Bloodstar System: Infinite Evolution Through Beast Slaughter

Chapter 59: Back to the Slaughterhouse

Sitting in the bright, spacious office of the Frontier Marshal, Joren looked out over Norcrest’s prosperous central district.

What came to mind instead was the slaughterhouse in the West District.

The blood.

The sweat.

And Brann, the broad faced foreman who looked vicious enough to scare off trouble but noticed more than most people ever did.

When Joren had been forced to leave school and had nowhere else to go, Brann gave him work.

At the time, Joren had not had a coin to his name. That job had kept him alive.

Later, Brann took another risk for him. He supplied Voidbeasts so Joren could train, even though doing so meant offending House Hurst. Then he introduced him to Fixer and opened the way into the wilderness.

Without that, none of what followed would have happened.

Joren owed him.

"Strade."

He pressed the communicator on his desk.

A few seconds later, the heavy door opened and Strade entered at a brisk pace with a folder under one arm.

"Frontier Marshal. What do you need?"

Joren tapped his fingers lightly against the desk before speaking.

"Who supplies the Voidbeast meat for the Alkaid Authority cafeteria?"

"And the raw meat used by logistics to make rations for the soldiers on The Frontier?"

Strade adjusted his glasses.

He did not even need to open the folder.

"Several major trading companies handle most of it. All are long term suppliers that have passed repeated inspections."

Joren nodded.

"Add another name to the supplier list next month."

"Brann Kester’s slaughterhouse in the West District."

"As long as the quality meets standards, give them a monthly contract worth five million to start."

Strade paused.

Five million.

For Alkaid Authority’s enormous procurement budget, it was almost nothing.

For a private slaughterhouse, it was a fortune falling out of the sky.

Clearly, the Frontier Marshal was using public authority for private gain.

Or rather, supporting a small local business.

A competent adjutant knew when not to ask questions.

Strade recorded the order at once.

"No problem. I will arrange the contract and have the procurement department contact them directly."

"No need."

Joren rose.

As he moved, Black Dragon shifted over his body like something alive, fitting itself smoothly to his frame with a faint metallic gleam.

"I want to go there myself."

He walked to the window and looked toward the West District.

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

"Call it a triumphant return."

...

Norcrest, West District.

Nothing had changed.

The streets were still cramped and filthy, wastewater running along broken gutters.

A black off road vehicle forced its way into the old neighborhood like a steel beast, drawing stares from every thug and drifter nearby.

The crimson Antares Command insignia on its side made sure no one came too close.

Joren sat in the back and watched the familiar streets pass by.

The last time he had been here, he was a school dropout working himself raw for a few wages.

Now he had returned as the third most powerful figure in Norcrest’s Alkaid Authority.

"Frontier Marshal, the road ahead is too narrow. The vehicle cannot get through."

The driver glanced back apologetically.

"Stop here."

Joren opened the door and stepped out.

The smell hit him at once.

Blood.

Rot.

The unmistakable air of a slaughterhouse district.

It did not bother him.

He drew in a slow breath and found it strangely familiar.

After straightening his collar, he headed toward the slaughterhouse he remembered.

This should have been the busiest time of day.

Trucks carrying Voidbeasts ought to have lined the street.

Machines should have been roaring.

Workers shouting.

Normally, the noise carried for blocks.

Instead, the district was too quiet.

Joren rounded the corner and stopped.

The old iron gate stood ahead.

The sign that should have hung above it now lay crooked on the ground, stamped with muddy footprints.

No trucks waited outside.

Even the guard dog was gone.

Only a few torn newspapers spun in the wind.

Closed?

The padlock on the gate had rusted solid.

This was not a normal shutdown.

Joren narrowed his eyes.

A faint trace of gold passed through his pupils.

Mental Force surged outward like a tide and covered the entire compound.

"Something happened."

He did not bother knocking.

One step against the ground sent him over the three meter wall.

He landed without a sound.

Then he walked straight toward the slaughter room where he had once spent so many hours working.

The smell of blood grew stronger.

Not Voidbeast blood.

Human.

Joren’s Mental Force spread through the darkness.

The place had been destroyed.

The processing line lay in pieces. Conveyor belts had been cut through, and broken machine parts were scattered among shards of glass.

He crouched beside a concrete support column.

A fist print had been driven deep into it, cracks spreading from the impact like a web.

"Projected protective force."

"At least a Rank Three Warrior."

Joren ran two fingers across the mark.

This had not been random destruction.

Someone had tried to kill.

The warmth left his eyes.

Who?

Brann had influence in the West District, but he knew how to survive. He handled people carefully and never provoked anyone beyond his reach.

Most of what he earned came from hard, ugly work.

And with Brann’s Mortal strength, there was no reason for a Rank Two or Rank Three Awakened Warrior to make this much effort.

Unless...

They had come because of Joren.

He rose and looked around.

There was blood, but no bodies.

That meant someone might still be alive.

Or the bodies had been taken.

Dozens of workers had vanished from the slaughterhouse as if the place had swallowed them.

Joren pulled out his phone, intending to ask Strade for recent security reports from the West District.

Then he lowered it again.

Nothing useful would appear in official records.

Rot like this stayed underground.

To find people here, he needed the methods of the underground.

One name came to him at once.

Fixer.

The broker who ran an auto shop in the northern part of the city.

Brann had introduced Joren to him.

The two men were clearly connected.

And as one of the largest brokers in Norcrest’s underworld, Fixer heard everything worth hearing.

A clash or kidnapping on this scale could not have happened in the West District without reaching him.

"Looks like it is time to visit an old acquaintance."