Arknightcraft Modpack
Chapter 511: Since We're Here, Let's Eat First
In a remote corner of Lungmen's slums, the air suddenly distorted.
A dark rift tore open in the otherwise still space, and from within stepped the very two people who had just vanished from the entrance of the Lungmen Guard Department—Steven and Centaurea.
Because Steven wasn't particularly familiar with Lungmen's layout, the best he could manage was a rough long-distance teleport away from the Guard Department. As for where exactly they had landed?
He had absolutely no idea.
But that wasn't especially important.
He had come to Lungmen to sightsee—and, admittedly, to stir up a little excitement. No matter where he started from, it didn't make much difference.
Only after the dizziness from the spatial jump faded did Steven truly take in his surroundings.
And then—
He smelled it.
A rancid stench wafted up from beneath his feet, something akin to rotting garbage baking under damp air.
His brow instinctively furrowed.
Without hesitation, he grabbed Centaurea—who was still slightly unsteady from experiencing teleportation for the first time—and led her out of the dim, foul-smelling alleyway.
But when they finally stepped onto the open street, Steven froze.
For a brief moment, he even wondered if he had teleported a little too far.
Compared to the gleaming, modern skyline he had glimpsed earlier through the police car window—those towering high-tech skyscrapers that defined Lungmen as an international mobile metropolis—the sight before him now felt utterly out of place.
What stood here were crumbling houses built from mud and weathered tiles, clustered together like a dilapidated rural village.
It didn't look like something that belonged in the same city.
The contradiction became even more striking when Steven lifted his gaze and spotted, in the far background, the outlines of those same futuristic high-rises piercing the sky.
No one would expect that within such a developed, cosmopolitan mobile city, there would exist a district so backward and impoverished.
Centaurea, however, focused on something else entirely.
Her eyes scanned the pedestrians rather than the buildings, and she came to a conclusion faster than Steven did.
"This looks like Lungmen's equivalent of a slum," she said quietly. "And one more thing, you should know that most of the people here show signs of being Infected. We'd better be careful."
As someone who frequently carried out missions for the Kazimierz underground, Centaurea's instincts naturally gravitated toward assessing people rather than scenery.
It didn't take her long to estimate that over sixty percent of the passersby bore the unmistakable traits of Oripathy infection.
Such a concentrated gathering of Infected was something that she had rarely seen, even in Kazimierz.
The only comparable example that came to mind was Rhodes Island.
But compared to Rhodes Island—a structured, purpose-driven institution—this place aligned far more closely with her preconceptions of what an Infected settlement would look like.
Dirty.
Foul-smelling.
Chaotic.
The people walking the streets wore expressions that could hardly be described as alive. Garbage littered the roadside. Some individuals dressed like vagrants lay directly atop the trash heaps, staring up at the sky with hollow, near-desperate eyes, as though simply waiting for death to arrive.
The only hint of vitality came from the occasional children who ran past them, laughing and shoving one another in play.
Perhaps they were too young to fully understand what it meant to be Infected.
Perhaps they had yet to grasp what kind of future awaited them.
On their faces, at least, traces of childhood innocence could still be found.
"It seems Lungmen isn't quite the fully international utopia people claim it to be," Centaurea murmured. "Even in a city this dazzling, there are still places hidden in shadow."
She turned her gaze toward Steven, who had been silent.
In moments like this, she couldn't help but feel that her own past life hadn't been as utterly hopeless as she once believed.
At the very least, compared to these people, she had been living.
Not merely existing without purpose, without meaning, waiting for the end.
"This? It's not that bad," Steven said calmly. "Honestly, this is pretty standard for Infected settlements. And judging by their condition, food doesn't seem to be an issue."
Compared to Centaurea, Steven had seen far more Infected in his time.
What lay before him didn't stir much emotion.
The faint color still lingering on their faces, the fact that some people—though aimless—were still working, selling goods, trying to scrape together a living… all of it suggested that this slum had its own order.
However fragile, however crude, it was an order nonetheless.
They could still secure the most basic requirement: food.
Steven had seen worse.
He had seen the Infected on the tundras—people who couldn't even guarantee a single proper meal, for whom staying warm through the night was a life-or-death struggle. Compared to those who fought desperately just to survive each freezing dusk, the people here could almost be called fortunate.
