Chapter 19: Chaos in Chicago (5) This City Needs a Cleansing

Logan’s expression was indescribably complex upon hearing the terrifying rumors circulating in the underworld.

Good heavens, I didn’t even know I had countless tentacles, and that I specifically fed on souls!

To be fair, the American people are quite formidable when it comes to superstition.

But now he understood why the smuggling of liquor in Chicago had surged and why the city was engulfed in endless skirmishes.

In fact, it was all his doing.

The fire at the illicit distilleries, incited by Al Capone, shattered Chicago’s already fragile liquor supply balance.

With the sudden shortage of local bootleg liquor, prices naturally soared.

On the other hand, Father Edward was quite cunning.

He launched waves of informants and uncovered numerous clandestine distilleries engaged solely in secondary processing and repackaging, further driving prices sky-high.

While a 300% profit margin would be enough to choke any capitalist, bootleg liquor now yielded profits as high as 1,000%, enough to compel gangs to seek new routes.

Those with some ability began organizing smuggling operations, bringing whiskey from Canada into Chicago.

Those of moderate means focused on preying upon existing smuggling groups, scheming black-on-black raids.

Those utterly powerless could only scavenge for scraps within Chicago itself.

The problem now was that “Han Solo” had become a terrifying legend, forcing the first two groups to compete locally as well.

As a result, Chicago’s urban core descended further into chaos.

Underground bars were frequently looted, and the illicit liquor seized was often stolen again before it could be transported away.

Gunfights were no longer confined to the night; some streets erupted into firefights in broad daylight, leaving variable numbers of corpses and terror-stricken citizens.

Ordinary citizens were baffled: wasn’t there a crackdown on bootlegging and gangs underway? Why was the chaos only worsening?

The urgency of the citizens naturally became the urgency of The Sun.

On the first day, The Sun’s headline read, “Gang Wars Spill Rivers of Blood; Moral Decay Threatens Nation,” portraying an impending collapse as if the sky were falling and buildings crumbling.

On the second day, the headline shifted to, “Puritans Are the War’s Spark,” bluntly accusing Prohibition as the root cause of citywide violence and condemning Father Edward and other Prohibition advocates as culprits.

By the third day, the headline declared, “Chicago Is Dying,” a scathing denunciation of the gang warfare tearing the city apart.

Don’t say it’s flip-flopping—just say it’s catering to the people’s urgent concerns. Isn’t it classic?

“Han Solo” told Al Capone, “It’s time to heed the people’s urgency!”

After delivering the largest shipment of whiskey ever, “Han Solo” solemnly said to Al Capone, “I smell the ubiquitous discontent in this city!”

“This kind of low-level, tasteless chaos, stained with blood over mere profit struggles, will only let this city rot and decay.”

“This town needs an enema!”

“Enema...” Al Capone murmured, repeating the word.

“Yes, my Chosen One. At this moment, this city is crying out for a higher order of villain, one who can bring true order!”

A shadow, a figure known as the Joker, flickered behind “Han Solo.” “And you will give it to them!”

“Go forth and wash away this maggot-ridden, petty chaos, and establish a pure and efficient order.”

“Dark forces will be with you, The Chosen One!”

Had even the venerable elders decided it was time to unleash their hands?

Excellent.

A spark of excited madness ignited in Al Capone’s eyes.

...

“Han Solo” then sent a large batch of whiskey to Donald—accompanied by a pile of gold coins—arriving fully provisioned to “supervise.”

“The Chosen One, this city deserves a higher-level dark lord. You should step up!”

“May the dark forces be with you!”

Donald suppressed a smile, nodding solemnly.

I just consolidated the Irish gang, and now the opportunity to expand has come. What do you mean, Chosen One? (leans back tactically)

The dual grinding wheels began to turn!

The various gangs embroiled in Chicago’s chaos suddenly realized that two great powers were madly trying to swallow them up.

Al Capone was even more aggressive.

Ignoring Johnny’s lingering influence, he directly attacked smaller factions within the Mafia.

He purged those unwilling to join him, installed loyalists, and immediately expanded the bootleg liquor business in those territories.

Some people caught on quickly—he had no distilleries of his own, no known smuggling channels, yet he could supply an endless stream of illicit liquor.

And it was all authentic Canadian whiskey.

So was he holding a pass from the “Alcoholic Monster,” or was he the “Alcoholic Monster” himself?

One leader bluntly asked Al Capone, who perfectly mimicked “Han Solo’s” inscrutable demeanor: “God has always been with me!”

No need to guess—Al Capone knew immediately upon hearing the terrifying rumors that this was the work of the Dark Elder.

He even felt a secret pride.

You worthless riffraff, unfit for the stage, don’t even have the qualifications to meet the Elder, so all you can do is throw out wild guesses.

Hmm, Donald felt the same pride.

By comparison, Donald appeared more human.

He too conquered weaker gangs in surrounding areas, selected promising young men to absorb into the Irish gang, and likewise expanded the local illicit liquor trade.

Again, pure Canadian whiskey.

When asked with either fear or caution about the “Alcoholic Monster,” Donald usually laughed heartily.

“I have nothing to do with any monster, and I’m not afraid—I am chosen... a believer under divine protection!”

People wondered why the two of them were so synchronized.

Launching their expansion wars simultaneously, both quietly securing abundant liquor supplies, both acting as if backed by powerful forces!

Oh, and they both insisted on selling only genuine liquor, strictly forbidding watered-down or inferior products.

No one would believe they weren’t allied.

Al Capone neither confirmed nor denied.

But he knew well.

Surely The Sun had manipulated the masses and attracted the favor of dark forces, thereby granting the Irishman a connection to the Elder.

No problem—he was the Chosen One, the ultimate victor.

Donald was a bit perplexed.

Only now did he notice how synchronized he was with the Italian.

Upon closer scrutiny, their behaviors were nearly indistinguishable.

But he was the Chosen One—what was the Italian? There couldn’t be two Chosen Ones, could there?

Donald felt inexplicably wronged.

He just wanted to find the master and ask.

I’ve been so loyal to you—have you secretly changed your heart?

...