A short while later, the orders came through, the one, eyed boss wanted to see Slade.
One of the thugs unlocked the cage and gestured for Slade to step out.
The remaining captives watched with complex expressions. They didn't know whether Slade's departure would bring good or bad fortune, but it certainly meant their fates were changing.
"Um... can I come with you?" The girl who had helped Slade earlier timidly spoke up, her eyes filled with hope that he might take her with him.
The others also looked to Slade, hoping for the same.
Slade looked at the girl, her desperate eyes pleading for salvation, but remained silent.
He, too, was a caged bird; how could he save others when he could hardly save himself?
As Slade walked away without a word, the girl's hopeful expression turned to despair, while the others looked on with smug satisfaction.
"See? Another case of good deeds going unpunished!" they thought.
Yellow Teeth escorted Slade out, his hands lingering a bit too long on his exposed skin, sending a chill down Slade's spine.
The few dozen meters they crossed felt like an eternity to Slade, his mind screaming:
"Scum! You've sealed your own fate!"
"I swear, if I ever get the chance, I'll make you pay for this!"
Soon, they arrived at a spacious room. Yellow Teeth seemed to calm down slightly and pushed Slade forward with a more serious expression.
At the head of the room sat a burly, middle, aged man with a black eyepatch covering his left eye. His right arm was wrapped around a blonde woman, his large left hand roaming over her body.
The woman looked at him with a hint of pleasure, offering a wooden goblet of wine to the one, eyed man.
The one, eyed man took a sip from the cup, his single remaining eye narrowing as he stared at Slade, his gaze both calculating and dangerous.
This man was the leader of the Blood Hand Gang, One, Eyed Jack.
In front of him was a rough wooden table stacked with a messy assortment of food: rum, roast chicken, stew, vegetable soup, mashed potatoes… the usual white, trash feast.
"Kid," One, Eyed Jack's voice was deep and gravelly, "You're the one who said you could help me make money? And you even know about lending?"
"Yes, boss, I used to be an apprentice accountant," Slade replied, standing as tall as he could, showing no hint of fear. "My master even praised my skills."
Slade pointed to the pile of account books the accountant was holding.
"I can help you sort these out. If I can't, you can sell me to the Nightingale Brothel."
One, Eyed Jack narrowed his eye, his expression unreadable. He waved his hand lazily.
The thin accountant beside him immediately pushed the most disorganized and chaotic account book toward Slade, a look of disdain crossing his face.
This was a set of deliberately falsified accounts, full of confusion and disorder. If Slade could straighten them out in no time, the accountant would eat the book on the spot!
Slade picked up the account book and quickly flipped through its pages.
The income and expenses were scrawled in a crooked, messy handwriting, creating a chaotic jumble of numbers and symbols.
It was only then that Slade realized, with some embarrassment, that he couldn't understand a single word of the script!
Feeling helpless, he turned to the accountant beside him for assistance.
"Sir, could you please explain what these words mean?"
Illiterate?
The accountant's lips curled into a mocking smile.
A clever but inexperienced young man, it seemed.
Such naïveté would only lead to his downfall.
Bang!!
A loud crash echoed from behind, followed by the clatter of broken utensils.
"Kid, you dare to play me for a fool? You're asking for trouble!"
Slade turned to find One, Eyed Jack slamming his wine cup onto the wooden table, sending the food flying in all directions.
Unfazed, Slade calmly replied,
"Boss, I'm not lying to you. It's just that the writing here is different from what we use in my hometown. Our methods are simpler."
"No need for a word, for, word translation. Just tell me the commonly used numbers and income/expenses."
One, Eyed Jack shot a sharp glance at the accountant.
"I'll give you one more chance. If I find out you're trying to trick me, you won't be seeing the Nightingale Brothel again. From now on, you'll be serving the gang's brothers!"
The accountant, understanding the gravity of the situation, didn't waste any time. He quickly began explaining a few pages to Slade.
But Slade wasn't just memorizing them. As the accountant explained, and under the watchful eyes of One, Eyed Jack and the accountant, Slade walked over to the fireplace and picked up a small piece of charred charcoal.
He then began to trace the characters on the smooth stone floor, matching them one by one with the English letters the accountant had explained, ensuring there was no confusion.
One, Eyed Jack's suspicion slowly began to ease. The strange characters Slade wrote weren't random; they were clearly from another country.
With so many nations on the continent, it was anyone's guess which one Slade had come from.
As the accountant finished explaining the first few pages, Slade had a better grasp of the accounts and set to work.
He quickly drew a simple table, listing the items horizontally and vertically.
Then, based on the items and numbers in the ledger, he began to "reconstruct" the accounts.
Slade used Arabic numerals and simple arithmetic, addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division, occasionally mixing in a few units from the foreign script he'd just "learned."
On Earth, this was nothing more than elementary school, level math. But to the thugs around him, who struggled with even two, digit addition, it seemed nothing short of miraculous.
Slade's hands moved quickly, the charcoal scraping against the stone with a soft, rhythmic sound.
One by one, clear, concise symbols appeared, as he swiftly categorized and calculated the chaotic accounts.
But as Slade worked, he noticed the accountant's face growing paler by the second, until it was ashen white.
Oh no! I've signed my own death warrant!
"…Here, there's a discrepancy of five gold coins for weapon purchases."
"Here, the protection money for the East District tavern was understated three times, totaling seventeen silver coins…"
"And here…"
Slade continued pointing out the discrepancies with a calm, methodical tone as he wrote.
As each issue was revealed, the atmosphere in the room began to shift.
Although the thugs couldn't fully understand the details, they could tell that something was seriously off, especially from the problems Slade pointed out.
It seemed... connected to the vice, leader, Ghost Fox?
One, Eyed Jack's single eye lit up, his body leaning forward, clearly intrigued by what Slade was uncovering.
Slade finally finished going through the accounts and, with a calm but firm voice, announced, "In total, this ledger has either overstated or understated 12 gold coins, 38 silver coins, and 77 copper coins."
"And that doesn't even account for the 'inflated' purchases," he added, his tone unwavering.
When he revealed the final figures, the thin accountant beside him was already pale, trembling uncontrollably.
It was over.
The accountant opened his mouth to offer an explanation, but before he could speak, One, Eyed Wolf slammed his hand down on the table, sending a shockwave through the room.
Everyone froze as they saw the intense fire in One, Eyed Wolf's gaze.
"Good! Very good!" he exclaimed, his voice dripping with approval.
A sinister smile curled across One, Eyed Wolf's face.
"Boy, what's your name?"
"Slade."
"From now on, you'll take his place." One, Eyed Wolf pointed to the ashen, faced accountant.
"I'll give you a month to fix all these ledgers for me."
"If you can really help me make money, you'll be the 'Abacus Snake' of my Blood Hand Gang."
"If not…" He let the threat hang in the air, a wicked sneer tugging at the corners of his mouth.
One, Eyed Wolf had no intention of directly attacking the vice, leader, Ghost Fox, at least not yet. He needed time to investigate the shady dealings and uncover the hidden profits Ghost Fox had been amassing behind his back all these years.
The other thugs in the room exchanged looks, their expressions filled with envy as they watched the gang leader personally bestow a title on Slade.
Slade bowed his head slightly, showing gratitude, but his eyes gleamed coldly as he hid his true feelings.
"Abacus Snake? That's a lowly title," he thought to himself.
"But... I'll take it."