Smack.
As Lorence turned the corner, he collided with a hurried human scholar.
Both staggered but quickly regained their balance. The human scholar glanced down at his white robe, now smeared with bloody stains and watermarks. His face darkened slightly, but upon looking up and recognizing Lorence, his expression shifted. He took a step back, adjusting his tone.
"Lorence? Back from Broken Lake Prison? My apologies for bumping into you."
"It's nothing," Lorence replied, glancing at him. "Where are you off to?"
"The lounge bar. It's the 15th—Blood Moon Trial night. It's always more thrilling to watch it with a group."
"Still interested after working in the prison?" Lorence asked dryly.
The scholar chuckled. "Well, you wouldn't believe who's on the list this time—Valkas Ural, the former elven scholar from Kaimon University!"
Valkas?
Lorence paused. That was the very patient he'd treated yesterday.
"Want to join us? It's been ages since you've shown your face. Your arrival would definitely give everyone a shock."
"Sure."
The human scholar stiffened briefly, clearly unprepared for the response. The invitation had been a mere formality, given Lorence's usual reclusive nature.
"Ah… well, follow me then. Do you want to change your clothes first? Maybe tend to your wounds?"
Lorence glanced at the blood and grime on himself. "Don't the bar's blood cocktails heal injuries? Unless you think I'd be out of place dressed like this?"
The scholar quickly waved his hands. "No, no, not at all! Actually, your look is quite striking—very avant-garde. Definitely head-turning on the streets…"
Fools. Lorence smirked inwardly.
As the only blue-scaled fishman in the institute, he was no stranger to the veiled disdain of his colleagues.
Though veiled hostility was the extent of their actions, thanks to the Racial Equality Act, any overt prejudice would be met with severe consequences. Lorence could easily ruin their careers with a single report.
But tonight, his foul mood led him to accept the invitation. If they wanted to keep up appearances, so be it.
Lorence regretted his decision the moment they arrived at the lounge bar.
Bathed in blue and purple neon lights, the atmosphere pulsed with sultry music. Blood Saints clinked glasses and exchanged sly smiles, but Lorence felt like a fish out of water, his skin secreting mucus out of sheer discomfort.
"Is that... Lorence?"
"Welcome back from the Blood Embrace Ritual!"
"Let's have a toast!"
The crowd cheered momentarily before breaking off into their own cliques. Even the human scholar who'd brought him along vanished after mumbling an excuse.
Lorence sighed in relief, retreating to an empty table. He ordered a cocktail, Melancholy Blues, and soon received a glass filled with a crimson-tinted azure liquid.
"Here's your Melancholy Blues, made with 20% human infant blood and 30% blue-scaled fishman infant blood. Enjoy."
Lorence downed the drink in one gulp. Its medicinal effects were immediate, rapidly closing his festering wounds.
As he observed the bar's patrons, Lorence noted how similar it felt to the dingy fishman taverns of the slums—pregnant women drinking at the bar, beastmen and humans engaging in debauchery in booths, and a few patrons convulsing on the floor after overdosing on Moonlight Sugar.
The conversations, however, were distinctly academic:
"Any breakthroughs yet?"
"One day, we'll overthrow those bureaucrats."
"Another year of 'publish or perish'—I swear this is my last."
The last remark hit Lorence hard. As someone about to sign a junior researcher contract, he too would face the up or out policy.
Without producing significant results within a limited timeframe, he'd lose his position. Competition for associate professorships was fierce—dozens of Blood Saint researchers vying for a handful of slots.
Lorence sighed and turned to the back of the menu, which listed prices for organ trade. The vendor: the Crimson Mist Organ Exchange.
Human Blood Saint: Heart, 80 silver coins; Lungs, 50; Kidneys, 40; Eyes, 30.
Blue-Scaled Fishman Blood Saint: Heart, 44; Lungs, 23.
The prices were abysmal compared to normal organ markets. Blood Saint organs, while mutated and only usable by their kind, weren't in high demand due to the race's natural regenerative abilities.
In his poorest days, Lorence had sold his swim bladder and several liters of blood just to scrape by.
Perhaps I should sell something again.
With his job at the prison gone, his research institute stipend would barely cover his needs. More importantly, the orphanage matron, Granny Yarn, was struggling financially.
The Blue-Scaled Orphanage was one of the few places willing to care for fishman children. Lorence had always sent half his earnings back to support it, ensuring the survival of hundreds of young fishfolk.
While Lorence pondered which organs to part with, the bar erupted in excitement as eight large holographic screens lit up, displaying the opening of the Blood Moon Trial.
"It's starting!"
"Snake Boss, get the bets ready!"
"When are we getting another 'Battle Royale' mode? That was legendary."
"I prefer the 'Computer' mode—the electricity surging through their eyes was chef's kiss perfection."
"Don't get your hopes up. Tonight's probably just classic mode—basic but still thrilling."
The moment the screens came alive, even Lorence found himself drawn in.
The Blood Moon Trial had begun.