Above the Blood Moon

"Not bad acting, Master. I didn't expect you to have such a talent for acting. Although it was a bit stiff, at least you didn't give yourself away."

Da Huang's voice came through his bone conduction headphones, and only he could hear it. Jockley didn't respond. He walked back to the bedside and sat down, supporting his forehead with his hands. The metallic touch calmed him down a little.

"Twenty-two Covenant Credits..."

Jockley muttered to himself, then gave a bitter smile. He'd transmigrated, but to become a penniless man burdened with debt was a terrible fate.

"What do we do next?"

"Let's focus on surviving first," said Big Yellow, "and then we'll figure out how to make money."

Jockley thought for a moment and nodded. He stood up and walked towards the door, but paused before opening it.

"Rhubarb," he said.

"Um?"

"Thank you."

Dahuang paused for two seconds, then spoke.

"Don't mention it, Master. It's what I should do, even though the designer probably didn't expect it to turn out this way."

Jockley didn't say anything more, pushed open the door and went out.

The tavern is on the first floor.

Jockley descended the narrow, welded steel staircase with sharp, unpolished edges, carefully avoiding the protruding metal spikes as he reached the first floor.

Then he saw the full view of the tavern run by the doctor that Da Huang had mentioned.

The tavern was much larger than he had imagined, with a total space of about 200 square meters. The ceiling looked like it was made of the curved armor plates of a spaceship, with the original paint and serial numbers still on it. The walls were also made of various metal plates, but they were more refined than his room. A sign hung above the entrance to the tavern.

Gear Tavern

There were more than a dozen tables in the tavern, each with a different style. Some were flat metal plates, while others were overturned crates. It was evening, and the tavern was full of modified humans.

Jockley stood at the top of the stairs, looking at the scene before him.

At the table on the left, a burly man with half his face covered in metal prosthetics was drinking alcohol in a very direct way.

He picked up the bottle, lifted the metal cap under his chin, and poured the wine in. The wine flowed into his digestive system through the internal tube, without spilling a single drop.

Meanwhile, on the right, three people wearing tattered bulletproof vests are using virtual cards projected onto the table. Each time one of them plays a card, the mechanical prosthetic arm on his arm flashes blue light, as if recording data.

Further away, the bar area was packed with people. Some were shouting loudly, some were talking in hushed tones, some were drunk and slumped over the table, and some were still ordering drinks.

The air was filled with various smells. Jockley took a deep breath and almost choked.

After looking around, Jockley walked straight to a corner of the bar. Since he was going to be staying here for a while, whether he wanted to or not, it was necessary to familiarize himself with the environment.

Behind the bar, Dr. Art, the owner of the pub, was mixing drinks. Today he was wearing a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing several fine mechanical modification marks on his forearms. His eyes behind his gold-rimmed glasses were slightly narrowed.

Art is talking to the priest in black robes.

The priest was still dressed the same, a long black robe covering his entire body, a hood obscuring his face, revealing only the outline of his chin. He stood outside the bar, holding a glass of clear liquid in his hand.

"So," Art said, wiping his glass, "what are you really thinking?"

The priest did not answer immediately. He raised his glass and took a small sip, his movements slow and elegant, which seemed out of place with the rough surroundings.

"I'm wondering if it's worth it."

"What's not worth it?" Art looked into the priest's eyes through his glasses, his hands gradually slowing down.

"Look, the reward for this task is generous enough, the risks are manageable, and haven't you been looking for something? Maybe you'll find it after you finish this task."

The priest remained silent. Just then, a drunken man staggered open the tavern door and headed straight for the bar.

He was probably in his forties. His left eye was a mechanical prosthetic, but his right eye was still natural and was bloodshot. His clothes were tattered, but the mechanical prosthetic on his arm was a high-end product.

The drunkard walked up to the bar and slammed his hand on the counter.

"Wine!" he roared. "Another one!"

Art's smile remained unchanged. He took a bottle of brown liquid from under the bar and poured it into a metal cup. When the cup was pushed in front of the drunkard, the drunkard grabbed the cup and drank it all in one gulp.

Then the drunkard raised his left hand, the skin on his wrist glowing slightly. He closed his eyes and seemed to be operating some unseen interface.

