Chapter 154

Chapter 154
Fiona's POV

The Underground had no daylight, only eternal dimness and a mustiness that never dissipated.

But these past few days, the air here seemed even more stifling than usual.

"We claimed this territory first! This sewage pipe's hot water—why should we give you half of it?"

"Bullshit! When the pipe broke yesterday, who risked getting scalded to fix it? Now you're saying this? You've got some nerve!"

The shouting exploded through the narrow passageway, accompanied by the harsh clang of metal and beast-like growls.

I stood atop an abandoned pipe, coldly watching the two groups grappling below.

Clearly, they were fighting over this small patch of ground near the heat source, a relatively dry place to shelter. The conflict had reached a breaking point.

This was the Underground's normal state.

No rules, no laws—only the most primitive law of the jungle.

I sighed and leaped down from the pipe.

The moment I landed, I deliberately released a trace of my golden wolf bloodline's pressure.

Though only a trace, for these bottom-dwellers with their diluted mixed blood, it was like a tremor from the depths of their souls.

"Thud!"

I landed heavily between the two groups, splashing mud everywhere.

The arguing ceased abruptly.

Everyone stared at me in terror, that suppression from bloodline hierarchy triggering their instinct to kneel.

"Had enough?"

I surveyed the crowd, my voice quiet but clearly reaching every ear. "If you're done, then stop."

The leader on the left was a burly man with a brutal face. Though he feared my pressure, he clearly didn't want to give up the prize he'd nearly claimed. To grow so well-fed in this environment, I was certain he believed his fists made the rules.

But since I'd come here, those rules needed changing.

"Miss Sterling..." He wheezed, glaring viciously at the opposite side. "We claimed this place first. We only let them stay out of pity, gave them a small corner. Now they've brought their whole families, crowded out all our neighbors!"

"This was unclaimed territory," a tall, gaunt man shrieked from the other side. "We spent so much time rebuilding the walls and fences! We even refitted the hot water system!"

"So if I take a shit on your bed, does that make it my territory? Looks like you're asking for a beating, you scrawny chicken-neck!"

"Enough!"

Seeing the conflict escalate, I cut them off coldly. "If there's a dispute, it means the rules here were wrong to begin with. You don't want to keep cycling through these pointless fights, do you?"

"So what do you suggest?"

The burly man glared at me.

"This area will be temporarily managed by your family." I pointed at the sewage outlet. "But in exchange, you must maintain this pipe's flow and provide rationed hot water daily to the elderly, weak, sick, and disabled nearby. As for you—"

I turned to the gaunt man's group. "You have the right to live here, but you must submit to their management and handle patrols and security for this area. Of course—"

I looked back at the burly man. "In three months, I'll conduct a community survey. If you're found unfit for the job, we'll hold new elections for a management committee. Now, can you put down your fists and give each other a hug?"

The two groups exchanged glances. The air froze for several seconds.

The burly man grunted first, jamming his iron rod back into his belt and extending a calloused palm to the other side. "You're lucky. Just keep your living habits in check and don't cause us trouble!"

The gaunt man hesitated, then shook hands. Their movements were as stiff as two rusted iron plates grinding together, but at least they'd reached a temporary truce.

"Remember—three months." I clapped my hands. "Now go fix that fence. I want to see order restored here before dinner."

"Very nicely handled, Fiona. I expected bloodshed before this dispute could be settled."

It was Professor Claremont's voice. He approached from behind, looking at me with approval.

I watched the crowd hauling building materials and said quietly, "Violence only creates temporary obedience. The Underground doesn't lack fists—it lacks hope."

I pointed to a woman in the distance distributing bread to children. "See Mrs. Martha? Her husband died in last winter's heating pipe explosion. But you know what? The explosion happened because the upper district's steam valve was deliberately locked to prevent filthy mixed-bloods from stealing hot water."

The professor sighed. "That's the reality mixed-blood werewolves most commonly face."

"What's more terrifying is that Mrs. Martha believes it herself," I interrupted. "She teaches her children to be docile, says we're naturally meant to live in gutters. That bone-deep inferiority is more fearsome than any chains."

In the twilight-like lamplight, several children were drawing crooked grids in the mud with sticks.

One little girl suddenly looked up, her filthy face bright with shining eyes. "Fiona! Can we go to schools on the surface? Everyone says mixed-bloods don't deserve to learn writing..."

I crouched down to meet her eyes. "Even if we don't return to the surface right away, there will be schools here. Next month, people will come teach you to read. Not just writing—arithmetic, history, and alchemical principles too."

The children gasped in disbelief. The professor grabbed my arm and pulled me aside. "Fiona, promising next month is too hasty. We need to take this step by step. You must understand, change here doesn't happen overnight. We need—"

"Money?"

I smiled slightly. "What a coincidence. I have it."

Just then, I heard the clang of metal at the alley corner, followed by panicked footsteps.

"Stop!"

When I turned, I only caught a glimpse of a thin figure flashing past. Professor Claremont started to give chase, but I pressed his shoulder.

"Let me! Physical work should be left to the young!"

My golden wolf bloodline granted me speed far beyond ordinary people.

In a few bounds up a rusted ladder, several leaps through the labyrinth of pipes, I had the thief cornered in a dead end.

It was a youth of about sixteen or seventeen. His jackal mixed-blood features were especially pronounced—a sharp, thin face, amber vertical pupils, and those slightly trembling pointed ears. His back pressed against the wall, he still clutched half a loaf of black bread stolen from the market.

When I grabbed his wrist, a small animal-like whimper escaped his throat.

I approached slowly, smelling the heavy scent of blood on him. His right leg bore a fresh wound—it looked like he'd been cut by sheet metal during his escape.

"What's your name?"

I extended my hand.

He stared warily at my fingertips, then suddenly bared his teeth. "Get away!"