“Do you know the old man next to my brother?”
Ophelia pointed at the photo, her eyes brimming with an earnestness that was almost overflowing.
Elias looked down, his gaze falling on the yellowed photograph.
Even though the lighting in the photo was somewhat blurry, he instantly recognized that old sea dog.
To be honest, he was a bit surprised.
In his understanding, that old fellow Crowley was not only a powerful transcendent but also a man with coldness and snobbery etched into his very bones.
Stingy and calculating, lighthouse keepers were basically disposable consumables in his eyes.
And yet.
Such a man was actually standing quietly in a photo with an ordinary person.
The young man even had his hand on the old man's shoulder.
It felt as absurd as seeing a crocodile having afternoon tea with a quail on a park bench.
Elias stared at the photo, his mind flashing through Crowley’s usual deadpan, unpleasant demeanor.
After a moment of silence.
He ultimately nodded without any expression.
“I do know him.”
His tone was as weak as a glass of cheap rum diluted with water.
“Really?!”
Ophelia’s eyes erupted with a startling light, and she nearly leaped off the velvet cushions.
She leaned forward abruptly, that characteristic persistence of a journalist surfacing once again.
“Then... Sir, I beg of you, when we reach Moon Bay, can you take me to find him?”
“Since you know him, you must know where he is, right?”
Elias looked at her excited state and leaned back slowly.
“I can.”
He nodded again.
“Leading the way isn't a difficult task.”
Ophelia was just about to utter a word of thanks, her hands already preparing a grateful gesture.
But Elias’s next sentence followed immediately after.
“But I have conditions.”
There was a coldness in Elias’s voice that made even Old Ed’s teeth ache.
“Let me see all the materials you took from the Wayland Capital archive room.”
“Every single word.”
He looked up, staring directly at Ophelia.
“Compared to your brother’s life and the risks I might face, this request shouldn't be considered excessive, should it?”
She had originally thought this “Mr. Bruce” was a cold-faced but kind-hearted man.
Now it seemed.
He was a pure profiteer.
In fact.
He was even darker than those factory owners in Landon who swallowed people whole.
Ophelia bit her lower lip, her heart undergoing a violent struggle.
She knew very well that these materials were her only trump card.
But on this train bound for the unknown, if she didn't rely on the man before her, she wouldn't just fail to uncover the truth—she might become a cold corpse by the next platform.
After all.
She was just an ordinary journalist.
“Fine.”
She had no choice.
Of course, Elias didn't have much of a choice either.
Wayland Capital, the Mist Veil Society—these forces that originally had nothing to do with each other were now all tacitly pointing toward the center of Moon Bay.
Pointing toward that thing rumored to be able to warp reality, known as the “Fifth Element.”
He knew very well that if he continued to “follow the rules” and just watch the lighthouse, he would eventually be played to death by these big shots.
He had to deepen his understanding of Wayland and the layout of those lighthouses.
Even if there was only a one-in-ten-thousand chance.
He had to find a way to survive before being swallowed whole.
...
The train sped across the vast plains, the roar of steam sounding exceptionally lonely in the empty night.
The atmosphere in the carriage relaxed slightly.
The two chatted sporadically along the way.
Of course.
It was mostly Ophelia providing a one-sided output, while Elias brushed her off with various “Mm,” “Oh,” and “We’ll see.”
At some point.
The conversation suddenly died.
An extremely strange and oppressive silence fell over the carriage.
Elias was staring out the window into the void, lost in thought, when he suddenly felt an unusual movement.
He turned his head and found Ophelia in a state of anxiety.
A sickly flush had risen to her face.
Fine beads of sweat broke out on her forehead.
She was squirming restlessly on the cushions, her gaze drifting, looking like she couldn't sit still.
“What, do you have some kind of illness?”
Elias asked with a frown.
These symptoms looked a bit like it, but they seemed to lack the flavor of madness.
Ophelia gritted her teeth, her hands tightly twisting the hem of her suit jacket.
Her eyes were unfocused, and her whole body looked like a boiled crawfish.
Her voice trembled violently, growing smaller as she spoke until it was almost a whisper squeezed from her throat.
“I... I...”
“I need to use the restroom.”
“...”
Elias was stunned.
He had almost forgotten.
In this era.
Because steam trains lacked a public drainage system.