A few seconds later, a small projection screen on the bar in front of Atal lit up, showing that a transfer had been received: 0.1 Star Alliance Coins.

Thank you for your patronage. Welcome to visit us again.

At once again flashed his signature smile, the one he always wore when he was in business.

The drunkard ignored him and turned to leave, but he stumbled and almost fell. The people at the next table started laughing, and one of them shouted.

"Old Scar! You've drunk so much again, aren't you afraid your precious prosthetic limb will short-circuit?"

Old Scar turned around and glared at the person who spoke.

"None of your business!" he yelled, but his voice was a little weak.

"How can it not concern me?" the bald man said with a grin. "You said you'd treat me to drinks last time, but you put the bill on me. It's been so long, where's the money?"

Old Scar's face turned red.

"I will pay it back!"

"Pay back? With what?" the bald man persisted. "Your meager scavenging income is barely enough to buy energy blocks. If you ask me, you should just sell that prosthetic limb and buy a cheaper one. You'll still have some money left to pay off your debts."

Old Scar's eyes widened.

"You're talking nonsense!" he roared. "Sold? Only if I'm dead!"

"Then you'd better pay me back," the bald man said, shrugging. "Otherwise, we'll have to follow the rules."

Another burst of laughter erupted around them.

Old Scar stood in front of the bar, his body trembling slightly. He looked at the bald man, then at the onlookers, and finally his gaze fell on At, as if he wanted to ask him for help.

Koyat just smiled and continued wiping his wine glass.

Old Scar gritted his teeth, turned around and staggered away, his back view looking dejected, like a defeated soldier.

After he left, Art put down his wine glass and picked up the metal glass that Old Scar had used.

There was still a little wine left at the bottom of the glass, about a small sip. He took out another smaller glass, poured the remaining wine into it, and then drank it all in one gulp. His movements were natural and smooth, and it seemed that this was not the first time he had done this.

The priest in black robes standing nearby finally frowned.

"At, you're no different from those drunkards now."

Ate chuckled.

"There's a huge difference. They pay to get drunk, while I get free drinks. That's called business acumen."

The priest shook his head and said nothing more. He placed the glass of clear liquid on the bar and turned to leave, but before he left, he couldn't help but look back at Art.

"Alright, even if I'm included, do we have enough manpower for that task you mentioned? Stop drinking, you're almost drunk!"

Art put down the small cup, and the smile on his face faded a little.

"Father, although Margaret can't come, do you remember the boy we brought back from the wilderness yesterday?"

His gaze swept over Jockley in the corner of the bar, intentionally or unintentionally.

He had noticed Jockley coming down earlier.

Jockley immediately lowered his head and pretended to be studying the wine glass, even though there was no wine in front of him.

"You've seen how powerful his companion is; he's an absolute cyber madman armed to the teeth, and he's still alive even though he's just a head."

"And you must have felt the supernatural power flowing through him back then. That kid is a superhuman, even a level one superhuman would be more than enough."

The priest looked at Art in silence, as if he was still weighing the pros and cons.

"I've put all his debts on Daikiri's head. That kid is probably new to this godforsaken place and can't possibly pay them back. I'll take him with me, whether as chickens or as combat troops. We'll definitely have enough people."

The priest remained silent until a moment later when he nodded slightly and turned to walk towards the tavern entrance.

"Your rooms have been charging 6 Star Alliance Coins for half a month, right? It's not someone else, Daikiri complained to me about it before."

Ate was taken aback.

"Put this glass of wine on the tab."

After saying this, the priest truly disappeared into the dimly lit corridor outside the door.

Ate stood there, his expression first one of astonishment, then one of bewilderment, and finally he shook his head and laughed out loud.

"Fine, fine, I'll keep track of it then. That old fox is very cunning."

Then he looked up at the still noisy customers in the tavern.

"Hey!" he yelled, "That's enough of the commotion! If you knock over the table again, the repair cost will be deducted from your drink bill!"

The tavern was quiet for a moment, then erupted in laughter again, but this time it was quieter.

Jockley sat in the corner watching everything unfold before him. The conversation between At and the priest had just been transmitted to his mind through the translator, Da Huang.