The Mafia Empire

Julian knows very well that local people td to team up wh fighting outsiders, and as tough as he was from his rural days, he was not an idiot who believed he could overpower so many people.

Seeing Mad Dog Wesson charging at him with a knife, Julian turned and bolted. He didn't believe his flesh-and-bone arms and legs could withstand the sharp edge of iron.

One person ran in front, while a few others chased behind. After about two streets, the people behind were panting, stopping intermitttly, watching as Julian, still running at full speed, disappeared a the corner. They were so frustrated that ev breathing became difficult. After all, they were gang members, not athletes.

While they might be good at fighting and killing, they were certainly not skilled at running.

"What's that... kid's name again?" Mad Dog Wesson, leaning against a streetlight pole, panted heavily like an exhausted dog, his tongue out and gasping for air. His chest was burning painfully, partly because his rapid breathing had dried out and tighted the membranes in his airways, and partly because he was furious.

His sidekick, bding over with hands on his knees, also panted out in brok speech, "I think... he's called... Julian?"

Wesson felt slightly better after stopping. He slashed his knife at the streetlight pole, sding sparks flying, and barked, "Get our people to find him!"

Having run a good distance and realizing there were no pursuers, Julian stopped, panting heavily. He felt awful—not because he was worried about gang retaliation, nor because running was exhausting, but because he had lost a chance that could have led him to success.

He punched the wall beside him. Those damn gang members were truly despicable.

At the same time, a question lingered in his mind—what exactly was this "Anluo fee"?

Ever since he arrived in the city, nothing had gone smoothly, except for the dollar he earned on the first day. No one was willing to hire him, there were no ways to make money, and every day he had to hide under a bridge, during the foul smells. The food he ate was the cheapest whole wheat bread, harder than bricks, and hitting it with a stone only left a few marks.

The water he drank was from street pumps, and he hadn't had a hot meal in nearly a month.

After finally finding an opportunity to fulfill his life's ambitions, it had be ruined by these people.

Dejected, he turned two streets and headed back to the bridge where he stayed. He needed to quietly think about his future. But as he approached the bridge, he froze.

The area a the bridge was filled with wild dogs and rats, so after cleaning the area, Julian had used a discarded wood board to make a simple door to block the trance, prevting any rats or dogs from getting in and damaging his backpack or clothes.

But now... the wood board was cracked, thrown aside, and Julian rushed into the bridge, his heart sinking instantly.

Everything was gone, including that damned cigarette box. He had hidd it behind a loose brick, but now that brick lay at his feet, and the small metal box was nowhere to be found.

Not a single thing had gone his way for nearly a month. Sitting on the g with his back against the bridge wall, Julian covered his face with his hands in defeat.

Why?

Is this the tormt the God has chos for me?

For the first time, he had the idea of returning to the countryside and living an ordinary life. But quickly, that thought was consumed by a raging fire within him. Slowly, he lowered his hands, clching them into tight fists, his eyes twitching slightly.

No, I can't just go back. This isn't the God's tormt, it's His test! Pushing through this will lead me to a bright path. If I fall here, I'll remain an insignificant country bumpkin for the rest of my life! The God has giv me precious wealth, how could I let myself sink into despair? Nothing can stop me—not just a few hardships!

Come on, let's fight this battle to the death!

Julian felt the four five-ct coins in his pocket and turned to leave the bridge. His thoughts were no longer about how to quickly become a refined, upper-class man, but rather how to survive in this city and find the road to his dreams.

"Are you sure?" An elderly man, with graying hair and a gold-rimmed monocle over his left eye, looked up at him from behind lowered brows. The old man was dressed impeccably, his tailored suit and shirt exuding a sse of nobility. Facing the elder's inquiry, Julian nodded firmly.

This was the recruitmt office at the steam locomotive station. The steam locomotive was somewhat similar to the trains in Julian's dreams, as both ran on tracks, though their power sources differed. Trains relied on burning fuel to gerate steam that propelled their heavy cars, while steam locomotives used something called "Brilliance Crystals" as their power source.

All it took was placing a Brilliance Crystal into a machine's filling chamber, adding a catalyst, and the crystal would continuously release unimaginable heat and gas.

At that point, adding some water produced steam. Everything from cars on the road to large machinery on construction sites—all mechanical devices seemed to use Brilliance Crystals as fuel.

Ternell city might appear to Julian as a bustling metropolis, but for the empire as a whole, it was merely a remote border town, producing little besides food and animal hides.

Oh, and liquor.

Though Ternell was just a small town, it didn't stop "Ternell Station" from being a crucial hub in the empire's rail transport network. Steam locomotives passed through here daily, unloading large quantities of goods or loading them up before departing.

Both loading and unloading required manual labor. In the empire's most prosperous cities, machines had already replaced manpower for such tasks, sparking several protests.

Of course, in rural areas like this, human labor was still cheaper.

Hard labor was always the lowest rung of work. Anyone with ev a bit of skill wouldn't choose to waste so much time and ergy on meager pay.

So wh Julian applied to be a porter, the station manager needed to confirm things several times.

"You can call me Kre. Before you start working, you'll need to sign an agreemt. The agreemt states that you must work at the station for at least six months. If, for any reason, you leave within those six months, you'll have to pay a fifty-dollar palty," Kre said. "If you meet the six-month requiremt, you'll receive a two-ct bonus for every hour worked beyond that period."

"In addition, we'll provide you with a place to stay and two meals a day. These don't require extra paymt. If you have no further questions, you can sign here." Kre turned the agreemt toward Julian, tapping the top of the page with his index finger before sliding it forward.

Julian stared at the agreemt for a long momt before awkwardly saying, "Sorry, I don't know how to write my name."

Kre raised an eyebrow but did not mock him. Instead, he nodded slightly. "Don't feel bad, child. Many who work here can't write their names either." He flipped the agreemt back toward himself, signed "Julian Kesma" on it, and took out a small red wax box. "Just put your fingerprint here."

"Though it might seem... impolite to say this, I think you should take the time to learn how to read a newspaper and write your own name while you're still young. What do you think?"

After pressing his fingerprint on the agreemt, Julian took two steps back. The closer he got to Mr. Kre, the more he felt his own insignificance. He felt that the nearer he came to that clean, noble-looking red desk, the more insignificant he appeared.

People are supposed to be equal, but in this room, facing Mr. Kre, Julian felt no sse of equality at all!

He lowered his head and muttered, "Yes, I plan to look for a school once I've earned some money."

Mr. Kre glanced at the agreemt and pulled out a copy, pushing it to the edge of the desk. "Good. Education elevates a person's character and understanding. I know of a place that offers classes to older studts for a very reasonable price."

Just as he was about to d the conversation, something crossed his mind. "Oh, one more thing. After you've signed the agreemt, you're officially a worker at the station. In a few days, union represtatives might come to find you. My advice: don't take them too seriously. Someone will tell you what to do."

As Julian left Mr. Kre's office, he exhaled deeply.

Since reaching for the stars had prov to be nothing more than a naive and ridiculous fantasy, he would now plant his feet firmly on the g and move forward, step by step.

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