Fang Senyan listened to the old man meticulously describe everything in the shop, a polite smile fixed on his face, yet he paid no mind, letting the scoundrel’s words drift in one ear and out the other as if they were mere puffs of air. Then, he suddenly called out toward the street: “David!

Come here, lend me a couple of pounds!” “Wait!” Mo’r suddenly interjected, his face dark and gruff. “Fine, I suppose I’ll buy your gold coin.

Name your price.” Fang Senyan was decisive: “Twelve pounds. However, since I intend to buy your Holy Branch as well, ten pounds for you will suffice.” At this point, Fang Senyan realized he had been tricked by Klee.

The man had only explained the mission process but conveniently omitted the necessary step of purchasing items from Mo’r to improve his favorability—though, admittedly, someone with exceptionally high Charisma might bypass that requirement entirely. Klee’s reason for risking my displeasure by withholding this information was likely simple: he intended for me to get stuck and hit a wall during the mission, forcing me to return to him for assistance and, consequently, extract more benefits.

In this Nightmare Space, profit reigns supreme; most people are driven solely by self-interest. The reason Fang Senyan haggled with Mo’r instead of simply gifting the gold sovereigns was his awareness that his own Charisma score was low.

A direct gift would be counterproductive. Furthermore, this old man was clearly a greedy merchant, and merchants never willingly take a loss.

If gifting the gold still failed to meet the mission requirements, he would be completely stuck, ultimately having to return and endure Klee’s exploitation anyway. Hearing the words “ten pounds,” the old man leaped up like a rabid dog, spittle flying as he shrieked, “Impossible!

Six pounds at the very most!” Perhaps realizing his initial posturing had failed, Mo’r abandoned subtlety and launched a full-blown barrage of shameless resistance, clutching the gold coin tight. Fang Senyan’s blend of soft and hard tactics proved useless against him, as the continuation of this sequential mission ultimately depended on appeasing the old rogue.

With a heavy heart, Fang Senyan conceded. Only then, when the subject of the Lady Tatasha was raised, did the old man finally speak: “Tatasha… that woman actually remembers me?” Fang Senyan’s ears shot up, anticipating a revelation—but the flow of information immediately stopped!

The old rogue began muttering to himself: “Ah, it’s been so long since I’ve spoken this much to anyone. My throat is parched.

I wonder if the Golden Rum from the Iron Hoop pub next door has arrived.” Suppressing a rising tide of anger, Fang Senyan had no choice but to head to the adjacent pub to inquire. He was informed they had it, but it cost one pound for a small barrel (roughly the equivalent of a current pint).

Resignedly, he spent the money to appease the old man. After savoring the fine liquor, a clearly satisfied Mo’r finally recounted the entire story, detailing the facts one by one.

It turned out the old man was a disgraced nobleman from India. In his youth, he had offended someone he shouldn't have, leading him to leave home and work as a sailor aboard ships belonging to the East India Company, eventually arriving in Europe.

While destitute, he encountered a band of Gypsies. Driven by poverty, Mo’r attempted to steal from them, only to be discovered by one Gypsy, resulting in an accidental homicide.

Gypsies are a wandering people, much like the nomadic tribes of the steppes; they have no fixed abode, constantly migrating between towns in their caravans, which leaves them with minimal societal standing and negligible legal protection. In this precarious situation, Mo’r fled after the killing, but thereafter, he was plagued by nightmares every night—nightmares depicting the very act of murder.

After a month of this torment, driven to the brink of mental collapse, Mo’r voluntarily returned to the Gypsy tribe. There, he learned that the curse had been cast by the fiancée of the man he had killed—Tatasha.

Since Tatasha’s marriage had not been of her own choosing, her hatred for Mo’r was not profound. She merely demanded that Mo’r serve her as a servant for three years before granting him his freedom.

Taking a long sip of the Golden Rum, Mo’r sighed: “Speak. What message did she send?” Fang Senyan fixed his gaze on Mo’r’s eyes and delivered the single most crucial line of this hidden quest: “The living nourish the dead, solitude kills ardor, nine wild ducks fly past a single tiger.” Upon hearing this utterly bizarre phrase, the wrinkles on Mo’r’s face deepened.

After a long silence, he shook his head, walked back into his room, retrieved a piece of crystalline, transparent shard, and handed it to Fang Senyan. Immediately, a prompt appeared for Fang Senyan: “You have obtained the quest item: Fragment of the Gypsy Prophecy Crystal Ball.

