Monarch of Evernight

Though the war at dawn has ended for 1,200 years, hatred is on the rise every moment and everywhere.

For 1,200 years, Dark Races and Humanity have never stopped fighting, bloody conflicts occur every moment, every inch of intersecting borders.

Though the land of eternal night has been abandoned by the Empire, with the return of the dark race, the continent has become a battlefield everywhere. And the situation is incredibly complex.

Humans and Dark Races are fighting to the death here, and there are also struggles within Humans and Dark Races, who are competing for space for survival with all kinds of original heinous beasts. And perhaps because the trajectory of this abandoned land is far from the Sun, there are also occasional horrendous extraterritorial killings.

It seems that the only meaning of life here is struggle.

War is everywhere, on the gray continent of eternal night, the least valuable is life.

At this moment, in a desert, a team of seven or eight people are walking in a fast line. The clothes on them are strange, they are stitched together entirely with rags and rotten skins. Some people will also put a few rusty metal plates on the heart, back and other critical areas to protect their armor.

Several people carry large backpacks, the most common duplicants on the continent at night. They risked their lives to enter the wilderness and the depths of the rubble in search of something that might be of some value. In their backpacks, they carry all their wealth.

In front of the team, the outline of a town had appeared implicitly, and they were forced to accelerate their footsteps.

The most striking building in the town is a tall lighthouse. This is a building built almost entirely of metal welding, with several large pipes climbing on the exterior wall.

You can see the burning flame at the top of the lighthouse from afar, so this town is called Lighthouse Town. At this point, the middle section of the lighthouse suddenly expelled a lot of steam, and a huge gear exposed in the damaged housing began to spin hard, causing the hammer on the tower floor to swing slowly, striking on the old copper bell and making a thick, long bell.

When, when, when!

The bell rang far away, and the team of waste-pickers speeded up their footsteps.

One of them looked at the sky and said, "It's only 3 o'clock. It's going to be dark. It's not going to let anybody live! ”

One of the oldest men at the forefront said with a hint, "Isn't that what happens in the dark season? ”

The strong man looked up at the sky, and a few huge shadows of darkness in the sky blocked the sun. At only 3 o'clock, it made the surrounding area look like dusk.

He took a heavy sip of sputum, half envious and half jealously said: "If you let me stay up there for a few days, I'd live ten years less! ”

Another waste-picker said, "Come on, Tooth Six! That's where the big guys go. You've got no hope in your life. Pick up the garbage here! ”

Without waiting for the six-month attack, the valve also opens on the other side of the lighthouse in the distance, emitting a lot of steam. The flames became blurred with white fog all over the middle of the lighthouse, while a sharp, long whistle burst into the air, punctuating the heart.

“Why are we closing so early?! ”

“What the hell is that bald guy doing? ”

The scavengers panicked, speeding up their steps, and headed all the way to town. Good thing they moved fast enough to rush through the door in time.

Exhaust pipes on both sides of the city building are now ejecting large tracts of slightly black and cloudy gas, huge gears and winches creaking around, thick cast iron doors slowly fall, and a burst of land smashed into the steel groove to seal the town.

The desert pickers ran out of breath and one of them stood on the street, holding his hands to his knees and breathing heavily, and then looked up and shouted to the city floor: “How did you close the door so early? We were almost locked out! ”

Upstairs, a bald, oily face was detected.

He pointed to the sky and shouted politely: "I told you it wasn't peaceful out there for a long time! Look at the color of the moon! If you don't even want to die for a few copper plates, you deserve to die! ”

With a huge circle of full moons hanging in the sky, the edges of the lunar plates are already red as blood, and in a few days, they will turn into a full bloody moon.

On moonlit nights, all creatures in the wilderness become restless and aggressive. Legend has it that every time the moon turns to scarlet, a disaster occurs somewhere, and only after enough blood has been shed will the gods of disaster leave satisfactorily.

Dumpster pickers scold, but these mad dogs in the wilderness really don't dare to treat the bald ones upstairs. It's the only sheriff in town, and a first-degree soldier, to clean up their mad dogs easily. So these people can only complain and walk into the town.

There is a bar in the town, which is also the only bar here, with several rooms behind it. That is the destination of the desolate and the only paradise that can bring happiness and women.

In an effort to conserve energy, there was hardly any light in the town, so the slight light emitted on the bar sign was particularly striking at night, although only one word "sand” was on it.

The prototype of the sign is a bearing that was removed from the bottom of the cabin. I don't know how the bar owner used to put the words on it. He also wiped the powder of the luminous stone, but after the rain storm blows, it fades away.

