CHAPTER 883: CHAPTER 883: NOT EVERY PLAYER IS A PRO

On the north suburbs of Evernight Harbor, battered by wind and sand, lies a small alley named Blackwater Alley.

This is the slum of Evernight Harbor, where most inhabitants are marginalized groups other than the Weilante people.

Among them are natives from the Great Desert, exiles from the army homeland, indigenous peoples from the New Continent, and even Poluo people.

The complex racial composition and sharp conflicts have created a chaotic mix here.

Though local gang members dare not blatantly clash under the Weilante people’s watchful eyes, vendettas and brawls occur frequently, just like at West Sail Port after the Southern Legion took over.

Weilante people don’t care about the lives of these scraps; they’re just cheap and useful labor, constantly struggling on the line between poverty and subsistence but have never been wiped out.

They are like wild grass, always coming here for various reasons, and growing new shoots after the spring breeze passes.

So it’s no wonder the Southern Legion is unhappy with the civil official group in Triumph City.

Triumph City’s style of exploitation is inefficient, even weak.

If those fools in Triumph City could, like them, construct a "mutually harmful" society on the lower levels, where flies and mice bash each other’s heads for a portion of filth, and spit on each other for who’s more foul, West Sail Port wouldn’t even have had that initial riot.

Just like Evernight Harbor.

No laborers would die on the Weilante people’s docks.

Before they collapsed in exhaustion, they would be quietly buried in places unseen by everyone, with regretful realization amid everyone’s mocking laughter.

Such as Blackwater Alley.

After all, they’re not Weilante people and can’t possibly be buried in the same place as the Weilante failures.

Walking in this "garbage disposal plant," several players whispered to each other, exchanging words that, if understood by locals, might result in a beating.

Medical Miracle: "...In fact, Weilante people aren’t extreme enough, allowing this cane trash to rot at their doorstep instead of burying them in the Great Desert."

Angry Fatty Liver: "Won’t work, driving people to the Great Desert makes them looters."

Pickled Fish: "Could even turn you into the Goblin Mother."

Medical Miracle: "Tsk, focus on the burying part. Do you think it’s like inviting someone to a banquet and sending them politely to the door?"

Angry Fatty Liver: "Are you crazy?! Who would work for you then."

Pickled Fish: "+1, you’re a bit too extreme."

Listening to the conversation behind him, Tarlan Raider had a headache.

Why did he recruit a bunch of rare items again?

Thinking carefully, it seemed to have always been like this; his Desert Army never recruited normal people.

No wonder he couldn’t get to T0!

Whatever he thinks, it was the fault of this group of team members!

"Shut up, do you want your foreign language to stand out here?"

Hearing the boss speak, the three players finally quieted down.

Not because they were subservient to the boss.

Mainly worried this fool would mess up the mission and blame them.

Tarlan let out a breath and refocused on the street on both sides of the alley.

To avoid looking like a tourist group, he specially brought only three trusted confidants he just met. As for the other thirty new recruits, he arranged them to book rooms at the hotel.

There would be places to use them once in the Great Desert.

For now, too many people would be a hindrance and may attract the Weilante people’s attention.

Searching for clues wasn’t easy.

The houses on Blackwater Street were haphazardly built; not to mention house numbers, some houses even required searching for the door’s location.

The address on the note was exceptionally abstract, making it hard for people to understand when asking for directions.

But this didn’t trouble him.

Tarlan’s eyes scouted along the street, soon lighting up.

"Horseshoe Tavern... Count three stores to the right, turn into the alley and right—found it! Follow me!"

Seeing him so excited, Medical Miracle couldn’t resist reminding him.

"Boss... We’ve already passed that horseshoe-shaped sign three times."

Pickled Fish nodded beside him, his expression confident.

"+1, I remember it too."

Tarlan’s face reddened, glaring at him.

"Why didn’t you tell me sooner!"

Medical Miracle instantly showed an innocent expression.

"I’ve been asking you what we’re looking for for ages, and you just told me to follow without asking. I thought you knew where to go... If you were lost, say it earlier."

Tarlan was speechless, his face flushed.

