Sand Mage of the Burnt Desert Chapter 608

“So, the person supplying has been visiting on a weekly basis for the past two months?”

“Yes, that's correct!”

“And do you know their identity?”

“All I know is that they're a sales representative from the establishment that provides the alcohol.”

Molina gazed at Zeon, her face streaked with tears and mucus.

Her expression was one of sheer terror.

She had always believed herself to be resilient, having endured countless hardships, but the agony she experienced earlier was a torment she never wished to repeat.

The burning pain that radiated from within her was beyond human endurance.

She felt that facing such torment again would drive her to madness.

Simply being in the same vicinity as Zeon made it difficult to draw a breath.

“And the location of this establishment?”

“It's… a secret.”

“A secret?”

“Ah, I don't mean it's my secret! The shop's location itself is kept confidential. They operate as a maker and seller of illicit spirits, so exposure is unavoidable.”

“Who would be aware of its location?”

“The bartender. He's the only one who liaises with the outside.”

“That's purely your conjecture, isn't it?”

“Yes.”

“Not particularly helpful, then.”

“Please, have mercy! I beg you…”

Molina interpreted Zeon's words as a death sentence.

Her body quivered uncontrollably like a leaf in a storm as she wept. A warm liquid trickled down her legs uncontrollably.

Overcome by abject fear, she had lost control of her bladder.

Zeon clicked his tongue in irritation at the sight.

He had no intentions of ending her life, yet she had already succumbed to her own terrifying assumptions.

Just then—

Bang!

“Nobody move!”

“What in the world is going on?”

With a resounding crash, shouts erupted from the floor below.

Zeon's brow furrowed as he stepped out.

“Arrest all of them.”

“Uwaaa!”

Emerging into the hallway, the commotion from downstairs grew more distinct.

The men who had been frolicking with prostitutes upstairs came out to investigate, their faces draining of color.

“Damn it! Isn't that a raid squad?”

“Why now? We're completely screwed.”

They scrambled to dress, desperately searching for an escape route, but all the windows on their level were sealed shut.

To prevent patrons from fleeing without settling their tabs, every exit, save for the ground floor, had been barricaded.

Their only path out was to descend.

Leaving the panicked individuals behind, Zeon proceeded to the first floor.

The pub area had already descended into utter pandemonium.

“You dare peddle narcotics in the South District?”

“Eliminate anyone who offers resistance.”

The Awakened enforcers, dispatched from the South District, were brutally subduing everyone within the establishment.

“You believe we'll just surrender?”

“Perish, you scoundrels!”

The guards retaliated with all their might.

They were acutely aware that—

Capture by the South District's Awakened meant certain death.

Regardless of the circumstances, the South District's Awakened had discovered the illicit drug trade operating within the pub and had arrived to shut it down.

Lies or justifications would prove futile against them.

The only recourse was to fight their way out and escape.

“Damnation! Where did the leak originate?”

The bartender muttered, his expression deeply flustered.

Despite his unassuming appearance, he was, in fact, a C-rank combat-type Awakened.

He could typically overpower most predicaments through sheer force, but today, his adversaries were formidable.

“Of all people, it had to be that snake-like bastard.”

His gaze shifted towards the middle-aged man standing stoically at the entrance, arms crossed.

His sharp, slit pupils and thin, red lips were striking features. His name was Paoshan.

An Awakened known as “Poison Snake” in the South District, he commanded the Punishment Unit.

The Punishment Unit functioned essentially as an anti-crime task force.

Their mandate was to apprehend and neutralize individuals who disrupted the established order within the South District.

Paoshan had detected an anomaly within the South District merely three days prior.

He had received intelligence indicating a rapid proliferation of narcotics, with bars serving as the central hubs.

Recognizing the potential for uncontrollable spread once drugs took root, Paoshan acted without hesitation.

“Clear the way!”

A guard charged at Paoshan with ferocious intensity.

Clutched in his hand was a massive greatsword.

His objective was to impale Paoshan and breach the blockade.

