Chapter 635

Chapter 635: Cozy&MAN

Names have power, and shadows follow. After Lin Mo left the registration point, he didn’t encounter any more roadblocks from foolish young men. Even the previous group of black pilots who liked to talk empty words looked at him with fear.

Turning over a big man with bare hands and kicking him several meters away made him feel a surge of terror.

Could it be that another lucky pilot’s security personnel were nearby? More people misunderstood, thinking Lin Mo was a ground combat personnel.

The “cozy spot” mentioned by the black major was actually a pilot club—a place for pilots and support staff to relax, located in the southwest corner of the Tal Shegheib air force base.

The neon letters spelling "Cozy Club" shone brightly, visible from afar. Perhaps it was an entertainment venue organized by “Abyss Nirvana,” showing no concern that such a conspicuous sign might attract bombardment.

Despite the fierce fighting between the government army and the anti-government forces, with both sides having air forces and frequent airstrikes, the newly built temporary structures had poor soundproofing. The loud music carried far, and Lin Mo could easily find the place without asking anyone.

It seemed hastily constructed, the exterior still exposed with modular assembly designs and a large number of prefabricated parts, which could simply be stacked like building blocks according to a blueprint.

As he walked through the door, a wave of noise and warm air mixed with the scent of alcohol hit him. Inside was a completely different world filled with various sounds, with many people expressing their desires in different ways.

A shiny steel pole stood on the stage, where a young woman was performing a tantalizing pole dance. Her moving body, with pronounced curves, was barely covered by a thin piece of fabric. Men with gleaming eyes threw dollars at her while reaching out to grope her, eliciting hearty laughter from the dancers and flirtatious looks in return.

A strange aroma filled the air—marijuana, and perhaps even opium smoking pipes could be seen.

Beyond the dazzling stage, there was also a fighting ring.

Here, in addition to the pilots, there were also security teams brought by the competitors. These tough guys refused to back down, and upon encountering a rival, they would spar in the ring. Two men, both battered and bruised, wore gloves and headgear for protection, exchanging punches until one of them fell. The ring was smeared with red and black blood.

Without those protections, they would likely face life and death in just two minutes. The “Abyss Nirvana” organizers didn’t want the entertainment ring to descend into underground fighting; they enforced this to maintain some restraint among the competing teams, as long as there were no fatalities. For outlaws, spending a month or two in bed was hardly a concern.

The crowd around them continued to shriek and cheer, a mix of black, white, and yellow, clad in camouflage, wearing only shorts, or dressed in suits. Their eyes were filled with bloodlust and violence.

The winners proudly collected their winnings, boasting that their judgment was sharper than that of even the best trainers, as if they themselves had fought and won.

The losers, unwilling to accept defeat, tore their betting slips into fragments, cursing loudly, wishing the beaten fighter would immediately go to hell, and that the useless fighter who cost them money deserved to drop dead. If only they had a gun, they wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger.

Amid the chaos were wild shouts and fanfare. Men and women alike tore away their hypocritical masks and indulged in the ultimate pleasure.

Homosexual couples and heterosexuals huddled together in corners, unabashedly releasing their hormones.

This was truly a group of lawless individuals.

Lin Mo felt uneasy in this chaotic scene, where even the debauchery of the nobles of the Su Lan Empire paled in comparison to what he was witnessing now.

His eyes scanned the “cozy spot” club like active phased array radar, covering the entire entertainment venue in search of his target.

Neither the Syrian opposition nor the government army would be found here; the ones relaxing were only those participating in “Abyss Nirvana.”

Only a few pilots kept their impulses in check, hiding in corners, sipping non-alcoholic drinks, and quietly conversing in this noisy environment.

Lin Mo’s presence went unnoticed, as if it were normal for someone to walk in with luggage. Perhaps there were some colorfully clad rogues, some white powder junkies, or those seeking thrills, or simply there to fight. Not long after, a crash of breaking glass and rough shouting came from a corner—another fight had erupted.

In short, those who dared to come in with their bags were mostly restless troublemakers.

Lin Mo quickly spotted David de Hitt, the Eagle King. The captain of the 1st Flight Wing of the United States didn’t appear to have the same elegant demeanor he had shown during the military exercises competition in the Chinese Special Forces. He sat with a blonde beauty on his thigh, one arm wrapped around her while the other raised a wine glass in a flirtatious toast.