Pickled Fish eyed the unreliable captain suspiciously, hesitantly asking.

"...Boss, are you really capable?"

Tarlan retorted angrily.

"...Shut up!"

The three players exchanged glances; the doubt in their eyes grew stronger.

Perhaps...

Maybe this mission isn’t that important.

Otherwise, it’s hard to explain why the mission was assigned to this incompetent...

The four were unaware that, as they rounded into the alley, several Weilante soldiers appeared at the spot they had just passed.

Though the Southern Legion and Alliance hadn’t declared war on each other, their heads were already clashing in Poluo Province. At this moment, Alliance people suddenly appearing on the Southern Legion’s turf couldn’t be ignored.

Even with the Triumph City visa, it wouldn’t work!

As these Blue Ground Squirrels disembarked, the Guards stationed near the dock started monitoring, and caught several right at the hotel’s entrance.

The Guards planned to interrogate the suspected spies, the Blue Jackets, separately, but realized when tallying them that the numbers didn’t match those who disembarked.

Discovering some had slipped through the net, the Guards’ chief promptly ordered a pursuit.

Just like that, this group of guards led by a Centurion chased all the way from the dock to Blackwater Street in the north.

Just as they were about to catch up, they followed and turned a few corners, only to find the target had disappeared.

"Damn it, lost them!"

The Centurion leading the team cursed at the stinking street with a gloomy face.

The Weilante guards beside him all wore expressions of facing a formidable enemy, their eyes surveying the dark alley entrances around them and the tightly shut doors and windows.

Although Blackwater Alley is technically part of Evernight Harbor, Weilante people generally avoid coming here.

Beside the Centurion, a guard swallowed hard and nervously asked.

"Boss...what should we do now?"

The Centurion squinted, searching along both sides of the street for a while.

These Blue Ground Squirrels are indeed suspicious.

If they weren’t, why would they run?

Thinking of this, he no longer hesitated and immediately gave an order.

"This bunch couldn’t have run far, they must still be in the vicinity of Blackwater Street... Contact the local gang, send out a bounty!"

The guard immediately followed the order with a serious expression.

"Yes!"

...

Getting lost was just a minor episode on the journey; it didn’t affect the Desert Army’s task execution.

Following the small piece of paper provided by the [key NPC], Tarlan quickly found the next key NPC in the task chain—the mercenary named Nok.

Everything went as smoothly as the ancestral toilet seat in the "Cup Society".

Looking at the man leaning against the door of the small house, whose chin was covered with stubble, [Tarlan Raider] candidly and vividly explained what he was there to do and who he was looking for, focusing on sincerity.

After listening to his explanation, the NPC "Nok" at the door thoughtfully touched his stubbled chin and said.

"Martin... That name sounds familiar, but I can’t recall it right now. How about you come back in a few days?"

Upon hearing this, Tarlan felt delighted inside but didn’t show it on his face. He calmly took out two 20 Dinar coins.

"Maybe this can help jog your memory a bit."

Seeing the coins in his hand, the stubbled man’s face immediately showed surprise, followed by a grin as he accepted them.

"Martin! I remember now, I know this guy! I even had a drink with him yesterday, right at the junction in a place called...what’s the tavern called?"

"Horseshoe Iron Tavern, right?"

Admiring the jaw-dropping expression on his face, Tarlan smiled slightly and tossed the two heavy gold coins into his hand, patting his greasy shoulder.

"...This is just a deposit; if you can bring him to me, the remaining payment will be a hundred times this amount."

Upon hearing the leader’s generous offer, the three underlings behind him inhaled sharply.

Dinars!

Even at the best exchange rate, that’s 800 silver coins!

This amount may be small for the big shots, but for newcomers like them, it’s quite considerable.

It was clear their leader was willing to spend for this task!

The man named Nok showed a greedy expression, carefully pocketing the coins.

"No problem, but... how should I contact you after I find him?"

Tarlan smiled gently and leisurely replied.

"I’ll be staying at the Oak Barrel Hotel in the harbor area these days. The conspicuous beer barrel is the sign. You can just tell the hotel staff my name, Tarlan, and they’ll bring you to me."