“Insolent cur!”

In an instant, Paoshan’s hand moved with lightning speed, intercepting the greatsword.

Not only did he seize the blade with his bare hand, but he also snapped it cleanly in two.

“Guhk!”

The guard’s eyes widened in disbelief at the sight of his shattered weapon.

Paoshan plunged the broken blade into the man’s forehead.

Thud!

The guard perished without even a whimper.

Despite being a reasonably skilled Awakened, he was dispatched with swift finality.

Such was Paoshan’s formidable might.

Witnessing this, the bartender’s expression contorted further.

‘Curses!’

With Paoshan effectively blocking the main entrance, any egress that way was utterly impossible.

“Argh!”

“Kek!”

Even as this transpired, guards were falling with agonizing screams.

It was a confrontation they were doomed to lose from the outset.

The low-ranking Awakened lurking in the back alleys were no match for the elite forces of the South District.

“Is this… the end?”

A wave of despair began to wash over the bartender’s face.

It was then—

He noticed something peculiar.

The patron he had dispatched upstairs with Molina earlier was engaged in an unusual action midway up the staircase.

He had placed his hand against the wall and closed his eyes.

“Has he lost his mind?”

With no avenue of escape upwards, it seemed as though he had succumbed to insanity.

But then, something utterly astonishing occurred.

Crack—

The robust concrete barrier disintegrated like fine sand, unveiling a concealed chamber behind it.

Despite presiding over this establishment for an extended period, he had never once suspected the existence of such a space hidden behind the stairwell wall.

Without any hesitation, the man plunged into the opening.

“Damn it!”

There was simply no moment left for contemplation.

Acting solely on instinct, the bartender hastened to follow him into the void.

Beyond the wall lay a pathway descending into the earth.

A noxious odor emanated from its depths, strongly suggesting it led to the sewage system.

The man plunged onward, fearless.

The bartender scrambled to keep pace.

“Hey! Let’s stick together.”

“If you have any desire to remain alive, then maintain silence.”

The individual who responded with palpable irritation was, in fact, Zeon.

For Zeon, pinpointing the subterranean sewer system presented no significant challenge.

He had intentionally made a show of breaching the wall in a location where the bartender was sure to witness it.

Completely oblivious, the bartender followed without a shred of doubt.

“So, you’re an Awakened. Do you possess some kind of detection ability?”

“I explicitly instructed you to be quiet.”

“My apologies! I was merely curious.”

“My designation is Pathfinder.”

“Ah! That explains how you navigated the route with such apparent ease.”

The bartender’s comprehension dawned instantly.

Pathfinders constituted an exceptionally rare class of individuals.

They specialized in guiding expeditions or convoys, charting unknown territories, and invariably possessed both detection proficiencies and formidable combat prowess.

For such a skilled Pathfinder, identifying an escape vector within an unfamiliar establishment was hardly a monumental task.

“It appears fortune favors me. With your unique talents, finding a way out should be a simple matter, correct?”

“Cease your chatter. My concentration is vital for pathfinding; therefore, remain silent.”

“Ah! My apologies.”

Irritated by Zeon’s sharp tone, the bartender immediately imposed silence upon himself.

Then—

“A passage exists through here.”

“Capture those vermin who have escaped!”

The distinct voices of the Punishment Unit reverberated from the very entrance they had just utilized.

They had evidently discovered the secret passage and were in hot pursuit.

As they arrived at a junction within the sewer, Zeon deliberately adopted an expression of profound indecision.

The bartender found himself unable to contain his impatience any longer.

“What troubles you? Have you lost your way?”

“I reiterated my request for silence.”

“No, I am simply in a significant hurry. What exactly is the issue?”

“I am uncertain which path to select.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“If our course proceeds to the right, it appears to trend eastward. Conversely, if we veer left, it might connect to a northerly direction.”

“In that case, proceed left.”

“On what grounds?”

“Should we emerge to the north, I am acquainted with a purveyor of spirits. That individual will undoubtedly offer us sanctuary.”

