039. Heroic Soul Bar
The bar was bathed in dark blue lighting, a glass of tequila with mint and chili sitting nearby. A bugman warrior strummed a heat-dispersing guitar while clutching a laser rifle. The silicon-based lifeform bartender, with dead-fish eyes, casually engaged you in small talk.
Beside you, a drunk mercenary, spitting acidic saliva while swearing and ranting about politics, loudly discussed how to decapitate Red King, as if that would free Valkyrie Fortress's satellite from control.
This was Mintak'yko, the most famous bar in Valkyrie Fortress, though regular patrons couldn't even recall the name.
「Heroic Soul」
This was their true refuge.
In the densely packed Valkyrie Fortress, not everyone could afford hotels and apartments. Even those who paid a fortune for housing often saw gang wars and mercenary skirmishes, with territory bosses changing every few days. Most newcomers preferred to crash at a bar.
"Did you see the news? I told you, Red King's bastard is a thief, bound to cause trouble—look, the 『United Corporation』 just got fined 1,200 trillion Alm Gold by the Abyss Interstellar Alliance for refusing to let the Alrat Federation repay their loans early as a countermeasure!"
A silicon-based being, covered in crystalline growths, took a sip of strong acidic liquid, his veins glowing red hot along his circuit board-like blood vessels. His facial panel animated with exaggerated joy, eager to show off his self-generated program:
"I'm telling you, this is the most badass fine Abyss has ever handed to a narrative-level civilization, but 『Empire of Heroes』 isn't any better. They sent the Alrat Federation to fend off the [Purple Moon Society] Atenia."
"No, your view lacks perspective. Without narrative-level civilizations defending us, these societies would have hollowed out Abyss long ago."
A priest-knight with a crocodile head finished his prayer, stowed his scripture in his coat, and bared his teeth in displeasure:
"For forty centuries, the 『Temple of Annihilation』 has waged wars under the Stellar God strategy, expanding their territory by a fifth. 『Empire of Heroes』, though they've expanded their 'inherent time domain,' only solidified two interstellar routes, covering no more than 40 million light-years. At least the 『Temple of Annihilation』 clerics don't gorge themselves so openly."
Clang!
A dagger stabbed into the table between them, and a strikingly beautiful elf sat down, flipping her silver-white ponytail. Her exoskeletal armor shifted, revealing her sleek chocolate-colored skin.
"Yo, Carvin 'Magnet,' Crocodile Prophet. You two sure have a full stomach this morning, criticizing politics."
She kicked her feet onto the table, grabbed a glowing arcane beer, and mockingly said:
"Over here, the Philosopher King battles the Pope, while [Societies] invade 'Civilizations.' Hahaha, Abyss is way too exciting. We lowly commoners, barely paying any taxes as free mercenaries, actually care about which of these narrative-level bigwigs comes out on top. Truly impressive!"
"Flanna Nightwhisper, if your sharp tongue were half as attractive as your dark elf face and body, you wouldn't have been a free mercenary for 90 years, still without a steady team," Magnet retorted without hesitation.
"Though Magnet has shallow vision and speaks like he's spraying sand, his honesty is one of the few admirable qualities he possesses."
Crocodile Prophet made the sign of the cross over his chest:
"May the all-knowing, all-powerful Eternal Buddha bless you, and may you soon escape this sea of suffering, Amino."
"Screw you." Dark elf Flanna flipped her slender, straight middle finger. "Once I find a rich, young, handsome man, you'll all know you were wrong."
"You'll have to find a blind one for that," Magnet said bluntly.
"Hey, you silica-guzzling dirt-spewer, are we really doing this?"
"No fighting. Damaging anything will cost you,"
Creak—
As the three bickered, the bar's door slowly opened. A young man with short golden hair and a blue-and-white coat walked in. He wore a hood, looking like a mage, but his aura was entirely different from those discreet spellcasters.
He didn't need to do anything—people's eyes naturally fell on him.
"Yo, a newbie?" Magnet muttered.
"A carbon-based human mage. Not sure which human race he's from," Crocodile Prophet instantly assessed his race and profession.
The dark elf quipped:
"Fresh meat."
Thud, thud.
The man walked straight to the bar, sat down, and said to the bartender:
"Oblivion Spring Ale, Wyvern Blood Whiskey, Nuclear Beer, with cherry and lemon."
"A Valhalla, 25 Alm Gold."
The bartender replied, his expression odd:
"I haven't seen your face before, but you don't seem like a newcomer. A mage wouldn't end up in a free mercenary bar."
"Political refugee," the young man replied curtly. "Mr. Orlaville posted a bounty for Ling Hibiscus, and it mentioned this bar's location."
"I see, you're here for the reward." The bartender shrugged. "You're too late. Mr. Orlaville's supply of the material is already sufficient, and we're not buying any more hibiscus for now."
The young man chuckled:
"I know, but I think Mr. Orlaville wouldn't refuse an unclaimed Radnuot resource planet, would he?"
The silicon-based bartender's face stiffened, and he immediately spoke more seriously: "Please wait a moment."
The next moment, he plugged a data receiver into the back of his head. His facial display flickered, then rearranged into a more somber expression, his tone aging:
"You have a Radnuot production planet?"
"You don't believe me?" the young man asked.
"Radnuot is a top-tier material for silicon-based lifeforms, capable of extending their life core. The inert gas molecules prevent internal crystal oxidation, and Radnuot is an irresistible delicacy for silicon-based lifeforms—this market is enormous, and the profit margins are insane. If I, a mere bartender, got my hands on it, I could buy this whole street in a month."
The bartender hadn't outright expressed doubt, but every word reiterated one point:
Radnuot, such a valuable resource, couldn't possibly be owned by a political refugee newbie like him.
"Besides, you're not even Gamma-level," he added, casting a glance at the young man, his tone laced with disdain: "You've barely reached adulthood, haven't you? Are you in university? If you need money, I can offer you a job—but if you're here to scam, sorry, this is one of Abyss's most notorious lawless zones. There's no justice here."
"Mr. Orlaville, I think you've misunderstood," the young man smiled, "I never said I own a Radnuot production planet."
"Then there's nothing left to say. Leave. I don't have time to waste."
Orlaville prepared to raise his hand and disconnect from the data feed.
"In that case, it's a shame," the young man said regretfully. "I was hoping that the unclaimed wilderness planet—where the civilization is still playing with stones and bones—would interest the diligent 'Six-Eyed' Orlaville."
"But who knew the rumors weren't true. It seems the real Mr. Orlaville prefers to buy expensive, established Radnuot farms rather than develop raw lands. If that's the case, I'll take my business elsewhere."
With that, the young man turned to leave.
"—Wait!"
Orlaville hurriedly called after him:
"Did you say... that planet is unclaimed territory? It's not one of those secret planets being observed as a social experiment by interstellar civilizations, is it? It's truly an independent planet?"