Bloodstar System: Infinite Evolution Through Beast Slaughter

Chapter 13: Understand? You Bear the Risk Yourself

Brann stood by the railing on the second floor.

"What the hell..."

The blood covered young man below sent a deep chill through him.

Two days.

More than a hundred Feralborn.

Every one of them had been slaughtered by Joren alone. From the look of him, he did not seem tired at all. The more he killed, the more alive he became.

Those eyes.

Even from this distance, Brann could feel the fierce light inside them.

Good thing.

Good thing I did not push him too far.

Joren slid the blade back into its sheath.

He did not shout. His lips only moved slightly.

"Done."

He opened the system panel.

The Bloodstars that had already been emptied had surged again.

[Bloodstars: 42]

The efficiency was terrifying.

Joren felt the power stirring inside him, and a sharp gleam passed through his eyes.

With a green Talent, he had much more confidence about this trip into the wilderness.

He turned and walked toward the changing room, his back straight as a spear.

When he came out after changing, Brann was already waiting by the door.

The flattering smile on Brann’s thick fleshy face was almost overflowing. In his hand was a black document pouch.

"What you wanted is done."

Brann handed the pouch over. His attitude was even more respectful than before, with a trace of careful restraint.

Joren’s performance over the last two days had completely shaken him.

Joren took the pouch but did not open it right away.

He only weighed it in his hand.

It was not light.

"Thanks."

His voice was faint.

"The fixer is waiting for you at an abandoned repair shop in the north of the city."

North of the city.

An abandoned repair shop.

The rolling shutter door was pulled halfway down, revealing yellow light inside.

The air smelled of engine oil and rust, mixed with some unclear burnt odor.

This was the entrance to a place outside the law.

Joren tightened the sling bag over his shoulder. There was nothing inside it except a boning knife.

He bent down and slipped under the shutter door.

Zzzzt.

The piercing sound of welding drilled into his ears.

Sparks flew everywhere.

An old man in oil stained work pants had his back to the entrance. He was fiddling with a thick metal pipe in his hands.

It looked like an exhaust pipe.

But Joren could tell at a glance that it was a modified crude cannon.

The kind that could blast an adult Brutebull into scraps.

"Close the door."

The old man did not turn around. His voice was hoarse, like two sheets of sandpaper rubbing together.

"I do not take walk in customers. If you want your car fixed, go next door."

Joren did not move.

He stood where he was and calmly scanned the room.

The walls were covered with modified parts. Several wanted notices hung there as well, stabbed full of holes by throwing knives.

"Brann sent me."

Joren’s voice was not loud, yet it carried clearly through the noisy repair shop.

The welding stopped at once.

The old man’s hands paused.

Slowly, he turned around.

His face was shriveled. A single magnifying lens covered his left eye, while his right eye was cloudy and yellow.

This was the fixer.

The most famous black broker in this area.

The fixer pulled off one greasy glove and threw it onto the workbench, then looked Joren up and down.

His gaze lingered on Joren’s somewhat young face for a full three seconds.

"Heh."

The fixer laughed.

The sound was full of absurdity and mockery.

He took a wrinkled cigarette from his pocket and held it between his lips.

He did not light it.

He only tilted his eyes and looked at Joren as if he were looking at an idiot.

"Has that stupid bear got maggots in his brain?"

The fixer spat.

The glob landed accurately beside Joren’s foot.

"Do I look like I run a nursery?"

Joren ignored the spit near his shoe.

He took out the black document pouch from inside his clothes.

"I need papers."

"A hunter license."

The fixer did not reach for the pouch right away.

His cloudy right eye narrowed to a slit as he studied the young man in front of him again.

Someone like this thrown into the wilderness would not even be enough to get stuck between a Voidbeast’s teeth.

"Brann really is getting worse with age."

The fixer sneered.

Joren’s face did not change.

His dark eyes remained fixed on the fixer, with no hint of retreat.

He did not even blink.

Interesting.

The fixer reached out and grabbed the document pouch.

He tore the seal open roughly.

A thick stack of cash fell out and hit the table.

That was the toll money Brann had prepared.

When the fixer saw the colorful bills, his dried old face finally shifted.

The corner of his mouth pulled into an ugly curve.

He shoved the money into a drawer, then lit the cigarette that had been hanging from his mouth for ages.

After a deep inhale, the harsh smell of cheap tobacco filled the air.

"Fine. For the money."

He turned around and rummaged through a pile of oily waste paper.

"This job would not have been yours originally."

"There is a temporary wilderness team that got thrown together. Their original blade hand had both hands chopped off yesterday."

"Now they need someone to fill the hole."

The fixer pulled a wrinkled map from the pile of waste paper and tossed it onto the table.

The map was stained with unknown brown marks.

"Five tomorrow morning. Meet at the north checkpoint."

"They do not care who you are."

"They do not care how old you are."

"As long as you have a blade and dare to swing it at Voidbeasts, they will take you."

Joren placed a hand on the map.

His fingertips touched the cold paper.

"Pay?"

He asked directly.

The fixer sneered and showed a mouthful of uneven yellow teeth.

"Pay?"

"Come back alive first. Then talk about pay."

"Those people are all desperate criminals. They eat people without spitting out the bones."

"A rookie like you will most likely be used as a stone to test the road, or as meat bait to lure Voidbeasts."

The fixer picked up the welding torch again.

A blue flame jumped up.

Its light made his old face shift between brightness and shadow.

"I will say the ugly words first."

"I only make the connection and take the broker fee."

"Once you leave this door, whether you live or die, whether you get chewed up by Voidbeasts or stabbed in the back by teammates, none of it has anything to do with me."

"Understand?"

"You bear the risk yourself."