His brothers had already booked the entire hotel; it was full of his people.

Although there were quite a few newcomers in his army, he wasn’t a newcomer; he just had a low presence in the server.

Having participated in so many events and reaped so much from Ah Guang, a mere 4000 Dinar investment was still easy for him.

If he could complete the task, it would all be worth it.

After explaining the needed precautions, Tarlan turned and left with the three underlings swaggering.

Watching the leader’s "mission accomplished" demeanor, Sauerkraut Fish worriedly asked.

"Boss, is that it?"

Tarlan smiled slightly, his face showing confidence.

"It’s too early to say it’s done, but almost there."

Since that guy Martin is right at the harbor, everything becomes much easier.

Local gangs might be even better at searching people than the police.

The next thing to do is patiently wait for the flowers to bloom.

Without saying a word, Fatty Liver frowned and thoughtfully whispered.

"I somehow feel it’s too easy... That Martin, is he really just happens to be in Evernight Harbor?"

"Indeed..." Medical Miracle touched his chin, "If the task were really that simple, anyone could do it."

Seeing this bunch of slackers look down on him, Tarlan rolled his eyes.

"It’s called cash power; you guys know nothing."

Angry Fatty Liver: "..."

Sauerkraut Fish: "Boss, you’re awesome!"

As he watched the group disappear at the alley’s entrance, the man named Nok turned back into the room and gently closed the rusty iron door.

As soon as he closed the door, the radiant smile immediately vanished from his face, and a ruthless light shone from his pea-sized eyes.

A bald man wearing a vest, holding a rusty saw, emerged from the neighboring room and looked at "Nok," who had returned indoors, asking.

"Boss, who were those people outside?"

A centipede-like scar tattooed on the collar of that man made him look extremely fierce.

If there were locals here, they’d surely be scared pee in their pants by this scar.

His name was York, nicknamed "Doctor," but he didn’t normally do medical work. Instead, he led a group of Hyena Gang underlings to collect debts on Blackwater Street.

As for the man whom he respectfully called boss, he naturally wasn’t called "Nok" and was the leader of the Hyena Gang, Morse.

The gang members of Blackwater Street all call him "Broken Finger."

The reason for this name is mainly because almost half of the gamblers on Blackwater Street have left a finger with him.

"I don’t know, it’s a group of outsiders, and they seem to be from a very faraway place... There’s a smell of sea tide on their dinars."

Pressing his nose against those two gold coins and taking a deep breath, Morse’s eyes narrowed slightly, his lifted corners of the mouth gradually forming a playful smile.

"They call me Nok, yet they can’t recognize this face... I guess they actually don’t know the owner of this house."

With a scar imprinted on his chest, York’s eyes flashed with fierceness, and he said with a sinister smile.

"But maybe they can pay off that dead dog’s debt instead."

"Pay off the debt?" Morse smiled faintly, speaking slowly, "York, open up your perspective a bit. Does just paying off the debt satisfy you?"

Dinars?

Opening with such a large sum, if he doesn’t hit them for forty thousand, it would be a disservice to his "Broken Finger" reputation!

With greed flashing in his eyes, Morse paused for a moment and smiled.

"My intuition tells me we can get more from those chumps... much more."

The wealthiest in this port are those sea-going merchants.

After all, in their eyes, the most lucrative dock serves those merchants.

The key figure is a guy named Martin, and they seem to have mentioned an organization called the Enlightenment Society.

Morse wasn’t concerned about what that organization was; he only cared about how much money he could get.

As he spoke, he passed by York and walked into the room next door.

Only to see a skinny man leaning against the corner of the wall.

His face was blue, eye sockets sunken, forehead protruding, dying like a dying wild dog.

This guy is actually the real Nok.

This unlucky soul was said to be once a "storming the city" figure among the streets, working under a wealthy man in Triumph City as a sailor. The settlements he visited could write a thick book.

Unfortunately, luck was not on his side. Switching careers to become a mercenary, he never kicked the bad gambling habit he acquired as a sailor and even picked up the "snake grass" smuggled from Snake State to Evernight Harbor, owing nearly twenty thousand Dinars in debt.

