Why is his holy light red?

Although a muffled thunderclap inexplicably erupted from the thick clouds overhead, it did not disrupt the ongoing "underground transaction" in the slightest.

John carefully lifted a corner of the greasy paper bag, as if it were a fragile relic.

John exclaimed after just one glance, "My God, is this from last year's Tayu invasion? Damn it, I only saw a blurry distant view in the news! Look at this—the Holy Light Angel actually dismantled the flagship's engine with his bare hands? This composition, this sense of oppression… why didn't this photo make the headlines?"

Mercury replied casually, "The editor of the Daily Heroes said it was too gory, and that it might frighten children."

"Is that bald editor's brain filled with shit?" John spat indignantly. "Alien blood is green, it's not even blood, where's the gore?"

"Wow, this one's even more amazing! It's from the Ancient God's resurrection event in Atlantis City two years ago! I remember the superheroes present were either driven mad or killed, and it was only thanks to the Holy Light Angels that they withstood the whispers of the Ancient Gods... Wait, how did this photo capture the Ancient Gods' tentacles so clearly?"

"That's why we can't release it." Mercury shrugged. "Experts from the Federation say there's a risk of 'meme contamination.' But don't worry, that ancient god is completely dead. These static images will only make you a little dizzy, they won't kill you."

"Dizziness is nothing, I'd give up ten years of my life just to have this photo!"

John, like a fierce beast guarding its food, quickly stuffed the photo into his arms and kept it close to his body, his fanaticism befitting a fervent fan of the Holy Light Angel.

"So, the deal's done? Can I go in now?" Mercury pointed to the bar's closed doors.

After a very complicated struggle, John hesitated for a long time before saying to Mercury, "Half an hour, at most half an hour."

Mercury laughed heartily: "Don't worry, I'll be out on time."

Just as he was about to push the door open, John suddenly said to Mercury, "Your father is a hero."

Mercury turned his head in surprise and looked at John.

Did he know the biggest secret?

John said earnestly, "On that kind of devastating battlefield, to bring us the truth, he rushed to the front with his camera... Only a true hero could do that. Please give my respects to your father; he was a great war correspondent."

"Okay... I'll pass it on. And remind him to buy a high-value accident insurance policy." Mercury breathed a sigh of relief.

But... a true hero?

Is the identity of an ordinary person who can go deep into the battlefield and take photos of the Holy Light Angels fighting really well disguised? How many people in this world have doubted the true identity of El, this war correspondent?

Mercury shook his head to clear his mind and pushed open the door to enter the bar.

The moment he stepped inside, the deafening roar of the music made Mercury's eardrums ache and his heart feel quite uncomfortable. The bass wasn't just ringing, it was vibrating; the floor was shaking wildly to the rhythm, making his internal organs resonate along with it.

Mercury frowned as he walked through the group of men and women writhing like maggots on the dance floor, enduring the strange smell of alcohol, sweat, and the burning of cheap hallucinogens in the air, his gaze settling on table number five next to the corner dance floor.

That's the place we agreed to meet.

And now, sitting there is a rather tall woman.

She wore a tank top that was stretched taut, and the muscles on her arms looked like they were sculpted from granite. Her facial features were also quite strong, and she had a classic tomboyish short haircut.

But what is most striking is the abnormal color of her skin—it is not a healthy rosy color, but a reddish color similar to that of someone with a high fever or severe sunburn.

Mercury walked over, and before he even sat down, he felt a wave of heat hit him.

This woman is practically a human furnace.

The information broker who had been in contact with me was actually a woman?

Mercury was not sexist, but the tone of their conversation did not sound like that of a woman.

Regardless, we should go up and ask for clarification.

Mercury walked up to the fiery lady, about to speak, but was glared at by her.

"I'm not interested in kids."

Mercury was a little embarrassed by the straightforward rejection and could only explain, "Auntie, I'm not here to flirt. I have an appointment with a friend."

The fiery woman sized up Mercury, her brow furrowed deeply, and tentatively uttered a cryptic question: "The number one Holy Light Angel in the world?"

Mercury replied with an even more inexplicable statement: "Immortality technology is doomed sooner or later."

The cuts matched, and Mercury exclaimed in surprise, "It really is you?! Old friend, I never expected you to be a woman!"

I had hoped for a warm hug, since the two had always worked together well.

Unexpectedly, the woman coldly replied, "Heh, are there still people who talk about sexism these days?"

