Returning to the Mysterious Era

Chapter 98 - Three Antiques with Lingering Attachment Energy

Beep.

The Fotte vehicle honked softly as it turned onto the street, the pale yellow light shining on one side and making the trash cans gleam. The wheels crunched over a newspaper on the ground as the black, box-like vehicle sped past. Seated in the driver's seat on the right side, a cruel-looking young man chewed on a cigarette. A gun lay between his legs.

Narrowing his eyes slightly, he exhaled a puff of smoke. This mission to transport these antiques was highly important; any suspicious individuals who approached the moving Fotte vehicle were to be shot on sight.

"Huh?!" The man in the driver's seat suddenly widened his eyes.

The Fotte vehicle's two large headlights shone a huge yellow halo, illuminating the darkness on the road just ahead. At some point, a tall figure appeared in the middle of the crosswalk, waiting silently like a stiff statue. The light from the car's headlights stretched his shadow out diagonally, and as the light came closer, the shadow seemed to shift and squirm.

"Idiot!" The man floored it, and the car roared forward. He grabbed the gun from beside his thigh and cocked it.

Boom!!! Crash!!!

The man jerked his head up, only to see a massive black iron fist smash the glass. The fist grew rapidly before his eyes like a cannonball.

Boom! Crash!

A head exploded. Red and white matter sprayed across the seat in a fan-like arc, covering it with a thick layer of goo.

Thud.

The man slumped—not headfirst since his head was gone—in the driver's seat. His right hand, which he had raised seconds ago, fell limp and the gun dropped with a clatter between his legs.

"Now where are the other two?" Cassius emerged from the darkness, shaking his arm to get rid of the disgusting "tomato sauce." One step forward and Cassius instantly appeared at the rear canopy of the Fotte vehicle. He ripped the curtain open.

It was an open space inside with no one stationed on either side. There was only a pile of antiques covered by a black cloth on the floor.

Did they run?

Cassius quickly turned to scan behind him, but Beika Street was completely empty. Not a single person in sight. Even the stray cat that had been napping on the trash can had disappeared. Confused, he returned to the front of the vehicle, opened the door, and threw out the Duststorm member's corpse to the side. He then started the vehicle and drove into a secluded alley.

Vroom, vroom, vroom...

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A heavily damaged Fotte vehicle came to a stop. The hood was warped from a long and deep dent, making the two headlights slightly askew.

Click.

The driver's side door opened, and Cassius quickly stepped down. He glanced at his strong right leg. His muscles and skin were intact but his pants from his knee down were shredded.

Looks like I'll need to buy another pair of pants tomorrow, Cassius thought to himself. He turned off the headlights.

He lifted the curtain and entered the rear of the Fotte vehicle. Turning on a small flashlight, he pulled the black cloth off of the antiques, and a bitter taste immediately flooded his mouth. Cassius's eyes lit up, and a smile crept across his lips. He started to quickly inspect each antique.

Cassius soon found what he was looking for. There were three items: a large brass clock, a landscape painting, and a small porcelain vase. A cold current seeped into his arm, inch by inch, and spread through his body like steam.

In the top right corner, the numbers began to jump incrementally.

[Lingering Attachment Energy: 0.8 → 0.9 → 1.0...]

It was slow but steady and continued until Cassius's arm felt frozen and stiff and the lingering attachment energy finally stopped increasing. Cassius looked again at the top right corner.

[Lingering Attachment Energy: 2.4]

It went up by 1.6 in one go! Relief rushed through him. If Cassius remembered correctly, his lingering attachment energy had been at 2.3 before his second time-travel, but was now higher by 0.1. It might be enough for a third time-travel, though there was still a chance it would fall short.

Regardless, he figured he was not far off from the required amount after the recent increase. Cassius estimated that the energy needed for the third time-travel node was probably between 2.0 and 2.5. Anything more than 2.5 would be too much.

Exhaling slowly, Cassius studied the various antiques in the compartment. He realized something was amiss.

