The veil of night was beginning to fall over the backstreets of the port city, Malevia. A wind carrying the scent of the tide licked the cobblestones, and the orange glow of streetlights wavered dimly in the puddles of the alleys. Names never spoken in the surface world held a singular meaning in this city.

—The Rosnera Family.

Holding the rights to the port, the taverns, the gambling dens, the red-light districts, and the logistics. As the organization that moved the city's underside, the name had been rooted there since ancient times.

The boss of the organization, Reeves. People in the streets call him the "Lord of Ashes."

A man who wears a gentle smile and never breaks his polite demeanor toward anyone. However, those who have tried to peer behind that smile usually meet a grim end.

It wasn't the simple case of "the kindest people are the scariest when angry"—it was something deeper, something that must not be touched. That was what this man possessed.

That night, Reeves sat at his desk in his office, looking over documents. An ashtray with several cigarette butts sat at the edge of the desk. Beside him stood his closest confidant, Guest.