The territories of Scily Island were divided between two influential clans. The eastern side was strictly supervised by the Verdugo crime family, a major power in the southern region. Meanwhile, the western domain was directly governed by the Archnemesis crime family—a famiglia minore with a small number of members, but a legacy of iron.
In a few years of relative peace, a Guerra Fredda—a cold war—remained active between these households.
Italia was a land of four seasons, yet the winter remained dormant on this island exclusively. According to historians, a peculiar spell had magically altered the climate. It happened five years ago when a powerful mage from the Corleon faction cast a high-tier spell against the Archnemesis forces.
The records show the war between the Archnemesis and the Corleon clan lasted only six days. The results were devastating for the isolani (islanders). Despite the Corleons' overwhelming numbers, the Archnemesis defenders emerged victorious against the odds. But their victory came at a heavy price: four high-ranking members and the majority of their relatives perished in an honorable death.
However, alluring gossip surrounded their passing. A conspiracy whispered that the clan members had died under suspicious, internal circumstances. Facing a crucial turning point for their future, the youngest among the three children inherited the throne unanimously. At the age of ten, he became the first of his generation to be bestowed the title of the new Don of his clan.
In this present era where everyone wanted to dominate the divided country, the peace on the island was on the verge of collapse. The efforts of the vecchi (old men) to protect the country would soon expire due to the reckless decisions made by new warring leaders.
These upcoming crucial events would force a young man who transmigrated into this world to fight his way to prevent it. The Battaglia Reale for domination and unity would test the wits and intelligence of the new generation.
The sun dipped below the horizon. Citizens returned to their homes, vendors closed their botteghe, and the guards stationed in the district started to patrol. The lights of the posts illuminated the street, every window of the buildings was closed, and the lovely chirping sounds from the crickets could be heard.
Two shadows appeared from the corner. A black-haired, scarlet-eyed masked man wearing white sleeves covered by his black coat. His black leather pants neatly covered his lower body, and his neck was wrapped in a red scarf to warm his pale skin.
His intimidating features made the bystanders nearby look away nervously; due to his terrifying mask, the citizens in front of them swiftly gave an open path.
Hermes Archnemesis was the name of the young lad. He was a transmigrator—or more specifically known as a reincarnator in the present era. It was only one week earlier when he had transmigrated into this gaming world.
Despite the fact that every man dreamed of being reincarnated in a fantasy world, he begged to differ. He wasn't happy at all. The truth was that this world was rigged against his character's fate, giving him false hope. With the added transparency of cruelty and the despair of a life that would surely kill him someday, he remained displeased to live on this planet.
Behind him was his personal attendant, Justin. Usually in his custom-made butler suit, he was now in a winter coat with a scarf hanging around his neck. He had no surname, being a mere servant of a "small-time family." Despite his angelic face and the aura of an angelic man who wouldn't do any harm, he was a ruthless, pragmatic, and cunning man.
Justin followed half a step behind, his eyes scanning the rooftops with a predatory focus. "We are in position, my Don," he whispered. To Justin, titles like 'sir' or 'master' were insufficient for a man of Hermes's station; he insisted on calling him my Don to honor his position as the absolute head of the Archnemesis family.
Hermes pulled out his handkerchief and sneezed. He wandered his eyes, looking for something that would lead him to his targets' whereabouts. Though he was worried and cautious, he noticed with a slight chill that he didn't feel scared at all.
I've only been here for seven days, Hermes thought, his mind feeling uncharacteristically sharp and observant. Why does it feel like I've been a Don for a lifetime? He felt a flicker of confusion at how naturally he was adapting to this ruthless skin, his thoughts moving with a cold, pragmatic logic that shouldn't belong to a newcomer.
"Justin, what's the status on your radar?" asked the young Don, turning his gaze to his butler. "Did you find something?"
Justin used his skill, [Agenda], and sadly found nothing. "Forgive me, my Don. There's nothing interesting showing up yet. Since you are the Don, perhaps the shadows themselves are hiding from your presence."
Hermes halted his movement. He heaved a deep sigh, crossed his arms across his chest, and leaned his back against the wall.
"Oh, man. It can't be helped. This place looks very 'protected'. Of course, it will take a long time to find those pesti (pests) in this area."
"My Don, why are we here again?" queried Justin, resuming his mission.
