The Marvel Universe was always a vast, dangerous, and chaotic place.
And after being stitched together with countless other worlds — some from movies even Ryan could barely recall — it had become even more unpredictable.
In such a world, any rising power that didn't have its own trump cards or secret weapons would eventually be swallowed whole.
Especially in the criminal underworld, where no one truly knew what horrors lurked beneath the surface.
To put it bluntly — the underworld here wasn't just crime and drugs.
It was a shadow world, hidden beneath modern civilization.
Before Ryan's so-called grandfather arrived in America, the Sullivan Family had ruled New York City's funeral business — not just with influence, but with necromancy.
They could summon Ghouls, creatures born from dark rituals, and used them to control the city's corpse trade.
When Ryan's grandfather arrived, he usurped the Sullivans' place.
The old man brought with him a secret Eastern art — corpse driving and corpse refining — and found necromancy to be crude by comparison.
But after decades of lax management, their subordinate, the Cent Family, somehow managed to obtain two Ghouls of their own. Over time, they secretly cultivated more and started building their own faction.
If Ryan hadn't arrived when he did, the Cent Family might've completely replaced the Sullivans.
So, Ryan knew exactly what he was dealing with.
After listening to Ryan's calm explanation, Frank's face turned serious.
He had seen his share of horrors in the U.S. military, but he'd never encountered anything like this.
He was a man who had fought terrorists, not monsters.
Those Ghouls they'd faced earlier — their strength and speed were at least three times that of a human, and their regeneration was downright unnatural.
Frank wasn't stupid; he'd done the math. With enough ammo and prep time, he could probably take out three or five of them. Any more, and even a tank might not save him.
But Ryan had just called them "cannon fodder."
That thought alone shook Frank to his core.
He had spent his life mastering weapons and tactics — but deep down, a fire was lit.
If such things existed in this world… then maybe, just maybe, he could wield that kind of power too.
Thinking that, Frank took off the White Bone Bead hanging around his neck.
"Boss," he said, half hesitant, half curious, "this thing… is it your pet? Or some kinda summon?"
Ryan almost laughed. This barbarian really needed subtitles.
Still, he explained patiently, "That is a Withered Bone Demon — a combination of Magical Artifact and Divine Ability, refined by me through a secret method."
Frank blinked. "Uh…"
Ryan sighed and said, "Fine. Think of it like a smart AI drone — but one you wear around your neck. It can protect you."
"Tonight, you wiped out the Cent Family — that counts as a major contribution. Consider it my gift."
Frank's eyes lit up like a kid at Christmas. Under Owen's envious stare, he re-hung the bead proudly around his neck and went back to sipping tea.
It still tasted awful, but damn if it didn't feel good afterward.
Frank had the discipline of a soldier. Once he got the answers he wanted, he shut up.
He knew that if he wanted more — more power, more trust — he'd have to earn it.
A soldier's duty was simple: obey, act, and deliver results.
Ryan noticed this shift and nodded to himself.
"Frank," he said, "you're now the Action Guard Captain of the Sullivan Family, and the Security Director of Presbyterian Hospital. Take over your post immediately and start recruiting a team that meets my standards."
Frank stood straight. "Yes, Boss. How many people do you want?"
"For now, two hundred. All elites."
Ryan's eyes gleamed. "Later, we'll establish our own training base. I don't want to rely on outsiders forever."
"Understood," Frank replied, giving a crisp nod.
And just like that, Ryan had completely subdued Frank Castle — a loyal, battle-hardened soldier now bound to his cause.
Once business with Frank was done, Ryan turned to Owen.
"Owen, what about the spoils from tonight's operation?"
Owen immediately opened his backpack and pulled out a thick folder.
"Boss, here's the Osborn stock authorization letter you requested. The Cent Family owned 2.3% of Osborn's shares. After cleanup, they'll be ready to transfer under your name."
He continued, "The Cent Family also ran twelve bars, three clubs, and one casino across New York City. We've seized their cash, diamonds, and distribution channels. The cleanup crew is already processing everything."
Ryan nodded, satisfied.
But then Owen hesitated, his voice dropping. "However… there's one problem."
Ryan's gaze sharpened. "Speak."
"It's about the deal at Polo Park tonight," Owen said nervously.
"Russian Mafia?" Ryan asked, his tone unreadable.
Owen shook his head. "No, the Russians were just the buyers. The deal didn't go through, and after tonight, they won't pick a fight over a few corpses. The real issue is the shipment — worth over two hundred million. The supplier was the Irish Mob."
Ryan frowned. "And?"
"Howard Cent was moving that shipment for them," Owen continued. "And everyone in Hell's Kitchen knows the Irish Mob are Kingpin's dogs. Word is, they'd lick his shoes if he asked. Once they realize we've taken the goods, they'll come looking for payback."
For a moment, the air in the Dao field turned icy cold.
A sharp glint flashed in Ryan's eyes as he said calmly — but with killing intent beneath his voice:
"Then let them come."
He stood, his tone like steel.
"We'll hit back hard — and make sure Kingpin and his mutts learn who their Daddy really is."