Perhaps sensing Lin Mo’s penetrating gaze, David de Hitt paused his banter with the woman and turned his head, his pupils constricted slightly. The drunken, lusty look in his eyes flickered with a sharp light, briefly colliding with Lin Mo’s gaze as if creating invisible sparks in the air.

Such a distance felt negligible; top pilots seemed to possess a sixth sense, able to feel hostile gazes from afar.

“What’s wrong, my dear Eagle?”

The beauty in his arms noticed her man’s sudden distraction and playfully pouted.

She knew the American man holding her was a powerful pilot, and if she could win his favor, it might lead to a big reward.

"Hehe, I see a very interesting guy."

David de Hitt chuckled expressionlessly, his gaze unwavering, staring straight at Lin Mo, seemingly provoking and mocking his lack of self-awareness.

Did this kid really think "Abyss Nirvana" was a playground? He actually dared to show up here.

This was "Abyss Nirvana," not China, and there was no reason to show anyone mercy. David de Hitt smirked.

In his eyes, Lin Mo was an ant! Unfazed by the disdain from the Eagle King, Lin Mo remained expressionless, feeling indifferent. Many opponents had shown him that same expression in the past.

And what was the final outcome?

They all ended up as meaningless fragments after he struck them down.

Among aerial knights, Dragon Knights always dominated the top of the food chain, the unshakeable rulers of the skies.

David de Hitt winked at a corner.

"Kid, what are you looking at?"

The military was never short of muscle-bound men, especially among Westerners, where giant brutes blocked Lin Mo’s view.

Another troublemaker looking for a fight.

Lin Mo felt quite speechless; today seemed to be the day he was challenged the most. Why were there so many fools clueless about danger?

"You’re blocking my view."

Lin Mo stated lightly, without emotion.

"Blocking your view? Is that so? Kid, do you even know who you’re talking to? Yellow-skinned monkey."

The big man, wearing a sweat-drenched tank top, reeked of sweat and gunpowder, clearly a veteran of many battlefields.

"I have no interest in knowing who you are. Please step aside!"

Lin Mo felt no interest; to him, they were all just ants—weaklings. He easily saw through the strength of this guy in front of him. Compared to Dragon Knights, he didn’t even measure up against an average swordsman.

Feeling like he received a hard slap to the face, the big man’s eyes bulged as he roared, “You yellow-skinned monkey! You don’t even know the name ‘Tank’ Bal? You disrespect me? It seems without a little punishment, you won’t understand my power.”

It was like pouring a bucket of oil into a hot pan, instantly igniting flames.

His roar was like thunder, drawing the attention of those around, who eagerly watched the two different-sized men.

Some reveled in the misfortune of Lin Mo, while others felt pity for the Asian kid. A few who had seen Lin Mo’s strength before curiously wondered who would survive this clash.

It was obvious this was a deliberate provocation, not an accident.

Most people here had military backgrounds; who in the military didn’t fight? Brawling in the barracks was a common occurrence. If Lin Mo backed down, he would only invite everyone’s disdain—there wouldn’t even be sympathy.

Unleashing adrenaline and having a good fight—wasn’t this the manly thing to do?

Maybe the ladies in the “cozy spot” would want to spend the night with him afterward.

"Get lost!"

Lin Mo uttered a single word lightly, as if speaking directly in everyone’s ears.

“You bastard!”

“Tank” Bal felt insulted by this mere rag, his rage boiling over as he swung a punch.

His fist, as big as a sandbag, charged straight for Lin Mo’s temple, muscles bulging like iron, veins popping.

If such a powerful blow landed on an ordinary person’s head, it might shatter like a watermelon.

Around them, gasps rang out as if everyone had agreed in unison. Many hadn’t expected “Tank” Bal to strike out so suddenly.

Just as his precise and powerful punch was only five centimeters from Lin Mo’s temple, “Tank” Bal suddenly sensed something was wrong.

His fist couldn’t move forward even a single centimeter, nor could it advance a millimeter. The full force behind his punch seemed to sink into a quagmire, vanishing without a trace.