Chapter 807: Test (Early Month, Requesting Monthly Votes)

Les didn't ask why; he went upstairs, found a red cloth, and hung it outside the entrance of the "Carnivore" bar.

Lumian sat at the rebuilt bar counter and enjoyed roasted beef marinated with seasonings, paired with soft, delicious bread.

As time passed, more customers entered the "Carnivore" bar, because Les had built a wooden rack to display the new menu and prices on the street side.

Of course, this act wasn't the main reason customers came.

The most important factor was that the food prices on the menu were unimaginably cheap—after all, the owner wasn't profiting from the markup.

Customers came with a trial mindset, lacking confidence in the "Carnivore" bar after its new owner; they repeatedly confirmed whether the prices were truly accurate, with no hidden fees, and whether the portion sizes and quality could be guaranteed.

These were lessons learned from too many scams by Morola's swindlers.

Those swindlers had their own excuses: we were all exiled to Morola for serious crimes—do you expect us to run honest businesses? After all, Morola's resident code doesn't prohibit false pricing or selling inferior goods, and enforcers never inspect kitchen hygiene.

Most customers dared not speak out; the swindlers they could punish had already been killed, and the rest were beyond their reach.

They often regretted it, wishing they'd kept a few manipulable swindlers to supervise daily and ensure food quality and fair pricing.

Often, killing wasn't the best solution.

"If I'd understood this principle, I wouldn't have been exiled to Morola!" said a forty-something exile, holding a beer topped with white foam, voicing his opinion on the matter.

His gaze kept shifting back and forth between the temporary bartender, Zhu Li, hoping his words and demeanor would attract the beauty's attention.

Cheap prices brought them in; the bartender's beauty kept them from leaving, prompting them to order one more drink.

Lumian skewered a piece of beef roasted crisp on the outside, tender within, savoring the perfect blend of Les's secret seasoning and the meat's tenderness.

He wondered whether, after leaving Morola, he should put Ludwig in charge as head chef.

Don't waste the "Chef" talent!

After lunch, Lumian picked up a glass of strong liquor and walked around the main hall as the bar owner, piecing together Morola's current state from various customers' remarks:

Soon after this exile city was founded, its residents had already split into classes, with strength being the primary dividing criterion.

Today, the extraordinary had firmly seized key positions in Morola, controlling resources like food, meat, vegetables, dairy, minerals, factory products, sales channels, and street-front shops; ordinary criminals without supernatural power could only serve them, laboring in farms, mines, pastures, and factories—those in slightly better conditions were clerks, the worse off barely better than slaves.

For these ordinary criminals, their greatest dream was to earn the trust of a powerful extraordinary, and receive as a reward the extraordinary's unused special trait after winning a duel.

"This is practically the heavenly realm the Iron Cross Society dreamed of," Lumian remarked with a wry smile as he returned to his seat at the bar.

As a former member of the Iron Cross Society, though he'd always secretly mocked their awkward "sermons" and "rituals," he'd still absorbed their core beliefs:

They wanted to build a nation where the extraordinary no longer hid, but earned status through strength.

Morola now seemed exactly like that.

Lumian was about to finish his remaining strong liquor and head upstairs to read and study in peace when he saw the gentlemanly Guxin enter the bar.

You're here faster than expected… Someone's been watching this place? Lumian toyed with the glass in his hand.

Guxin sat beside him, removed his half-high silk top hat, and addressed Zhu Li, dressed in a white shirt and black vest with a dark tie, exuding a distinct charm:

"A glass of Lierangqi."

—Morola had few drinks; rye beer, Lierangqi, and red wine were the most popular.

Lumian pulled out paper and a pen from "The Traveler's Satchel" and began sketching on the bar counter.

Guxin waited until Zhu Li brought the Lierangqi, took a gulp, then smiled straight ahead:

"You made your decision faster than I expected."

"I don't want to be bound like this," Lumian replied with implied meaning.

His true intent was that he didn't intend to stay in Morola long; to Guxin's ears, it meant he no longer wished to submit to the Knowledge Church's rule.

"This is the common choice of all the strong—the eagle doesn't flock with sparrows," Guxin praised.

Lumian continued sketching, chuckled, and said:

"Now, you must convince me—you have a future, you have hope. I won't stand with failures."

