Chapter 676.2: Help Me, We’re Both Shelter Residents! |
At the same time, to the south of French Fry Harbor, not far from the beach, stood the only tavern in the port.
The tavern had a rather unique name. It was called the One Man Tavern. As the name implied, from the bar to the kitchen, there was only a single owner running the place. Sometimes customers even had to pour their own drinks or wash their own cups at the sink nearby.
Most players didn’t mind. After all, even if they did, they had no choice, it was the only tavern in the settlement.
Even if it was only sheltered by a simple canopy, no one complained.
The owner went by Her Drunken Recluse, a beta player who played as a Lifestyle Profession Player. His specialty dishes were deep-fried fish and fries. According to him, those two dishes required minimal skill that could be cooked even if someone had no hands, making them perfect for someone whose cooking ability was basically zero.
As for the taste… If they were there to drink, why would they care about the taste?
Once drunk, people were too busy fighting disconnection to worry about flavor.
A group of players sat by the beach, drinking beer and eating fried fish and fries, exchanging stories from the day’s adventures.
“Damn it, there’s a bunch of mutated lizards up on the northwest ridge. Thought they were freaking dinosaurs at first! Good thing I caught them early, or I would have died before even breaking even on travel costs!”
“Yeah. It’s supposed to be an E-difficulty quest with a recommended level of LV10, I believed it!”
“Hahahaha!”
“Your luck is unreal!”
“I heard if you submit combat footage, you can get it re-rated. Three A-rank threats or one S-rank can bump it to an A-difficulty level. It gives better rewards too.”
“Seriously? I’ll try that!”
“Man, we should’ve brought Garbage here. This is totally his turf.”
“Good idea. Might even help him find a girlfriend.”
“Haha! You trying to kill your dad laughing.”
“By the way, what’s he been up to lately? Haven’t seen him in Dawn City.”
“He never came back from the Brocade Province. Seems like he and Make Me got hooked on pretending to be gods there.”
“Damn…”
“Being a cult leader, huh.”
As they chatted, a noisy group of Jungle Corps players approached.
Unlike their battered state upon returning earlier, they now looked exhilarated, faces flushed with satisfaction like they had just won a close match.
Losses from expedition tasks were reimbursed at 70%, up to 90% with insurance.
They could go all out as someone else was footing the bill.
Rewards were calculated based on difficulty, losses, and objectives.
This mission had encountered unexpected ant swarms, yet they still retrieved the hard drives. They would receive at least an A+ rating for their mission.
Even after deducting the cost of their equipment, each player would easily earn a four-digit bonus.
“Damn, that mission was intense!”
“Freaking awesome!”
“Hope we get more like that!”
“Haha, you had fun, the administrator must be bleeding money!”
“Hell yeah, it’s worth it!”
Seeing Old White drinking with others, Midnight Pubg walked over and bumped fists. “Nice artillery work!”
“Of course!” Old White grinned. “We’ve got pros running those guns.”
Midnight Pubg pulled up a chair. “How about you guys? You got a good haul?”
Before Old White could answer, Prop Master joked, “Not bad. Mostly third-wheeling and flower-viewing with Ms. Chen.”
“HAHAHAHAHAHA!” Prone Model laughed.
“Ignore him,” Old White coughed. “We did proper sampling. We ran into a few skirmishes, but there was nothing major. We brought back some game and it’s over there roasting.”
He pointed toward the beach. A mutated leopard lay skinned near a fire pit, larger than the one from earlier.
Irena swallowed with his eyes gleaming. “Damn, that looks good.”
Even before it cooked, the marinated meat made the fries seem dull.
“Help yourselves!” Old White laughed.
Prone Model rushed to the bar. “Two crates of beer! 10 plates of fries!”
“In the warehouse, go get it yourselves,” the owner replied without looking up.
“Damn you!” Prone Model curse, but still, he went.
Soon the fire was lit, and the massive leopard was hoisted up above the flames.
Everyone sat around, grilling meat, drinking beer, cutting bloody slices.
Old White leaned back, satisfied.
Beach. Beer. Barbecue. This is what an adventure should be.
Dawn City was too comfortable.
Here, he realized what was missing.
They had come as residents of Shelter 404 to restore civilization. Now that Clearspring City was safe, there was nothing left for high-level players.
It was good, but lonely.
Maybe… They were meant to always be forging ahead.
Staring at the stars, Elf Wang sighed.
“One day, the wasteland will end… what then?”
“Why think so far ahead?” Irena said. “What about space? What about Gaia five light-years away?”
“And after that?”
“We’ll just go further!” Old White laughed. “We can buy a spaceship and explore the whole map!”
“Maybe it haven’t been developed yet,” Prone Model joked.
“Haha, could be!” Irene chuckled.
Everyone laughed, but soon, someone noticed something on the shore.
It was a black cylindrical object, like a barrel.
Suddenly, a hatch opened and a man tumbled out. He staggered up, only to be knocked down by a wave.
Nearby, a mutated crab noticed him.
Old White narrowed his eyes.
“Side quest,” Peepo mumbled, already moving.
Gunshots drove the crab back as he dragged the soaked man to safety.
Another player blasted the crab dead.
“We got dinner!” someone yelled.
The rescued man collapsed and he gasped in shock, “T-thank you…”
He was pale and shaking, clearly traumatized from the experience. His gaze quickly locked onto the food.
Old White handed him bread and warm lemonade. “Eat.”
The man devoured it in a few seconds.
“I’m Old White. What’s your name?”
“H-Huang Guangwei…”
“Where are you from?”
The man froze.
Old White smiled calmly. “We’re from the New Alliance. Maybe you’ve heard of Shelter 404.”
As he spoke. he activated his VM, translating what he said into proper Federation language.
Seeing it, the man relaxed.
Seeing his reaction, Old White seemed to have guessed what had happened and he quickly spoke into his communication channel. “Ample Time, come to the tavern. We might have someone from Shelter 70.”
“On my way.”
The man finally spoke. “I… I’m from Shelter 70…” Then, he grabbed Old White’s arm desperately. “Please help me! We’re both shelter residents!”
