Chapter 101: The Five-Star Chef, Tahm Kench
Slaughter Docks, Wharf Plaza.
"These rats really know how to hold a grudge!"
Duke's understanding of Bilgewater's weird and water-born ecosystem deepened further as he spotted several dock-breed rats stirring in the shadows.
These freakish, furless rats would never pass up a meal.
Earlier, just the faint smell of blood on Olaf was enough to send them swarming like sharks in a feeding frenzy. If someone were to toss them a bone or a bloody hunk of meat, they'd likely go into a rabid frenzy fighting over it.
Still, these dock rats weren't even worth taking seriously. At least Zaun had Twitch, the plague rat, to give its vermin some kind of reputation. Bilgewater's dock rats? They were just the lowest-tier scavengers on the local food chain.
Duke paused mid-wander with Neeko at his side, weaving aimlessly through the fishy chaos of the wharf market. As a staunch vegetarian, Neeko was visibly uncomfortable in this blood-reeking, gore-slicked environment. Her expression screamed, "I'd rather fake my death than stay here one more second."
And knowing Neeko, she actually could do that.
Her death feint wasn't an act. She could shut down her breathing, heartbeat, everything. A deeply ingrained self-defense mechanism.
But what really made Duke stop wasn't Neeko's disgust, it was the scene in front of them.
A group of dockworkers, shouting in unison, were hauling in a colossal eel-like sea beast from a whaling ship. It must have been close to a hundred meters long. And yet the slaughter rig ahead was far bigger, massive enough to process monsters like this with ease.
Harpoons still pierced its back. Blood oozed from the wounds in slow, wet streams as the creature was dragged onto what looked like a rotating vertical rack, not unlike a giant pasta roller.
In Bilgewater, it had a proper name: Serpent-Spindle Pillar, a horrifyingly massive structure riddled with long iron spikes, each three to five meters in length, designed to impale and secure even the most stubborn of sea beasts.
Beneath the rig was a channel that connected directly to the ocean. Flooding this with seawater created enough buoyancy to help the haulers maneuver the leviathan into place, a clever bit of crude hydrodynamics.
Without it, dragging something this size purely by manpower would be impossible, unless you had Galio lending a hand. Compared to the living statue of Demacia, even hundred-meter beasts were like stuffed toys.
The haulers hooked a massive gaff into the sea beast's jaw and began hoisting it onto the rig. Below, men turned the giant wheel, tightening chains and winding the monster up the spiked pillar inch by inch.
The goal? Bleed it dry.
Soon, a butcher appeared, his face wrapped in grease-soaked cloth. He dragged a massive cleaver behind him while pushing a wooden ladder to the rig.
He climbed up and, without hesitation, slit the beast's throat.
A waterfall of blood poured into the channel below. What had moments ago been a buoyancy tank now doubled as a bleeding trough, an efficient, reusable system.
The overwhelming stench of blood was enough to scatter even the most hardened bystanders.
The butchers, already strapped into their iron safety chains, leapt down onto the rig like window washers, knives in hand, and began the grisly work of skinning the carcass. Stripped flesh was tossed down to nearby tents for rough processing.
"No wonder Pyke went after these bastards," Duke muttered, pulling Neeko away from the site. She looked one second away from going catatonic. "He probably won't stop until every last one of them is dead."
Bilgewater's people had turned sea monsters into livestock, and this wasn't a recent thing. You didn't build this kind of assembly line execution overnight.
It must've taken years of experimentation, trial and error, before settling on the current method, perfecting every detail.
No wonder the locals say, "No coin made at the Slaughter Docks is clean."
And now that he'd seen it for himself, Duke wholeheartedly agreed.
Still, that was someone else's business.
His job now was to deal with the Slaughterhouse Gang. He was waiting for news from Miss Fortune's people. Once they located those butchers, he'd unleash Pride, clean house, and go grab dinner.
So, Duke continued strolling the docks with Neeko in tow, killing time.
Not long after, a young boy with nervous eyes and a still-soft face ran up to them. He glanced at Duke's masked face, unsure.
"Are you... Duke Sanchez?"
"I am."
Duke gave him a gentle smile. "You found them?"
"They're all holed up in the slaughterhouse warehouse. Haven't come out all day. We don't know what they're doing."
"The slaughterhouse, huh?"
Duke raised a brow.
