Mystery: Gray Walker

Chapter 155 I Like Jungling

"Dance?"

The scarred sailor scoffed, spitting everywhere. "Isn't this what you're dancing in this godforsaken place for? I just got back from 'Weeping Cape,' and I'm loaded! Come on, have a drink with me, and all these pennies are yours!"

With a clatter, he slammed a handful of dirty coins onto the wooden bucket beside him.

"I said I won't serve drinks." The dancer's voice grew colder, and she began to back away, trying to get around the obstacle.

"You bitch, you won't listen to reason, so you'll have to suffer the consequences!" The sailor was enraged. He took a step forward and reached out to grab the dancer's shoulder.

The dancer gasped and quickly dodged backward. Her high heels slipped on the wet floor, and she lost her balance, stumbling backward.

Her back collided squarely with Green, who was walking quickly past with his head down, trying to ignore the farce.

"Ah!" they both exclaimed simultaneously.

Green was jolted and stumbled, instinctively grabbing a nearby pillar to steady himself. The dancer grabbed his arm, using it to straighten up, and practically ducked to his side.

In an instant, countless eyes focused on them.

The dancer reacted extremely quickly.

She immediately looked up, her face instantly breaking into an affectionate expression, and said to Green, "Oh! Darling, you're finally here! I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting."

Then, she turned to the scarred sailor, whose face had darkened, and gave him a slightly helpless and apologetic smile: "You see, sir, I really have agreed to accompany this gentleman. We made arrangements a long time ago. I'm sorry, but I hope you have a pleasant evening."

Her voice wasn't loud, but several onlookers nearby could hear it. As she finished speaking, she tightened her grip on Green's arm slightly.

Green's body stiffened.

The dancer was beautiful. Green had to admit that.

But, it's troublesome.

What he least wanted to get into was this kind of meaningless trouble that was exposed to everyone's attention.

The scarred sailor sized up Green, noting his slightly pale face and noting his not-so-expensive but neat dark coat. A malicious smile crept across his face.

"Kid," he took a half-step closer, his reeking of alcohol, "you want to stand up for her?"

Green remained silent, his mind racing. Should he deny it outright and shake off the dancer? She would immediately fall into the sailors' hands, while he might be seen as weak, or even invite further contempt and provocation from the sailors.

Admitting it? That would mean getting involved in this dispute, potentially triggering conflict and exposing more problems.

His gaze swept over the sailor's muscular arms, the dagger that might be tucked at his waist, and his eyes, filled with alcohol and violence. This was not someone to be reasoned with.

Just as the sailor was about to speak again in impatience, and the dancer's fingers were clenching even tighter with tension, Green moved.

He didn't look at the sailors, but turned his head slightly and calmly said to the dancer standing next to him, "Let's go."

Then, he raised his other free hand and gently pressed it on the back of the dancer's hand that was gripping his arm.

This is a gesture that is both appeasing and dominating.

He took a step forward, clearly aiming towards the exit, while his body cleverly turned to the side, protecting the dancer behind him and the sailor. At the same time, his shoulders slightly lowered, forming a ready stance to strike or block at any moment.

He didn't display aggression, but his calm demeanor, his disregard for provocation, and his direct approach to resolving the issue through action conveyed an undeniable authority. This didn't resemble the bravado before a street fight; rather, it was more like an impatient retreat based on some underlying confidence.

The scarred sailor paused for a moment.

He was used to direct shouting and punches, so Green's silent and direct actions left him somewhat bewildered.

Especially Green's calm gaze and steady demeanor made a sliver of doubt flash through his slightly sober mind: Does this kid have something to rely on?

"Sir,"

Just then, a waiter approached the sailor with a smile and said, "I don't recommend that you cause trouble here."

He turned slightly to the side, gesturing to a few muscular men standing casually at the edge of the dance floor, their muscles taut. "You know the rules. Disturbing the other guests' enjoyment isn't good for anyone."

