The Mafia Empire

They wer't shocked by the quantity of high proof bootleg alcohol, nor by the value of these products. What truly shocked them was Julian's method of making high proof alcohol. After all, they had personally delivered barrels of low proof fruit wine inside. But wh it came out, it had turned into high proof fruit wine. Magic tricks wer't this amazing.

And it wasn't just a cup or a bottle; it was over a doz barrels!

Tons of it!

Dave cleared his throat, and the young m, realizing their embarrassmt, quickly reined in their expressions of surprise and stood quietly to the side. Dave was also deeply shocked, though he didn't show it, keeping his amazemt hidd. He had expericed far more than these young m, and having served time in prison, he understood the pottial profits here.

If word got out that there was a method simpler than using Dragon Blood Wood to turn low proof wine into high proof alcohol in a short time, the world's alcohol merchants would go mad. High proof alcohol prices had remained high for two reasons: the expsive cost of Dragon Blood Wood and the fact that it took at least half a year from brewing to market.

If these two problems could be solved, high proof alcohol prices would drop to the level of low proof fruit wine. Ev if the Empire didn't allow high proof alcohol sales, the price wouldn't stay that high.

Now, this technique was in Julian's hands. It was like holding a mountain of gold. For the first time, Dave felt that following Julian might actually turn from a short-term occupation into a lifelong one.

Under Julian's orders, the youths put on long sleeved rubber gloves, cleaned up, and started bottling. As the fruit wine in the barrels decreased bit by bit, and the number of bottles awaiting sealing increased, the atmosphere in Warehouse No. grew more and more excited!

...

Colt calmly watched his trusted subordinate stand against the wall with his head lowered, looking just like a child at home after getting into trouble at school, his face full of shame.

It was supposed to be a very simple task—just to keep an eye on someone. Both Mr. Colt and this trusted subordinate of his thought it was an easy job, almost too simple. But problems arose precisely because of this seemingly small task.

At first, this trusted subordinate—who actually had a name, Gawain—thought that tailing a big guy was way too easy. Ev in a crowded place, he could spot the guy, who was a head taller than most people, moving through the crowd. He understood Mr. Colt's intt because, after all, he was Mr. Colt's capable subordinate.

Wh this big lug named Graf brought in that high proof fruit wine, which had a very distinctive taste, and sold it all within two days, Gawain knew this was a gold mine.

Mr. Colt was like the miner... no, the mine owner.

His task was to keep an eye on Graf, see whom he was in contact with, and find out who his real supplier was. From there, the plan was to secure the supply of this high proof fruit wine and become the sole distributor in Ternell City. It was a crucial mission, and Gawain believed no one but himself—Mr. Colt's trusted assistant—was capable of handling it.

On the first day, he followed Graf back to the train station, waited outside until nightfall, and th followed him back to the workers dormitory. Gawain squatted at the corner of the dormitory wall for the tire night, evtually dozing off in the early morning. Fortunately, he remembered his mission and, as Mr. Colt's trusted partner, woke up early.

He watched as the workers came out of the dormitory one by one, heading to the train station. But he didn't see Graf. His heart sank. It wasn't until nine o'clock that Graf finally came out of the dormitory, yawning, stretching at the door, and wiping the tears and eye crust from his face with his sleeve.

On the second day, Gawain personally saw Graf go to the station and th leave with a young man...

If Gawain hadn't personally witnessed Graf bringing wine to the bar to see Mr. Colt, he might not have believed that someone so prone to tardiness and early departures could have gott lucky ough to win over a supplier.

For several days in a row, Mr. Gawain didn't make any progress. Sometimes, Graf didn't come out for a day or two, but whever he did, it seemed like he always wt to the train station.

This time, though, it was ev more outrageous. Gawain hadn't se Graf come out of the dormitory for over t days. He ev considered calling the police—had the guy gott into a fight with the workers and be killed inside? If it wer't for the fact that he tried peeking through the dormitory window to see what was going on, he might not have discovered that the dormitory had two doors...

"So, you stood at the dormitory trance for over t days, not knowing that Graf had already left, right?" Mr. Colt's voice was soft, almost as if he were explaining Gawain's mistake for him. Gawain, too ashamed to lift his head, didn't ev know the dormitory had two doors. But ev if he had known, what could he have done? What could he have done with just one person? How could he watch both doors?

Though filled with shame, there was a hint of stubbornness in him—this mistake wasn't tirely his fault.

Looking at the silt Gawain, Colt was so angry he nearly laughed. How could someone be this stupid? So stupid it made others feel despair? He must have grown to this age only because he was this world illegitimate son luck. Otherwise, such a foolish person would have died long ago.

Luckily, Mr. Colt had dect self control. After all, he had received a good education and prided himself on being a civilized man. So wh he picked up the ashtray, it wasn't to throw it at someone—he just wanted to move it to another spot.