The young Don raised his eyebrows. "We're going to whack out some stupid morons causing trouble in this district. Remember the bastards we fought? His men are still doing nasty stuff in my territory. They might be thinking they can take the role of a new ganglord. We have to do something before they rise up and gain more numbers."
"Forgive me, my Don. So that is how it is. A small favor from that Zamor," Justin praised. "I know you're not the type of person who would do something like this without taking some benefits."
Hermes simpered. "Of course, there are a lot of benefits after this favor."
"My Don, someone's coming. Two people," Justin whispered, leading the young Don to a hidden spot.
Two lights from lamps carried by guards colored the path. Brown, old-style uniforms with the village's official emblems pinned to their shoulders appeared. Their hats were ragged, but their manner was so disciplined they could be mistaken for official soldiers.
…..
"Hey, do you think we should go in here?" one of the patrol guards asked, his voice hushed and trembling.
"Why not?"
"Y'know... this is one of the territories of those bastards. I think we should move away from here before one of them shows up," the first guard suggested, his eyes darting toward the dark alleys.
"Y-y-you're right. But their leader was murdered three days ago. Even that old Captain Mattia died. We shouldn't be worrying about them at all. Right?" his companion shivered as he spoke, more to convince himself than his friend.
"Right... however, they are still a powerhouse in this district. We shouldn't be fighting them; they might kill our families as well."
His companion fretted, "No way. I guess we should move somewhere else. I pray they die before they can hit my family. I don't know what I would do if someone tries to hurt them."
The flickering light of their lamps disappeared as they hurried away.
From the deep shadows, the young Don and his butler emerged, watching the retreating guards with grave expressions. Hermes pulled out a toothpick and briefly adjusted his mask to slide it into the corner of his mouth. He used it like a sigaro—a cigar without smoke—staring into the night with an observant, detached gaze.
"My Don, the situation is exactly as we expected. The villagers are no more or no less weak than I thought. The guards are still terrified to face these morons," Justin said, a sharp, knowing smile crossing his face. "No wonder that old man asked for your help. But oh, well... you clearly have something in your mind to accept this. It is a favor, of course, so this mission isn't free. I suppose we can use this as an excuse to execute your scheme."
Hermes raised an eyebrow, glancing at his servant. Scheme? he thought. What scheme? He had no idea what was going on in Justin's manipulative mind, but it was clear the butler had misinterpreted his pragmatism for some grand conspiracy. In truth, Hermes just wanted to scrub his bad reputation from this district. He planned to turn the village into a safe haven—a pristine asset—before he eventually exiled himself far from the main plot's disaster.
He knew that turning this place into a refined town would bring a massive profit. Selling the tutelage and ownership rights at a high price to his rivals—the Verdugo clan—would be a perfect win-win scenario.
Although this plan went against the wishes of the villagers who sought independence, the game was already set in motion. To him, it wasn't a traitorous act; it was a wise, pragmatic choice. The village was destined to be annexed by a major family anyway. It was an unfortunate fate, but he didn't care as long as he secured his own freedom from the coming 'bad omen.'
"Well, it'll change the flow of the story, but who cares? It doesn't change the fact that this place will be annexed by that clan eventually. I'm just helping them get there in a different way," he muttered to himself, his voice barely a whisper.
He slid his mask back into place, tossing the broken toothpick aside. "Indeed. Let us continue our patrol. Follow my lead," Hermes commanded.
A cold breeze from the west made him shiver. The young Don rubbed his nose and covered his head, trying to retain some warmth.
"My Don, is your head feeling cold? Please wait here for a short while. Let me get your hat from the car," Justin suggested.
"Go on," Hermes permitted.
Justin placed a hand over his chest and bowed his head once. With a blur of motion, he left the area, leaving Hermes alone in the silence of the district.
...
Boredom began to set in. Hermes stretched his arms and cracked his neck. He wished this world had cellphones; he found himself praying for a round of games or a movie on Netflix to pass the time. But such luxuries were impossible in this era.
The silence was suddenly interrupted by the sound of three voices approaching from the right. Without Justin there to act as his shield, Hermes had two options: hide or stay.
Observant as ever, his instincts flared. He opted to hide. He had no idea if these strangers were friendly, and in this world, trust was a rare currency. He quickly moved to jump over a nearby bench to crouch behind it, but his shadow caught the moonlight just a second too late.