The waiter paused, then picked up a glass of amber-colored rum from the tray and handed it to the sailor, his smile deepening. "You've just returned from the sea, braving the storms," ​​he said, "wasn't it all for this exhilarating moment? Why let this little thing spoil your fun? This is the captain's secret stash," he added, "it's on us. Why not have a few more and see what's to come? Tonight there's 'The Mermaid's Song.'"

The scarred sailor's face twitched. He glanced at the waiter's unquestionable smile, then at the guards who were clearly not to be trifled with, and finally, his gaze settled on Green's retreating figure, who was almost at the door.

"----Oh shit."

He cursed under his breath, but ultimately didn't dare to take the glass of wine. Instead, he glared at the waiter's smiling face, spat in the direction of the door where Green had disappeared, turned around, grabbed his original glass, and downed it in one gulp.

"That kid got lucky!" he roared, slamming back into his seat and slamming his empty glass on the table. "Another one! The strongest, please!"

As Green led her back to his seat, he called to the waiter, "Bring this lady a sweet iced tea."

"A rye beer, please, please." The dancer leaned back, looking directly at Green with a smile on her lips, and added without turning her head, "Sweet iced tea is for delicate ladies at garden tea parties."

Green glanced at her, said nothing, and simply nodded. He took five pennies from his pocket, placed them crisply on the waiter's tray, and then stood up.

"etc--

—"

The dancer quickly reached out and grabbed his sleeve, a gesture that made Green frown slightly.

She looked up at me. "You helped me. Even though you seemed reluctant, you did help me. I don't like owing favors."

Green stopped moving, but didn't sit back down. He looked down at the dancer's fingers gripping his sleeve, then calmly asked, "So?"

"So, in return, you can make a request. I don't like owing people favors."

The dancer released her grip, picked up the glass of rye beer that Green had just drunk from, and took a large gulp. "If I can do it. Intelligence? Someone's whereabouts? Or—I can spend the night with you; you're my type."

"Oh?" Green chuckled. "Interesting."

After saying that, Green turned around and sat back on the somewhat worn sofa, looking at the dancer. "I need the stomach pouches of a Soul Eater. Can you get me some?"

The dancer's smile froze for a moment.

She put down her wine glass, leaned back slightly, and returned to the chair, her crescent-shaped eyes scrutinizing Green in the dim light.

A few seconds later, she clicked her tongue and shook her head.

"The stomach of a Soul Eater? Sir, you certainly have a good eye for things." Her tone carried a hint of genuine helplessness and mockery. "Those things aren't easy to find. Do you really think someone like me, dancing at the Red Theater, would have access to items of that level?"

As she spoke, she leaned her full chest forward, causing her already loose shawl to slip down even further, revealing a patch of exceptionally smooth, snow-white skin.

"I'm not someone anyone can have."

A blatant implication.

To be honest, it would be a lie to say I wasn't tempted.

"I'm not interested," Green said, though his words didn't reflect his true feelings.

The dancer seemed unsurprised and undeterred. Instead, she chuckled softly, suddenly stood up from her chair, walked around the small round table, and sat directly on the armrest of the sofa where Green was sitting.

A warm body pressed against his arm, and then, before Green could react, an arm was already around his neck.

She leaned in so close that Green could see the glitter still clinging to her eyelashes and feel her warm breath, carrying a faint scent of alcohol, brush against his cheek.

"I don't believe it," she said slowly in a low voice. "Look, your body is much more honest than your mouth—"

Green coughed lightly and gently pinched her wrist, which was hooked around his neck, with two fingers. The force was not strong, but it clearly expressed his meaning.

"You are indeed very attractive, but more than momentary pleasure, I need something that will allow me to survive and become stronger."

If you cannot provide valid information regarding the "Stomach of the Soul Eater," then this "equivalent exchange" ends here.

I accept your favor, but it seems to be of limited value at the moment.

"I can pay you," the dancer's voice suddenly became somewhat dazed. "Help me."

