Wasteland Bar

"So this is the renovated bar."

Xia Leng looked at the massive building ahead, its exterior covered in exaggerated, colorful graffiti. He cross-referenced it with the map in his hand; the gas station was indeed at this location.

After the world collapsed, everyone's values, culture, and everything else had become demonized and saturated with elements of violence.

These graffiti, dominated by blood-red hues, unleashed the suppressed madness within the people of the old era without reservation. At the same time, they served as a declaration: anyone who dared to cause trouble in this bar would have their liver, brains, and blood used as the very paint for these murals.

Xia Leng licked his chapped lips and walked over.

At the entrance, he saw several modified pickup trucks with heavy weapons mounted in their cargo beds. The black skull emblem spray-painted on each hood proved they belonged to the Komodo Mercenary Company.

In addition, the black motorcycles he had encountered on the road earlier were also parked here. It seemed those bikers were also stopping by to resupply.

"Hey, hold it."

As Xia Leng reached the entrance, two burly Komodo security guards blocked his path. Their intent was clear: they wanted to frisk him to check for explosives.

After all, almost every mercenary company was at odds with one another, and it was common for them to send drifters strapped with explosives to carry out suicide attacks.

Xia Leng allowed them to proceed with the search.

Fortunately, the two guards were professional; while searching Xia Leng's backpack, they didn't intentionally pilfer any valuable items.

Mercenary companies with military-style management usually had strict rules. If they bullied drifters too excessively, they risked being attacked by a desperate mob of people pushed to the brink of survival.

After all, such an incident had happened before: a rising mercenary company had focused entirely on squeezing resources from the surrounding drifters.

Over time, these drifters were forced to evolve into a mob. Since they had no way to survive anyway, they decided to take the company down with them.

One night, nearly ten thousand rioters armed with crude weapons gathered and completely razed the once-promising mercenary company to the ground.

Even with their arsenal of weapons and members who were Baptized Ones, the company couldn't withstand the massive mob driven by the resolve to die.

From that point on, other mercenary companies learned the lesson and began establishing their own codes of conduct.

The two guards found nothing suspicious and let Xia Leng inside. As for weapons like handguns, they were treated as a form of currency in this era, so they didn't stop him for that.

"That's a nice jacket you've got. Interested in selling it to me? I'll give you a fair price."

A guard with a terrifying scar across his eye noticed the rare, pristine hoodie Xia Leng was wearing and asked with a smile.

"This is the only piece of clothing I have. If I give it to you, I'll be freezing by nightfall."

Xia Leng smiled back. In truth, if he could peel it off and sell it for a profit, he would have done so in a heartbeat.

He had previously tried to remove this garment, which was woven from his own tentacles, but the moment it left his body, it instantly melted into a pool of black liquid and rapidly seeped back into his arm.

If he were to perform such a bizarre act in front of them, he would likely be shot on the spot.

Xia Leng pushed open the door and stepped into the bar.

The moment he entered, a surreal and grotesque scene unfolded before his eyes.

Deafening music from the old era filled the hall, and colorful spotlights spun wildly across the ceiling!

On the dance floor, scantily clad women performed seductive, provocative dances to the cheers of the surrounding men. Finally, the air was thick with a foul stench and the smell of alcohol, which rushed into his lungs with every breath.

After being enhanced by the Blacklight Virus, Xia Leng's senses were significantly heightened. In this manic environment, the light and noise pollution were amplified several times over for him.

He was already starting to regret coming in.

Just then, Xia Leng felt something crawl into his ears. He reached in with his finger and pulled out a tiny black tentacle; it had formed a thin black membrane in front of his eardrums, effectively blocking out most of the noise pollution!

This made things much more bearable for Xia Leng, though he felt a sense of apprehension. The black tentacles on his body seemed to possess a self-awareness, knowing exactly what he, the host, needed and providing an immediate response.

After all, this sudden ability came from the [Blacklight Virus]. Virus... it didn't sound like a comforting word. He truly feared that one day it would take over and control his body, turning him into one of those mindless, walking corpses.

However, he did not know that he was not the host of the virus—he was the virus itself.

Xia Leng gripped his backpack and warily pushed through the surging crowd; there were plenty of pickpockets in a place like this.

After a long "trek," he finally reached the relatively quiet bar counter and took a seat.

He saw a few bottles of liquor displayed on the shelves behind the bar, but they were sold by the glass and were quite expensive.

After all, in an age where everyone was struggling to eat, who had the spare grain to brew alcohol? Every glass was one less in existence. Plus, the land soaked by the Black Rain could no longer grow new crops, which made alcohol products incredibly precious.

"Good evening, sir. What can I get for you? I recommend our..."

As soon as Xia Leng sat down, a bartender approached him proactively to suggest drinks. Perhaps his pristine, bright black hoodie marked him as someone of status, which was why he had caught the man's attention.

This wasn't the kind of attention Xia Leng wanted. It seemed that in the future, if he had to go to crowded places, he would have to make those tentacles manifest a ragged, beggar-like outfit so he wouldn't be targeted.

"No need. Just fill this canteen for me."

Xia Leng took out his empty two-liter canteen and produced the bag filled with low-grade crystals, sliding them both toward the bartender.

Seeing that the customer only wanted water, the bartender's expression turned disdainful; he only earned a commission if he sold alcohol.

He opened the bag, rummaged through it casually, and tossed it into the cash box behind him. "These are all low-grade crystals; they aren't worth much. Our water is pure, uncontaminated, and shipped from our headquarters a hundred kilometers away. This money is only enough to fill half the canteen."

Half a canteen...

One liter of water wouldn't be enough to sustain Xia Leng for the rest of his journey. Even though the bag of crystals consisted of low-grade goods, it should have been more than enough to buy a full canteen of water.

Xia Leng knew he was being ripped off, but it was normal for people to gouge prices on their own turf—take it or leave it.

With a sigh of resignation, he pulled the yellowed, tattered magazine from his backpack and tossed it onto the counter in front of the bartender, watching as the man's eyes widened and his mouth hung open in a comical display of greed.