The young man called “Boss” showed little interest, saying irritably, “You guys can’t even walk straight when you see a woman? Didn’t we agree to hit the dance hall tonight?”

The other thugs had a measure of fear toward him, and no one dared to speak up. The fat man chuckled awkwardly, and the group fell silent for a moment.

However, the burly man who seemed closer to the young leader laughed boldly. “We’re all brothers, right? Playing here or at the dance hall, it’s all the same. Just let the boys have their fun.”

But suddenly, they realized that, aside from their own noisy group, the street was empty—the girl had vanished.

“Damn it, when did she get away?”

“Bad luck! That’s what happens when you’re all so loud—you let her slip away without noticing!” The burly man laughed, smacking the fat man on the head.

The fat man clutched his head in pain. “Ouch, Black Mountain! Do you even know your own strength? That hurt like hell!”

The young man looked at his rowdy friends with slight exasperation. “Alright, she’s gone. Let’s get moving. There are plenty of women anywhere we go.”

With that, the group shrugged it off, leaving the street behind.

When they arrived at the dance hall, the proprietress came out to greet them personally, and every so often, glances would dart toward the young man leading the group.

The youth’s name was Sheval von Forbes. His father was a high-ranking official in Dante Town, granting him a near-unlimited pass to do as he pleased in the city.

He was a prodigy, gifted in every pursuit from a young age. He was also a born fighter, believing the world only respected strength, and blood was the best way to solve problems.

Dante Town was a small, remote city within the kingdom, known for its lax security and thriving underworld. Despite his youth, Sheval and his gang had already become influential figures here.

Because Sheval was powerful, ruthless, and untamed, with a powerful family behind him. Among his friends, only Black Mountain—a towering, muscular man—had any real combat ability; the rest were typical thugs. But, somehow, they’d hitched their fate to Sheval, and for years they’d been living it up.

Parker was one of the last to join. His connection to Sheval had come by sheer luck.

Unlike the typical arrogant, greedy young punks, Parker was smarter about keeping his head down. By constantly providing emotional support to the gang’s top members, he’d carved out a decent niche. Even other thugs who used to ignore him now saw him in a better light.

Parker’s appearance wasn’t the most appealing—his skin was rough, his pores large, and his greasy hair often matted and stinking. Most people called him “Slick.”

“Oi, Slick, get us more booze! Can’t you see we’re running low?”

A skinny guy with a flushed face yelled, holding a glass that he loudly slammed down after every sip.

The others were busy—some were groping the women at their sides, some roughhousing with each other, Black Mountain tearing through slabs of meat, while Sheval sat in his usual silence, nursing his drink.

“Right away!” Parker said, getting up to go to the bar.

He hadn’t had the money for this kind of partying before. From the time he could remember, he’d been surrounded by the bare walls of his home, with a father who only came around every few days to drink himself into oblivion.

If he hadn’t scavenged for food or stolen from kids smaller than himself, he might have starved long ago.

As he got older, without any real skills, there was no way he’d find work that required patience or training. So he drifted along the edges of society, doing whatever he could to survive.

But after meeting Sheval and the others, he’d unexpectedly found himself a “brother.” They spent their days swearing, drinking, and roughhousing. When fights broke out, Sheval and Black Mountain handled things, so Parker hardly had to lift a finger.

Life went on, just like everyone else here. If you weren’t born with a silver spoon, then you learned to be vicious and cunning.

After a while of this lifestyle, Parker had gained a bit of weight and seemed in better shape than before.

Returning with the drinks, he set them down at the table, the blaring music making his ears ring. He couldn’t help but sneak a glance at the boss.

Sheval sat quietly in his chair, his looks standing out against the rough crowd surrounding him. And unlike the others, he didn’t have a woman by his side.

Even Black Mountain had a girl beside him, nervously refilling his drink as he drained it in a single gulp. It was customary here—everyone at the table had a woman with them; sitting alone would be embarrassing.

Sheval was an exception. To him, women were weak, and he had no interest in weakness.

In this world, people like Sheval would always be on top, Parker thought. Look at that arrogance, that strength... wasn’t it natural for men like him to rule over others?

Parker’s limited worldview equated Dante Town with the world itself, and Sheval was a god walking among men—untouchable, exceptional.

Sensing Parker’s gaze, Sheval looked up.

“Damn, Boss, you really are one handsome devil,” Parker laughed, trying to break the tension. Staring at another man for too long would have been embarrassing.

Everyone laughed, and the mood became lively again.

Meanwhile…

“I think I’m so hungry I’m hallucinating…”

Aino had gone without food for another entire day, and by now, even a dirty stray dog would have looked like a meal.

It hadn’t been this bad initially… until she ran into that gang of thugs.

The first guy was tolerable—just ordinary quality, nothing particularly tempting. But when his friends arrived, one of them was a massive brute, radiating with taut muscles and vigorous blood.

The most tempting of all, though, was their “boss.” His blood was like strong liquor compared to water.

From the moment she saw him, Aino had wanted to devour him.

In terms of strength, Aino didn’t feel he was much more powerful than the others. Maybe he was a lot stronger, but the starting point was so low that it was hard to tell?

Could you really feel the weight difference between one ant and two ants? Even if it was double the weight?

But for some reason, he seemed particularly… delicious. It was as if the blood flowing in his veins was of a higher quality.

Better find something else soon, or this isn’t going to end well.