“Surprisingly, he didn't get angry.”
Ophelia spoke with her mouth full of tender chicken, her words muffled.
Having been hungry for two full days, she felt she could have devoured even sawdust-filled black bread, let alone this roasted chicken smelling of truffles.
This was easily the most delicious chicken she had ever eaten.
Elias sat across from her, hands folded over his knees.
His cold mask of a domineering tycoon was nearly slipping.
This lack of table manners left him utterly speechless.
“Finish eating before you talk...”
Elias massaged his temples, his tone weary.
“Don't go choking to death in my first-class seat before Wayland's people even get to you.”
Just then...
“Hooo—!”
A shrill, deep whistle pierced through the compartment glass.
The massive steam locomotive let out a dull roar, and the entire carriage jolted.
Then, the rhythmic “clack-clack” of steel wheels against the rails intensified.
The train began to move slowly.
Elias turned his head. Through the window, slightly yellowed by coal smoke, he watched the Hope County station platform begin to recede.
The gray industrial city gradually blurred amidst the drifting soot.
The next time he returned would be in two months.
That is, if he could survive in Moon Bay until then.
“Finally, this damn train is moving.”
In his mind, Old Ed spoke with clear disdain.
“I thought this hunk of iron was broken.”
“To be honest, this thing isn't nearly as useful as a mystic's 【Node Teleportation】.”
A mystic's teleportation?
Elias's eyes shifted slightly as he asked curiously in his mind, “What Scale is that spell?”
“Scale Five,” Old Ed replied as if it were common knowledge.
“In the blink of an eye, you could jump from the Council Hall in the Royal City to the southern beaches to see bikinis... cough, to see the scenery.”
Elias couldn't help but respond with a cold snort in his sea of consciousness.
“You didn't reach a high Scale when you were alive, but you certainly saw plenty of flashy tricks.”
“What? From your tone, did you experience it personally?”
Logically, Old Ed's level in life shouldn't have been high enough to touch such high-tier mysticism.
“Hmm...”
Old Ed didn't answer. After a grunt, he quickly fell silent.
Clearly, the old man had no intention of answering questions regarding the “glory days” of his past.
Elias didn't have time to press the spirit on his dark history.
Ophelia had finished eating.
She let out a long breath, a bit of her journalistic sharpness returning to her eyes.
“Thomas Wayland told all the media present...”
Ophelia resumed the topic, her voice clearer now.
“That he welcomed media from all walks of life to visit the Wayland Capital Building at any time.”
“He even said the most secure office areas would be open to us.”
At this, Ophelia rolled her eyes resentfully.
“Looking back, that man is a master of disguise!”
Elias narrowed his eyes, his fingers tapping rhythmically on his knee.
Disguise?
For a tycoon controlling a multinational capital beast, wasn't that basic operation?
He had seen far too many “retreat to advance” PR tactics in the modern cities of his past life.
It was like a major corporation being hit with a scandal, only for the CEO to immediately hold an “Open Day” and invite the media to tour the building.
But in reality?
What they showed you were always the bright floor-to-ceiling windows and free coffee machines.
The ledgers that truly devoured people and the blood-stained contracts had long since been moved to the shadows where the sun couldn't reach.
“And then?”
Elias interrupted her musings.
“He did his acting, and you did your investigating.”
“Tell me, how did you go from that harmonious ‘welcome to visit’ atmosphere to being wanted across the kingdom?”
Ophelia immediately lowered her head like a scolded child.
The journalistic fervor from a moment ago dissipated significantly.
“Because I provided the biggest talking point of the night, that question practically guaranteed the front-page headline for the next day.”
“So, my editor-in-chief allowed me to go to the Wayland Capital headquarters the following day.”
Ophelia murmured softly.
“The editor-in-chief demanded that I dig up some big news worth reporting within the ‘open environment’ Mr. Wayland provided.”
“It was exactly what I wanted.”
