Mystery: Gray Walker

Chapter 153

The winter nights in Oberhafen are bitterly cold.

The gas streetlights on both sides of the street swayed in the cold wind, casting a dim and flickering halo that stretched the shadows of pedestrians to varying lengths.

Most shops had already closed, with only a few pubs and 24-hour cafes still emitting warm light and the sounds of people. Green pulled his coat tighter, burying half his face in his turned-up collar, revealing only his wary eyes as he surveyed his surroundings.

He deliberately avoided the main roads, choosing instead to travel through relatively quiet residential areas and alleyways.

The sound of horses' hooves echoed through the narrow alleyways, occasionally startling wild cats hunting in the shadows, causing them to hiss in dissatisfaction, or causing a fleeting black shadow to pass by.

The main cathedral of the Church of the Night is located in St. Milon, not too far from Oberhafen. Green estimated that he should be able to reach it before dawn without resting.

On the edge of the city, in the blurry area where old and new buildings meet, a low, two-story brick building suddenly stands at the intersection.

The faded sign creaked in the wind, with a blurry drawing of a tilted wine barrel and a line of words that were almost impossible to read.

Old Cat Tavern

A few windows covered in condensation let in a murky light, and you could vaguely hear hoarse laughter and the clattering of glass coming from inside.

Green pulled on the reins, and the horse puffed out puffs of white smoke in the cold air.

He stared at the heavy wooden door, rubbed his hands together, and breathed on it.

"Perhaps I should eat something before setting off."

Long-distance night travel requires physical strength, and also something to ward off the chill.

He dismounted, tied the horse to the iron ring specially set up next to the gate, patted the horse's neck, and said, "Wait for me a moment, it won't be long."

Green straightened his coat to make sure the weapon at his waist could be drawn quickly, then pushed open the creaking wooden door.

The aroma of heat, tobacco, sour ale, and sweat wafted towards me.

Several sailors-looking men wrapped in thick coats sat at the bar, while a group of people at a table in the corner were talking quietly. When they heard the door open, they all looked up and glanced at Green for a moment before looking away.

Green walked straight to the bar.

The bartender, a one-eyed middle-aged man, was wiping a glass with a dirty cloth.

"A hot stew, please," Green said casually, "and a bottle of rum, to go."

The one-eyed bartender sized him up, nodded, and turned to call out to the kitchen.

While waiting, Green's gaze seemingly casually swept over the interior of the tavern. The wooden tables and chairs were badly worn, and the walls were blackened by smoke. Everything looked like a cheap tavern on the outskirts of the city.

"The stew is ready."

The one-eyed bartender pushed a steaming bowl of stew in front of him; the broth was thick, with a few pieces of meat and potatoes floating on top.

"Two soles in total."

Green nodded and picked up the wooden spoon.

"The quality of 'Night Dew' is poor; the last batch was adulterated."

"Things are tight around Old Cat's place lately; I heard the gatekeepers are checking things very strictly."

"And what about the 'raven's' channels?"

"The price is too high, and we have to wait for the moon phase." That's a good deal.

Green continued scooping soup without pausing, as if he hadn't heard a thing.

But his brain was working at lightning speed.

Listening to these people chatting, it seems there's more to their conversation than meets the eye. This "Old Cat Tavern" looks like it's more than just a place to drink.

The bartender placed a bottle of rum wrapped in parchment paper on the bar counter. Green finished the last bite of his stew, put down his wooden spoon, and wiped his mouth. Instead of paying and leaving immediately, he tapped the bar counter lightly with his fingers.

"Huh?" The one-eyed bartender looked at him. "Your hand is cramping?"

Green raised his eyes, brows furrowing slightly, then met the other's single eye. His voice was low, audible only to the two of them: "The stew is good, it warms you up. But—sometimes those traveling at night need something more 'energizing' to avoid dozing off halfway through the journey."

This is a typical probing move in black market dealings, asking the buyer what level of item they want and hinting at the risks.

Green leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the bar, striking a more relaxed yet more knowledgeable pose.

This was something he learned from Erwin during a conversation, and he never expected to use it so soon.

The idea is to take a chance, even if it's not guaranteed. If it works out, perhaps he can buy the promotion materials he needs here, allowing him to further improve his abilities.

Green took out a 2-sol note from his pocket, placed it on the bar, and gently pushed it over.