The pocket watch. Where was it? He immediately pulled out the antique catalog from his pocket and began checking it against the items in the compartment. He very quickly deduced that at least half of the antiques were missing. The Fotte vehicle he was in was transporting only half of the collection.

If he considered the information he had previously received, there should have been three Duststorm members escorting the antiques, and yet there was only one. Had the Black Fire gang leader's death yesterday scared Duststorm into changing their plans at the last minute?

Cassius frowned deeply. He wasn't very good at unraveling complex plots. He was better at solving problems with his fists.

A word sprang to mind: Black Fire gang.

Dustorm had secretly taken over the Black Fire gang which meant if there was any change on Duststorm's end, they would likely inform the Black Fire gang especially since the latter was likely their only underground asset in Baichuan City. The other half of the antiques must be with them.

On the surface, Baichuan City was Ace of Spades' territory, so Duststorm did not dare to have too many of its members in the area, as they would easily be discovered. Hence why the Black Fire gang acted as their front, or perhaps more aptly, their "black hand."

Should I go? The thought had barely formed in Cassius's mind before he dismissed it. Why let a duck that was already in his mouth fly away?

Being able to activate the second-level accelerated blood flow gave Cassius unparalleled confidence. With his speed and reflexes, dodging bullets was just another day at work and if he was shot? Not a big deal as long as it wasn't being fired from a machine gun.

If he passed up this chance to secure a large amount of lingering attachment energy when it was right in front of his eyes, Cassius wouldn't be able to sleep at night at all.

"The Black Fire gang's territory is in the western district and their most famous establishment is the Famica Strip Club on 17 Brightlight Street," he muttered to himself. He knew not because he'd been there before, but because the Famica Strip Club had made quite a notorious name for itself. He'd heard many male instructors at the Gray Seal Martial Arts Hall talking about it in the locker room. With their spittle flying and lecherous grins, in those moments, they looked just like Old Mike at the front desk.

"Brightlight Street is about three blocks away and isn't far from here. Looks like I'm going to have a busy night..." Cassius stepped down from the Fotte vehicle, walked to the driver's seat and grabbed the black pistol before vanishing into the night.

***

"Wow!"

"Whoo-hoo!"

"Shake it harder for me, baby! Here's a reward!"

"Hahaha, nothing beats this place!"

Excited shouts rose and fell in the faintly lit hall. The air was thick with hormones. A single spotlight shone down on a T-shaped dark red stage in the center of the round hall. About seven silver poles adorned the stage at an equidistance apart where five voluptuous dancers twisted their bodies alluringly like snakes.

Under the dim yellow light, their wet, honeyed bronze skin drew the eyes of every lascivious onlooker. Their gazes were fixed on certain parts of their bodies, inwardly shouting for them to strip faster. Each time a piece of clothing was removed, cheers erupted from the crowd below. Wealthy patrons threw money into the air to reward the dancers.

In the underground circular hall, customers came and went, keeping the crowd consistently at over a hundred. There was a bar on one side of the hall where thirsty patrons could order drinks. Even though prices were considerably higher, the bar's sales rivaled those of a regular pub. The excited patrons, enthralled by the strip show, couldn't care less about spending a few extra Hongli Federation dollars. After all, the Famica Club boasted the highest quality exotic dancers and the alluring ladies were all dangerously skilled at raking in money.

A man with slicked-back hair and wearing a black vest sauntered in through the entrance. He was about 1.8 meters tall. His muscular arms were exposed, revealing a black tattoo with a flame emblem on his bicep. As the man walked, his attention was immediately drawn to the dancers moving seductively on the stage. He whistled and headed toward the bar.

"Hey, Rona's here." Several gang members sitting on black chairs glanced over, raising their glasses in a cheery salute.

As soon as Rona arrived at the bar, he excitedly slapped the table. "Drinks! Drinks!" He was quite the old drunkard.

"What's it going to be today? Blue Blood, Persian Cat, or Lemon Sunrise?" the bartender in a black vest spoke, leaning over as he wiped a glass with a white cloth. Naturally, he was talking about the different types of cocktails.

"None of that stuff, give me a Burning Flame!" Rona handed over a large denomination bill.