At least these people still had the luxury of thinking about tomorrow.
On the tundra, surviving today was already an achievement that demanded everything.
So when Steven met those hollow, despairing gazes and felt the oppressive gloom that clung to the entire district, he didn't react the way one might expect.
Instead, his attention drifted elsewhere.
Specifically, to the elderly man not far away, pushing a small cart from which wafted a strangely enticing aroma.
"Don't you feel anything?" Centaurea asked, studying his eyes with confusion.
If she remembered correctly, Steven had been rather close with the Infected groups of the Pinus Sylvestris Knightclub. And given his ties to Rhodes Island, she had assumed he would be even more stirred than she was.
"What's there to feel?" Steven shrugged. "I've seen worse."
He sniffed the air again.
"What should we have for lunch? I'm starving."
His priorities were… unconventional.
Without the slightest hint of urgency about the explosions he had sworn to investigate, Steven briskly pulled Centaurea toward the food cart.
"Boss, how much for a serving of this?"
He pointed at the bubbling pot set over a simple stove, and at the neatly molded white balls arranged beside it. The fragrance alone was enough to stir his appetite.
The old vendor grinned the moment he saw Steven's expression.
"Heh, judging by your accent, you're not from around here, are you, young man? The fact that you found this spot means you've got taste." He puffed up with pride and unfurled a simple banner hanging behind him.
Large characters were boldly written across it:
Dong's Signature Scale Balls.
"My Dong's Scale Balls are famous throughout Lungmen, I'll have you know. Fair price for all—ten Lungmen dollars a serving."
"Scale balls?" Steven echoed, eyeing the suspiciously familiar-looking white spheres.
He studied them for a moment longer, then his expression shifted into one of sudden realization.
Ah.
So that's what these are.
So, in the end, weren't these just fish balls?
A pretty normal snack, all things considered. There was no harm in trying a serving.
Without hesitation, Steven pulled out a thick stack of Lungmen dollars from his inventory. After flipping through them, he selected the smallest bill—a fifty—and handed it to the old vendor. Then he casually raised his hand and spread five fingers.
"Boss, five servings to start. Let's have a taste."
Only after placing the order did he turn to look at Centaurea, who was staring at him with open confusion.
"Leaving aside how you managed to blend into the surroundings this fast," she began slowly, "are we really just… not going to worry about Mostima for now?"
She bit her lower lip slightly. No matter how many times she experienced it, she still couldn't quite keep up with Steven's erratic rhythm.
"We'll deal with it, of course," Steven replied matter-of-factly. "It's just that we don't have any concrete leads yet. And you can't investigate properly on an empty stomach. If you don't refuel, how are you supposed to chase down criminals?"
The seriousness on his face almost made it sound like a profound life philosophy.
He strolled over to a small makeshift table beside the cart and sat down, patiently waiting for the "scale balls" to finish cooking.
"Oh, by the way," he added as the rich aroma drifted through the air, "should we add another serving? I ordered one for you too, but I have a feeling four bowls won't be enough to fill me up."
"Let's see if it's enough before adding more," Centaurea said as she sat down beside him.
After a brief pause, she tilted her head slightly.
"Sometimes I really don't understand how you manage to stay so calm in every situation. Is this what they call… the composure of the strong?"
She had come to Lungmen intending to travel with him in the first place. If she thought about it that way, perhaps there was no need to burden herself with worries that weren't hers to solve.
After all, no matter how much she fretted, it wouldn't change anything.
And if real trouble did come, the person beside her would handle it.
"Hmm… I suppose that's one way to put it," Steven replied after a brief moment of thought.
He nodded without even a trace of humility, accepting her assessment outright.
After all, no matter how troublesome a situation seemed, as long as you were certain your fist was bigger than the other party's… how complicated could it really be?
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Note: Character Illustration is in this Google Drive:
https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1iuyfwNVFHzIi9H4rWNT_lAm7jTSiah_M
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Tn: I updated the story daily, but if you want to see more chapter of this story ahead of time, please go to my Patreon.
Latest Chapter: Chapter 617: A Bold Guess[1]
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[1] https://www.patreon.com/Thatsnakegirl/posts/arknightcraft-160680628
[2] https://www.patreon.com/Thatsnakegirl/posts/arknightcraft-160680628