The Slaughterhouse Gang was just a bunch of butchers who moonlighted as criminals. By day, dockworkers and sea beast flayers; by night, they carried cleavers and hunted prey of the human kind.
A mid-level menace at Wharf Plaza.
Miss Fortune had her hands full consolidating the other factions, so she passed this side quest off to Duke.
After all, the guy spent all day cooped up in his room or brooding at the window. It was about time he got some exercise.
Better than back in Piltover, where he'd vanish into his lab for days on end, dead to the world.
Duke followed the boy through winding alleys, eventually arriving at a decrepit warehouse on the very edge of the docks, near the anchorage and mudflats.
The walls were caked in bloodstains that refused to wash off. The cracked floor was stained red.
"They're inside, sir!"
Duke flipped a silver Sea Serpent coin to the boy. "You're done here. Go home and eat."
"Thank you, sir!"
The boy caught the coin, swiftly palmed it, and ran off into the shadows.
"A sharp little brat," Duke muttered. "But calmer than Zaunite street rats."
Neeko was still gagging at the smell, eyes rolled back. Duke led her to the warehouse's front door.
Just as he approached, a guttural, rage-filled scream burst out from within.
"No!!"
Then, silence.
Duke frowned. "Looks like someone beat me to it."
He gave Pride the signal.
The mech hissed as steam vents flared, moving to pry open the door. But before it could, Neeko, until now a traumatized mess, suddenly perked up. With a shout, she vaulted onto Pride's head, arms akimbo, tail swaying to balance.
"Who dares not fear Neeko now?!"
Pride gave her a side-eye, snorted steam in annoyance, then, CRASH, ripped the warehouse doors apart with one swipe.
It stomped forward, iron steps thudding heavily.
Inside was dim and industrial. Hooks hung from the ceiling like iron teeth. Seawater channels ran through the center, now clogged and reeking.
Abandoned tools lay everywhere. The sand below was permanently stained red.
Duke motioned for Pride to hold position, then approached the butcher's shack, pulling out a grenade as he crept closer.
He peeked behind the curtain.
There, atop a table piled high with Gold Sea Serpent coins, two butchers in bloodstained aprons were locked in a deadly game of cards.
Their hands trembled. Their eyes burned with obsession. At their feet were multiple corpses, cleavers still slick with blood.
And across from them, smiling like a gourmand before a feast, sat a grotesquely obese man in tattered finery.
Something wasn't right.
Even in Bilgewater, no one plays cards in a slaughterhouse shack like this.
And that mountain of gold?
Way too much.
Duke tapped the grenade rhythmically and pulled out a vial containing the Eye of a God. As it aligned with his own left eye, the illusion shattered.
The "man" at the table was no man at all, he was a fat catfish demon with beady eyes, a gentleman's top hat, and a toothy grin stretching ear to gill.
Two long whiskers curled around his face. One wore a golden ring.
His clothes were stitched from multiple coats to fit his bloated form. His stubby arms couldn't even meet in front of his chest.
"Well, well," the demon said cheerily. "A new guest?"
He tossed a handful of coins.
"Care to join us? The house always wins."
Duke said nothing, staring through the divine lens in his eye.
Tahm Kench.
Bilgewater's Four Great Terrors. Of the three Duke had encountered so far, Tahm was the most insidious.
Play cards with Tahm?
Not if you valued your soul.
The two butchers, once just thugs, were now lost to madness. Their faces twisted, eyes bloodshot, hands shaking as they clutched their cards. One clenched his teeth so hard it sounded like cracking bones.
They'd fallen too deep.
One of them had a royal flush. He glanced at his pile of chips, then at his rival, who still had a hefty stack.
Tension thickened.
"Give me your coins! If you do, I can win it all!" one growled, cleaver in hand.
"Why don't you give me yours?" the other snarled back. "My hand's just as good!"
Tahm Kench's smile widened.
He could feel their desperation, their greed swelling like ripe fruit.
This was his favorite moment, when hopeless gamblers began turning on each other.
He didn't need to lift a fin. Just a few words, a twitch of suggestion, and they'd rip each other apart for a handful of imaginary winnings.
Whoever survived... would be his dinner.
Now, however, his gaze shifted to Duke standing at the entrance.
"Hm... maybe tonight I'll have two courses," he mused.
"An appetizer... and a full meal."
End of chapter...
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