"Hey kid, you don't need to hide yourself from us," called out the man in the center, who appeared to be the leader.
A man with a bandana on his forehead cracked his knuckles. "Oh, there's someone there, huh? Oho... another playmate."
"Jeez, don't forget we should play nice with our new acquaintance," the man on the right suggested with a sneer. "We should be gentle... at first."
The three thugs wore matching blue-breasted striped suit jackets with wide lapels, buttoned high and tailored to their muscular frames. They looked like professional "soldiers" of a rival outfit.
Hermes clicked his tongue. Escape was impossible; they had already flanked the bench, blocking his path. He remained vigilant, his pragmatic mind calculating his chances if he had to draw his weapon.
"Well, what do we have here? A little pup hiding behind a brown, ugly bench. Did you seriously think we wouldn't see you?" the leader bragged, a cruel smile on his face.
Hermes stood up slowly, maintaining the calm, observant air of a Don. He placed a hand over his chest and greeted them with polite, cold formality. "Forgive me, signore. It is not what you think. To tell you the truth, I lost my cap when the wind blew it from my head. I thought it had fallen behind this bench, so I was merely confirming. It was a simple coincidence that you saw me."
The leader moved closer, stomping a heavy boot onto the top of the bench. He leaned forward, staring at Hermes's mask.
"Kid," the man said, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it with a flick of fire magic from his fingertip. "Why would someone wearing a stupid mask lie to me? Don't screw with me."
He blew a thick cloud of smoke directly into Hermes's mask, forcing the young Don to lean back slightly.
"Sir," Hermes hesitated for a fraction of a second, but kept his posture firm. "It is not my intention to offend. I am telling the truth."
"Oh," the leader growled, slamming his foot down. The force splintered the wood, dividing the bench into two and leaving a jagged crack in the stone pavement beneath. "Man, you're really a moron. Do you think such a petty answer will make us believe you?"
"Sir," the young Don spoke calmly, maintaining his polite manner despite the destruction. "Please, it is just a misunderstanding. If you may—"
"—I said," the leader snarled, grabbing Hermes by the neck with a threatening gaze, "don't fuck with me, kid. Do you really think I won't see the lies behind that filthy, funny mask of yours?"
"Oh. Then so be it." Unsurprised by the escalation, Hermes narrowed his eyes, glaring back with cold disgust.
The leader tilted his head, momentarily confused by the sudden shift in the boy's aura. "What?"
"Get your hands... off me, you punk."
"Wha—What did you just say, kid? Oh, lads! This kid has some guts to defy me. He must be thinking he can deal with us alone," the leader mocked, repeatedly stabbing a finger toward Hermes's face.
Behind him, his men erupted into laughter, fueled by their leader's mockery of the lone boy.
"As I said, get your filthy hands off my neck. Or else, you will find yourself in hell," Hermes declared gravely. A terrifying neon glow flickered in his eyes, causing the leader to instinctively gulp.
"You stupid shit!" The leader, feeling his ego challenged, slapped the young Don across the face with a sneering grin. "Don't you know who I am? I'm Gladuce. The next leader of the Handdog gang. For your information, we control this district!"
He slapped Hermes twice more, the sound echoing in the quiet street. "Listen, listen, kid. Don't you realize your situation? Let me stick this into your narrow-minded head. You are nothing. Nothing but a peddler. An ant. In this world, you should bow your head and apologize. Or submit to me. Because you're facing the new boss of the most powerful gang in this place. So, you better show some respect!"
To show off his strength, Gladuce wound up and punched Hermes square in the stomach.
Yet, the victim didn't even flinch. Gladuce's eyes widened, and he swallowed hard as he realized the boy's body felt like solid granite—fortified with high-level magic. Since his prey didn't react with the expected pain, terror began to seep into the thug's heart. Hermes remained stiff and silent, looking at him with nothing but disgruntled boredom.
Fearing he would lose the respect of his men, Gladuce released Hermes's neck, trying to act as if he had already proven his superiority. He hid his trembling hand, which throbbed with pain from hitting what felt like an armored wall.
"I guess you're a worthless being who couldn't even hurt a fifteen-year-old child like me," Hermes said, calmly brushing the dust from his suit. "I imagine your hand is starting to feel the pain right about now."
