Volume One

Chapter 1: The First Encounter of Light and Shadow

　　“Damn it, damn it, damn it!”

　　Seoul, South Korea, Cheongnyangni. A burly man in a black suit cursed in words no one could understand, striding into the nightclub in a blaze of fury, surrounded by a group of flamboyantly dressed punks.

　　“Ninth Bro, who pissed you off so much this time...” A heavily made-up woman sidled up, about to press herself against him.

　　“Get the hell away!” The man slapped her hard, sending her flying: “Bad luck!”

　　The nightclub was a scene of chaos, the lights dim, and no one paid attention to this minor scuffle. The woman scrambled up in embarrassment and fled, half crawling.

　　The man led the punks around a few corners, the noise from outside gradually fading, and entered an office that looked bright and clean.

　　He plopped down on the sofa, took off his jacket, revealing his left arm wrapped in layers of bandages, with blood still seeping through.

　　“Those sons of bitches from Busan! If I don’t get revenge, I, Christopher Carter, am not a man!”

　　The punks fell silent. When this boss was in a foul mood, he’d habitually blurt out Chinese that no one understood. According to him, it was because he couldn’t be bothered to deal with these dumb Koreans, and whether they understood or not was none of his business.

　　It was said that his name in Chinese meant “be careful with your words,” but no one had ever felt that from him...

　　He was crude, irritable, and didn’t hesitate to hit women, never bothering with gentlemanly manners. He ran nightclubs, managed casinos, slept around, kidnapped, robbed, and had even killed before—there was no crime he hadn’t committed.

　　The only remotely positive trait he had was a sense of loyalty.

　　For example, the knife wound on his left arm was from shielding one of his men. Tonight, during negotiations with the Busan Seven Stars gang, he’d been ambushed...

　　They were members of the Seoul Sinchon faction. Christopher Carter was one of the nine adopted sons of Sinchon boss Lee Tae-woong, ranked ninth, known as Charles Carter, Mr. Clark, Sir Clark, Blake Clark, Henry Clark, Logan Clark, Leonard Clark.

　　By day, he was a well-dressed hotel manager, and the punks were proper hotel security. But at night... this was how they were.

　　“Why are you all crowding around me? Get lost! Go outside and grab any Busan guy to beat up and let off some steam! And that woman from earlier, tell her to wash off that disgusting perfume and crawl back here, quick!”

　　Finally, he was speaking Korean, so the punks understood and scattered instantly.

　　Only a buzz-cut guy in a gray jacket stayed, sighing as he went to the liquor cabinet: “Mr. Clark, you saved me again. I won’t say thank you anymore...”

　　Christopher Carter took the glass and clinked it with his: “Cut the crap, you’ve saved me plenty of times too. Ethan Grant, like I always say, in this line of work, our conscience was eaten by dogs long ago. All we have left is loyalty. If you can’t hold onto that, you might as well slit your throat now, so you don’t embarrass yourself in this world.”

　　Ethan Grant smiled: “Yes.”

　　Compared to him, it seemed like he should be the one called “cautious with words.”

　　The two drank in silence for a while, then more noise came from outside. A few punks dragged in a well-dressed middle-aged man with a briefcase: “Mr. Clark! This guy has a Busan accent! He was about to check into our hotel, and San’er overheard him.”

　　Christopher Carter didn’t even look up: “Beat him!”

　　The man cried out in fear: “Why? Who are you people?”

　　“We’re gangsters, can’t you tell?” Christopher Carter dug in his ear: “Still idiots like this.”

　　“I didn’t do anything to you!”

　　“Your accent offended us.” Ethan Grant waved his hand: “Beat him.”

　　The unfortunate man was pinned to the ground and beaten. Ethan Grant strolled over, picked up the briefcase he’d dropped, weighed it, and opened it: “What’s this? Plane tickets? Tsk tsk, just got off the plane back home... Saudi Arabia?” He rummaged for a while before finding a wallet, which he tossed to Christopher Carter.

　　Christopher Carter had just opened the wallet when the door opened again. A lackey poked his head in, awkwardly saying, “We can’t find that woman from earlier...”

　　“Useless idiots!” Christopher Carter snapped. “Can’t you just grab any working girl? Are there none in the club or what?”

　　“Oh, oh... I’ll go right now...”

　　“Wait...” Christopher Carter suddenly brightened: “Stop, stop, stop, everyone stop beating him.”

　　He stood up, walked over to the bruised and battered man, squatted down, and flicked the photo in the wallet: “This girl’s pretty cute. Your girlfriend?”

　　The man shrank back in fear: “My daughter.”

　　Christopher Carter grinned: “Hello, father-in-law...”

　　The man roared in anger: “Who’s your father-in-law!”

　　“Tut...” Christopher Carter slapped his face with the wallet: “Your daughter’s really good-looking... Be my father-in-law for one night...”

　　“In your dreams!”

　　“What era is this? Just one night, is it such a big deal? Who knows how many guys your daughter’s been with at school...”

　　“Bullshit! My daughter would never!”

　　A dangerous glint appeared in Christopher Carter’s eyes: “Busan guy, don’t refuse a toast only to drink a forfeit.”

　　“Just kill me!”