The red cloth pouch that Old Gray handed him pressed against Ryan's chest, the warmth barely dispelling the anxiety in his heart. He clutched the business card of the Blood Moon Bar in his hand; the silver edges dug into his fingertips, as if reminding him of the danger of this mission. After leaving the Grey Hawk Detective Agency, Ryan didn't go straight to the location. He walked two extra blocks first, making sure neither Ella nor Marcus was following him, before hailing a taxi and giving the obscure address on the card.
The taxi wove through the narrow alleys of New Star City's old district. The scenery gradually shifted from bustling downtown to decay: peeling walls, tangled wires, homeless people curled up on street corners. The air was damp and musty, in stark contrast to the city center's glittering lights. Ryan leaned against the window, unconsciously stroking the pouch, his mind replaying Old Gray's instructions—"Do not reveal your true purpose, do not offend any supernatural being"—and the system's reminder about the "supernatural information hub," causing his heart to beat faster.
"Kid, we're here," the taxi driver's voice broke Ryan's thoughts. He paid and stepped out, looking up at the narrow alley hidden between old apartment buildings. At the end of the alley stood a building that seemed completely out of place in the dilapidated surroundings. Its black wooden door was carved with intricate vine patterns, and a crimson lantern hung above, flickering and casting an eerie glow on the gilded letters that spelled Blood Moon Bar.
Ryan took a deep breath, suppressing the fear in his chest, and stepped into the alley. A few steps from the door, he smelled a strange fragrance—rich roses, a hint of blood, and the deep scent of alcohol. The three mixed into a uniquely recognizable aroma that made his heart skip. Instinctively, he activated True Sight, instantly seeing a faint black mist around the door, with tiny shadows writhing in it—clearly the bar's low-level protective magic.
Pushing open the heavy door, the hinges creaked long and low, as if waking a slumbering giant. Inside, Ryan froze. The interior was completely different from the outside decay, decorated in extreme luxury. Deep red velvet carpets covered the floors, soundlessly soft underfoot. On the walls hung vintage oil paintings of fair-haired, blue-eyed nobles, their eyes carrying an inhuman coldness. Above, a massive crystal chandelier emitted soft red light, casting the entire space in a blood-colored dreamscape.
The bar had few patrons, but each exuded extraordinary presence. At the bar sat a man in a black trench coat, his skin nearly translucent, fingers holding a slender cigar, a faint black aura surrounding him—clearly a vampire. In a corner booth, two large men whispered, their arms covered in thick hair, eyes sharp like hawks—the unmistakable aura of werewolves. Another woman in a luxurious gown lightly tapped her fingertips on the table, making the glasses tremble, a faint colorful aura around her—likely a witch.
Ryan's arrival immediately drew every eye. Supernatural beings of various races glanced at him, their eyes sharp, wary, with faint disdain. He felt several looks press on him like tangible weight, making him uneasy. Forcing calm, he lowered his head and quickly moved to a corner booth, trying to reduce his presence.
Not long after, a woman in a black maid outfit approached. Her skin was snow-pale, lips blood red, eyes dark crimson, fixed on Ryan. Her voice was low and raspy, like sandpaper on wood:
"Sir, what will it be?"
Ryan tried to keep his voice steady. "A glass of lemonade, please." He couldn't risk drinking alcohol here; who knew if it contained some supernatural blood or magical potion.
The maid nodded silently and left. Ryan, sitting in the booth, pretended to observe the surroundings while using True Sight to scan the bar, seeking the owner, Valentin. Soon, he spotted a man behind the bar.
The man wore a tailored red suit, long golden hair draped over his shoulders, his face ethereally beautiful yet with a faint malevolence. His skin was paler than other vampires, fingertips painted black, polishing a wine glass. Most striking were his deep red eyes, seeming to see straight through to the soul. His aura was thick black, with ancient energy waves far stronger than the other patrons.
This must be Valentin, Ryan thought. The system suddenly alerted him:
"High-level supernatural detected. Identity: Pureblood Vampire, Valentin von Dracula, owner of Blood Moon Bar, age: 156 years, power level: intermediate supernatural, skilled in mind control and dark magic. Personality: cunning, suspicious, profit-driven."
A pureblood vampire? Ryan's heart skipped. Valentin's strength far exceeded expectations, making Ryan more nervous.
Just as he pondered how to approach, Valentin set down the wine glass and looked directly at him. When their eyes met, Ryan felt a violent dizziness, as if his soul were being pulled toward the vampire.
"Interesting little one," Valentin's voice rang in his mind, mocking. "A human harboring a system's aura, traces of dark magic… What brings you to my bar?"
Ryan blinked, forcing his senses back. He was shocked by Valentin's mind control. In front of such power, hiding the truth seemed useless. Taking a deep breath, he stood and walked to the bar. All eyes followed, curiosity evident.
"Boss Valentin, I'd like to inquire about someone," Ryan said respectfully. "I'm willing to pay the appropriate price."
Valentin smiled, red eyes gleaming with amusement. "Oh? Who is it? You know, different intel comes at different costs." He snapped, and the maid returned, placing the lemonade in front of Ryan.
"I'm looking for Dr. Kalen," Ryan said, eyes fixed on Valentin.
Valentin's smile stiffened briefly; a flash of seriousness appeared in his eyes, then faded. He poured himself wine, swirling it lazily: "Dr. Kalen? The one obsessed with merging magic and technology? A madman. Why do you seek him?"
"I'm investigating a disappearance," Ryan said. "I need to know his whereabouts and experimental base."
Valentin drank, the red liquid accentuating his lips. He assessed Ryan: "Info on Dr. Kalen isn't cheap. What can you trade? Money? Jewelry? Or… your system?"
Mention of the system made Valentin's eyes glint greedily. Ryan's chest tightened. "I can't give my system. I only have money—all my savings," he said, emptying $532 onto the bar.
Valentin chuckled, crimson eyes mocking. "All this? Trying to bribe a beggar?" His voice carried, drawing laughter from patrons.
Ryan's face burned. He clenched his jaw. "This is all I have. If not enough, I can do a task for you—nothing against my principles."
Valentin studied him, then leaned close, voice low: "One task? Interesting." He gestured, and when Ryan leaned in, Valentin's fingertip brushed his cheek, icy and shocking.
"Remember your promise, little one," Valentin said, seductive. "When I need you, I'll come."
He returned to polishing glasses. Ryan exhaled, sipped the lemonade to calm down, pushed the cash forward, and headed to the door.
At the exit, a vampire in a black trench coat blocked him, fangs bared: "Taking intel from Valentin and leaving? Leave a tip, perhaps?"
Ryan's heart sank. His hand instinctively touched the red pouch.
"Dick, my guest," Valentin's cold voice rang. "Dare you?"
The vampire froze, bowed respectfully, glared at Ryan, and returned to his seat. Ryan gave Valentin a grateful glance and left quickly.
Outside, he hurried down the alley until reaching the street, finally exhaling. Every second in that bar had been precarious, but he had secured Dr. Kalen's base location.
He pulled out his phone, searching for the abandoned steel mill in the western suburbs. Far from the city, surrounded by wasteland, danger awaited. There was no turning back if he wanted the truth and to clear his name.
Just as he was about to hail a taxi, a message appeared:
"Be careful of Valentin. Don't trust everything he says."
Ryan froze, scanning his surroundings. No one was there. Who sent it? Why warn him? Had Valentin lied? His nerves tensed again.