Endless Debt-Chapter 849 - 3: Savage Growth

After leaving the mine, Bologue headed straight for the Wandering Crossroads. He was as familiar with the area as a local, making his way through the air corridors to the cluster of buildings that grew out of the cliffside like a massive tumor, with narrow, dark streets exuding a cold chill.

There were few pedestrians on the road, each person walking silently with their heads down. The windows along the street were crooked and boarded up, and wooden fences enclosed the alleys, reminding Bologue of the fortifications built in the city during wartime.

The Wandering Crossroads was indeed in a state of war, a long and silent one, where everyone was anxious and fearful, clutching Mammon Coins engraved with mercury symbols, quietly praying that the Evil Spirits wouldn’t come calling.

Bologue pulled down the brim of his hat. He looked no different from the ordinary passersby, but unlike their fear, Bologue felt a twisted and pathological pleasure.

A low, husky voice came from under his hat’s brim, "I kept my promise, Mammon."

Bologue had once vowed to Mammon that he would become a legend among villains, and now he had achieved it. He turned his head to look at the other buildings hanging from the cliff, where corpses, nearly mummified, dangled from the aerial corridors connecting them.

They were once the revered figures of the Wandering Crossroads, overseeing smuggling and human trafficking. Many had knelt at their feet, begging for mercy, but now they were lifeless, their bodies marked by traces of torture and brutally hanged.

No one dared to take them down, for this was the work of the Evil Spirits, and the bodies served as a deterrent, warning all who passed.

Bologue’s memory of the battle was quite clear. These people were among the few who had risen to become Demons, the most powerful of whom was the head Prayer Demon. His Secret Energy rendered his body as hard as steel and could spread this hardening via Ether, making his weapons firm and sharp.

The iron wall forged by Ether couldn’t withstand Bologue. His resentment easily tore through the flow of Ether, splitting open the iron-like body.

Palmer followed behind Bologue. Because of Bologue’s ruthless actions, which rarely left survivors, the Wandering Crossroads had little intelligence about the Evil Spirits, not to mention their identities and appearances.

The two were well-disguised, looking like ordinary passersby, yet Palmer had some strange feelings in his heart. With Bologue by his side, he sometimes felt like the two were kings of this dark world.

Well, it was just a joke; they couldn’t truly be considered kings. At most, they were lords who had gained some power and reputation. Now, they were going to meet the true King.

Looking up, the tall buildings rose from the grotesque tumor woven of concrete, endless cables wrapping round and round, forming a black, massive hanging nest, but more like a web encompassing the entire Great Rift than a nest.

"You can wait outside for me."

Bologue said to Palmer, knowing he was different; Palmer wasn’t as accepting of the Devil.

"It’s alright," Palmer shook his head, "People must get used to their work."

Bologue said no more and directly led Palmer into the Spiderweb Bar. Unlike the usual lively atmosphere, the bar seemed desolate, with only a sparse few sitting in the shadows. The neon lights crazily swept around but couldn’t stir any emotional upswing, instead accentuating the loneliness.

The bartender, Vika, as always, stood behind the bar, silently wiping glasses. Upon seeing Bologue, he merely lifted his head slightly.

Vika asked, "Off work?"

"No, it’s still working hours."

"Oh..." Vika understood Bologue’s implication, "Then you must have encountered trouble, or you wouldn’t come to him."

Vika then smiled, though the smile seemed somewhat disturbing.

"He’s a bit fed up with you now, Bologue. Your rampage has disrupted the balance of the Great Rift. Our tax revenue has been quite poor lately."

"Oh, is that so?"

Bologue didn’t show much emotion, but he felt a bit delighted by the news internally.

The Great Rift was a tumor located above Oubos, Oath City. Unfortunately, they needed this tumor, though its presence remained too dangerous. What Bologue could do was minimize the harm it might bring, such as interfering with taxes.

The reckless slaughter of the Evil Spirits had purged many of the loyal taxpayers of the Wandering Crossroads, causing more people to flee the area, which in turn led to decreased tax revenue. Bologue understood that solving this problem couldn’t be done single-handedly.

Vika said the tax revenue had decreased, but knowing the Tyrant’s greedy nature, perhaps it hadn’t decreased, just hadn’t increased as expected.

The Wandering Crossroads was only a part of the Tyrant’s vast empire. Outside the crossroads, he had the mysterious Gray Trade Association—those madmen who dared to sell anything—which was the important source of tax funds.

