Above the Blood Moon

Freud kept glancing at the young man in the corner out of the corner of his eye.

While exchanging pleasantries and clinking glasses with the other bosses, saying some trivial and polite things, he was quickly analyzing the situation in his mind.

That young man was indeed strange. After he came in, he didn't take the initiative to talk to anyone, didn't try to integrate into any circle, and didn't even show any interest in the party.

He simply sat quietly in the corner eating, and then closed his eyes to rest after finishing.

This is very unusual.

In the Forgotten City, in social settings of this caliber, everyone comes with a purpose: either to expand their network and conduct business, or simply to make themselves known.

Nobody comes here just to eat.

A thought flashed through Freud's mind.

What if this person really just came in to freeload? What if all those classical speakers and upper-class Olympus accents were just pretending?

Freud had seen far too many liars.

In the Forgotten City, there are countless cases of people posing as upper-class individuals to scam food, drink, and even money and resources. Some of these scammers' acting skills are even able to fool the micro-expression analysis of the prosthetic eyes.

He needs more evidence.

Jockley kept his eyes closed, but he remained on high alert. Although he could no longer use his powers after entering the Mirror Lake District, his long-term use of his powers still made his senses extremely sharp.

He could feel Freud's gaze sweeping over him from time to time, scanning him back and forth.

Jockley knew that Freud was observing him, analyzing him, and judging his authenticity.

Therefore, he had to act even more realistically.

He finished the last sip of wine, gently placed the empty glass on the low table, then closed his eyes again, crossed his hands on his lower abdomen, and breathed steadily and slowly.

He looked like he was really resting, and this nonchalant attitude is the hardest to fake, because people who really care will always unconsciously show their tension.

Freud looked at Jockley in the corner, and the scales in his heart began to tip again.

If they were truly scammers, they would likely try to do something after finishing the meal: either order more food to maximize the value of the free meal, or start looking for the next target to carry out a more in-depth scam.

But the young man didn't. He just sat there with his eyes closed, as if the party was just a way to pass the time.

Freud finally finished his small talk with the last boss.

He turned and walked toward the corner. As he passed the long dining table, he saw his personal assistant hiding behind a screen with a plate in hand, his mouth stuffed full.

She still had some cream on her face, looking just like a hamster constantly stuffing food into her mouth.

Freud shook his head helplessly; he wouldn't allow himself to show such a loss of composure.

He straightened the hem of his suit jacket, walked to the sofa in front of Jockley, and bowed slightly.

"Mr. Krijjo"

Chokri slowly opened his eyes, his gaze filled with the bewilderment of someone just waking up from a nap, before quickly regaining its clarity.

He looked up at Freud, a gentle yet distant smile on his face.

"Mr. Freud."

Floyd raised his glass and gently clinked it against Chokley's empty glass.

"Is it that you don't like the ambiance here, or is the food tonight not to your liking?"

Jockley glanced at his empty glass, then looked up to meet Floyd's gaze.

"The environment is great, and the food is good too, especially the pastry. The crispness of the crust is perfectly controlled, unlike some restaurants on the Olympus Ring that deliberately make it too sweet in pursuit of a so-called high-end feel."

Freud's heart skipped a beat.

Jockley continued speaking, his voice still flat.

"However, the sauce for that spare rib had a little too much black pepper, which masked the flavor of the meat itself. Truly top-quality meat should be highlighted with the simplest seasonings, rather than covered with complicated spices."

He paused, as if recalling something.

"I had a similar dish at the Starry Night Restaurant in the middle of the Olympus Ring last time. They used Frost Ant beef imported from the Green Abyss Starfield, with only sea salt and a little olive oil, and grilled it to medium-rare. When you cut it open, you could see a perfect pink color, and the meat was juicy and melted in your mouth..."

As Freud listened, the data stream from his mechanical prosthetic eye flickered wildly. He naturally didn't know what restaurants were on the Olympus Ring, but he did know about Frost Ant Beef, an extremely dangerous yet extremely luxurious type of meat.

As Freud listened, a complex emotion suddenly welled up inside him.

He suddenly realized that the experiences this young man casually mentioned were things he could never achieve even if he tried his best to imitate them.

He could certainly eat these things, but it wouldn't be so easy, yet this young man seemed to take it all for granted.

Inside the Gear Tavern, Margaret stared at the shared screen, listening to Jockley's calm and collected comments, her expression gradually shifting from shock to bewilderment.

She turned to look at At, her voice trembling slightly.

"Could he really have come from the Olympus Ring?"

Art stood behind the bar, his lips twitching slightly.

He didn't know how to answer, considering that he had personally rescued Jokeri and Big Yellow from the wilderness.

