Chapter 290: The Beggar

Doren was only exposed because he happened to run into Helag.

Otherwise, it would have been difficult for anyone to notice that Wendy had become Doren’s slave.

Doren’s failure didn’t mean others hadn’t succeeded.

These things were happening all over the Land of Dawn, but they remained hidden from the public eye.

Helag thought about it and realized that he might be able to take advantage of his ability to detect Abyssal cultists.

While others struggled to identify them, he had no such difficulty.

For Helag, the Abyss Plane’s aura around Abyssal cultists was far too strong to miss.

As long as he got close enough, it would be impossible not to notice.

Helag was confident that if an Abyssal cultist appeared in front of him, he would immediately recognize them.

Since missions related to Abyssal cultists offered high contribution points, Helag figured he could earn quite a bit by tracking them down.

The only issue was that he needed evidence.

The Abyss Plane’s aura was something only he could sense—others couldn’t feel it.

Even if he encountered an Abyssal cultist, he would need solid proof to prove their identity.

This was the most difficult and crucial part. Helag not only needed to gather evidence but also had to be careful about how he handled things.

Lying in bed, holding the sleeping Reese, Helag stared at the ceiling, thinking about his next steps.

***

Wutong Street was a well-known street in the eastern part of Silvermoon City. It was surrounded by residential areas and bustling commercial districts.

It wasn’t exactly a wealthy area, and the people living there were from various backgrounds.

There were both rich and average families.

In short, it was a relatively middle-class neighborhood.

Helag wandered aimlessly down the street.

Since deciding to earn contribution points by hunting Abyssal cultists, he had started searching for leads.

He checked the tavern forum but found almost no valuable clues. No one seemed to have a reliable method for tracking down Abyssal cultists.

Helag had hoped to find patterns in where Abyssal cultists appeared most frequently, but there were none.

Incidents involving Abyssal cultists had occurred in slums, middle-class areas, and even wealthy districts—there was no discernible pattern.

It made sense, though. Both the rich and the poor had desires that went unfulfilled.

As long as there was desire, once someone came into contact with the dark gods of the Abyss Plane, it was hard to resist the temptation.

In this regard, everyone was the same. Anyone could be seduced by the Abyss Plane’s dark gods and become an Abyssal cultist.

Since there was no pattern, Helag didn’t know where to start, so he decided to just wander around.

He had plenty of time, so he planned to conduct a thorough search, starting from the east side of Silvermoon City and working his way west.

He didn’t take a carriage, preferring to walk, though he would take a carriage home each night.

As Helag walked down Wutong Street, he observed the people passing by.

After scanning the crowd, he returned his gaze to the street.

None of the people around him were Abyssal cultists.

Helag only needed to get close to someone to know if they were a cultist.

So far, he hadn’t encountered a single Abyssal cultist in the past few days.

It seemed that the number of cultists was still relatively low, at least in the southeastern part of the city.

Since he couldn’t enter people’s homes to check, he was limited to wandering the streets and visiting taverns, so there were bound to be some cultists he missed.

But there was nothing he could do about that. Helag couldn’t possibly track down every Abyssal cultist in Silvermoon City.

“Phoenix Tavern…” Helag glanced at the name of the tavern next to him and decided to go inside.

Since it was still morning, the tavern was nearly empty.

The usual drunkards were still asleep, and most people were at work, so they wouldn’t be coming to drink at this hour.

Helag found a table by the window and ordered a butterbeer.

They didn’t have Fire Dragon Whiskey here, or he would have ordered that instead.

He had enjoyed it the last time he tried it, but unfortunately, it wasn’t available in most taverns.

Since there were so few people, the tavern only had two waiters working.

The one who brought Helag his drink had heavy bags under his eyes and was yawning, clearly exhausted from working the night shift without rest.

After serving Helag his butterbeer, the waiter slumped over the counter and fell asleep.

Helag took a few sips of his drink and observed the tavern’s patrons, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

He glanced out the window at the people passing by but didn’t notice anything unusual there either.

Helag planned to finish his butterbeer and then move on to check out other areas.

If he didn’t find anything in the next few days, he would have to rethink his plan. He couldn’t keep wasting time like this.

Just as Helag was about to finish his drink, a ragged beggar walked in.

The beggar poked his head inside, quickly scanning the tavern before his eyes landed on Helag, who was sitting alone with his drink.

Helag noticed the beggar but didn’t pay much attention at first.

It wasn’t unusual to see beggars in this area. This wasn’t a wealthy district, so no one bothered to chase them away.

It was common to see beggars on the streets, and Helag had grown used to it.

After spotting Helag, the beggar glanced at the sleeping waiter at the counter and quietly slipped inside, making his way toward Helag.

Helag kept an eye on him, quickly scanning and analyzing the beggar’s condition.

He was just an ordinary person.

Even though the beggar was just a regular person, Helag remained on high alert.

One could never be too careful. If the beggar made any suspicious moves, Helag was ready to strike in an instant.

But outwardly, Helag maintained a calm and relaxed demeanor, curious to see what the beggar would do.

Most taverns wouldn’t allow beggars inside—they’d be chased out with sticks.

But with one waiter asleep at the counter and the other busy in the back preparing drinks, the beggar had managed to slip in unnoticed.

The beggar was a bearded man, around 40 or 50 years old, with a large belly that suggested he was in poor health, likely suffering from some illness.

He glanced at Helag but didn’t say anything. Instead, he reached into his tattered clothes and fumbled around for a moment.

After a while, he pulled out a bundle of cloth.

The cloth seemed to be wrapped around something. The beggar carefully unfolded it, revealing the object inside.

It was a wooden sculpture, carved in the shape of a snake-headed, human-bodied figure.

The beggar placed the sculpture in front of Helag, smiled, nodded, and then turned to leave.

“Hey! What are you doing? Get out of here!” The other waiter, who had just returned from the back with a tray of drinks, shouted angrily when he saw the beggar.

He quickly set down the tray, grabbed a small stool, and charged at the beggar.

Seeing the commotion, the beggar bolted out the door.