You're Making Me Nervous

While Elias and Old Ed were bickering in their "team voice chat,"

In reality,

The Dvorin bartender had already approached Elias silently.

He didn't attack. Instead, like a keen-scented hound, he leaned forward slightly toward Elias's trench coat, sniffing forcefully. He took a deep breath.

After that breath, the Dvorin bartender's cold expression shifted dramatically!

He recoiled two steps as if struck by lightning. "You have the scent of Calovius on you!" the bartender pointed at Elias. "Who exactly are you?!" he growled through gritted teeth.

At the same second the bartender roared those words, a cacophony of chairs screeching against the wooden floor erupted throughout the relatively quiet transcendent area.

Immediately after, the patrons in the area—those freaks who had been quietly drinking—all stood up at once! The atmosphere plunged to freezing point in an instant. Killing intent filled the air.

Someone reached into their trench coat with a sneer. Another slowly gripped the brass handle of their cane. Even more extreme, a burly man the size of a brown bear kicked aside his barstool and drew a pirate cutlass over half a meter long. A dangerous, faint blue light shimmered on the blade.

At that moment, every aura in the room locked onto Elias with ruthless precision.

Faced with the prospect of being hacked into mincemeat at any second, Elias let out a startled cry. "Whoa!"

Seeing their terrified and wary expressions, Elias’s brain bypassed thought entirely, and his body reacted on instinct. He threw his hands high above his head! Palms forward, fingers spread wide. He performed a textbook French military salute.

His surrender was so fast and smooth it was seamless. It really wasn't his fault for caving at lightspeed; the makeup of this crowd was simply too terrifying!

Just in this first-floor hall alone, there were clearly three transcendents at Scale Two! And that burly man with the pirate cutlass emitted a pressure that was undoubtedly a solid Scale Three!

Not to mention the shriveled old man sitting in the shadows of the corner. When Elias tried to sense him, it was like a clay ox entering the sea—he couldn't perceive a thing. Those you couldn't read were always the most lethal.

And this was only the first floor! There might be some world-shattering powerhouses hiding upstairs, which was far beyond what Elias could even imagine.

"Calm down!" Elias shouted, hands still raised. "I don't know anything about Calovius! This is all a huge misunderstanding!"

He unhesitatingly shifted the blame onto Old Crowley. "I'm really here to see Old Crowley about something," he lied through his teeth, heart steady. "He asked me to run an errand and bring something here. But something's come up, and I'm here to report to him!"

Upon hearing the name "Old Crowley," the killing intent in the Dvorin bartender's eyes receded slightly. However, he still sized Elias up suspiciously, as if evaluating whether this surrendering fellow was lying.

After a moment, the bartender raised his hand slightly and waved it back, signaling the tense patrons to stand down. The stifling atmosphere eased just a fraction.

"What thing?" The bartender had no intention of letting him off that easily, questioning him coldly while staring directly into his eyes.

What?! Elias's hands froze in mid-air. What thing?! Are you sticking your nose in a bit too much?!

Elias complained wildly in his head, nearly losing his composure, but he managed to force a professional fake smile. "Sir," Elias gave him a helpless look. "This is Captain Crowley's private property. You know the rules of the trade; it's really not convenient to tell you..."

Unfortunately, the other man wasn't buying the street talk. The Dvorin bartender seemed determined to dig up his secrets. "No!" he insisted, his tail lashing the floor irritably again. "You must tell me what it is!"

At this blatant threat, the smile on Elias’s face slowly vanished. Even a saint has his limits. He lowered his hands and straightened the collar of his trench coat. His gaze turned cold.

"Why don't you tell me first?" he countered without backing down, a hint of cold provocation in his voice. "Who exactly are you? What right do you have to question Old Crowley's private cargo?"

Hearing this, the Dvorin bartender’s brows shot up as if he had heard an unbelievable joke. "You really don't know where you are, do you?" he sneered.

In that instant, the explosive tension from moments ago vanished strangely. In its place was a contemptuous atmosphere, as if they were looking at an idiot.

"Listen up," the bartender puffed out his chest and announced with pride, "This is the territory of the Resurrection Society."

The Resurrection Society? Elias quickly sifted through his original memories. Nothing.

Old man, what's the Resurrection Society? Elias asked privately, hoping the old ghost could provide some background info.

"No idea," Old Ed replied succinctly. "I don't know how many of these underground organizations have cropped up since I died." The old man argued defensively, "Even before I died, I couldn't possibly keep track of every two-bit operation!"

Damn, what use are you!

In reality, Elias had no choice but to bite the bullet and face it himself. He blinked and asked weakly, "Uh... so... what is the Resurrection Society?"

The words fell, and the entire underground tavern plunged into a deathly silence. Every patron, including the half-devil bartender, stared blankly at the man as if he were an alien.

"You don't know the Resurrection Society?" The bartender’s dark gold eyes widened. Seeing Elias's genuinely confused expression, everyone present was stunned.

"I don't," Elias said with an air of pure innocence. "Do you guys sell insurance? Is it 'believe in you and get eternal life'?"

At those words, the burly man with the cutlass was the first to lose it, spitting out a mouthful of liquor. "He really doesn't know!" a patron in the corner shouted, slapping his thigh and laughing hysterically. "Aha ha ha ha ha ha ha!"

Immediately, the tavern was filled with a merry atmosphere. Uproarious laughter followed. All sorts of rough laughs and whistles nearly lifted the roof off the place.

The patrons, who had been ready for battle, completely relaxed. They tucked their weapons away and returned to their seats, losing all interest in picking a fight with such a greenhorn bumpkin.

"Kid, you actually don't know the Resurrection Society?" a tipsy patron teased. He then turned to the Dvorin bartender. "Bloodsong! Looks like your Resurrection Society isn't famous enough yet!" the patron mocked loudly. "To think there's actually a transcendent who's never heard of you!"

Faced with the mockery, the half-devil bartender known as "Bloodsong" could only twitch his lips in embarrassment. He looked helplessly at the innocent-faced Elias. After a brief silence, Bloodsong sighed. "Follow me." He turned and gestured for Elias to follow, having lost all desire to interrogate him.

Elias had thought a tough fight was inevitable today. Who would have guessed the crisis would end so lightly just because of his "ignorance"?

You could say your ignorance saved you, Old Ed remarked quite fairly in his mind.

"..." Elias rolled his eyes hard internally, choosing not to reply.

He set off, following Bloodsong’s swaying tail through the noisy hall. They entered an even dimmer corridor. At the end of the hallway, Bloodsong pushed open a heavy black wooden door. Behind it was a spiraling wooden staircase.

"After you," Bloodsong said, stepping aside at the foot of the stairs. His attitude had shifted from aggressive to cold and professional. "I don't know if Old Crowley is upstairs today. However, I must give you a warning."

Bloodsong’s dark gold eyes flashed with a dangerous glint in the dim light. He stared straight at Elias. "You'd best not try any tricks here. I'd much rather believe you truly don't know what the Resurrection Society is. Good luck."

Hearing this, Elias stood there and glanced at Bloodsong. He couldn't help but complain wildly to himself. Talk like that... really makes a guy nervous.