Chapter 47: What If Wine Could Be More Than Wine

Inside an underground pub belonging to the Evans family.

Palun was indulging himself to the fullest, guzzling down liquor like his life depended on it and kissing women recklessly.

He had been feeling utterly stifled lately.

It was not as though Velen was deliberately targeting him.

To be honest, Velen and Ethan had treated him remarkably well.

Aside from having to hand over all of the Cabralia family's assets, he was free to do whatever he pleased, and Ethan even gave him a sum of money every month.

His life was arguably even better than before.

What truly frustrated him were the old guard of the Cabralia family.

Lately, Velen had been severely injured, causing security and oversight over the Cabralia faction to relax abruptly. Consequently, numerous old loyalists immediately came to him, hinting both overtly and covertly that they could turn on their masters at any moment and take back everything belonging to the Cabralia family.

He was thoroughly sick of it.

He could not even enjoy a proper drink in peace without someone bothering him the moment he sat down.

Therefore, he decided to switch venues today and came to the Evans family's territory.

There were no members of the Cabralia family here, so he would not be disturbed at all.

Just as he was drinking merrily, a sudden commotion broke out outside.

Palun's initial reaction was that the Cabralia people had tracked him down, but he quickly realized that this was the Evans family's turf.

"The Prohibition agents are here, run!"

The woman beside him was quick-witted, guessing the situation instantly, and jumped to her feet to flee.

Before she could even open the door, someone kicked it inward, sending her stumbling back.

Following that, a "black-skin hound" swaggered into the room.

"Black-skin hound" was, of course, a derogatory term for the Prohibition agents, given their penchant for wearing black leather uniforms all day while doing no honest work.

"Confiscate all the alcohol and herd everyone out to the main hall."

The "black-skin hound" swept his gaze coldly over the room and issued his command.

Palun cursed his rotten luck, getting caught the very first time he went out.

By the looks of it, Ethan was truly formidable.

Drinking on his own turf, Ethan had never once run into trouble.

Still, Palun was not particularly terrified. After all, he was merely drinking; getting caught would result at worst in a fine, nothing more.

It was just unfortunate that his drinking session for the day was ruined.

Escorted by the "black-skin hound," Palun joined the crowd heading toward the main hall.

However, as they passed a certain private room, a hand suddenly shot out and yanked him inside.

Palun had no time whatsoever to react or resist.

He was practically hoisted off his feet and thrown onto a sofa.

Then he laid eyes on a man.

He was not particularly familiar with this person, yet neither was he a total stranger.

They had crossed paths a few times before in brothels and casinos.

Lewis.

Wasn't he already dead? Why was he here?

Palun lived his life in a perpetual haze of alcohol and debauchery, only half-listening to news from the outside world. He had no idea that Lewis had returned and even become a Prohibition agent.

Lewis stood with his arms crossed, staring down at him with a chilling gaze.

"Lewis... Inspector, what are you doing here?"

Palun felt his skin crawl under that prolonged stare, so he swallowed hard and spoke up.

"I am here to help you."

Lewis finally broke his silence.

"Help me with what?"

Palun looked bewildered.

"Help you take back everything that belongs to the Cabralia family."

That single sentence instantly gave Palun a headache.

Why did everyone and their mother want him to take back everything?

"Don't... don't joke around, Inspector. I'm doing quite well right now."

"Captain, call me Captain." Lewis continued to stare fixedly at him. "I am no longer a law enforcement officer; I am a Prohibition agent. Do you know what a Prohibition agent is? It means I can make you die however I choose."

"Captain, I was just having a drink, I didn't do anything else. At most, you can fine me." Palun's brain had not completely rotted away just yet.

"I said I am a Prohibition agent, which means I can absolve you of any crime, or I can make you disappear without a trace." Using his alchemical prosthetic limb, Lewis casually popped open a bottle of liquor and instantly crushed the metal cap flat.

Cold sweat broke out on Palun's forehead immediately.

"Don't be tense. Have a drink first and think about it." Lewis poured a glass of liquor for Palun and pushed it across the table.

"I told you I am here to help you. As long as you want it, the Prohibition agents will stand behind you. Do you really not want to take everything back? Do you truly want to live like a dog for the rest of your life, being butchered at Ethan's whim?"

Palun stared at the glass of liquor, his eyes turning dark and inscrutable.

After escorting Velen back to the pub, Ethan did not leave.

This was because Cray had arrived.

Lately, he and Cray had not interacted all that much.

Cray was also busy with his own business ventures.

Sandro had long since stopped managing the business personally, leaving daily operations entirely in the hands of Cray and Emilio.

Clearly exhausted from a grueling period of hard work, Cray sported sparse, unkempt stubble and had no time to groom himself.

He did not treat himself as an outsider in the slightest, pouring drinks for himself right there in Velen's pub, having already emptied two bottles.

"Cray, what are you here for?"

Velen seemed perpetually at odds with him, and his expression grew even darker upon seeing Cray consume his prized collection of liquor.

"Oho, you've even got yourself a golden cane now. Not bad, Velen. That looks awfully expensive." Cray pointed at Velen's gold-plated cane and raised an eyebrow.

Velen ignored him, turning on his heel and walking toward the back room.

He knew Cray was not there to see him.

"Ethan, when are you going to forge a cane for me? This looks quite nice."

Cray turned his attention to Ethan.

"When you end up with a broken leg, I'll consider it," Ethan retorted dryly.

"Let's skip that then; I'd rather keep my legs. Still, I've heard all about it—Velen is a real man..."

Cray started chattering away again.

Ethan raised a hand to interrupt him and told him to get to the point.

"The True Name gathering is tonight. I'm here to remind you to prepare a robe and a mask in advance."

Cray suddenly turned serious.

"Why are you only notifying me today?" Ethan asked, somewhat puzzled.

"True Name gatherings are always announced at the last minute. I only found out today myself."

Ethan nodded.

He had actually been meaning to purchase some alchemical creations anyway.

"By the way, I've been run ragged these past few days. I have to work around the clock while also watching out for those 'black-skin hounds.' You have no idea—they somehow trained a pack of hounds recently that can track down the scent through houses, even bypassing walls. If only alcohol could magically not be alcohol until after it's sold, turning into the real thing only upon delivery... I really envy you, Ethan. You beat them into submission the very first time, and now they don't even dare to investigate you..."

"Hold on." Ethan interrupted, as if suddenly struck by inspiration.

"What did you just say?"

"I said I envy you, I admire you for beating them into a state of terror. Do I really need to flatter you twice?"

"No, the sentence before that."

"The sentence before that?"

Ethan no longer needed Cray to repeat it; he had already figured it out.

What if the alcohol temporarily wasn't alcohol, and only transformed into alcohol once it was sold?

Wasn't this precisely the grape brick of his past life?

How on earth had he failed to think of this earlier?