Chapter 33

Although the Dawn War ended over a thousand and two hundred years ago, the hatred has been increasing every moment and everywhere. Over the past thousand and two hundred years, the dark races and humans have never ceased their wars, with bloody conflicts occurring at every moment and in every inch of the borderlands. Although the Domain of Eternal Night is now a forsaken land of the empire, with the return of the dark races, this continent has become a battlefield everywhere, and the situation is incredibly complex.

The human race and the dark races fight to the death here, and there are also internal struggles among the human race and the various dark races. Humans and dark races must also compete with various native beasts for survival space. Moreover, perhaps because the orbit of this forsaken land is too far from the sun, various terrifying creatures from outside the domain occasionally appear.

It seems that the only purpose of life here is to fight. The fires of war are everywhere, and on the gray land of Eternal Night, life is the least valuable thing.

At this moment, on a desolate plain, a group of seven or eight people were walking in a line. Their clothes were a patchwork of rags and tattered leather, sewn together haphazardly. Some of them even had rusty metal plates sewn onto vital areas like their chests and backs as makeshift armor.

Each person carried a large backpack, which is the most common sight among the scavengers of the Eternal Night continent. They risk their lives to venture deep into the wastelands and ruins, searching for things that might have some value. Their backpacks contained all their wealth.

In the distance, the outline of a small town was already visible, and they involuntarily quickened their pace.

The most prominent building in the town was a tall lighthouse. This structure was almost entirely made of metal, with several large pipes climbing up its exterior.

The flame at the top of the lighthouse, which could be seen from a great distance, was always burning, so the town was called Lighthouse Town. Suddenly, a large amount of steam was released from the middle of the lighthouse, and the huge gears exposed in the damaged areas began to turn laboriously, causing the bell hammer on the tower to swing slowly and strike the old copper bell, producing a deep and resonant chime.

Ding, ding, ding!

The chimes echoed far and wide, and the scavengers quickened their pace even more.

One of the burly men looked at the sky and said, "It's only three o'clock, and it's already getting dark. Is this even letting people live?"

The old man at the front of the group said calmly, "Isn't it always like this during the Dark Season?"

The burly man looked up at the sky, where several large shadows blocked the sunlight, making the surroundings as dark as dusk at three o'clock.

He spat heavily and said, half in envy and half in resentment, "If I could live up there for a few days, I'd be willing to live ten years less!"

Another scavenger said, "Forget it, Old Six! That's a place only the big shots can go. You have no hope in this life. Just stick to scavenging here!"

Before Old Six could react, a valve on the other side of the lighthouse opened, releasing a large amount of steam. Instantly, the upper part of the lighthouse was enveloped in white mist, the flame became blurry, and a sharp, long whistle suddenly sounded, making hearts race.

"Why are they closing the gates so early?!"

"What's that bald guy up to?"

The scavengers panicked and quickened their pace, running towards the town. Fortunately, they were fast enough to rush through the gates in time.

At this moment, large, dark, and murky gas clouds were being expelled from the exhaust pipes on both sides of the gate tower. The huge gears and winches creaked and groaned as the heavy cast-iron gates slowly descended, slamming into the steel grooves and sealing the town.

The scavengers were out of breath, and one of them stood on the street, hands on his knees, gasping for air. He then looked up and shouted at the gate tower, "Why are you closing the gates so early? We almost got locked out!"

A shiny bald head appeared on the gate tower, with a fierce expression.

He pointed to the sky and shouted rudely, "I've already told you it's not peaceful outside during this time! Look at the color of the moon! If you don't want to live for a few copper coins, then you deserve to die!"

A huge, round moon hung in the sky, its edges already crimson like blood. In a few days, it would become a full blood moon.

During the Blood Moon night, all creatures on the wasteland become agitated and highly aggressive. According to legend, whenever the moon turns blood red, a disaster will occur somewhere, and only when enough blood has been shed will the god of calamity be satisfied and leave.

The scavengers grumbled, but these mad dogs of the wasteland didn't dare do anything to the bald man on the gate tower. He was the only sheriff in the town and a Level 1 Warrior, who could easily deal with their group. So they could only complain as they walked into the town.

In the town, there was a bar, the only bar, with a few guest rooms in the back. That was the destination of the scavengers, the only place that could bring joy and women.

To save energy, the town had almost no lighting, so in the darkness, the dim light from the bar's sign was particularly noticeable, even though only the character "sha" was lit.