"S-s-shut up!" Gladuce raged, swinging another powerful slap.
In his mind, Hermes wanted to say, 'My bad, please release me, sir.' But his mouth, now fully adapting to the Don's persona, spouted a death-flag phrase instead. Thanks to the Mask of Destruction, the slaps didn't hurt, and he felt a wave of gratitude toward his slime pet for fortifying his body into a living armored suit. Every assault felt like a mosquito bite.
Observing the bully's growing fear, Hermes decided it was time to move. 'Now that he mentions it... the Handdog gang? Lucky me.'
His lips curled into a pragmatic, crescent-moon smirk behind the mask. These were the very pests he had been searching for. He laughed internally—not just because he had found his targets, but because their luck had officially run out.
"Boy," Hermes placed a hand on Gladuce's chest and firmly pushed him back. He straightened his collar and cracked his neck. 'What a good time to exert my dominance.'
He swayed his hand as if pestering away a foul odor. "I think you need to brush your teeth."
The moment the words left his lips, Gladuce's own comrades burst into laughter.
"What? What did you just call me?! Hey, you two, quiet! Don't laugh!" the leader bickered, his face turning beet red.
"The bad air keeps pondering in my nose," Hermes stepped back, folding his arms. "I don't know who you are or what organization you're working for. Quite frankly, I don't give a fuck."
"Woah, you're bold to say that in front of us," the man with the bandana said, his humor fading. "Are we going to stay here and do nothing, sir?"
The thug on the right followed up, "He keeps insulting you. Let's just take this kid, even if our original aim was just the little girls."
Hermes's expression shifted to pure disgust. "So, you're walking together to search for little girls? You guys suck. You need a psychologist and a heavy dose of medicine to purify your brains."
"What the fuck? Insult us more and we're going to slice your throat!" Gladuce pulled a knife, casting fire magic to heat the blade until it glowed white-hot. "You're a dead man!"
"Man. I guess it would be a good idea to test my power here. Right, slime?"
<< Slime Fortification: Activate >> << Slime CQC Mastery Level 1: Activate >>
"The night was cold and you guys were too bold," Hermes simpered, shrugging his shoulders. "To think you've approached me without a single weapon in your hands until now... I approve of your innocent stupidity. I appreciate your assistance in being so remarkably dumb. I'm glad your time has finally come to an end tonight."
"Are... Are you mocking us?" Gladuce lunged, stabbing the heated knife forward.
The blade struck, but the leader's eyes bulged in horror. Instead of Hermes's blood, a fountain of red sprayed from the chest of his own comrade.
"Hmm? Oh, boy. You stabbed your own man. How stupid are you?" Hermes mocked, having used his new CQC mastery to redirect the strike.
"You piece of shit!" Gladuce fumed, his mind snapping. "You'll die for this!"
Hermes pulled back, keeping a pragmatic distance. "I didn't do anything. I just bent my body backward before you hit me."
"W-w-what are you standing there for like a stupid henchman? Kill that kid!" Gladuce screamed at the bandana man.
The thug cast ice magic, a jagged shard flying toward Hermes. Instinctively, the young Don's body swayed to the right, the projectile whistling past his ear.
The leader of the Handdog gang assaulted him in a desperate flurry of close-quarters combat. Left, right, elbow, strike, and knife thrusts. Left leg, right leg, uppercut, and fireball—and vice versa. The jagged ice attacks coming from the other side were still not enough to graze him. In this blur of violence, the thugs felt a cold realization dawning: every single attack was futile against the young Don.
"W-W-What the hell are you?" the leader gasped, noticing something was deeply wrong about the person he was attacking.
Hermes paused, the wind catching his red scarf. He removed his mask slightly, revealing only the right side of his face. As the moonlight hit him, his right eye flared with a sharp, neon scarlet glow—a gaze that felt like it was weighing the value of a man's life.
"Scarlet eyes. Black hair. A young man who appears to be in his teenage years... Don't tell me. I thought he was a wimpy kid. But the rumors are wrong." The bandana man stood stunned, shivering as he recognized that chilling profile.
"What the hell are you talking about?" the leader barked.