"Things aren’t serious enough to rely on his power," Bologue said, "I’m here to see you."

"See me?" Vika didn’t understand, "Is there something I can help you with?"

Bologue asked, "Besides me, is anyone else hunting Demons?"

The hunt in the mine area made Bologue realize another Hunter had intruded into his hunting ground, causing him an instinctive unease.

"Why should I tell you, Bologue?"

Vika put down the glass he was cleaning, rested his hands on the bar counter, and lowered his body, "From a certain angle, we’re sort of in a hostile state now, don’t you think?"

"I feel like I’m just maintaining order as usual," Bologue showed no sign of backing down, "The Order Bureau’s previous neglect of the Great Rift allowed this place to grow too wild."

"I understand we won’t wage war against each other. After all, I’m just a humble Prayer Believer, and I’ve only killed some insignificant Demons. No matter how much I do, I can’t shake the true foundation, can I?"

Bologue cannot completely cut off the abscess, only pierce numerous holes to let the pus bleed dry.

Demons are just the lowest, most ordinary level of this dark food chain. To completely destroy this dark land, Bologue’s efforts are far from enough.

Bologue continued, "Not to mention everything is bound by an oath."

Vika was silent for a while, then asked, "Are you ready to negotiate terms with me?"

"That’s right, terms, such as I might reduce hunting soon, allowing those Demons to crawl back into your filthy swamp, bringing a continuous flow of tax revenue for your master. In return, I need my intelligence."

Vika seemed somewhat surprised and poured a glass of wine for Bologue, "Is this... a deal? I thought you’d just use force to coerce me."

"I have a realistic understanding of my own power."

Bologue accepted the wine glass. Vika was one of the servants of the Tyrant. Though appearing to converse with Vika, in reality, the Tyrant was watching, ready to appear through Vika’s body if he desired.

Coercing Vika by force could be understood as coercing a Devil by force, which was meaningless.

"As for transactions... it’s something I learned at work. Swords are indeed very convenient tools, but unfortunately, they can’t solve all problems."

Bologue added, "A deal is also a form of attack, allowing me to solve problems more efficiently."

Vika laughed at this; the conversation gave him a sense of déjà vu.

"It seems Lebius is indeed working hard to nurture you."

"He hasn’t nurtured me. I haven’t even seen him for a long time."

Bologue wasn’t lying. With more power being delegated, he had become increasingly free. Apart from necessary supplies and feedback tasks, he hadn’t visited the Order Bureau much these three months.

Every time he returned, Lebius was absent. Geoffrey said he was handling other matters, highly confidential, for which Geoffrey took over Lebius’s work, sitting in the office day and night.

"No, no, I mean letting you be, is in itself a form of cultivation," Vika said, "When he was in the second group, that’s how his leader taught him.

The best lesson for a beast is to let it return to the wild."

"The second group?" Bologue frowned; he hadn’t heard of a so-called ’second group’ in the Field Operations Department.

"Nothing, just things from the past."

Vika shifted the topic back, then said, "Regarding your question, sorry, I know nothing."

"Are you sure?"

"I’m sure."

Bologue gazed intently at Vika, as if his gaze could penetrate Vika’s eyes, delve into his shell, and confront the Tyrant hidden deep within his soul.

"Never mind."

Bologue waved his hand, casually tossed a Mammon Coin on the bar, then called for Palmer to leave with him. Vika watched Bologue’s departure with a smile on his face.

Only after confirming Bologue had completely left did he whisper, "The timing is really inappropriate. What exactly are they planning to do?"

"I don’t know, but they’ve already paid the price, haven’t they?"

Another voice echoed in Vika’s mind; in a dark, narrow room, the Tyrant sat on his shabby sofa, in front of him, a stack of television sets, each screen playing different images.

"I’m a person who values credibility in business."

As the Tyrant spoke, he looked at the central screen, showing a place resembling a factory, with stacks of cargo boxes, and a group of people had long awaited there.

Eyeing a familiar back among them, thinking of the person he was about to meet, the Tyrant suddenly chuckled hoarsely, as if something amusing was about to happen.

"Truly a fateful reunion, wouldn’t you say?"

The Tyrant seemed to be talking to a person, his voice low and hoarse, carrying a strange, twisted sense, like a monster lurking in the darkness.