"The price is negotiable," Green said, his voice even lower. "The main thing is that the goods must be clean and have a clean provenance. I don't like trouble, and I don't want to cause trouble for others."

He emphasized "clean" and "fresh," referring both to the quality of the item and implying that he wouldn't attract attention or investigation—a point that only seasoned buyers would notice.

The one-eyed bartender's gaze fell on the two-sol note, then slowly moved to Green's face. After a few seconds of silence, his one eye narrowed slightly, as if assessing something, or perhaps confirming something.

He put the money away, then slowly wiped the bar with the dirty cloth, and gave a disdainful laugh.

"Clean? Refreshing? This is a proper tavern, serving hot stews and wine. If you're looking for something to 'refresh', perhaps you should try the shops frequented by sailors in the dock area; they have a wide variety of 'tobacco' there."

Damn, what if I act too fake and he thinks I'm a cop?

"I was being presumptuous." Green smiled without changing his expression and nodded slightly. "It's windy, and the noise fills people's ears. It's common to mishear things."

His tone was frank, without a trace of embarrassment or annoyance at being exposed, as if it were just a casual question.

The one-eyed bartender hesitated for a moment, then placed his hands on the bar counter and slowly said, "Tell me, who recommended you?"

Upon hearing this, Green was taken aback, thinking of making up a name on the spot, but then he realized that the other party would probably see through it at a glance, so he simply said, "Elvin."

This time, it was the bartender's turn to be stunned. His one eye widened slightly as he looked Green up and down, seemingly reassessing every detail of the young man before him.

"Who?" he asked instinctively. "Alvin—Babby?"

I won? I can't believe I got lucky! I have to admit, my luck is pretty good.

At this point, the best course of action is to remain calm and observe what the other party has to say.

Green didn't speak, but silently looked at the other person, his face maintaining a calm that neither confirmed nor denied. He knew that sometimes silence carried more weight than any explanation.

The two stared at each other for a good ten seconds.

Finally, the bartender slowly stood up, unconsciously drawing circles on the bar table with a dirty cloth.

"That old bastard Alwyn—" he muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with surprise and a hint of nostalgia, "He's still alive, and he's even learned how to introduce people."

He looked at Green again, his guard slightly lowered. "Even if he's the one who introduced us, the rules can't be broken."

.

The bartender said hoarsely, "This market downstairs isn't open to just anyone. If you want to go down and take a look, you'll have to pay an 'entrance fee.'"

Green raised an eyebrow and asked casually, "How much?"

"Ten sulphurs," the bartender uttered.

Ten Sule.

Although it's a considerable price, Green can still afford it. Most importantly, if there's something he needs here, then spending these ten sols is definitely worthwhile.

Seeing that Green didn't speak, the bartender scoffed, "What? You think it's too expensive? The door's over there."

He gestured with his chin towards the tavern door. "The things down there aren't something you can get for a few pennies. Ten sous for peace and quiet, and also for good judgment. If you can't afford it, or think it's not worth it, leave now."

Green smiled slightly, took out ten sous from his pocket, and placed them in front of the bartender. "Not a single one missing."

He proved his sincerity through his actions.

The bartender glanced at the ten sous, then swept the bills into the drawer under the bar. "Rules: once you're downstairs, keep your eyes and your mouth shut. Just look, ask as few questions as possible. If you want to buy something, just talk to the vendor and negotiate the price. Don't go around asking around. Especially don't ask who the vendor is or where the goods come from. Understand?"

Green nodded. "Understood."

The bartender turned around, took an old lantern from the wall, lit the wick with a match, and the dim light illuminated half of his face. "Come with me."

He led Green toward the narrow door deep inside the tavern, carved with a cat's outline.

Pushing open the door, there was a narrow, steep wooden staircase leading down to the top, with a faint, damp, musty smell permeating the air.

The wooden planks of the stairs groaned underfoot, unable to bear the weight any longer.

Green followed behind the bartender, his hands casually resting on his sides, maintaining a vigilant posture. The lantern's light only illuminated a few steps ahead; on either side were rough brick walls, seeping with water stains.

After climbing about twenty steps, a heavy iron door appeared ahead. There was no keyhole on the door, only a bronze door knocker in the shape of a cat's head.

Instead of pulling the door knocker, the bartender tapped the upper left corner of the door three times with the base of his lantern.

