The Renounced Drug lord

The Cauldron Syndicate and the Troll in the Suit

Rico Maldino had faced death, betrayal, and magically induced gastrointestinal explosions. But this... this was new.

He was on time for a meeting.

In a dark tavern called The Wandering Weasel—where the chairs growled if you sat too hard, and the drinks sometimes drank you—Rico sat alone at a table in the corner, sipping something suspiciously purple. The tavern’s enchantment prevented eavesdropping, teleportation, and interpretive dance within a five-meter radius, making it perfect for shady meetings.

Across from him sat Fritz, a three-eyed goblin accountant with the voice of a Shakespearean actor and the charm of a cactus.

“They’re not happy,” Fritz said, adjusting his monocle. “The Cauldron Syndicate sent that warning for a reason. You’re on their turf now.”

“I didn’t realize truth and justice had turf,” Rico replied, swirling his drink.

Fritz chuckled. “They don’t. But revenge sure does.”

Rico leaned forward. “What do they want from me?”

“Simple. Stay out of their brewing district, keep your nose clean, and don’t go around blowing up distribution centers like a retired vigilante with unresolved trauma.”

“Too late for all three.”

Fritz sighed. “Then you’ll need allies.”

Rico raised an eyebrow. “You volunteering?”

“I’m an accountant,” Fritz said. “I barely survived the paperclip rebellion of '22.”

Rico stood. “Then tell the Syndicate if they want a war, they can brew it themselves. I’m not afraid.”

The moment he turned to leave, the tavern doors burst open with a magical boom that sent mugs flying and chairs yelping.

In walked a nine-foot troll in a three-piece pinstripe suit, sunglasses, and a tie that looked like it had eaten three other ties. On his lapel was a glowing emblem — a bubbling cauldron inside a burning circle.

“The Syndicate has accepted your invitation,” the troll growled.

“Oh good,” Rico muttered. “I was hoping for a casual chat.”

The troll reached into his coat — and pulled out a glowing baseball bat made entirely of condensed magic and bad intentions.

“Out back. Now.”

---

Behind The Wandering Weasel – Duel Grounds

A small crowd had gathered. Witches, goblins, a retired phoenix, and even a sentient sandwich named Ted watched with interest.

Rico rolled his shoulders. “No spells?”

“Traditional rules,” the troll grunted. “Only enchanted weapons.”

Rico sighed and pulled out his backup: the Boomerang Blades — twin curved daggers that exploded on return if thrown with enough sarcasm.

The troll struck first — a swing so fast it distorted the air. Rico ducked, rolled, and flung both blades.

They curved through the sky — whistling like cursed pigeons — before striking the troll’s back. The resulting boom knocked the troll into a stack of enchanted crates, which exploded into glitter and live frogs.

The crowd gasped. Ted fainted.

But the troll stood up. Slowly. Laughing.

“You hit like a sleepy pixie.”

“Sleepy pixies hit surprisingly hard,” Rico muttered.

The troll charged. Rico dodged left, kicked off a barrel, flipped over the troll’s head, and landed on a moving crate mid-teleport. For three terrifying seconds, he disappeared.

He reappeared behind the troll, upside down, screaming, “NOT INTENTIONAL!”

He collided with the troll’s back again—this time with enough force to knock both of them down.

Groaning, Rico grabbed his blades and pressed one to the troll’s neck. “Call it?”

The troll blinked. “You fight dirty.”

“I retired from clean.”

A moment passed. Then the troll grinned.

“You’re crazy enough. The Syndicate respects that.”

---

Later That Night – The Syndicate’s Hideout

The Cauldron Syndicate operated beneath an abandoned bakery, which still smelled like regret and expired yeast. The entrance opened via a secret knock followed by a brief performance of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” on enchanted spoons.

Rico followed the troll—whose name, he now learned, was Gorlax—down a spiraling staircase into a chamber filled with boiling vats, potion-powered computers, and magical graffiti that read “M.A.G.I.C. IS LAME.”

At the center stood Lady Vesper, the Syndicate’s leader. A tall woman with silver hair, glowing eyes, and a voice like a bedtime story with a body count.

“I watched your fight,” she said, stirring a bubbling cauldron with her bare hand. “You’ve still got it, Alchemist.”

“I’m flattered,” Rico said. “Still not joining your club.”

“Good,” she replied. “I wasn’t inviting you. I was testing you.”

She flicked her fingers, and an illusion appeared — a map of Grimglade City. Red dots blinked across it.

“Varnox is infecting every district. Not just Enchanta. He’s distributing Echo Dust, Shadow Snare, even Chrono-Fizz.”

“Chrono-Fizz?” Rico asked. “Didn’t that stuff cause people to relive middle school?”

Vesper nodded. “Exactly. No one deserves that.”

She pointed to a blinking dot near the university district. “Our intel says Varnox has a lab hidden in the Clockwork Library. We want it gone.”

Rico crossed his arms. “Why should I trust you?”

“You shouldn’t,” Vesper said with a smirk. “But you need us.”

He hated that she was right.

---

The Clockwork Library – Midnight Raid

Juno met Rico at the library’s side gate. She wore a glamor cloak and an expression that said she was done with staircases.

“This better be worth it,” she muttered. “I missed taco night for this.”

“Varnox’s lab is under the restricted archives,” Rico said. “We go in, we get proof, we get out.”

“Or we blow it all up and run screaming?”

“I’m open to both.”

They slipped through the halls, dodging magical cameras and haunted encyclopedias. They reached the restricted section — sealed with a time-lock spell.

Juno handed Rico a vial.

“What’s this?”

“Chrono-Goo. Melted it off a cursed wristwatch.”

Rico smeared it on the lock. The door clicked open.

They entered a chamber filled with spinning gears, floating books, and a swirling portal in the center. A large cauldron pulsed with dark Enchanta.

“Found the lab,” Rico said.

But before they could move, alarms blared. The portal twisted — and Varnox stepped through, flanked by two enforcers and a floating skull in a top hat.

“You just can’t leave things alone, can you?” he said.

Rico sighed. “You always did love dramatic entrances.”

“You always did love sabotage.”

“I’ve had therapy.”

“Didn’t work.”

“Did for me. You’re not invited to taco night anymore.”

Varnox snarled. “Enough.”

A blast of dark energy hurled Rico back into a bookcase. Juno cast a chain illusion spell, but it bounced harmlessly off Varnox’s shield.

The enforcers advanced.

Rico activated a rune embedded in his glove — the entire chamber pulsed with anti-arcane feedback.

The portal shattered.

The cauldron cracked.

The ceiling groaned.

“I hope you love chaos,” Rico shouted.

Juno grabbed his hand. “I am chaos!”

They bolted as the lab exploded behind them, dodging debris and flying reference books.

---

Back at Rico’s Apartment

Smoke clung to their clothes. Ash was in their hair. But they were alive.

Rico collapsed on the couch.

Juno grabbed a slice of leftover garlic spell-bread and dropped beside him.

“So,” she said between bites. “How long before the city realizes this is a full-blown war?”

Rico exhaled. “Soon.”

She looked at him. “We’re not enough.”

“I know.”

“Then who’s next?”

Rico stared at the enchanted ceiling, which politely twinkled with simulated stars.

“I know a guy.”