The bandana man turned to his boss, his voice trembling. "Sir, our gang is new in this village and some of our members don't know who he is. He is the sole survivor of the war that emerged here five years ago."
"What?"
"Not only that, but he is also the youngest man who succeeded in his family's criminal organization at the age of 10. Their family tradition was considered a taboo in this nation, since their leader was always a male heir, unlike the other clans who use females as their Donnas. Only those chosen by the Donnas could earn the title of Don. However, this family was so powerful they could rival them all. The new Don of that household is the fourth generation of this prime and the new owner of this territory. If I'm not mistaken, his name is none other than Hermes Archnemesis."
"What!?" the leader screamed in shock.
"Sssh," Hermes whispered, his index finger pressed to his lips in a gesture of cold authority. "You're too talkative. The people nearby would hear my name and tremble in fear. Don't shout; no one should know of my presence here. It would only lead to panic."
"What? I thought he was a jerk and an outclass moron. But to think he would show up like this... it can't be true."
The young Don laughed, the sound calm and mocking. "C'mon, stupid. Accept the truth. Your henchman has a brain after all. I am Hermes. Hermes Archnemesis. But since you know my true identity, it appears that one of you must die... and the lucky bastard shall be imprisoned for interrogation."
"What?" the two gasped in unison.
"Justin, my loyal servant. Take care of these lads for me. Choose the best man for special interrogation treatment, wisely."
Hermes flicked his finger. In an instant, the bandana man's head rolled onto the ground. Before the leader could move a muscle, he was pinned down by the crushing weight of the butler. Justin snapped his neck just enough to subdue him, knocking him unconscious with a single, precise strike.
"Forgive me, my Don. I didn't make it here in time," said Justin, kneeling on one knee. He looked up with a predator's respect. "Thankfully, I can see that you're unharmed while you talked with them."
He handed over the hat to his master. "Please wear this to shield your head from the cold tonight."
"Good," Hermes replied, settling the hat over his black hair. He commanded, "That person is our prize. Take him with us."
Justin hung his head. "Affirmative, my Don. Please, return to the vehicle before me. I will settle this one first before I reunite with you."
Hermes nodded without a word and left the scene, walking with the silent, observant stride of a king.
Inside his room later that night, Hermes removed his clothes and laid them on his bed. He moved to his closet and changed into his pajamas. Though Justin usually assisted him, Hermes had reluctantly refused, asking his butler instead to "entertain" their guest well.
The young Don washed his face in his personal comfort room and returned to his bed. After confirming he was totally alone, he sat down beside his discarded clothes.
"What's up? You may show up. There's nothing to be afraid of. During that time you became my savior and my aide." He placed his hand on top of his sleeves and gently rubbed the fabric. "Why don't you materialize yourself so we can talk? I've read a lot of books about your existence, so there's no point in denying it. There's no norm—that is why I won't balk."
The clothes slowly deformed, liquefying and transforming into a huge, black, slimy oblong creature. It had no mouth or ears, but it could feel and read the heart of the man standing before it.
"So," the young Don scanned the creature, a grin forming behind his tired eyes. "It wasn't a dream, huh? You're truly a splendid and magnificent creature. I don't know if you can see me, but the only thing I can say is..." he rubbed the top of its head again, "...well done, slime. You're a very useful subject in this timeline. It's been three days, but I appreciate your service. Unlike this demon box, I still don't know why it didn't work back then."
"You're welcome, master," said the slime.
The creature jumped into his lap and rubbed its body against his stomach. Hermes, momentarily confused by the affection, grinned at the feeling.
"Now, how did you get so close to me? I don't even know how you managed to hang around without my notice. The thing you did about eating my clothes is unforgivable, however. But you saved me, and that's good compensation. I'll let it slide for tonight."
"As I told you before, you're my master. No matter where you are, I'll always find you. I'm glad to be united with you." The slime rubbed its head against him twice more.
Hermes simpered and petted its head. "No matter what, huh? Well, I've heard that from you for the last three days, so I still don't know how to handle something like you. Forgive me if this is the only reward I can give."
"There's no need to thank me. You're my life and soul, so I should be the one to be grateful. I won't let anyone hurt you anymore. That's my oath for eternity!" The slime jumped down and bowed in its own way to show its utmost respect.
"We'll see about that," Hermes said, smiling with the calm confidence of a Don.