The people in town know the name of the bar is Manche Sauvignon, but no one understands what these four words mean, and fewer than five of the thousands in town can identify them all.

The lights were dim in the bar, the tables and chairs were outdated, and the walls were filled with all kinds of graffiti, with some strange aesthetics.

The bar is made up of steel plates and rivets, but it does look like some of the toughest of times. All the ingredients in this bar can be found in the wilderness outside. In fact, the least valuable place to abandon is scrap iron and steel, scrap metal, wasteland dumps everywhere, and the airship graveyard piles up a metal peak.

The bar smells of inferior alcohol, tobacco and sweat, and a few makeup ladies smell pungent perfume and disgusting.

Behind the bar stands a young man, thin and long, with a slightly morbid pale complexion.

Young people wear dilapidated jackets and trousers, and long black hair is tied behind their heads. His face was beautiful, very pretty, too young, and at first glance some of the neighbor's boys looked pale but friendly.

He stood behind the bar and watched quietly over a dozen guests in the bar who were exasperating desire and stress.

From the looks of it, no one would have thought that this young big boy would be the owner of this bar and hotel. He's afraid, no, he's definitely not even eighteen.

At this point, the half-covered door of the bar was pushed open, and the squad of scavengers who had just entered the city poured in. As soon as they entered the door, the bar was quiet for a few minutes, and many looked at the pickers with vigilant eyes.

Wastepickers have a bad reputation in the wilderness, and they have a lot of nicknames, including vultures, corrupters, mad dogs, etc.

Wastepickers are always swimming on the brink of life and death, and they have no shame, no credit, and they can do anything. Many wastepickers have their own circles and secret ways of communicating, and if outsiders approach this group, they are likely to be left with no bone residue.

While this small town, called Lighthouse Town, thrives largely on a large number of surrounding waste-pickers, the city's natives do not welcome them, nor do they take them seriously.

Where there are waste-pickers, there's trouble. In the wilderness, the word trouble often means a bunch of people lose their lives, otherwise how can you be ashamed to call trouble?

This was not the first time the desert pickers had come to Manche Savannah, and they sat down at a table and shouted out their favorite wine name. The young man behind the bar turned to remove a few bottles of wine from the rack and skillfully prepared them.

Stainless steel mixing jars fly up and down his long, white fingers, as if he had his own soul.

At this point, a waste-picker with a big scar on his face came over, leaning heavily against the bar, with a heavy nostril, and said: "I hear you have some kind of Mandarin wine here. It's very powerful! Give me a big one! ”

Instead of moving, the young man said: "An imperial silver coin. ”

“Huh!” cried the waste-picker exaggerating, "Am I hearing correctly? An Imperial Silver Coin!! Am I drinking virgin blood? Well, since I'm here, I'll have to try to see if your wine is as good as you say it is! Kid, I don't have any silver, but I can pay with this, if you dare! ”

With a bang, the waste-pickers pulled out a gun and re-photographed it on the bar.

Guns are filled with gunpowder bullets and ready to fire. And the handle was covered in thick iron leather with dark blood stains and some other unclear brains or bone marrow stains. This heavy gun, obviously not only capable of bombardment, but also a powerful weapon, may have been used more often.

The bar calmed down for a moment, and many people's eyes focused on wastepickers and young people.

The young man had made the wine, slowly split the glass, then put his hands on the bar, glanced at the gun, and said softly: "For the sake of your diner, I can count it as half a silver coin. Are you sure you want to offset it? ”

The picker's eyes fluttered and his torso leaned forward slowly, approaching the young man, until the tip of both noses were about to meet, and he said, “What if I don't pay? ”

The young man did not move at all and still said in a calm voice: "Then I will blow your head off. ”

Wastepickers stare dead into the eyes of young people, and in those dark black eyes, they can't see any fluctuations, like a deep lake with no bottom. The wastepicker looked down again at the young man's hand. It was an unusually clean pair of hands, completely free of calluses, incredibly delicate skin that showed no signs of heavy work or practice.

The young man's hands were on the bar, and the position was awkward, a little far from anywhere. Even if he hid his weapon under the bar, it seemed like he could not get it.

The young man's coarse cloth shirt tied with only two buttons revealed a huge, ugly scar on his chest that did not match his appearance.

The corners of the waste-pickers kept beating, and for some reason the chills grew, and the sweat suddenly rolled down. It's wild dogs living in the wilderness feeling dangerous instincts.