Above the Blood Moon

"A martini, no ice, please. I'm rich today! I'm fucking rich!"

As the drunken shouts crashed into the pub, Jockley was wiping the bar with a rag. He looked up and saw a man staggering in through the door, his face covered in stubble, his worn-out work jacket stained with oil and dust, but his face radiating an almost manic excitement.

"Do you know what I dug up?"

The man lunged at the bar, bracing his elbows on the bar, his entire upper body almost leaning in.

"The remnants of the old civilization, the true remnants, aren't those tattered prosthetics, they're the complete things! And the blueprints! The blueprints!"

As he spoke, he waved his arms, spittle flying everywhere. Jockley took a half step back, clenching the rag in his hand tightly.

"A martini," the man repeated, his voice trembling uncontrollably, "no ice. I want to celebrate. Once I sell all that stuff and save enough money, I can go back to my hometown!"

He suddenly stopped, squinting at the person behind the bar.

"Hey? It's you, kid? Where's At? Where's At?"

Daikiri came out of the kitchen with a plate of freshly washed wine glasses in his hand. He glanced at the man, rolled his eyes, but still responded.

"At went out. You want a martini, right? Wait."

He put down the tray and began mixing drinks, his movements so skilled that he didn't seem like a mercenary at all, pouring and stirring the drinks in one smooth motion.

"Your wine." Daikiri pushed the glass towards him.

The man grabbed it, tilted his head back, and gulped it all down. The cheap alcohol burned his teeth, but he still grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth.

"Good wine!" He slammed his glass down, pulled two 0.5 Star Alliance Coins from his pocket, and slapped them on the bar. "Keep the change!"

After saying that, he turned and staggered toward the door.

Halfway there, he suddenly turned back and said in a low voice.

"Hey, Daikiri, I'm telling you, the location of those ruins is... uh..."

He let out a burp, and his eyes began to glaze over.

"Never mind, never mind, I shouldn't say things like that, hehe."

The door opened and closed again, and the man's figure disappeared into the shadows of the street outside, and the tavern returned to silence.

Jockley stood there hesitating for a few seconds, then closed his eyes.

Superpower state activated.

A familiar burning sensation surged up from between my eyebrows, my vision expanded, and my senses spread outward like ripples. The heat source inside the tavern first surfaced and then radiated outward.

The man on the street was walking unsteadily, humming an off-key song. His heat source was very obvious to his supernatural senses, but even more noticeable were the heat sources around him that were approaching.

Eight heat sources were scattered in the shadows on both sides of the street, moving slowly but rhythmically, like predators adjusting their encirclement, as they followed the man.

Jockley opened his eyes. In the Forgotten City, there were two things that were strictly forbidden: never ask or tell anyone what you had dug up, and never venture alone into the Ruins Mountains when the red moon was setting.

That man clearly violated the first rule.

"Serves you right," Daikiri said without looking up as he cleaned the cocktail shaker he had just used. "Talking nonsense in a place like this is no different from courting death."

Jockley didn't reply. He was about to deactivate his powers, but the whispers returned the moment his senses contracted.

It was as if countless cold hands reached out from the depths of darkness, grabbing his consciousness and trying to drag him down, along with those shattered images, rotting faces, melting eyes, blue blood…

He suddenly opened his eyes and forcibly severed the connection to his superpower.

"Huff huff"

He leaned against the bar, panting heavily, a fine layer of cold sweat beading on his forehead, his hands trembling slightly.

"You're here again?" Daikiri asked, this time with a more serious tone than usual, without his usual teasing.

Jockley nodded without saying a word. He walked behind the bar and took out a small glass bottle from his pocket. The bottle contained a dark green, viscous liquid that smelled strange, a mixture of herbs and chemicals.

This is the last bottle of the suppressant medicine that Att gave me.

He pulled out the cork, tilted his head back, and gulped it down. The liquid was bitter and astringent, and as it slid down his throat, it felt like swallowing a mouthful of sandpaper. But after a few seconds, the icy feeling that seeped from his bones began to subside, and the restless whispers in his mind gradually calmed down.

He let out a long sigh of relief.

"This is the fourth time," Daikiri suddenly said.

Jockley turned his head.

"Just when you were about to go crazy again, you mumbled something and asked me if you could get out."

Daikiri wiped his hands, walked up to him, and had an unusually serious expression.

"Chockley, brother, it's not that I don't want you to go out, it's just that you're really not in good shape right now."

He reached out and patted Jockley on the shoulder.

"Do you know what you were like when you came back the night before last? Art was terrified by you. Your eyes were bloodshot, you were talking nonsense, crying and laughing one minute, and then you were banging your head against the wall the next. You weren't faking it."

"You're only a level one ability user, level one! Logically speaking, it's impossible for you to have symptoms like whispering. That would require level three or four, long-term exposure to high concentrations of supernatural energy, or..."

He paused, not finishing his sentence, but Jockley knew what he wanted to say, or what he was implying.

"At said you can't step out of the tavern until he gets back. If I let you out, he'll break my leg when he gets back. Damn it, he'll definitely do that."

Jockley smiled wryly; he knew Daikiri wasn't exaggerating.

Two days ago, he woke up from a coma to find himself lying in a tavern room, his whole body aching as if it had been broken apart. He struggled to go downstairs and bumped into At, who had just returned from outside.

Jockley still remembers how Art looked back then. Those eyes that were always smiling turned cold in that instant. He stared at Jockley for a full half minute, then turned and went into the kitchen without saying a word.

A few minutes later, he came out with five bottles of potion and handed them to Jockley.

"One bottle a day. Come find me when you've finished it. And you're not allowed to leave the tavern during this time. Daikiri will be watching you."

