Hardly... worth it, yes, that's right.
Even in a partnership, it's not set in stone. In this Land of Chaos, the other party might betray you for greater profit at any moment.
Unlike Norm's clinic, the place Lebius mentioned was quite easy to find. Bologue looked up to see tall, twisted buildings shrouded in a faint mist, with flickering neon signs faintly visible behind it.
In the dazzling glow, one sign stood out the most, positioned the highest, hanging like a morning star.
Bologue uttered its name, and suddenly a strong wind swept through, temporarily dispersing the mist above, revealing the twisted building's true form.
Countless lines protruded from the darkness in all directions: wires, steel cables, ropes... they tangled together and ultimately converged atop the building, densely and grotesquely hanging like a bizarre spider web, filled with birds standing atop, though Bologue couldn't make out their forms, only gray-black silhouettes.
Bologue guessed this was why it was called the Web Bar as he proceeded along the narrow path, soon reaching the building wrapped in cables.
Near the Web Bar, the crowd noticeably increased, and the deathly stillness came to life a bit. Bologue could vaguely hear bursts of singing echoing between the skyscrapers.
Moving across the street, he could see the main entrance close at hand, with colorful lights spilling through the gaps.
Just like entering the Desolate Crossroads, Bologue experienced no obstacles entering the Web Bar. As he pushed open the door, the clamor hit him like a tidal wave, enveloping Bologue.
Upon entering, there was a massive dance floor. Under dazzling, psychedelic lights, countless people danced and laughed, with bursts of jarring singing drifting over.
Bologue removed his gas mask, and the mixture of alcohol and a peculiar scent rushed into his nostrils, with a familiar aura of decay still present.
Scanning the surroundings with sharp eyes, all he could see was faces painted by lights into colors, filled with intoxication and hallucination.
He navigated through the crowded masses and arrived in front of the bar, recalling the procedures and codes from the intel as he sat down, observing the busy bartender.
The bartender was a muscular fellow with a neatly shaved head, wearing a crisp, tight white shirt. His skin was dark, with a tattoo of a venomous snake etched on his body, crawling up his neck, with the snake's head emerging from the back of his skull, stopping at his smooth forehead.
"Give me a 'Fortune'."
Bologue said to the bartender, whose movements paused for a moment, then he turned his head, carefully scrutinizing Bologue.
The bartender asked seriously.
Bologue nodded, this was the "code" Lebius had mentioned.
The bartender seemed to ponder for a moment, then resumed his work without saying anything, earnestly preparing the drink for Bologue. Bologue was somewhat puzzled, wondering if he had asked the wrong person. Shouldn't they now directly exchange intel? Why was he still working?
With no response, Bologue maintained his silence until the bartender pushed a strangely colored drink in front of him, making a gesture of "please."
Bologue glanced at the bartender, who remained unsmiling and cold-faced, then at the glass with its complex liquid components.
Hesitating for a few seconds, Bologue chose to trust Lebius, believing his new employer wouldn't deceive him or make such a ridiculous blunder.
He picked up the glass and downed it in one go.
Contrary to his worst expectations, the drink seemed safe enough, though its taste was peculiar, lacking any alcohol flavor. Instead, it boasted a pungent mint taste, making his mouth feel stuffed with ice cubes, and every breath brought a painful chill.
A hearty laughter erupted, the bartender looked at Bologue with amusement and then asked.
"Awful, I feel like I just drank a cup of bubbly laundry detergent." Bologue coughed.
"That's because you don't know how to savor... So, how's Lebius been lately?"
The bartender said, and upon hearing Lebius's name, Bologue took a deep breath and looked at the bartender vigilantly.
"Don't worry, 'Fortune' is part of the hidden menu here, only that fellow Lebius has ever had this drink," the bartender said nonchalantly, "He likes this drink a lot, just hasn't been around to have it for years."
"Sort of, when I knew him, I was just a server here, and he was just an ordinary Field Staff."
The bartender answered, he was the barely trustworthy guy Lebius had mentioned.
Bologue whispered, this wasn't some plant from the Order Bureau, but an old friend of Lebius, a friend living in the Desolate Crossroads.
Seems like Lebius used to do field work too, but considering his crippled appearance... could it be that Lebius wasn't born handicapped but suffered an accident, resigning him to life in a wheelchair and thus ending his field career?
The bartender's words cut short Bologue's thoughts.
"You can call me Vika... so, is there anything you need?"
Vika gestured for others to tend bar as he stood in front of Bologue, hands resting on the counter.
"Norm Ward," Bologue pushed aside his jumbled thoughts. Task execution was paramount now, "I want to know where his clinic is?"
Vika was silent for a few seconds, seemingly recalling intel related to Norm Ward. After a brief thought, he said.
"Then what will you exchange for this information?"
Bologue was stunned, and Vika seemed to read Bologue's expression; he chuckled a few times and said.
"You think this information should be free, don't you?"
"It's just an address."
Bologue felt slightly troubled, as Lebius hadn't mentioned any of this. Or was it that this guy actually had a grudge against Lebius, intentionally making things difficult for him?
"Hmm... you don't quite understand the rules of the Desolate Crossroads yet." Vika maintained a friendly demeanor.
"Rules? Is there such a thing as rules in this Land of Chaos?"
Vika replied, and just then another person approached, glanced at Bologue, then Vika, and placed a coin on the counter, pushing it toward Vika.
"Vika, here's your tax money back, thanks for last month."
After saying that, the person left without looking back. Bologue was puzzled by the scene, looking at the coin, and he asked, "Paying tax? Just one coin?"
Vika said nothing but pushed the coin towards Bologue.
Bologue picked up the coin, and unlike familiar currency, this coin was not in circulation but something akin to a commemorative coin.
The front of the coin depicted countless threads converging together, forming a burdensome ball of yarn, seemingly nurturing something within it.
"This is for paying 'tax' to the Tyrant," Vika said with profound meaning.