents. We can barely hold them back."

Ethan frowned. "I understand. Keep blocking them. I’ll be out in a moment."

He had to make a phone call first.

At the gates of the Poletta estate, Lewis stood unmoved. He hadn't even changed his clothes; he remained in the leather jacket soaked in blood, gunpowder residue, and rain, staring at everything before him with murderous intent.

"I will say this one last time. We are Prohibition agents. We suspect you are involved in a bootlegging case. We have the authority to search your estate and the authority to do whatever is necessary. Do not force my hand; if you die, it will be in vain."

Before him, a dozen guns were aimed at his chest. Yet he showed no fear, looking at them with a provocative glare as if he were begging them to pull the triggers.

"I’m counting to five. If you don't step aside, I’m going to take action. Five, four..."

"I wondered who was putting on such a grand display. If it isn't Inspector Lewis himself. What brings you here, and why such a fiery temper?"

Ethan stepped out from the house. Anya had been called up as well; she walked to his side at the door, holding an umbrella over them.

"Ethan, you finally show yourself. I thought you had run off." Lewis glared at Ethan, making no effort to hide his prosthetic limb, a marvel of alchemy.

"Why would I run? This is my home. Though I should ask you, Inspector Lewis—oh, wait, I recall you were dismissed from the police force. Why are you causing trouble at my gate?" Ethan stood relaxed, arms crossed, watching Lewis.

"Don't play the fool with me. You know who I am, and I know that old bastard Vaelen is inside your estate right now. Didn't expect me to come, did you?" Lewis took a step forward.

The guards’ guns, which had previously been leveled vaguely, instantly locked onto him, fingers tightening on the triggers.

"Shoot! Tell your men to fire! Do you dare? I am a Prohibition agent! The Council has passed the act—any case involving bootlegged liquor falls under our jurisdiction. If you resist, the consequences will be far worse!"

"Shoot!" Lewis roared, bordering on madness.

"Take one more step, and we will certainly fire."

Just as the tension reached a suffocating peak, someone spoke from behind Lewis. Lewis’s momentum stalled. He turned his head and saw someone he hadn't expected.

Bob Alder.

"And what are you doing here, you second-rate lawyer?"

"I am here to protect my client, of course, to ensure that his sacred and inviolable rights are upheld." Bob Alder smoothed his hair, slightly dampened by the rain, and stepped to Ethan’s side.