"Whoa, you sure know how to pick the good stuff, Rona. You're really something." A gang member next to him sipped his drink.

The Famica Strip Club was an enterprise controlled by the Black Fire Gang. All members paid only half of the price for drinks but were limited to only five drinks a day. Additionally, Burning Flame was one of the most expensive cocktails at the bar. It was very strong, and had a fierce kick, but was extremely tasty.

"What's it to you?" Rona said, plopping down onto a chair. The gang members began drinking merrily.

"Ho ho ho! Well done!!!" The entire strip club roared with excitement as the dancers on stage had finished removing their clothes, exposing their bodies. This immediately led to a wave of cheers and tips from the audience below.

Rona whistled at the stage and then stood up. "I've had a bit too much to drink. I'm gonna hit the restroom."

"Yeah, right. You just want to jerk off!"

"Hahaha..." Several gang members nearby burst into laughter.

"Get outta here, if I'm going to jerk something off, it'll be a cannon, not a pistol like yours." Rona burped and meandered over to the restroom.

After some twists and turns, he finally reached the restroom. It stunk of urine, alcohol, and a hint of vomit. It seemed the bar's drinks were selling very well.

Complaining under his breath, Rona stepped up to the urinal. Just as he started, he heard heavy footsteps coming from outside. Shortly after, a tall figure quietly stood next to him. When Rona glanced over, the first thought that came to his mind was to remark how tall the man was at nearly 1.9 meters. Not only that, the man had a strapping figure and looked like a bodybuilder.

Rona sniffed, seemingly catching a whiff of blood, but the other odors were too strong for him to be sure. A moment later, Rona shook off and zipped up.

Suddenly, a deep voice came from beside him. "Finished?"

"Huh?" Confused, Rona turned his head. The barrel of a black gun was aimed directly at his head.

"!!!"

Back at the bar, the gang members were still drinking and chatting. One of them said, "What's taking that drunkard Rona so long? Did he pass out in the urinal?"

"Or maybe he's still in there going at it?"

"Hahaha..."

It was a lively atmosphere. If Rona were here, he'd look bitter, especially since his trip to the bathroom wasn't for what they thought.

With the gun pointed at him, Rona had no choice but to follow the man out of the restroom, acting all buddy-buddy as they left the club through another passage.

Under the moonlight, in a dark and narrow alley.

"I ask the questions, you answer. Understand?"

"I... I understand."

"If I find out you're lying to me, I won't hesitate to pull the trigger. Life is valuable so you should cherish it, hmm? Understand?"

"Yes, I understand!"

"Good. First question, where is the Black Fire gang's headquarters? I want the exact address and area."

"..."

Five minutes later, Cassius got what he came here for. It turned out that guns could be more effective than fists—at least for ordinary people who didn't know any better. Pointing a black gun at someone's head was much more terrifying than threatening someone with their fists.

"36 Ferrin Street," Cassius murmured to himself.

"Yes... yes!" The way Rona was nodding his head so hard, it looked like how one might sift to loosen chaff. "I've told you everything I know so please don't shoot!"

"Of course." Cassius looked coldly at Rona, then tucked the gun into his waistband. He stood silently.

Rona let out a sigh of relief. He took two steps forward.

Crack!

Under the moonlight, Rona's head instantly twisted 180 degrees. Just as he was about to fall, a big hand caught him. Cassius never intended to shoot; blood splatters were too messy. It was much cleaner and more convenient to snap his neck.

Furthermore, gangs were the least trustworthy entities in the world. It was best not to expect those filthy sewer rats to adhere to any kind of honor code, especially those from small-time gangs. Cassius wasn't going to discuss things like morals or ethics with them. It would fall on deaf ears since the only language they understood were fists and guns!

After dealing with Rona's body, Cassius had a clear goal in mind. He was going to the Black Fire gang's headquarters. With his current skills, no small-time gang could stand against him. And if any members from Duststorm were there, then all the better! He wanted to see just how bold this newly emerging group, who was causing trouble in Beiliu County, really was.