Prayer?
Hearing those words, Elias’s eyebrows twitched.
Taking it literally, a Prayer should be a high-level invocation to a deity, achieved through sacrifice, spiritual resonance, or some kind of exchange to fulfill a wish beyond the reach of mortals.
But the question was, how do you sell something like “Prayer”?
Wholesale wishes?
Buy one, get one free?
What exactly was Thomas Wayland up to?
Was it some variation of that one CEO’s “investing in everyone’s unfulfilled dreams” pitch?
That would just be throwing money away.
However, that logic clearly didn't apply to a top-tier, cutthroat capitalist.
The only remaining explanation was that it had to be related to that damned pendulum and the “Fifth Element” it pointed toward, submerged in the center of Moon Bay.
But would Thomas Wayland bet the entire company's life on something that was uncertain at the time—something he hadn't even gotten his hands on yet?
Elias looked down at the wilderness flying past the window, the timelines in his head beginning to collide frantically.
Ophelia had attended the gathering at Drake Manor the night before last.
That same night, he had been bargaining with Ms. Cecil to finalize the details of their cooperation.
And according to his conversation with Cecil in the carriage last night, Luke had begun his move around then as well.
That rat had used his position to lead the bald department head toward a false lead.
As for what that “false lead” was—one capable of playing a department head of the Seventh Agency for a fool—Cecil hadn't said, and Elias hadn't pressed for details at the time.
It was a known fact that a businessman like Thomas Wayland never did anything without certainty, let alone a losing deal.
So, it was a hundred percent certain.
For the most powerful capitalist tycoon in the Kingdom of Velen, the “Fifth Element” in Moon Bay definitely had a place on his schedule.
Except...
That definitely wasn't the whole story.
“Old man?”
Elias asked in his mind.
“Have you heard of any spells related to wishing? The kind where things just happen because you want them to, without any logic.”
“Hmm?”
“You calling me?”
Old Ed’s voice sounded with the confusion of an elderly man being suddenly woken from a nap.
He even sounded a bit slurred.
Elias’s mouth twitched. “Duh. Is there any other ghost in here?”
“What, do you need sleep to recover your energy even as a spiritual body?”
“Not really.”
The old man regained his composure, his tone returning to normal.
“I just zoned out.”
“Zoned out?”
Elias narrowed his eyes, his gaze sweeping over the somewhat apprehensive Ophelia in front of him.
“Old geezer, don't tell me you zoned out because...”
“Piss off!”
Old Ed barked in Elias’s mind like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.
“What kind of perverted old man do you take me for?”
“Do you think I'm like Crowley, that old fellow who would flirt with even a passing siren?”
Elias snorted coldly, unmoved.
“Regarding that...”
Elias intentionally paused, his tone mischievous.
“I think the two of you are two peas in a pod when it comes to being perverted.”
“You little—! #$%^&*!”
Old Ed unleashed a string of Velen swear words in his head.
“Stop!”
Elias forcibly cut off the trash-talk frequency.
“Get to work. Tell me, what exactly is the definition of ‘Prayer’ in mysticism?”
“Prayer?”
Old Ed calmed down, his tone becoming somewhat deep.
“In the understanding of most low-to-mid-tier transcendents, isn't it just praying to the deity you worship, hoping they’ll bestow a tiny, insignificant grace to fulfill a wish?”
“That's it?”
Elias frowned, clearly unsatisfied with the answer.
“That's it.”
Old Ed gave a firm reply.
Elias pondered for a moment. “Then are you sure there aren't any similar spells?”
“That would likely be a matter of the God’s Domain. How would I know?”
Old Ed answered righteously.
“Matters concerning the gods are things only transcendents at Scale Seven and above in the God’s Domain should worry about.”
The old man made a fair point.
Indeed, how could a mere Scale Three like him know such secrets?
If a power that could warp reality and make wishes come true directly truly existed, it would indeed touch the very pinnacle of the laws of the world.
Suppose such an ability really existed.
But would Thomas Wayland really have something like that in his hands?
Or rather...
The capitalist was determined to get the pendulum. Did he have some way to ensure it would fall into his hands?
...
On the other side of the seat.
Ophelia stopped tearing at the chicken leg.
She peeked up and found the gentleman opposite her staring at her blankly.
His gaze was very strange.
Deep, scrutinizing, and possessing a coldness that made her spine tingle.
Ophelia’s heart skipped a beat.
She lowered her head nervously and, while pretending to sip her hot cocoa, quickly checked her clothes.
After confirming that the lining wasn't exposed and her collar was relatively neat, she looked up again.
This mysterious wealthy man would often suddenly fall into this deathly silence.
It made her feel uneasy all over, as if she weren't sitting in a first-class seat but rather on a steel chair in an interrogation room.
“Sir?”
She called out tentatively.
“Sir?”
Under Ophelia’s repeated calls, Elias’s attention finally returned from his internal analysis to reality.
His pupils refocused, returning to the image of a sharp capitalist.
“It’s nothing,” Elias brushed it off, masking his previous distraction.
“I can only say that Thomas Wayland is indeed an ambitious entrepreneur who doesn't follow the usual path.”
His words were practically meaningless.
Ophelia secretly rolled her eyes.
This guy truly lived up to being a big businessman; his talent for talking nonsense was even more advanced than the editor-in-chief at the paper.
“So...”
Ophelia set down her cup, a hint of shrewdness flashing in her eyes.
As a journalist, she wasn't content with always being on the receiving end of information.
She had to take the initiative, even if it was just to probe a bit of the other person's background.
“Are you... from Hastings Port?”
She asked while secretly observing the reaction of Elias’s facial muscles.
After all, that was the final destination of this train.
She had no choice; this man was too guarded and wouldn't reveal any details about his identity.
Ophelia decided to be proactive and try her luck. What if he was a prominent figure in Hastings Port?
Elias didn't answer, simply looking at her calmly.
Ophelia gritted her teeth and simply brought out her trump card.
From the inner pocket of her dirty suit jacket, she fished out a heavily worn leather wallet.
Then...
From a compartment in the wallet, she carefully pulled out a yellowed photo with curled edges.
“I think if you frequently visit the docks or shipping companies in Hastings Port, you should have seen these two people.”
Ophelia placed the photo on the tray table.
Elias glanced at it nonchalantly.
However...
In the next second.
His gaze froze.
The photo showed a young man smiling brightly, his features bearing a resemblance to Ophelia.
And right next to this young man...
Stood an old acquaintance Elias knew all too well.
Edward Crowley.
Rate on N.U.