A dull thud came from inside the door as a mechanism turned. A few seconds later, the iron door slid open silently a crack, just wide enough for one person to squeeze through sideways.

The bartender stepped aside and handed the lantern to Green.

"Go in. Remember the rules. When you want to come out, go back to this door, knock three times with the lamp at even intervals, and the person inside will open the door. Don't try to go through any other exits."

Green took the lantern, nodded, and squeezed through the crack in the door.

The iron gate closed silently behind him, blocking his way.

What lay before them was not the spacious underground market they had imagined, but a low brick passageway barely wide enough for two people to walk side by side.

The passageway extended forward for about ten meters before turning right.

Green carried the lantern, his steps very light, but his boots still echoed clearly on the damp flagstones.

He could sense that the passageway was not naturally formed; rough chisel marks could be seen on the walls, and some places had been simply reinforced with wooden stakes.

After rounding the corner, a half-open wooden door covered with sheet metal appeared ahead. Brighter light and mixed voices emanated from the crack in the door.

Green paused briefly at the door, took a deep breath, and tried to look more like a regular customer.

Then, he reached out and pushed the door open.

The sight behind the door made his pupils contract slightly.

The dark, crowded, secret market with everyone covering their faces that I had imagined did not appear.

Instead, there was a rather spacious underground hall, with a ceiling even higher than the tavern above. Although the air was still murky, it was filled with the smells of spices, grease, and old paper.

This place is more like an underground club, or some kind of informal exchange.

The hall was supported by several thick stone pillars, on which were fixed gas lamps that burned steadily and produced little smoke, providing relatively ample lighting.

The space is naturally divided into a seating area, a stall area, and a counter area.

But the most striking feature is the cleared-out area in the center.

There were no tables or chairs, only a rough stone floor. Here, something completely out of place with the overall "club" atmosphere of the hall was unfolding.

A tall, red-haired woman named Ren Lang, dressed in a revealing sequined dance dress, was swaying to the music of a small trio in the corner.

A bearded musician vigorously played the accordion, producing a cheerful yet slightly hoarse melody; another played a simple set of drums and cymbals, creating a strong rhythm; a third played a brass horn, producing a bright tone but occasionally going off-key.

The mixed music was rough, vibrant, and full of the spiciness of alcohol.

Ren Lang's red-haired dance moves are bold, fiery, and full of primal allure.

A circle of men surrounded him.

The men were dressed as sailors, workers, gentlemen in respectable overcoats with open collars and flushed faces, greedy businessmen, and even a couple of young men in academic robes with shifty eyes.

At this moment, they temporarily set aside their transactions and pretense, and like the most ordinary drinkers, they whistled, gave rough cheers, and tossed coins and small bills at Ren Lang's feet.

This noisy and unrestrained scene, like a greasy and boisterous curtain, enveloped the entire underground space.

It captures the immediate attention of the vast majority of people, providing excellent protection for transactions in the shadows.

Ge Qiu's gaze lingered on the dancers and the crowd for only a moment before sweeping away like a fleeting glimpse of a landscape. He knew all too well that the real secrets and dangers would never lie in the spotlight.

"He's not bad looking," Ge Qiu murmured to himself, walking toward an empty small round table at the edge of the seating area.

He stood against the cold stone pillar, a position that allowed him to take in the hustle and bustle in the center, the curtained partitions against the wall, and the counter area on the inside, while he himself was half-hidden in the shadow of the pillar.

A waiter walked in silently and placed a glass of rye beer on the table.

"I'm looking for something," Ge Qiu called to the waiter, speaking in a deep voice.

"What do you need, sir? I can help you with the introductions."

"Hmm—" Geqiu hesitated for a moment before finally speaking, "The stomach of a Soul Eater, 20 milligrams of deep-sea marlin blood."

The waiter bowed slightly, a smile on his face. "Please wait a moment while I check the list of items that other people have registered."

He turned and walked towards the counter area, his steps unhurried, and soon disappeared behind a few stone pillars.

Ge Qiu picked up the glass of rye beer and took a sip.

His gaze seemed to casually sweep across the entire room.

The dancer in the center was performing a difficult backbend, her red hair spreading like flames across the rough stones, drawing even more enthusiastic cheers and a rain of coins.

Several men who looked like businessmen took the opportunity to slip away from the crowd and quickly walked toward the cubicles with dark curtains hanging against the wall.

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