"I've led dozens of uprisings and still haven't been caught by the Knowledge Church—isn't that the best proof?" Guxin took another sip of Lierangqi.

Lumian shook his head:

"In my homeland, there's a proverb: 'One swallow doesn't make a summer.' What does it mean? A few swallows arriving early don't prove the season has changed; jumping to conclusions from isolated phenomena is extremely unwise."

"What aspect do you need me to convince you on?" Guxin turned his head.

Lumian smiled:

"Pass my test."

Guxin froze for a few seconds, then laughed:

"Normally, it's organizations like ours testing new recruits to see if they're qualified—how did it become the recruit testing the organization?"

"It depends on the recruit's strength and importance, not past conventions," Lumian replied, his expression clear: I don't need to join your group—I can form my own team.

Guxin drank his Lierangqi, paused a moment, then said:

"What do you want us to do?"

Lumian smiled without answering, until he finished the sketch, then pushed the paper toward Guxin:

"Find this person."

The drawing depicted Albus Medici.

Lumian's sketching skill wasn't high, but with the "Hunter"'s precise control over wrist and fingers, combined with his deep memory and mental reconstruction, he rendered Albus Medici with uncanny accuracy—the aggressive, repulsive aura leapt from the paper.

"Him?" Guxin picked up the sketch, confirming.

Lumian gave a slight nod:

"His real name is Albus Medici—I don't know if he's using a false name in Morola."

"Medici…" Guxin murmured the surname.

He folded the sketch, slipped it into his coat pocket, then lifted his glass of Lierangqi again:

"You can test us, but we must test you too.

"You must prove you have sufficient ability."

"Isn't killing the original owner of this bar enough?" Lumian smiled. "Or do you want to duel me?"

Guxin maintained his gentlemanly posture and shook his head:

"We've already acknowledged your strength. Now we must test other aspects."

Lumian held his glass, turned his head toward Guxin, and waited for him to continue.

Guxin glanced left and right, his gaze lingering for two seconds on Zhu Li, whose charm could not be concealed.

He lowered his voice:

"The Knowledge Church's control over Morola rests on an artifact buried beneath the cemetery. Our ultimate goal is to break in and seize that artifact.

"It's extremely dangerous. We've found a similar place to train our members. Your test is to enter the underground zone shrouded in war mist, overcome the obstacles along the way, and reach our marked location."

Still targeting "0—01"? Lumian pondered for a few seconds, then said:

"Fine. When can we start?"

"Tonight." Guxin finished his Lierangqi, paid for the drink, and left the "Carnivore" bar.

Lumian glanced at Zhu Li and saw the "Witch" lowering her eyes, obedient and restrained as she handled patrons' advances and harassment—she seemed entirely unaware of his conversation with Guxin.

Hmph… Lumian chuckled inwardly, set down the glass, and headed upstairs.

…………

Trier, Memorial District, Aoluosaijie No. 9, Apartment 702.

"Jianna should be back the day after tomorrow, right?" Franca murmured by the living room window, feeling both melancholy and dread.

Against the deep night outside and the glow of streetlights, her face flickered between light and shadow, elusive as a mesmerizing dream.

Suddenly, she saw the "Penitent" Bayinfei, dressed in a black clerical robe like a charred corpse, stepping out from empty air, holding a letter.

A letter? Who sent this to Lumian? Oh—Bayinfei appearing here means the messengers truly can't locate Morola, even with special contracts… Franca took the letter and smiled politely:

"Thank you."

Bayinfei nodded, turned, and vanished into the night seeping through the window.

Franca immediately sighed:

"I was hoping to get on your good side, ask you to introduce me to a messenger…"

As she spoke, she raised her right hand and smelled the complex scent of powder, perfume, grass, flowers, and spices on the letter.

A letter from a woman? With full authority from Lumian, Franca muttered as she opened it and read:

"I don't know whether to address you as Louis Berry or Mr. Lumian.

"Lately, through Ruiya, I've truly entered the occult circles of Matani, acquired much occult knowledge, and realized I'm actually not weak—I simply lacked experience and never showed it. Truly.

"Of course, I now understand how vast the gap between us is, and how vast the world beyond Matani truly is.

"I'm willing to help your friend, and I hope you'll honor your promise.

"Amandine."

P. .: Early month, requesting monthly votes~

(End of Chapter)