“A purveyor of spirits?”

“The very same who provision our establishment. If we reach his location, safety will be assured.”

“Understood.”

Zeon acknowledged the suggestion with a nod and proceeded into the leftward tunnel.

The sewer system was a labyrinthine expanse, comparable in complexity to an ant colony, shrouded in oppressive darkness.

Even the most adept sense of direction would prove utterly futile within its confines.

A palpable sense of dread gripped the bartender.

He harbored the terrifying certainty that should he lose sight of Zeon, he would likely become lost for days, eventually succumbing to starvation.

He hastened his steps to maintain proximity.

Despite encountering multiple divergences, Zeon navigated them with unwavering decisiveness.

The bartender followed, placing his complete trust in Zeon’s judgment.

At some indistinguishable point, the sounds of their pursuers abruptly ceased.

It appeared they had abandoned the chase within the bewildering network of tunnels.

However, it was far too premature to entertain any feelings of relief.

They remained ensconced underground, and should Zeon falter in his quest for an exit, they would face an inescapable predicament.

Suddenly, Zeon halted his advance.

“What is it?”

“That illicit substance.”

“Pardon?”

“Its effects proved remarkably potent.”

The bartender’s mind raced, grasping the implication instantly.

“You require an additional dose?”

“Affirmative.”

“Regrettably, I possess none at this precise moment. My departure was hasty, precluding any possibility of bringing it along.”

“Blast it!”

“However, harbor no anxieties. Upon reaching the supplier’s location, I shall procure some for you. He is, in fact, my own designated source.”

“Is that truly so?”

“Without a doubt. Place your faith in my word.”

“Is this a solemn vow?”

“Naturally.”

The bartender readily affirmed his agreement, a swift nod conveying his assent.

Provided their successful egress from this subterranean hell, the quantity he might furnish to Zeon held no consequence in his mind.

Indeed, Zeon’s current demeanor served to alleviate his prior concerns.

He had harbored anxieties regarding the potential for Zeon’s deceit.

Yet, witnessing Zeon’s evident dependency, the likelihood of betrayal seemed to vanish entirely.

Zeon guided the bartender through several more branching paths.

Ultimately, they arrived at their intended destination.

“This particular route culminates in the northern sector.”

“Confound it, your capabilities are astonishing. Let us depart forthwith; the air here is stifling.”

“Agreed.”

With that pronouncement, Zeon unleashed a powerful blow.

Boom!

The obstructing wall disintegrated upon impact, revealing the open air beyond.

The bartender tentatively extended his head and inhaled deeply.

“Ah! I have indeed survived.”

Having subsisted solely on fetid air, the invigorating atmosphere of the surface felt akin to divine nectar.

After drawing several deep breaths, he regained his composure and surveyed his surroundings.

“This is unequivocally the northern district.”

He recognized their location immediately.

Turning his gaze back to Zeon—

“The supplier is situated nearby. Pray, follow me!”

The bartender then led Zeon towards the premises of the liquor distributor.

The edifice was remarkably substantial, especially for an establishment in the South District.

Occupying five floors, each level was reinforced with formidable iron doors, signifying robust security.

The bartender proceeded to rap upon the main entrance.

“Open this instantly!”

“Who seeks entry?”

A small aperture slid open, revealing a single, assessing eye.

“It is I, Joe, hailing from the slums.”

“Bartender Joe? What urgent matter brings you here?”

“The Punishment Unit conducted a raid on the pub. Grant me immediate admittance.”

“Is this assertion verifiable?”

“I orchestrated a narrow escape; therefore, render the door accessible.”

“Understood.”

Clank!

The imposing door creaked open.

Zeon, accompanied by the bartender, entered the facility without encountering any obstacles.

Within, a multitude of individuals engaged in their tasks with an organized, almost insectoid precision.

The pervasive aroma of decaying monstrous carcasses mingled with the sharp tang of chemical compounds, saturating the air.

‘So, this is the clandestine location where the illicit substances are synthesized.’