Faced with this inexplicable hostility, Mercury explained, "I didn't mean any sexism, it's just that during our previous conversations I always assumed you were a 300-pound fat, nerdy guy staring at a screen all day. No woman would make me any lewd jokes... Wait, you're not a camera, right?"

Unexpectedly, the woman also said to Mercury, "You are not either, but you should have brought what I wanted."

Mercury's phone vibrated at that moment; his old friend had sent a new message.

Just give the box to the red-skinned lady; you can ask her anything about it.

Mercury cursed inwardly, "You old sly fox."

The "camera," which has always been kept secret and only connected via mobile phone and the Internet, is indeed not so easy to expose.

However, Mercury still trusted his long-time partner and took out the box he found in the safe, placing it in front of the fiery red lady.

Upon seeing the box, the woman abandoned her previous arrogance and reserve, and quickly reached out to take the small box.

Mercury asked, "Now it's your turn to tell me everything about this box."

"What do you want to know?"

"What's in this box? What's it for? ...And how much is it worth?"

Mercury was actually most concerned about how much he lost on this deal, which was certainly far more than 39,000.

Instead of answering directly, the woman introduced herself: "Let's get to know each other again. You can call me... Bran."

Mercury casually gave a name: "Mercury, you can call me Mercury."

Bran didn't mind the perfunctory nickname, since it wasn't her real name anyway.

"So, back to the main topic, are you familiar with immortality technology?"

Mercury replied, "One of the three major corporations in Pomegranate City, how could I not have heard of it?"

Yong Sheng Technology monopolizes most of the pharmaceutical and food industries in Asia Pomegranate City. Whether openly or covertly, companies in these two sectors have intricate connections with Yong Sheng Technology.

This is an open secret.

"This box contains a drug that Immortal Life Technology has just developed." As Bran explained, he pressed his finger on the box a few times. It was unclear what mechanism he had triggered, but a needle tip popped out of the small box, and an electronic display appeared, showing the number 4.

Mercury took the box back, examined it closely, and marveled at its ingenious design. No wonder he couldn't find an opening before; it was high-tech all along.

"Each box contains ten doses, and this box only has four left. As for its use, this potion can greatly enhance the abilities of superhumans, or, with a certain probability, grant superpowers to ordinary people. As for its value, I spent 100,000 on this box. Looking at it now, it wasn't a bad deal."

Mercury sensed something was amiss and pressed further, "A box that can be used ten times, offering the chance to grant ordinary people superpowers and significantly enhance their abilities, is it really only worth this little bit of money?"

Although 100,000 yuan seems like a huge loss, the price is unusually low.

Bran explained, "This drug has a high mortality rate, and the death is extremely painful. According to rumors, the success rate is less than 10%, meaning that even if you use up this whole box of medicine, you might not succeed even once. Every failure means a life."

This makes sense, albeit barely. Gambling has an extremely high mortality rate. A perfectly good box of medicine might cost hundreds of thousands of dollars, and people are risking their lives to gamble on chance.

Poor people don't have that much money to buy it, and rich people don't need to take the risk, since the probability of natural mutation is not low these days.

"The market for this stuff isn't big; only gangs that are neither the best nor the worst will need it."

Gangs need superpowered individuals to maintain order, and they have plenty of desperate criminals with money. But the market is too small; large corporations like Eternal Life Technology wouldn't be interested in such paltry profits.

Bran shook his head and said, "Who knows? Well, I've covered all the relevant information. Goodbye."

The enthusiastic aunt clearly didn't want to chat with Mercury anymore and reached out to get the box back.

Mercury was interested in finding out more information, but judging from the aunt's attitude, he knew he wouldn't get anything out of her.

However, this time it was a success, at least the transaction was completed and the debt was cleared.

Just as they were about to hand the box to the other person, a golden light suddenly appeared between them, and a strong hand reached out and took the small box.

A towering man, dressed in a platinum-gold combat suit and looking like a god descending from heaven, emerged from the golden light and smiled at the two: "I'm sorry, gentlemen. I need to requisition this small box."

Bran, who had remained calm throughout, couldn't help but let out a piercing scream upon seeing this person: "Angel of Light?!"

The sharp sound drowned out the loud music and drew the attention of everyone in the bar.

Then, the same screams began to rise and fall.

Mercury clenched his fist as he looked at the glittering superhero.

Couldn't that damn father have waited until he gave the things to Bran before showing up?

Now that the deal has fallen through, who's responsible?!