Use: It will illuminate the path ahead in your life, guiding you to the correct crossroads.” At this juncture, the mission was no longer tied to the old man Mo’r, and Fang Senyan let out a long breath of relief. He walked to the seaside, cupped the crystal ball fragment in his hand, and placed it into the seawater.

The fragment immediately emitted a faint glow, then dissolved into the water. The light slowly coalesced, forming words upon the ocean surface like phosphorescence, which lingered for a while before vanishing: “When the midnight chimes toll, the wails of the departed shall be restored to truth; the dust of history shall be wiped clean, and the reality shall emerge.” Fang Senyan stood up and sighed contentedly.

With the quest reaching this point, only the final step remained: arriving here precisely at midnight. Although Klee was cunning, his machinations were merely petty tricks; he knew that pushing too far and causing a rupture would inevitably leave him, the weaker party, at a severe disadvantage.

As Fang Senyan stood up, intending to head back to the port for more intelligence—and perhaps spend some remaining coin to acquire more ‘Drunkard’ milestone progress with a few more rums—he was astonished to see his current ‘Drunkard’ milestone progress had suddenly jumped to 72/100! He had inexplicably gained 50 milestone points!

After a moment’s thought, he instantly realized that after purchasing the Golden Rum for Mo’r, he had taken a few sips himself—could one sip of this Golden Rum equate to ten regular rums? With this thought, Fang Senyan immediately rushed back to the Iron Hoop pub, demanding two more barrels of Golden Rum!

He was coldly informed they were sold out; no amount of money would procure more. Helpless, he returned to Mo’r, only to spot the old man from a distance, clearly inebriated, slumped over the counter in a deep sleep.

Two small oak kegs lay haphazardly nearby, the remaining Golden Rum inside measurable only in drops. Frustrated, Fang Senyan had to leave empty-handed.

Looking at the remaining 28 cups required for the milestone, Fang Senyan calculated it amounted to about six or seven standard beers. This was not an insurmountable task for him, so he sat down to drink.

However, the patrons around him were aghast. Most people came to the pub for leisure, even heavy drinkers approaching the task with a relaxed mood—not like Fang Senyan, who was downing rums glass after glass, treating the liquor as if it were mere water!

Fang Senyan ignored everyone, swiftly finishing the remaining 28-cup quota. A flash of light suddenly appeared before his eyes, followed by a series of prompts from the Nightmare Imprint: “You have completed your first Milestone as a Contractor.” “Your Merit Points +1.” (The next Merit Point will be awarded upon completing ten Milestones cumulatively.) “You have acquired the Title: Drunkard.” “Drunkard: When consuming alcoholic beverages, your Hit Rate is reduced by 3%, and your Critical Hit Rate is increased by 4%, lasting for 60 minutes.” “Only one Title may be effective at any given time.

Do you wish to equip the Title/Drunkard now?” “Advanced Milestone: The Sot has been unlocked.” “Conditions to achieve The Sot: Consume all varieties of Rum, including the following:” “Moolan Tan: Produced by Viyakrarala St. Phil Rum Company.” “Rnrlicolai’m (rnri): Rum produced by Plutocoric.” “Lmb (lmb) Potato Rum: Exclusive to the British Navy.” “Kukusba (um): Produced by Ke’i Company in the West Indies.” “Lemonhart (lemnr) Rum: Supplied by Hartho Company, traders dealing in sugar and rum.” Fang Senyan was quite pleased with the “Drunkard” title.

For someone specializing in close-quarters combat, precision wasn't as critical as it was for ranged shooting, where a slight miss meant everything. A 3% reduction in Hit Rate was not severe, but the extra 4% Critical Hit Rate was highly enticing.

In short, Fang Senyan would readily trade a 3% Hit Rate for even a 2% Critical Hit boost. More importantly, he must not forget his dire predicament in the real world, where he might be hunted by both state apparatuses and organized crime!

Even the most formidable equipment or weapons gained in the Space could not be brought into reality, rendering them useless for improving his situation there. Titles, however, were abstract entities, similar to one’s base attributes, and were not subject to such restrictions!

This development would undoubtedly alleviate his circumstances in the real world. A vast, almost boundless thought then surfaced in Fang Senyan’s mind...

Could it be that the famous Drunken Fist masters from China’s history were Contractors who had also unlocked a wine-related Milestone? If so, without access to alcohol, they could not activate their titles, leading to a drastic drop in their true combat strength!

(To be continued, for the latest chapters, please visit: .)