Chapter 15: "Made by Shelby"

Chapter 15: "Made by Shelby"

"In my business, there are only two kinds of people."

"Shelbys, or Peaky Blinders."

Leon watched Borgin with a flicker of interest, waiting for his response.

In this day and age, what was the most valuable commodity?

Talent.

A man like Borgin, with his encyclopedic knowledge of dark artifacts and his long experience dealing with every corner of the underworld, was a rare and valuable talent indeed. And the Peaky Blinders were in desperate need of such talent.

"The Peaky... Blinders?" Borgin repeated the name hesitantly, his voice dropping to a timid whisper. "Is that... like the Death Eaters of... He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

Leon's brow furrowed in displeasure.

Voldemort's mastery of the Dark Arts was, without question, supreme. But his skills as a leader were abysmal. Utterly incompetent, in fact.

In contrast, Leon held a far greater admiration for another infamous wizard: Grindelwald.

Voldemort ruled his followers through sheer power, demanding servitude through personal might. Grindelwald, on the other hand, united his followers through an ideology, a shared vision they strove to realize together.

The difference in quality was plain to see.

"Do not insult my organization by comparing it to that rabble," Leon's voice was stern. "Voldemort rules his servants through fear. The Peaky Blinders inspire pride through glory."

"No! Please don't say the name!" Borgin yelped as if someone had stamped on his tail, babbling incoherently as he tried to stop Leon.

A look of disdain crossed Leon's face, but seeing that Borgin's breathing was becoming ragged, he fell silent.

After a moment, once Borgin had calmed from his terror of the Dark Lord, he seemed to process what had just happened. He looked at Mr. Shelby with an expression of pure astonishment.

The young master's reaction to the name 'Voldemort' was not normal.

It wasn't the hatred of a righteous wizard, nor was it the terror of an ordinary one. And it certainly wasn't the崇拜 of a Dark Wizard.

It was... contempt.

A shiver of nervous excitement ran down Borgin's spine. He stared into Leon's eyes and was suddenly overcome with the feeling that this very moment would determine the entire course of his future. Magic is a strange thing, and wizards often have premonitions about their own lives. Borgin trusted this feeling implicitly.

He ran his hands through his greasy hair, smearing them with grime.

After a long, agonizing moment, he made his decision.

He placed both hands on the counter, leaned forward, and looked at Leon, his voice trembling. "Mr. Shelby, I am at your service!"

Leon extended his hand, his own voice steady and deep.

"For the glory of the Peaky Blinders."

Borgin excitedly reached out his own hand, but then froze, realizing it was coated in grease from his hair. He made to wipe it on his robes.

But the noble Mr. Shelby's movement was firm and deliberate. He reached further across the counter and took Borgin's hand in a firm grip, showing not a hint of disgust.

"A brother of the Peaky Blinders does not care for such things."

"Welcome to the company, Borgin."

Borgin was stunned. He stared dumbly at Leon, a lump forming in his throat.

Leon withdrew his hand and continued speaking in a calm, measured tone. "The Peaky Blinders do not mistreat their own. I will send my men over tomorrow."

"They will conduct a thorough inventory of your shop and appraise the value of every item. We will then purchase the entire lot, including the storefront itself."

"Once the final sum is calculated, you will be paid immediately. It is what you are owed, and not a single Galleon will be withheld."

"Then, Borgin, we shall discuss your future employment."

Borgin's eyes were now brimming with tears. He sniffed loudly. "Whatever you command, Mr. Shelby."

"From now on, you will call me 'Boss,' or 'Chief.' 'Mr. Shelby' is too formal," Leon corrected him casually. He rubbed his temples and continued.

"First, this shop needs to be renovated. The current layout is a mess. It lacks elegance."

"Second, from this day forward, this establishment will sell one thing and one thing only: firearms. Nothing else."

"Third, once all preparations are complete, professional sales staff will be brought in to handle the customers and promote the product."

Hearing this, a flicker of anxiety crossed Borgin's face. None of these tasks seemed to involve him.

Leon seemed to read his mind and continued with a small smile.

"Within a month, I will ensure that the name 'Shelby Arms' is known by every soul in Knockturn Alley."

"Your mission, Borgin, is to contact your old clientele. And you will sell our product to them."

A spark of excitement returned to Borgin's eyes. He nodded eagerly, promising he would not fail.

"Of course, the men I send will assist you. You won't be on your own," Leon added, before straightening up, preparing to leave.

"Oh, and one more thing. A tailor will visit you tomorrow. A new suit, shirt, shoes, and cap will be provided."

"You can throw away those old wizarding robes. They lack elegance."

Leaving those final words to echo in the dusty shop, Leon turned and strode out the door.

Borgin stared, mesmerized, at his graceful, retreating back. He sat stunned behind his counter for a long time. Then, suddenly, he stood up and walked towards the back room.

For the first time in a long while, Mr. Borgin was going to wash his hair.

He was, after all, an elegant Peaky Blinder now.

Meanwhile, having just acquired a new storefront, Leon was in high spirits. Even the filthy, grimy streets of Knockturn Alley seemed pleasant.

Behind him, Mad-Eye Moody's gruff voice rumbled. "From the look of you, things went well? I'm surprised. Didn't think Borgin would ever sell that sty of his."

Leon just smiled, not offering a direct answer.

Everything in this world had its price. The currency simply varied.

The currency Leon had just used was called "ambition" and "respect."

"Just good luck," Leon said dismissively, then his eyebrow raised. "Mr. Moody, there is one last important matter that requires your assistance."

Moody shrugged. "Earning these two thousand Galleons is hard work, I'll give you that. Go on then. What else can I do for you?"

From that day on, the Dark Wizards of Britain began to notice something strange.

A peculiar object called a "gun" started appearing in the most random of places.

In the toilets of dingy pubs, in the camps of vagrant wizards, by the stinking gutters of Knockturn Alley...

They would even mysteriously appear at the scenes of Dark Wizard duels.

At first, no one paid them much mind.

But then, a wizard, fleeing from his enemies, stumbled across a light machine gun hanging on a bush. He used it to successfully eliminate his pursuers. After that, these strange weapons began to attract attention.

No one knew where they came from. It was as if they simply grew out of the ground.

The only clue was the two words stamped onto the side of each weapon.

"MADE BY SHELBY".