Huh? What's going on? Does he think he's some kind of young master?

Green was a little confused.

The dancer's arm was still around his neck, but the grip loosened, and her body trembled slightly. She moved closer, her lips almost touching Green's earlobe, "Give it to me—"

Green's body tensed instantly.

It wasn't because of the ambiguous words in her speech, but because her state of mind was just too strange.

The dancer's breath was hot, her skin flushed an unnatural red, and her eyes were unfocused yet desperately trying to concentrate on Green's face, as if she were fighting against some invisible force.

It was more like she was suddenly and forcibly ignited, as if an invisible flame was burning inside her.

Pleasure Witch?

Green suddenly thought of this sequence.

Lillian included this Sequence 6 in the information about the Witch's Path that she gave him.

Pleasure witches, as the name suggests. They are witches who manipulate desire and senses, precisely arousing a person's deepest desires and twisting and amplifying them to the brink of loss of control. This is not natural arousal; it is an attack on an extraordinary level.

She wasn't trying to seduce herself; she was being seduced and burned, and she herself had become the nearest "antidote" or "fuel" that she subconsciously grasped.

"Look at me!" Green hissed, trying to bring her back to her senses.

The dancer's eyes struggled for a moment, a brief clarity flashing across them, but it was immediately overwhelmed by an even stronger wave. Instead of pulling away, she clung to him more tightly like a drowning person, her other hand unconsciously gripping Green's shirt.

"It's hot—it's so uncomfortable—" she murmured unconsciously, fine beads of sweat forming on her forehead. "Help me—please—"

Green's heart sank. Pushing her away would be easy, but doing so might allow her to be completely consumed by that out-of-control desire, causing her to embarrass herself in public or even do something more dangerous. More importantly, the "Pleasure Witch" lurking in the shadows was definitely watching.

Your own rude reaction may be part of the "drama" that the other party is looking forward to.

Damn!

He had only stumbled upon this underground black market by chance, intending to buy some materials for his promotion, but he never expected to run into something like this.

He just didn't know if the other party was targeting the woman in front of him or himself.

He had to be very, very careful.

Green took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. Then, with a burst of strength, he lifted the dancer, who was practically clinging to him and trembling with fever, and strode quickly toward the door.

The dancer let out a muffled whimper, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck, her burning cheeks pressed against his neck, her breath scorching.

She weighed less than she looked, but Green knew very well that if it really was a Sequence 6 "Pleasure Witch" at work, every second she stayed there would deepen the dancer's corruption and increase his own risk of exposure.

He must leave this "theater" immediately, where he cannot allow the other party to figure out his true nature, as he may have already been spiritually marked.

Curious, lewd, and gossipy glances kept falling on him, and Green could feel the dancer's body squirming uncomfortably in his arms.

Just as he was about to reach the door, a waiter approached and whispered, "Sir, there are quiet rooms upstairs, fully equipped and very soundproof. For only 4 sous and 9 pence, you can enjoy an undisturbed night."

Green continued walking without hesitation and said, "No need. I just like playing in the wild."

The sound wasn't loud, but in the relatively quiet porch area, it was enough for several nearby patrons who were eavesdropping to hear it clearly.

Having said that, he shoved open the heavy wooden door, and stepped out, carrying the dancer in his arms.

A brief silence followed behind, then several suppressed gasps and lewd whispers.

"Wow—that's really clever!"

"That's wild enough—"

"Tsk, aren't they afraid of getting cold?"

The waiter clicked his tongue in a smile and bowed slightly, as if Green had simply chosen a stronger drink.

When Green carried the dancer past the bar, the one-eyed bartender froze.

He recognized the girl; she was "Jasmine," a regular dancer. She was wild and had high standards, and many drunken sailors and self-important gentlemen had been rebuffed by her.

Surprisingly, the kid who was here for the first time managed to win me over.

The bartender chuckled, "Not bad, kid."

Green didn't pause at all, only letting out a muffled "hmm" through his nose as a response.