Silent Crown

Chapter 132 Declare War?

"Where’s the Shaman?" Werner slammed his fist on the table, frustrated with the endless waiting. "He said he wants to talk, but he’s not here. What’s he doing? Toying with us?"

Behind the round table was an empty chair. Behind the empty chair was an older man. Hearing Werner’s voice, the man known as Ghosthand just glanced at him, uncaring. "You can leave if you don’t want to wait," he said. "No one’s forcing you to be here, but know that the moment you walk out the door, you’ll be the Shaman’s enemy."

"He still thinks he’s the Dark King?" Werner scoffed, his expression scornful. "Don’t think we don’t know that Shaman has already been back for so long, but he still doesn’t have anyone under him! If I were him, I’d really thank you. If you weren’t such a loyal dog, he’d be a one-man band!" Beside him, Alberto and Silo had similar mocking smiles on their faces.

The Shaman’s era was over. Not many in the city could still remember him. The Shaman seemed to know this too, and stayed hidden in his lair over the past few days. Not only had he not gained any power, but he had even lost some of Ghosthand’s territory!

Those in arrival had been a bit worried at first, but now it seemed like a joke. The Shaman was no longer the king from before, and yet he still wanted to pretend as if he were. It was laughable.

Hearing their laughter, Ghosthand’s eyes hardened.

In the silence, a knock suddenly sounded. A figure walked in, his back to the sun. He took off his hat and hung it on the coatrack, revealing his salt-and-pepper hair under the sun. His coat was old and looked as if it had not been washed in a long time. It was threadbare and worn.

He seemed powerful at a glance, but if one looked closely, he seemed a bit pathetic and awkward. "My apologies for being late." The man walked over and nodded at the others. "Sorry for the wait." Ghosthand pulled out the seat for him to sit in.

Silo snickered. "Mr. Shaman, you are very brave to come talk to us."

Old Alberto looked over too. "Long time no see, Mr. Shaman. What did you call us over to talk about?"

"Not much, actually." The Shaman shrugged. "As a senior, I thought it was necessary to check up on the rookies. After all, it’s always good to meet each other before the war."

"War?" Werner burst into laughter. "Are you declaring war on us? Just you two?"

"Are we not enough?" The Shaman shrugged and gazed around. "Everyone, you should consider coming to the right side and joining me. I will go easy on the ones who surrender now."

Werner stopped laughing. Silo stopped laughing as well. The sleepy Alberto looked up too. His rheumy eyes were serious as he studied the former king, trying to see if he was joking.

But the Shaman was not joking. He was serious, as if he were stating a fact. Even the wrinkles on his old face had a shade of wild graveness.

Alberto could not help but sigh. The former Dark King, the one left behind by time...had he gone crazy? He was still caught in his golden age, and it was logical for him to reprimand the people who were supposed to respect him. He looked awe-inspiring, waiting for them to obey him. It was laughable.

Alberto sighed. "Shaman, have you gone insane?"

"This isn’t the place to joke, Shaman," Silo said. He put down his hookah and squinted like a snake. "Don’t speak nonsense."

Instead of speaking, Werner chose to spit onto the ground.

These men did not lose their temper yet because of the Shaman’s past glory. They were willing to be patient and see what the crazy old man was planning. There was vague pity in their eyes.

"What’s wrong?" Sensing their gazes, the Shaman froze. "Have you not come up with a decision yet? Treasure this opportunity."

Snick! A dagger sank into the table. It was Werner’s dagger. "That’s my reply," Werner said coldly.

Alberto shook his head slowly. "Maybe you were the Dark King before, but don’t forget that your time has passed. Downtown isn’t yours anymore."

"Get things straight, sir." Silo continued to smoke his hookah, his eyes cold. "If you need money, I can give you some so you can go to the Arkham Asylum. I’m sure you can find people to talk to over there."

The Shaman suddenly realized, "So you want to declare war?"

"Since when did you think that we would just listen to you obediently?" Alberto glanced at him with his watery eyes. "Mr. Shaman, why don’t you look out the window?"

The market outside was bustling and filled with life, but there seemed to be people stationed in the crowd, surrounding the place. These burly men had swords hidden. They only needed a signal to rush in and chop the former Dark King to bits.

Ghosthand furrowed his brow and stepped forward, but the Shaman raised his hand to stop him. "So it seems that you are keeping us here?" The smile on the Shaman’s face faded. "Do you know what you’re doing? I suggest thinking about the consequences of angering me."

"Get it straight, Shaman. There’s no way out for you." Alberto nodded. "Don’t worry, we’ve hired three musicians out of respect. It doesn’t matter that you’re the Shaman, Ghosthand, or another legend. You won’t be able to leave today. So can you finally wake up from your fantasy, former Dark King.

"Seeing as you took care of me before, I can let you go. But you must promise to never come back." The old man’s eyes were cruel and fierce. "Of course, we’ll have someone give you a small curse so you can’t go back on your word."

"You have to give up your resources too," Silo added. "And the most important thing…I’m sure you understand what I’m talking about. The Trader has already told us that he gave you something…"

"Oh?" The Shaman shook his head. "I don’t understand."

The Basset was the most impatient. Slamming a fist on the table, he spat, "What we mean is, give us the map of Avalon’s Shadow and then scram! Understand?"

The Shaman chuckled and shrugged. "Even if you had the map, you can’t go in if you can’t find the Blood Path. And anyway, the Trader gave it to me as a gift for my return. If I just gave it away, I’d be a bad friend."

"Seems that we have to go harder on you," Werner said coldly. He knocked on his dagger and pounding footsteps sounded above, along with the scraping sound of swords being pulled out of their sheaths. The thugs hidden in the market had already surrounded the tavern. This was the trap prepared for the Shaman.

"Mr. Shaman, look at the situation clearly. This isn’t your world anymore. Why don’t you hand over the map and exchange it for your safety?" Alberto advised quietly. "Even if you’re not going to think for yourself, at least think on behalf of Ghosthand."

Ghosthand remained silent.

The Shaman sighed as if disappointed.