The original sign was a bearing segment removed from the bottom of a cockpit. No one knew how the bar owner managed to put the characters on it and coat it with phosphorescent powder, but after rain and wind, it would gradually fade.

The people in the town knew the bar was called Manjusha, but no one understood the meaning of these four characters. Among the thousands of people in the town, fewer than five could recognize all four characters.

The bar was dimly lit, with old tables and chairs, and the walls were covered with various chaotic graffiti, giving it a strange beauty.

The bar counter was made of steel plates and rivets, giving it a hard, masculine feel. All the materials in the bar could be found in the wasteland outside. In fact, the most worthless thing in the forsaken land was scrap metal, and the wasteland's garbage dumps were full of it, with the airship graveyards forming mountains of metal.

The bar was filled with the smell of cheap alcohol, tobacco, and sweat, and the heavily made-up women emitted a pungent perfume that made people want to vomit.

Behind the bar stood a young man, tall and slender, with a pale complexion.

The young man wore an old jacket and long pants, and his black hair was tied back in a ponytail. His face was very beautiful, extremely beautiful, and exuded an excessive youth, giving the impression of a shy but friendly neighborhood boy at first glance.

He stood behind the bar, quietly watching the dozen or so guests in the bar who were venting their desires and stress.

Just by looking at his appearance, no one would think that this young man was the owner of the bar and the inn. He was probably, no, definitely not yet eighteen years old.

At this moment, the half-open door of the bar was pushed open, and the group of scavengers who had just entered the town rushed in. As soon as they entered, the bar became quieter, and many people looked at the scavengers with wary eyes.

On the wasteland, scavengers have a bad reputation and many nicknames, including vultures, scavengers, and mad dogs, among others.

Scavengers constantly walk the line between life and death, and they have no sense of shame or honor, doing anything they can. Many scavengers have their own circles and secret ways of communication, and if outsiders approach this group rashly, they might be completely devoured.

Although the small town called Lighthouse Town largely depends on the large number of scavengers around it for its prosperity, the original residents of the town do not welcome scavengers and do not genuinely accept them.

Where there are scavengers, there is trouble. On the wasteland, the word "trouble" often means that a group of people will lose their lives. Otherwise, how could it be called trouble?

This group of scavengers was not the first to visit Manjusha. They found a table and loudly ordered their favorite drinks. The young man behind the bar turned to the shelves, picked up a few bottles, and skillfully mixed them.

The stainless steel shaker flew between his long, pale fingers as if it had a life of its own.

At this moment, a scavenger with a large scar on his face walked over, leaned heavily on the bar, and said with a heavy nasal tone, "I heard you have a drink called Manjusha that's really strong! Give me a large glass!"

The young man did not move but said, "One imperial silver coin."

"Wow!" The scavenger exclaimed dramatically, "Did I hear that right? One imperial silver coin!! Am I drinking virgin blood? Well, since I'm here, I have to try it and see if your drink is as good as you say! Kid, I don't have silver coins, but I can pay with this, if you dare to take it!"

With a thud, the scavenger pulled out a flintlock pistol and slammed it on the bar.

The pistol was already loaded with gunpowder and shot, ready to fire. The handle was wrapped in thick iron, with blackened bloodstains and other unidentifiable substances, possibly brain matter or bone marrow. This heavy pistol was not just for shooting; the handle was also a powerful weapon, possibly used even more frequently.

The bar became quiet, and many people's eyes were fixed on the scavenger and the young man.

The young man had already finished mixing the drink, calmly poured it into glasses, and then placed both hands on the bar, looking at the pistol and saying, "Since this is your livelihood, I'll count it as half a silver coin. Are you sure you want to use it to pay?"

The scavenger's eyes twitched, and he slowly leaned forward, getting so close that their noses almost touched, and said, "What if I don't pay?"

The young man did not move, still speaking calmly, "Then I'll blow your head off."

The scavenger stared intently at the young man's eyes, but saw no emotion in the deep black pupils, like two bottomless pools. He then looked at the young man's hands. They were unusually clean, with no calluses, and the skin was so smooth it was hard to believe he had done any manual labor or training.

The young man's hands were on the bar, in a position that made it awkward to reach anything, and even if he had a weapon hidden under the bar, it would be too late to grab it.

The young man's coarse linen shirt was only buttoned at two points, revealing a large, ugly scar on his chest, which was out of place with his appearance.

The scavenger's eyes kept twitching, and he felt a growing chill, breaking out in a cold sweat. This was the instinctive sense of danger of a wild dog surviving on the wasteland.

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