Click.
The sliding door of the private carriage was pulled open in a rude and hurried manner.
Immediately after, a figure slipped inside and instinctively latched the door shut again.
Elias sat with his eyes half-lidded. Though his body was still sunk into the velvet cushions, his hand had already reached for the revolver at the small of his back.
The newcomer wore an oversized man's suit, crudely made with crooked stitching.
They also carried the faint scent of cheap tobacco.
On him—or rather, on "her"—the suit looked like a child who had stolen their mother’s coat.
Combined with a heavy wool scarf that wrapped around nearly half her face, she looked like a busker performing outside a train station.
One shouldn't ask how Elias could tell she was a woman while her face was covered.
In this era, it was highly unlikely for a rough man to have such a condensed height, and even less likely for him to reveal such delicate neck lines while panting heavily.
The moment the scarf was pulled down, his suspicion was confirmed.
Even though she had two fairly realistic fake mustaches stuck above her lip.
The soft facial features that almost looked like they could drip with moisture and her relatively delicate skin were screaming: "I am a woman in disguise."
“Haa... haa...”
She leaned on her knees, gasping for air. Her chest heaved violently, and her eyes were filled with terror.
That fear was real—a physiological tremor produced by an ordinary person facing a death threat.
Elias watched her expressionlessly.
He didn't recognize this face.
However, he wasn't worried that she was an assassin sent by the Mist Veil Society or Wayland Capital.
The reason was simple.
What he was currently wearing was the "Spy's Derby Hat" he had swiped from Ms. Cecil.
The person sitting in the compartment wasn't the "Lighthouse Keeper Elias" who had just left home.
Instead, he was an "overbearing president" around thirty years old, with deep pockets, cold eyes, and a hint of a mean smile at the corners of his mouth.
More accurately, he was a black-hearted factory owner who had just withheld his workers' wages: "Mr. Bruce."
Because the commotion he had caused in Hope County over the past few days was far too large, Elias understood very well how to spell the word "low-key."
After all, no wall was perfectly airtight.
In the eyes of various factions, he was essentially a mobile, special-class "red-name BOSS."
To the Mist Veil Society, he had first taken out Firth, who had planned to infiltrate the lighthouse keepers in Hastings Port.
After returning to Hope County, he had interfered with their pursuit of the Sorenstein family and had even directly wounded their great "Lord" in the sewers.
Even Dr. Mester, the organization's cash cow, had been transcended by him.
If word got out that an obscure little transcendent had bullied a cult to this extent, no one would probably believe it.
Elias even suspected that the leader of the Mist Veil Society was sticking needles into a straw doll of him every night.
Of course, speaking of which, the persona of Mester was truly dead, but Herm was still alive.
After the chaotic battle at the cemetery, Herm had been taken away by those Mist Veil Society lackeys who were fleeing like stray dogs.
If anyone believed that a spineless coward like Herm wouldn't sell out Elias’s appearance and information to save his own life, they were a fool.
Then there was Wayland Capital.
Although Luke’s death was at Guss’s hands, the pendulum was indeed tucked in Elias’s pocket.
Even though his state at the time meant that even the most sensitive spirit-measuring device likely couldn't have detected normal values.
Furthermore, Ms. Cecil had later led a team to clean the scene, and the spiritual traces in that area had long been scrubbed clean by the Seventh Agency's "light of justice."
Even if Wayland Capital wanted to hold someone accountable, that fury would likely fall on the Seventh Agency rather than a lowly lighthouse keeper like him.
But...
It was better to be safe than sorry.
Thus, before entering the station, Elias had gone to the washroom to give himself a makeover.
From buying the ticket to having it checked, he had maintained the fake identity of "Bruce," an identity that reeked of money.
“Madam?”
Elias spoke slowly, his voice deep and magnetic, carrying the pressure of a mature superior.
“What... is the meaning of this?”
The woman, who was peering out the carriage window, was startled by the sudden voice and nearly performed a faceplant on the spot.
She whipped her head around, her eyes filled with humble pleading.
“Kind sir, please... please let me hide for a moment, alright?”
Her voice trembled, tinged with a sob.
“There are bad people chasing me, and I truly have nowhere else to go.”
Bad people?
Elias raised an eyebrow.
That was a remarkably vague term, sounding like something out of a fairy tale describing a big bad wolf.
“She’s just an ordinary person,” Old Ed’s voice rang out lazily in his mind.
“There isn't a trace of spiritual fluctuation on her. She’s likely caught up in some mundane mess.”
“I suggest you don't go looking for extra trouble. Right now, you look more like a ‘bad person’ than she does.”
Elias agreed wholeheartedly.
He only wanted to return to Hastings Port in peace.
“Bad people?”
Elias shifted his posture, his gaze cold.
“How bad?”
“Did you steal something, or did you kill someone?”
“...”
The woman was clearly stumped by this blunt question. Her lips moved, but she couldn't form a complete sentence.
Elias sighed, not feeling the slightest bit of pity for her pathetic appearance.
“Listen, madam.”
“I might look like a gentleman, but I don't want any trouble.”
He pointed toward the door.
However, the woman didn't seem to hear him.
Her gaze was fixed on the corridor outside the sliding door, her pupils suddenly constricting as if she had seen something terrifying.
Without any warning.
This woman suddenly lunged forward like a pouncing tiger, hitting the floor and squirming her way under Elias’s wide, cushioned seat like a startled marmot.
“?”
Elias was completely stunned.
The speed of the movement and the bizarre logic behind it truly challenged his understanding of reality.
Hiding under the seat?
What kind of god-tier hiding technique was this supposed to be?
“She’s a total delinquent!” Elias couldn't help but roar in his mind.
He took a deep breath, straightened his wrinkle-free suit, and was about to open the door to call the railway police.
After all, he was currently a distinguished customer of a private carriage.
Just as his hand touched the doorknob.
The carriage door was pulled open from the outside once again.
Several men in black suits stood before him.
The man in the lead removed his hat, showing a politeness that carried a suffocating edge of forcefulness.
“Hello, sir.”
The man’s gaze swept across the narrow compartment before finally resting on Elias’s "overbearing president" face.
“We are from Wayland Capital’s Security Department.”
He produced an identification card bearing the official seal of Wayland, his tone flat but brook no argument.
“We would like to ask you a few questions.”
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