A look of desperate determination flickered in her eyes.
“My brother's name has been missing from the records for three years. This was my only chance to get close to the core archives.”
“So, during the tour the next day, I used the excuse of going to the restroom to break away from the group, put on these clothes, and went into hiding.”
Ophelia's tone became incredibly frustrated.
“My plan was perfect.”
“I even successfully sneaked into the board of directors' archive room.”
“But!”
She clenched her fists.
“Just as I found the Moon Bay dispatch list, I was discovered.”
“Not by the security guards in black uniforms, but by a fellow reporter from another paper who was desperate for an exclusive!”
“That guy, to curry favor with the Wayland Security Department, pointed directly at my hiding spot and shouted.”
“Dammit, I barely managed to crawl out of the ventilation ducts to escape...”
Elias remained expressionless.
Indeed, in any era, the one who backstabs you is always your competitor.
“Where is the data?”
Elias leaned forward, his gaze carrying an undeniable pressure.
“Where are the things you risked your life to bring out?”
Ophelia instantly curled up like a startled hedgehog, her hands clutching the inside of her jacket.
“What are you doing?”
Her eyes were full of suspicion.
“That's my only leverage now!”
“I can't give it to you!”
Elias let out a cold snort and made a move to stand up, his hand already on the compartment door handle.
“That's your business.”
His tone was icy.
“But right now, I'm not only taking the risk of harboring a fugitive, but I also have to endure the smell of roast chicken grease in my carriage.”
“Since you think the data is more important than your life, take your leverage and go talk to those guys with the compasses in the hallway.”
“Wait!”
Ophelia let out a stifled scream of frustration.
Seeing Elias's “I'll do what I say” attitude, she completely lost her nerve.
Before this man, her proud journalistic persuasion tactics were useless.
“I... I sewed it into my jacket.”
Ophelia spoke through gritted teeth.
“In this environment, I can't exactly take it out and show you!”
Elias sat back down.
He didn't actually intend to look at those things yet.
“Then just tell me.”
He crossed his legs again.
“What exactly was written on it?”
“First, the list,” Ophelia's voice turned low.
“Over the past twenty-five years, the total number of keepers sent to Moon Bay with a red cross next to their names is two thousand, one hundred and three.”
“Every red cross represents a lost soul.”
“There are also the sailing records for all Wayland Shipping vessels in the Moon Bay area. The time span is massive, and some of the routes are... strange.”
“Most importantly, there's an internal rubbing.”
Ophelia looked up, her expression solemn.
“It's a detailed coordinate map of all twelve lighthouses in the Moon Bay area under the control of Wayland Capital.”
“Oh?”
At those last words, Elias, who had been looking indifferent, suddenly sat bolt upright.
His pupils constricted.
Twelve lighthouses?
This was the first time he had heard a specific number.
When he had mentioned the lighthouse distribution to Crowley, the man had brushed it off as a corporate secret.
Even the 《Keeper's Manual》 didn't mention the locations of other lighthouses.
And yet...
There were exactly twelve.
He had searched far and wide, only to find the answer right in front of him!
“Wait.”
Elias suddenly thought of another key point and interrupted her.
“What was that ‘high-society gathering’ you mentioned earlier?”
Ophelia thought for a moment and replied:
“It was a banquet personally hosted by Prince Edric.”
“He invited all the influential figures of Velen, top bankers, and the voices of several major newspapers.”
Who the hell cares who Prince Edric is!
“I mean Thomas Wayland.”
Elias tapped the table impatiently, his eyes cold.
“What was the real purpose of a tycoon that busy going there?”
Ophelia looked up.
Her face was still greasy, and she hadn't even had time to wipe it with the ornate napkin.
“He seemed...”
There was a hint of absurdity in Ophelia's tone.
“He seemed...”
“To be selling something called ‘Prayer’ to those top-tier figures?”
Rate on N.U.
