owlsbooks Chapter 83 Soldier's Slight Bloodstain
Chapter 83 Soldier's Slight Bloodstain
The process of making the purifying solution was very simple, and soon the goose set off with the goods.
Passing through the edge of the dense woodland, the scenery before me seemed to have been cut off by a sharp blade, plunging into a gray expanse without any transition.
After a day's walk, the goose finally arrived at the edge of the abandoned city.
A hazy yellow industrial fumes have shrouded the sky year-round, and the towering red brick buildings are covered with wild, colorful street graffiti. Thick, rusty steel pipes, like intricate blood vessels, cling tightly to the building surfaces, and exhaust valves occasionally spew out white, high-temperature steam.
The flickering neon signs in the distance were reflected in the puddles underfoot. The air was thick with the pungent smell of engine oil, coal ash, and cheap tobacco.
Carrying a wooden crate containing life-purifying agents, the goose followed behind the Czech public security agents who were there to meet it, and officially entered the outer streets of the abandoned city.
In the distance, the muffled clanging of metal forging could be faintly heard. There was no ethereal atmosphere like in the magical forest, only the ruggedness and chaos of heavy industry.
The two walked through several dirty streets piled with clutter and stopped at the entrance to the sewage pipes leading to the underground black market.
A tall figure leaned against the dark brick wall.
The goose sized up the other creature in the dim light and couldn't help but whistle.
That was the Climbing Snail who had been waiting for a long time. This novice, who used to wear tattered clothes, had now grown significantly in size. His solid muscles made his leather armor bulge, and the most eye-catching thing was the fine iron spear he was holding.
The little snail gripped the gun barrel with one hand and casually swung it to the side. The heavy gun tip tore through the air with a whistling sound.
How imposing! This is the physical manifestation of a warrior's enhanced physique after a first-stage transformation.
"Well done, snail, you've got a good grip on that spear." The goose stepped forward and joked, "Poor Lucas, now that he has a spear, he doesn't need his iron sword anymore."
The little snail ignored his joke and tapped the iron grille on the ground with the butt of its gun, indicating to the goose to look at the direction of the water flow at its feet.
"I just came down here yesterday and started to figure things out."
He pointed the tip of his gun at the green slime left on the ground and the bat droppings by the ditch, traces that stretched all the way to the sewage gate in the distance.
"I followed the underground river and found that they all came here in search of food by following the sewage. I have already moved a few large bricks to block up the other two dry and unusable pipes, leaving only the widest main outlet open."
The little snail weighed the heavy spear in its hand, a wicked grin spreading across its face: "Use this thing to wed the corner of the gate. Every inch longer is more powerful. Stab them one by one as they come out, saving you the trouble of maneuvering. As long as we don't kill them all and leave a few to breed, this sewer is a natural, zero-consumption assembly line shooting range. We can collect the materials later and maybe make a lot of money."
The two listened to this well-practiced theory of making money without any initial investment and silently gave it a thumbs up.
The little snail put away the map, its gaze falling on the wooden crate. It changed the subject: "Archery Village is implementing fully automated large-scale farming, and all their transport capacity is focused on hauling raw materials. The two tons of grain we promised Jim will have to be postponed for a few days. We can use this crate of serum to sound him out today."
The three climbed down a rusty ladder and quickly entered the intricate network of sewage pipes, arriving at Jim's underground black market hideout in the backstreet.
The basement was dimly lit and the air was thick with tension. Gangsters with menacing eyes stood all around, twirling short knives in their hands.
The goose placed the wooden crate on the old wooden table in the center of the room, opened the lid, took out a bottle of clear, transparent liquid, and pushed it toward Jim, who was lying on the broken sofa.
The black market boss's skin was covered with horrifying black spots, and his breathing was extremely hoarse.
Jim grabbed the glass bottle, bit off the cork with his teeth, tilted his head back, and drank it all in one gulp.
A violent coughing fit erupted as Jim slumped over the edge of the sofa, vomiting a large amount of foul-smelling, viscous black blood.
But after only a few breaths, his previously weak chest heaving returned to normal, and the deadly heavy metal toxic spots on his skin began to fade visibly.
"Looks like it's working well." The little snail tapped the fine iron spear on the ground. "We need to check on that gear first. Archer Village is short of food right now, but we'll give it to you when we have some."
Jim stood up and casually wiped the blood from his chin with the back of his hand. He looked at the three people in front of him, raised his foot, and kicked the wooden table in front of him to the ground.
The crisp snap of fingers echoed in the basement.
A dozen or so gang thugs stepped forward in unison, pointing a dozen poisoned short blades that gleamed with an eerie green light directly at the player in the center of the encirclement.
"No food, no gears." Jim stretched his neck, which had regained its strength, and pointed at the goose. "As for you, you can stay in this sewer forever, brewing medicine for me."
Faced with the gleaming blades, the little snail didn't even take a step back. Instead, he turned his head with interest, scanning the weapons in the hands of the thugs.
"Twelve inferior short swords, five of which have even rolled edges." The little snail pointed his spear at the nearest thug and loudly calculated, "With this durability and material, if you take them to the blacksmith to be recycled as scrap metal, they'll be worth at most 5 Maple Leaf Coins."
He turned to Jim, whose face was grim, and made no attempt to hide the mockery in his tone: "Jim, you think you can hack our core technicians with this worthless stuff?"
Before the words were finished, a slight metallic scraping sound came from the oil-stained ventilation duct above everyone's heads.
A dark shadow pierced through the air from top to bottom.
A jet-black dagger pierced Jim's outstretched hand with pinpoint accuracy, its powerful penetration pinning him firmly to the load-bearing wooden pillar behind him.
Jim opened his mouth wide, not even having time to scream.
Night Owl, like a true ghost, silently fell through the vent. He placed one foot on Jim's shoulder, toying with a barbed dagger in his other hand, his gaze coldly sweeping across the room.
Upon recognizing the distinctive black night-clothes, the dozen or so thugs who had initially appeared menacing all retreated in unison.
Immediately afterwards, the sound of leather boots splashing through water came from the shadows of the passageway.
Lynn walked out slowly, and the gangsters along the way didn't even have the courage to look him in the eye. They all pressed themselves against the damp walls, afraid of blocking his way.
Lynn walked up to Jim, who was nailed to the pillar, and slammed a piece of parchment covered with terms onto the corner of the table next to him, which had not yet been overturned.
"Food may be late, but rules will not," Lynn said calmly. "From today onward, the underground factories, scrap metal and gear assembly lines of the abandoned city are all open to us."
He pointed to the parchment: "Sign it. Or I'll have Night Owl find a more compliant black market agent right now."
Jim, trembling, picked up the quill pen with his intact left hand and scribbled his name, then gestured with his chin toward the safe in the corner. A subordinate scrambled over and dragged a thick stack of machining drawings onto the table.
The goose stepped forward and picked up the top sheet of paper. He stared at the complex bearing structures and gear meshing diagrams for a while, his brows furrowing deeper and deeper.
He looked up at the little snail beside him who only knew how to calculate profits, then at the night owl standing on the pillar who only knew how to play with a knife, shook the parchment in his hand vigorously, and threw out a question.
"Gentlemen, we've taken the territory! But I, a biochemist, simply can't understand these blueprints!"
The goose pointed to a pile of heavy blueprints in the safe, its voice echoing in the basement: "None of us here know anything about mechanical manufacturing! Even if we get these gear milling machines and assembly lines, who's going to operate them?"