To ordinary people, this is undoubtedly a fortune.

The Hyena Gang bought this bad debt for a thousand Dinars and naturally couldn’t settle for just forty Dinars in return.

They never make a losing deal.

Morse squatted beside Nok, received a dagger from a nearby underling, and lightly slapped Nok’s trembling face with the knife’s back.

"Do you know a guy named Martin?"

With eyes filled with fear like seeing a devil, Nok trembled while shaking his head.

"No, no... don’t know—ahhh!!!"

A heartrending scream echoed in the room, a dagger stabbed into his thigh.

The blade went all the way in.

Watching the scream gradually turn into gasping sobs, Morse smiled at this dying dog and gently covered his mouth.

"Shh... don’t scream so miserably; I avoided your artery."

As he spoke, his tone suddenly shifted.

"But next time might be different... you’d better think clearly before answering my question."

Meanwhile, his calloused hand was placed on the dagger hilt, eyes slightly squinted, leaning closer.

"Enlightenment Society, Martin, do these words remind you of anything?"

Fearful, mouth opening and closing, Nok shrunk backward, the back of his head tight against the wall, eyes steadfastly staring at the dagger stuck in his leg, like a pig entering the slaughterhouse.

His consciousness hovered on the edge of fainting, even lacking the strength to beg.

If it were before, he wouldn’t have been forced to desperation by a few thugs.

However, he was no longer the man he used to be; gambling and drugs had hollowed out his body.

Morse grew impatient from waiting, slightly exerted force on the dagger, intending to show this dying dog a bit of color.

Just then, a subordinate entered from outside, speaking in a lowered voice.

"Boss, the Weilante people have issued a bounty; they say a few spies from the Alliance have sneaked into Blackwater Street... 1000 Dinars for dead, and two thousand for alive."

Morse’s eyes narrowed to slits.

"Bounty... where is it issued from?"

The subordinate answered immediately.

"The harbor’s Guards!"

York glanced at Morse, tempted, he said.

"...shall we take this job?"

Work from the Weilante people is generally reliable; they pay exactly what they promise, never reneging.

Moreover, the Guards are worth currying favor with, finding a known guard to do a favor is best.

Morse didn’t answer, silently contemplating for a moment, then looked at that subordinate with a frown.

"Besides the bounty news, any other information? Like... characteristics of those spies, their last seen location, anything like that."

The subordinate paused, pondered for a moment, then answered.

"...The Guards didn’t specify, just asked us to keep an eye out for unfamiliar faces."

As he spoke, an idea struck, and he recalled something and exclaimed.

"Ah, right, I heard that guard say they seemed to lose sight of them at a nearby intersection; he advised us to search around here more."

Standing nearby, York muttered lowly.

"Nearby intersection... the main road intersection? Beside that Horseshoe Iron Tavern."

Horseshoe Iron Tavern!

Hearing this name, Morse first showed a surprised expression, then quickly squinted his eyes.

At the same time, the subordinate quickly nodded and continued.

"Yes, yes, right beside that tavern... Also, they seem to have already caught some at the front of a place called Oak Barrel Hotel in the harbor district."

"Can you please say everything at once instead of squeezing it out like toothpaste?" York slapped the back of the underling’s head hard, cursing and swearing.

The underling showed a terrified expression, nervously shrinking his neck.

"That’s... that’s all..."

"So it was them..."

Morse, murmuring to himself, surprised York with his expression.

"Boss... You know them?"

"Instead of knowing, it’s more like they’ve just been at our door." Morse had a peculiar expression on his face.

This is too much of a coincidence, isn’t it?

York was also stunned for a moment, then he cheerfully tossed aside the saw he was holding.

"I’m going to chase them right now!"

Watching the hurried York about to head out, Morse pulled out the dagger stuck in Nok’s thigh, indicating to the underling next to him to bandage it.

"You don’t even know what he looks like, let me go with you."

Enlightenment Society, Martin... and even involved Alliance spies.

This 1000 Dinars couldn’t be spent any better.

Morse’s shoulder subtly trembled, a pleasant smile emerging on his face.