There were no so-called “public restrooms” on the train.
When the wealthy gentlemen in private carriages had physiological needs.
Under normal circumstances, they wouldn't wait for a station platform like the poor people in the ordinary seats.
They had backup solutions.
Elias turned his head and pointed expressionlessly toward the corner of the carriage.
There sat a chamber pot with reasonably refined craftsmanship.
“There,” Elias said casually. “There’s a chamber pot.”
Ophelia followed his finger and looked.
The flush on her face instantly burned from the base of her neck to the tips of her ears.
She was truly in a dilemma now, her brain nearly crashing.
On one hand.
This gentleman had indeed helped her greatly and even shared his expensive roast chicken.
On the other hand.
In someone else’s private carriage, this was simply too inappropriate!
This guy was doing it on purpose!
She was just about to refuse.
Just about to say she could hold it a bit longer.
When she heard Elias add another cold remark:
“However, I’m a bit of a germaphobe.”
“I’m not used to smelling that kind of scent where I sleep.”
Elias turned his head away.
“So, you’d better just hold it.”
“...”
“Tsk tsk.”
In his mind, Old Ed couldn't help but sigh.
“You absolute beast!”
The old man let out a long sigh, his tone full of sympathy for the victim.
“What kind of sins did this girl commit in her past life to meet a double-standard-having bastard like you on this train?”
Elias snorted coldly in his heart.
“Old man, what do you know?”
“Why are you suddenly so chivalrous at the expense of logic?”
“Logic must be rigorous.”
He argued his case in his sea of consciousness:
“Look.”
“First, she came uninvited, barging into my carriage to hide from her enemies.”
“Second, she ate my first-class breakfast and hasn't paid.”
“Third, she has to beg me to help find her brother.”
Elias’s logical loop began to tighten:
“And I’m supposed to go out and wait just so she can use the restroom in my carriage?”
“Doesn't that turn my carriage into a toilet?”
“Such rigorous logic...”
The old man was deeply moved.
“It’s so rigorous it has no logic at all!”
“So what was the point of listing all those reasons?”
“Aren't you just purely being fastidious?”
Elias remained noncommittal.
On the other side of the seat.
Ophelia’s expression could no longer be described as merely “colorful.”
“Sir...”
She squeezed out a few words through her teeth, her entire body curled into a ball.
“Please... stop joking...”
Elias ignored her.
He leaned against the window, closing his eyes to rest.
That invisible sense of pressure made Ophelia even more afraid to act rashly.
Finally.
“Woo—!”
The whistle blared again.
The deceleration of the train was very obvious, and the screeching of the tracks became piercing.
The train slowly pulled into a platform named “Krenter.”
This was the last major stop before reaching Hastings Port.
The moment the train stopped.
Ophelia was like a spring compressed to its limit, erupting with startling agility.
She didn't even say goodbye.
She turned into a grey flash, lunging out of the carriage door and disappearing down the hallway without looking back.
Judging by her momentum.
There was only one destination—the station’s public restroom.
Elias looked at the still-swinging sliding door, a playful curve touching the corner of his mouth.
He was just about to joke with Old Ed about the disheveled journalist.
Suddenly.
His gaze froze.
Through the narrow blind spot of the carriage door.
He keenly saw.
The two members of the Wayland Security Department from before.
They didn't continue searching the train.
Instead, they exchanged a cold look and quickly followed behind Ophelia, stepping off the train as well.
That movement.
Was highly purposeful.
Those guys.
Hadn't been shaken off at all.
“Tsk tsk.”
Old Ed also sensed the movement outside, his tone becoming somewhat playful.
“The security department of Wayland is certainly dedicated.”
Elias stood up.
He reached out and grabbed The Roaring Cane he carried to cosplay as a factory owner.
“Perfect.”
Elias elegantly adjusted the cuffs of his suit like a true old-fashioned gentleman.
Leaning on The Roaring Cane, he walked out of the carriage one step at a time.
His pace was steady, yet it carried a rhythm that made one shiver.
He walked slowly in the direction Ophelia had disappeared.
“Since I said I’d help,” Elias said in his mind.
“Then I might as well go over and lend a hand.”
“And it’s just as well.”
“I’ll help those dedicated colleagues of mine...”
“...take a sick leave.”
Rate on N.U.
