"Fine, let's find a spot first and observe from the shadows."
With that, Byrne led Renee to an empty corner seat. The position had its back to the wall, yet the view covered more than half of the front hall. It was an excellent vantage point—convenient for observation while remaining difficult for others to notice.
As soon as they sat down, two burly men at the neighboring table, with black snakes tattooed on their arms, cast ill-intentioned glances their way. Their eyes crawled over Renee like slimy insects, filled with undisguised greed and flippancy.
Renee looked disgusted. Clearly annoyed by this insolent staring, she was about to stand up and teach these blind fools a lesson. Sensing the shift in her mood, Byrne immediately nudged her elbow with his arm, signaling her with his eyes to stay calm.
Then, Byrne turned to the two men at the next table and made a toasted gesture with his hand. This was the most common way to greet someone in a Lower District tavern. However, as he raised his hand, he pulled the Blackfire from his lower back and slammed it onto the table.
His message was clear: I don't want trouble, but I'm not afraid of it. You two better not mess with me.
Seeing the muzzle of the Blackfire pointed toward them, the two men's flippant expressions froze instantly, replaced by a touch of wariness. In the Lower District, anyone who carried a gun was essentially a hard target. The man with the stubby beard sullenly withdrew his gaze, picked up his glass, and took a gulp as a response to the gesture. He then turned back to drink with his companion, only occasionally stealing glances at Renee with his peripheral vision, no longer daring to make any further provocative moves.
Renee's tense shoulders relaxed slightly. She leaned toward Byrne and whispered, "Thanks." She had indeed been impulsive just now, nearly forgetting their primary mission.
Byrne grabbed the Blackfire and said calmly, "Don't mention it. In the Lower District, fists are the law."
After putting the gun away, Byrne called over a bartender and dropped a few credit vouchers. "Two dark beers first."
The bartender responded briskly and soon brought over two foaming glasses of dark beer. Byrne took a sip. The bitterness of synthetic malt slid down his throat, carrying the characteristic burn of cheap alcohol.
Byrne didn't mind. Using the motion of drinking, he observed his surroundings, specifically the direction Renee had pointed out earlier. After a brief look, he set down his glass and looked at Renee. "Well? Can you pin down the exact location?"
Renee hadn't touched her beer; she had been secretly searching. The second after Byrne spoke, she opened her eyes. "Yes. It's to the left of the bar, near the stairs."
Byrne looked over immediately. A person was sitting alone at the left side of the bar. This individual had his back to the hall, with most of his body hidden in the shadows of the bar counter and the side of the staircase. He wore a grey trench coat with the hood pulled extremely low. From Byrne's perspective, his face was completely invisible.
"That's him?"
Renee nodded. "Correct. Although the Chaos energy on him is well-hidden, I can feel it. That eerie, distorted aura matches the crystal chip's mark perfectly."
"This guy really knows how to pick a spot. He chose a position that's the most difficult to observe."
While Byrne and Renee were talking in low voices, a heavily made-up woman carrying a tray walked over.
"Would you two like to try our new signature drink?" Her voice carried a forced, sugary sweetness. Her eyes flickered toward Renee before settling on Byrne.
Byrne didn't want the drink, but he pulled out several credit vouchers and handed them to her. "Forget the drinks. I just want to ask, is that fellow sitting at the bar a regular here?"
The woman took the vouchers and stuffed them directly into her cleavage. "Oh, my. It seems you're here for the first time. The one at the bar? He's a weirdo."
Hearing this, Byrne asked curiously, "A weirdo? In what way?"
The woman looked back at the bar and lowered her voice. "You don't know. Ever since he first came half a month ago, he's sat in that exact spot every single day. Never changes. And he never talks to anyone. Every time he comes, he only orders one drink and stays for exactly three hours. His timing is incredibly precise."
"He's been doing this for half a month?"
While asking, Byrne's gaze involuntarily drifted toward the bar. That grey figure looked like a statue embedded in the shadows.
"Exactly. And he always orders the strongest 'Throat-Burner,' but he only ever takes three sips. The rest of the drink just stays there. Once, a new bartender didn't know better and tried to clear his drink. The man just looked at him, and the kid was scared out of his wits—didn't dare show up for work for days."
"I'd advise you not to mess with that weirdo. There was a brother before who thought he was acting too cool and tried to pick a fight. He didn't even touch the man's coat before he looked like his soul had been sucked out. He fell straight to the floor, twitching, and didn't wake up until the next day."
The woman had a lingering fear in her eyes as she spoke. She stole one last glance at the bar and walked away.
This person shows up at a fixed time and a fixed location every day and only takes three sips... it looks a lot like a rendezvous.
Thinking of this, Byrne put down his glass and said to Renee, "You stay here and watch. I'll go to the bar and pretend to order a drink to get a closer look at him."
Renee wanted to say something, but she swallowed her words and nodded. "Fine. Be careful. His Chaos aura is hidden, but its intensity is likely high."
"Don't worry, I know what I'm doing."
Byrne adjusted his clothes and walked toward the bar, acting as if nothing were out of the ordinary. Navigating through the tables reeking of alcohol, he heard the shouts of drunks passing his ears, and heavily made-up women intentionally brushed against his arm, leaving behind the pungent scent of cheap perfume.
Byrne stepped aside expressionlessly, his gaze locked on the grey figure at the left of the bar. As the distance closed, Byrne gradually perceived an indescribable sense of distortion, as if space itself had been crumpled, winding faintly around the grey figure.
Byrne reached the bar and specifically chose a seat that was neither too close nor too far.
"Give me a Throat-Burner."
Byrne didn't have anything particular in mind, so he copied the man in grey and ordered the same drink.
"Alright. One million credits."
Byrne paid the money readily. While waiting for the drink, his peripheral vision scanned the man in grey. Because the hood was pulled so low and the man was looking down, Byrne couldn't see his face. Even though a glass sat in front of him, the man ignored it completely. His right hand rested on the edge of the bar, tapping the surface rhythmically, over and over.
The state the man was in felt completely out of place with the surrounding environment.
Heh. He really is quite strange.
"Sir, your Throat-Burner is ready."
The bartender placed the drink in front of Byrne. Byrne picked up the glass and, mimicking the man's rhythm, took three consecutive sips.
Hiss!
So... so hot!
The moment the strong liquor hit his throat, it felt like a ball of scorching fire sliding down into his stomach. The intensity of this Throat-Burner far exceeded his expectations.
No, I need a second to recover.
Just as Byrne set down his glass, the grey-clad man's right hand stopped tapping the table.