Ordinary people see risk, but he sees golden Dinars.

Things are getting more interesting...

Lying dying at the corner of the wall, Nok looked hopelessly at the madman in front of him.

He always felt he was caught up in something unimaginable...

...

At the same time, while the gang members in Blackwater Alley were all stirred up, two men on an abandoned factory rooftop not far from Nok’s house were using binoculars to gaze toward Blackwater Alley.

Like the guy called [Tarlan Raider], they were both veteran players who obtained beta test qualifications in the early testing phase, with over two years of gameplay time and both reaching Level 30 and above.

As outstanding loafers, although they weren’t as influential as the T1 and T2 big shots stirring up the Waste World, they’ve seen many types of "harvesting" tricks.

They’ve seen both player tricks and NPC tricks.

Precisely because of this, they straightforwardly ignored that guy’s nonsense, leaving the team as soon as they hit the shore.

True to form, not long after they left, that rookie crew ran into trouble.

That bunch with big noses got into it with Brother Fang Chang in Baiyue Province, yet these guys brazenly carried Triumph City’s visa to cross the border, even booked rooms at the hotel.

They downright aren’t taking this game’s "realism" seriously!

However, from the big picture perspective, this might not be a bad thing.

The newcomers at least landed with an electronic passport issued by the Sticky Community, meaning their legal status is recognized by Triumph City.

The Southern Legion can’t possibly find any spy evidence from them. As for fabricated evidence, it’d only deceive themselves the most.

Yet, for the Alliance, this incident could be a bargaining chip in diplomatic games.

Any "clone" detained isn’t risking citizens’ lives.

Even if they end up "sacrificing heroically," waiting three days will do.

Additionally, Tarlan didn’t know he wasn’t the only one assigned a mission.

The two veteran players on the rooftop now confirmed that anyone above Level 30 could trigger the investigation task for the Enlightenment Society.

And aboard the whole ship, there were only three of them over Level 30.

"That simpleton caused quite a commotion, stirred up the whole Blackwater Alley."

[Desert Falcon] chuckled, lowering the binoculars from his hand.

The teammate next to him looked at him and asked.

"Are we just going to leave him be?"

[Desert Falcon] shrugged, indifferent.

"No need to bother, no harm if he’s caught... And letting him cause some ruckus isn’t a bad thing. Finding the Enlightenment Society in the Great Desert is like searching for a needle in a haystack; it might be better to alarm them, make them aware we’re seeking them, perhaps they’ll actively seek us out instead."

"At that point, we might follow the clues to find something."

In fact, the task briefing clearly states that the Alliance’s Guards Corps isn’t sure if the Enlightenment Society was involved in the Poluo Province War, just heard the Southern Legion had a researcher with the identity of a Resident of the refuge.

That person developed a virus named "Mortal Serum" using Era of Prosperity’s technology.

This really seems like something the Enlightenment Society would do.

Considering most of the Southern Legion’s colonies are near the Great Desert, the Alliance’s logical speculation is that the Southern Legion might have an agreement with the Enlightenment Society.

The freedom of this task is very high.

Any intelligence confirmed valuable can be exchanged for Contribution Points and silver coins, and as the investigation deepens, hidden tasks may be further triggered.

However, precisely because of this ultra-high freedom, the difficulty behind this task must be substantial.

Just like the Lair task in Baiyue Province, released last year, unfinished by anyone so far.

After hearing the sand sculpture’s strategy, Emichiru Junichiro couldn’t help but give a thumbs up.

"Niubi... Selling out teammates this time is truly niubi."

No sarcasm intended.

He truly thinks it’s niubi.

However, Sand Sculpture wasn’t satisfied with his remark, clicking his tongue in rebuttal.

"What do you mean selling out teammates? This is called alarming the grass, throwing stones to guide the way, learn a bit!"

Strictly speaking, they rogue players are all stones thrown by Master Manager.

And it’s the kind where they’re willing.

As for that simpleton called Tarlan, he’s the stone thrown by him.

If that guy gets caught, that would be good and the Enlightenment Society might actively seek him out.

Comedian heard and admired.

"You say it, then it’s right, I guess."