My Second Life as a Mafia Tyrant

Chapter 17: Broken Skull

Alois took two days off and headed for the “National Union.”

It is easy for people from the “National Union” to enter the “Federation,” but the reverse is difficult.

You have to go through immigration, have your luggage inspected, and only then are you allowed to enter.

The NWCFTA—the Northwest Continental Free Trade Agreement—was supposed to have made the movement of people between the two countries somewhat free, but from the “National Union’s” perspective, people coming from the “Federation” are likely just gangsters, drug dealers, and illegal workers.

It’s laughable for a “land of freedom,” but since there’s some truth to it, there’s nothing to be done.

Alois leaves the airport and hails a taxi.

He’s made contact in advance. The other party agreed to meet. They specified the location: the second floor of a bar in one of the city’s roughest neighborhoods. Apparently, it used to be a common business practice to drink downstairs and then bring women up to the second floor, but regulations on such activities have tightened, and now the second floor serves as one of the Broken Skull’s bases.

　The city’s name is the Free City of Reni. It is a city granted a high degree of autonomy, even within the lengthy official name of the “National Union.”

The Free City of Reni maintains its own Reni City Army. It is similar to a state militia, but unlike a state militia, it is never deployed overseas.

　It is a vibrant city where favorable tax policies for Magitech-related companies have spawned many startups, and at the same time, it is a city where the casino industry has been legalized, making it full of entertainment.

Alois is set to conduct business negotiations in the Reni Free City, the largest city in the western part of the “National Union.”

Alois took a taxi to the designated tavern.

　He noticed the tavern was equipped with a security system that didn’t look like anything you’d find in an ordinary establishment. There were at least five surveillance cameras. A menacing-looking man with tattoos stood at the front entrance, and Alois was taken aback, thinking that ordinary customers would never be able to get in under these conditions.

“What’s up, you? Stop staring at me.”

“My apologies. I’m here on business to see Mr. Viktor Bazalov. Could you please tell him that Alois is here?”

“Hmph. A half-breed acting all high and mighty. Well, I’ll ask the boss for you, I suppose.”

The man said this and banged on the door. Another man then emerged from inside, looking at the man at the entrance with a puzzled expression.

“Tell the boss that a half-breed named Alois is here. He says he has business with him.”

“Got it.”

　The Alois of his first life would never have been able to do something like this. To be negotiating with a “National Union” gang while still in college.

But the Alois of his second life had nothing to fear. He’d faced far more terrifying things than mere gangsters. Cartel members who specialized in brutal torture, cartel executives who’d stop at nothing for power, and cartel bosses who threatened Alois with violence.

　Compared to them, a gang holed up in a small, cramped hideout like this was no real threat. For better or worse, Alois was used to this sort of thing.

It’s true that Alois had inherited only his memories, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t inherited his spirit at all. Although he’d felt a bit uneasy about the Elke situation, he actually found dealing with a gang to be easier.

“Let him through.”

“Understood.”

The door opened again, and the man relayed the message.

“Body search. You’re not hiding any guns or listening devices, are you?”

“I’m unarmed. Feel free to check me thoroughly.”

He underwent the body search.

Alois still hadn’t acquired a magic-powered pistol, and since he didn’t carry a knife to avoid unnecessary risks, he was completely unarmed; there was no way he’d be wearing a listening device. In fact, it made him suspect that the other guy might be the one wearing a bug.

“Alright. You can go.”

Alois stepped inside as the man at the entrance opened the door.

The first floor was indeed a bar. However, it was members-only.

Muscular men puffed on cigarettes and drank strong liquor. They gave Alois a sharp look and continued to watch him.

　Alois paid no mind to their stares. He had experience navigating dangerous situations. In moments like this, he had to carry himself with confidence so they wouldn’t underestimate him. Gangsters were simple-minded; they judged others solely by strength.

The gang members appeared relatively young, though there was an elderly man with white hair among them. His gaze was sharper than the others’, and he was staring at Alois intently.

　At his waist hung an old-style magic pistol and a military knife. Alois wondered if this old man was also a veteran of the Foreign Legion.

The history of the “National Union” Foreign Legion is long. Its origins lie in the recruitment of volunteer soldiers—akin to mercenaries—from the Draco Empire (now the Great Republic of Squarmal) and other nations during the war of independence against the Erithis Empire (now the Kingdom of Elnia).

　They led the war of independence to victory and subsequently became part of the “National Union” Continental Army as the Foreign Legion. As time passed, the Foreign Legion continued to exist both as a place to obtain citizenship in the “National Union” and as an elite unit.

　Members of the “National Union” Marine Corps can also obtain citizenship, and while they are an elite unit, the Foreign Legion offers the advantage of erasing one’s past record. For those with criminal histories—such as those who caused trouble abroad or deserters—joining the Foreign Legion is the easiest way to gain citizenship in the “National Union,” the land of freedom and opportunity.

　For this reason, a gang formed by former Foreign Legionnaires is, in a sense, extremely dangerous. After all, the Foreign Legion is composed of men of unknown background, recruited solely on the basis of their military prowess.

However, Alois hadn’t come here to pick a fight with this gang. He’d come to discuss business—a deal that would benefit both parties. Even if his opponents were former Foreign Legionnaires, Alois had nothing to fear. He simply needed to talk business.

“This way.”

A different man from before led the way.

That man had tattoos as well. A tattoo of a cracked skull with a knife stuck in it.

I see. So that’s why they’re called the Broken Skull, Alois thought.

As soon as he entered the second floor, a wire mesh door sealed with a padlock came into view.

“I’ve brought the boss’s guest.”

“Got it.”

The padlock was removed, and Alois stepped inside.

After undergoing another body search in front of a door guarded by two more men with cigarettes in their mouths, Alois was finally allowed into the room.

“So you’re Alois?”

The man in the room was a huge, skinhead.

He wore tattered jeans, a tank top, and a “National Union” Army camouflage jacket draped over his shoulders. And gold jewelry. Alois wondered why these guys were so fond of gold jewelry. Every single one of them wore similar accessories—no individuality at all. They acted like outlaws, but their dress code wasn’t exactly “outlaw.”