In the banquet hall, Jockley finally stopped his comments. He picked up his empty wine glass, swirled it gently, and then looked at Floyd, his gentle smile returning to his face.

"Overall, the banquet tonight was well organized; the organizers put a lot of thought into it."

Floyd took a deep breath, forced himself to calm down, put on a smile again, and sat down on the sofa next to Jockley.

"Judging from what Mr. Kricio says, you must be quite knowledgeable about food?"

Jockley shook his head slightly.

"It's not really research; it's just that after eating it a lot, you can naturally distinguish between good and bad."

To what extent must one have tasted something to be able to say in such a calm tone that one can naturally distinguish between good and bad? Freud's mind was completely tipped to one side.

He asked tentatively.

"May I ask, Mr. Krijo, what is your profession? You seem to have an extraordinary air about you."

Chokley picked up his glass, even though it was empty, but the action itself was a gesture.

He gently placed the wine glass on the low table, then turned to look at Freud with that social smile.

"An interstellar merchant, the second son of a family, doesn't have any great abilities. He can only rely on his family's network of connections to run trade between various planets and earn a meager living."

He spoke modestly, but Freud understood immediately.

In the ancient families of the Olympus Ring, which have been passed down for hundreds of years, the eldest son or the strongest member is placed in one of the six major corporations and given a key position, because those families own shares in the corporations.

The second and third sons, those family members who are not good enough or not favored enough, will be assigned to be interstellar merchants, using the family's network of relationships to trade between various planets.

It sounds like an exile, but it's actually an extremely lucrative position.

Because you can access resources from various planets, build a vast network of connections, accumulate enormous wealth, and, more importantly, connect with people from other factions.

The interstellar merchant is one of the few professions that can freely travel between the three major factions: the modified human faction, the original human faction, and six independent planets. Some even dare to do business with the AI ​​faction.

Floyd's eyes lit up; his interest in Krijjo had reached its peak.

"Interstellar merchant," he murmured, "that's no easy feat. The relationships you need to manage and the connections you need to navigate are beyond the imagination of ordinary people."

Jockley smiled but didn't reply. He simply pushed his wine glass back towards the center of the low table.

This is a very subtle gesture; in the upper echelons of Olympus social etiquette, it means I don't want to continue this topic.

Freud immediately picked up on the signal. His smile remained unchanged, but he had already confirmed one thing in his heart.

This young man is indeed from the upper echelons of the Olympus ring.

Freud stood up and bowed slightly.

"I apologize for disturbing your rest. I hope you enjoyed the banquet tonight."

Jockley nodded.

"That's already very good, thank you."

Freud turned and left, his steps steady, but his heart was boiling like water.

He met an interstellar merchant from the Olympus Ring, and perhaps the door to the Olympus Ring really would open for him.

Freud walked to the center of the banquet hall and rejoined the crowd, chatting and laughing with the other bosses. He had just learned from the organizers that the president of Yadea Technology Company would not be in the hall; he would only be communicating with a few bosses individually.

Although Frod was somewhat disappointed, he was not annoyed, because he had just met a star merchant who was most likely also from the Olympus Ring.

Jockley sat in his seat, feeling somewhat relieved. He was incredibly grateful that he had once worked as a domineering CEO actor in a friend's short drama crew and had memorized the lines. Otherwise, if he had to improvise those lines on the spot, he probably would have given them away immediately.

At this moment, Big Yellow suddenly acted strangely. Its body leaned slightly forward, and its optical sensors remained in a straight-ahead posture, but its voice continued to speak at an almost imperceptible volume.

"I sensed something."

Jockley still didn't open his eyes, but his heart skipped a beat.

"What?"

His lips barely moved; the sound was squeezed out from between his teeth.

Big Yellow was silent for about three seconds, its processor running at high speed, analyzing the abnormal signal it had just captured.

This was a fluctuation it had never recorded before, like some kind of frequency resonance that stirred up a series of unusual data streams in its core processor.

It cannot describe that feeling.

"I don't know," Da Huang finally spoke, his voice filled with rare confusion, "but it's in this banquet hall, somewhere, not far from us."

"Is it dangerous?"

"I'm not sure, but it makes me want to get closer."

These words finally made Jockley open his eyes.

"Want to get closer?" Jockley repeated in a low voice.

"Um."

Jockley's pupils contracted slightly.

Dahuang is an AI, and AI rarely has that so-called indescribable feeling.

Unless what Dahuang senses is related to its nature as an AI.

Chokley took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. He closed his eyes again, leaned back on the sofa, and placed his hands on his lower abdomen.

The performance was still going on, the party wasn't over yet, and everything would have to wait until he returned to the hotel in the Mirror Lake district that Margaret had booked for him using a false identity.