Jockley wasn't ungrateful; he knew At was doing it for his own good. Although those five potions cost him 10 Star Alliance Coins, their effects were indeed remarkable. As long as he didn't actively activate his powers these past two days, those whispers wouldn't bother him.

The priest also suggested that he try worshipping the Blood Moon. He could make offerings to gods that don't cost money, or worship the six gods of the ancient civilization—war, wisdom, mercy... anything would work. People with faith are less likely to fall into complete madness.

From the neural network, Jockley knew that in the modified human camp, and even in the original human camp, worshipping the Blood Moon was a very common thing. If you encountered something incomprehensible or indescribable, saying a word of praise to the Blood Moon might be enough to get through it.

The Six Gods are rumored to be deities of an old civilization. According to legend, they ultimately betrayed the Blood Moon, but a small number of people still believe in and worship them.

But he still couldn't resist wanting to go out.

The Yadea Company's development zone, that space station, the name on the cryo-chamber, and the blue tissue fluid—too many mysteries await him to unravel. Every extra day he spends in the tavern, he feels he's one step further away from the answers.

If we really have to talk about faith, his faith is going home.

Daikiri seemed to see through his thoughts.

"Don't even think about it, just stay put, and besides..."

Before he could finish speaking, a loud crash came from the kitchen, followed by a series of clanging sounds of metal parts colliding. The two men turned around at the same time.

A second later, Chokri covered his mouth, his shoulders began to shake, and Daikiri turned around, bent over with his back to the kitchen, put his hands on his knees, and let out a whistling laugh.

Big Yellow came out of the kitchen.

It was wearing a black and white maid uniform, which Art had somehow gotten from. The size was obviously wrong, the fabric was stretched tightly against its mechanical body, and two buttons on the chest had popped off, revealing the silver-gray metal frame underneath.

The skirt was pitifully short, barely covering the thigh joints, and two newly replaced mechanical legs protruded from below, gleaming coldly under the lights.

The most dangerous thing is that Atreus somehow managed to attach a white headband to Big Yellow's spherical core unit, and the headband also had a black bow on it.

If mechanical faces could make expressions, Da Huang's expression at this moment would be that he wanted to kill someone.

It moved to the bar, slammed the empty bottle it was holding onto the bar, then looked up, its optical sensors fixed on Choklee and Daikiri, who were already squatting on the ground, their shoulders shaking wildly and their faces flushed red.

"[○･｀Д´･○]"

An angry emoticon popped up on the panel.

"No, pfft..." Daikiri laughed as she tried to explain, "It's because At said the tavern was short-staffed... so you too... pfft hahaha..."

Jockley was laughing so hard he couldn't speak; he clutched his stomach, tears streaming down his face.

Just then, the tavern door was pushed open from the outside, a bell rang, and Jockley and Daikiri reflexively stood up, speaking in unison.

"Welcome to Gear Tavern—"

The people who came were none other than Art and the priest.

Art was wearing a white coat, but it was stained with a lot of dark red stains. He looked tired, and his eyes behind his gold-rimmed glasses were bloodshot, but when he saw the scene in the tavern, the corners of his mouth still turned up.

The priest, as always, wore a black robe and hood, holding the little red book in his hand. He walked in, his gaze sweeping over everyone before finally settling on Daikiri's face.

"You guys seemed quite happy while I was away?"

Daikiri immediately raised his hands.

"I didn't! Jockley laughed first!"

Jockley: "...?"

Art ignored him, walked behind the bar, put the first-aid kit on the counter, and then turned to look at Daikiri.

"The ledger," he said.

Daikiri's expression changed.

"Att, boss, you just got back, why don't you rest first..."

"The ledger," Art repeated, his smile softening.

Daikiri slowly pulled a worn-out notebook from under the counter. Art took it, opened it, and began to read it page by page.

The tavern was eerily quiet, save for the turning of pages and the faint whirring of the servo motors on Big Yellow's body.

After reading for about three minutes, At closed the notebook.

"It's 7.5 Covenant Credits short," he said.

"Impossible!" Daikiri jumped up. "I wrote down every single detail!"

"So where did the 7.5 go?" At slammed the notebook on the table. "Last weekend someone ordered a Crimson Dawn, priced at 1 Star Alliance Coin, and you wrote 0.5. On Monday, someone bought it on credit for 3 Star Alliance Coins, and you didn't write that down at all. And..."

He listed them one by one, speaking slowly, but with each one he said, Daikiri's face paled a little more. When he got to the seventh one, Daikiri turned and ran away.

But he didn't escape.

Art grabbed him by the back of his collar, pulled him back like a chick, and slammed him onto the bar. Art laughed, a laugh that sent chills down Jockley's spine.

"Run? Come on, let's settle the accounts properly."

For the next five minutes, Daikiri's screams and pleas for mercy echoed through the tavern. Chokri silently turned around, pretending to wipe a glass, while Big Yellow quietly moved to the corner and began to untie the bow on his head.

Only the priest calmly walked to a table, sat down, and opened the little red book in his hand, reading it as always.

After Art finished checking the accounts, Daikiri was already collapsed on the ground, groaning and clutching his head. Art clapped his hands, straightened his white coat, and sat down opposite the priest.

"Is it resolved?" the priest asked without looking up.

"Hmm." Art picked up the glass of water that Jokley had just poured, took a sip, and said, "That kid, he slacks off when I'm not around."

The priest closed the book, looked up, and turned his gaze to Jockley.

"Jockley," he said.

Jockley immediately went over obediently. The priest gestured for him to sit down, and Jockley did so. He sat opposite the priest with his hands on his knees, like a student waiting to be reprimanded.