“Why?”
Elias leaned against the doorframe, his brow furrowed into a deep knot.
“You do your investigation, and I’ll just introduce you to that old man. The rest is your business.”
Standing under the dim gaslight of the hallway, Ophelia felt her heart sink as she looked at the man's cold expression.
Without enough profit, this wolf in a gentleman's skin would undoubtedly kick her aside without a second thought.
To find out the truth about her brother's death and to hold onto this last lifeline, Ophelia gritted her teeth and threw down her only remaining chip.
“I can let you see the documents!”
She lifted her chin, her clear eyes staring intently at Elias.
“Every single word!”
“Oh?”
Upon hearing this, a slight twitch finally appeared at the corner of Elias’s stiff poker face.
He looked at the girl, and his icy, piercing gaze softened at a speed visible to the naked eye.
The speed of his change in expression was practically an art form.
This was exactly the missing piece of the puzzle he needed most.
“Very well.”
Elias pulled back his cane and stepped slightly to the side, revealing a perfectly practiced, predatory smile.
“Deal.”
“But I must lay down the hard truth beforehand: I won’t provide much direct assistance.”
Elias held up a finger, coldly reiterating the rules.
“Once we reach the office, you’ll have to find a way to investigate yourself. I’m only responsible for providing moral support.”
“If you slip up and get caught, I will immediately act as if I don't know you.”
Hearing this almost shameless disclaimer, Ophelia’s lip couldn't help but twitch.
Still, she took a deep breath and nodded heavily.
“Fine.”
As long as this man was willing to go with her, even if he just acted as a figurehead, those Wayland lapdogs would have to think twice before making a move.
Having reached an agreement, Ophelia turned around, intending to walk back to Room 505 in her somewhat ill-fitting high heels.
“Wait.”
Elias’s low voice called out to her again from behind.
Ophelia turned back, puzzled.
“A friendly tip.”
Elias looked her up and down, his gaze lingering for half a second on her well-tailored flax-colored dress.
“You’d better change your outfit tomorrow.”
“Don’t go around looking like a damsel in distress who just escaped a Landon socialite ball. It’s too conspicuous.”
Ophelia froze.
Then, cold sweat began to run down her back.
It was true.
Although she had relied on her last bit of luck at the train station to obtain a decent-looking dress, she was currently a “commercial spy” wanted across the country by Wayland Capital.
In this port city crawling with Wayland’s informants, it was only a matter of time before she was caught if she continued wandering around looking like this.
“Thank you,” she whispered, then quickly returned to her room and locked the door.
Elias withdrew his gaze.
He closed and double-locked the door to his luxury suite.
Walking over to the full-length mirror, he removed the Spy's Derby Hat that had served him so well and tossed it onto the coat rack.
With a subtle ripple of facial muscles, the image in the mirror—the sharp-eyed, black-hearted factory owner “Bruce” in his thirties—receded like a tide.
In its place was the original body’s face, barely twenty and somewhat sickly pale from spiritual exhaustion.
Elias rubbed his stiff facial muscles and threw himself unceremoniously onto the large sofa in the living room.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk.”
Old Ed’s annoying voice arrived right on schedule in his mind, dripping with disdain.
“So in the end, after all that fuss, you’re still after the documents that girl is holding.”
The old ghost snorted at Elias’s “scumbag” behavior of saying no while his actions said yes.
“What do you know?”
Elias rolled his eyes internally and snapped back irritably.
“Old man, use that fifty-year-old decayed brain of yours to think for a second.”
“There is a core issue regarding whether we can survive in Moon Bay that needs immediate consideration.”
“What issue?” Old Ed asked, taken aback.
Elias sat up straight on the sofa, his eyes glinting coldly in the dim room.
“That is... what kind of ship exactly is the Octowin?”
“What kind of ship can sail to the center of Moon Bay and obtain the Fifth Element without a pendulum?”
Hearing this question, Old Ed fell silent in the sea of consciousness for a moment.
Then, the old man asked back as if it were obvious.
“What else could it be?”
“Young man, you still lack basic reverence for the power structure of this kingdom.”
“That is the ‘Octowin,’ after all. It is the surname of the current royal family.”
Old Ed explained, his tone carrying a hint of ancient weariness.
“A ship named after the King’s surname is highly likely to be equipped with some kind of powerful supernatural weapon that falls outside the conventional Scales.”
Elias stood up.
He walked to the bar in the suite and skillfully uncorked a bottle of premium red wine provided by the hotel.
The crimson liquid swirled in the crystal glass, reflecting a blood-like luster.
He took a sip, the bitterness and sweetness exploding on his tongue, clearing his head slightly.
“That’s not right.”
Elias frowned, staring intently at the red wine in his glass as he raised a fatal logical counterargument.
“The pendulum is a medium-risk containment object, right?”
“If that place holds the Fifth Element, and the old rules required a containment object of the pendulum’s level to act as an anchor to open it...”
“That means the defense level of that place is extremely high.”
Elias slammed the glass onto the table.
“If Wayland’s Plan B is viable, then the supernatural weapon on the Octowin must be, at the very least, at the level of a medium-risk containment object.”
“Or perhaps even far beyond that level.”
“But if Wayland Capital, a secular enterprise on the surface, possesses a devastating weapon on a private ship that can rival or even surpass a medium-risk containment object...”
Elias let out a cold laugh.
“The investigators of the Seventh Agency would have noticed long ago and used it as grounds for a thorough internal purge and armed investigation of Wayland Capital.”
“How could they possibly allow this ship to sail into Moon Bay so openly?”
It made no sense in terms of political logic.
“Uh...”
Old Ed was completely stumped by the question.
“Well, that’s beyond my knowledge then,” the old man replied nonchalantly, even sounding a bit relaxed about his own ignorance.
“I wasn't counting on you,” Elias sighed, rubbing his temples.
“It seems I’ll still have to follow that foolish girl next door to the Wayland Shipping office in Hastings Port tomorrow.”
“I’ll see if I can find any clues from the dispatch orders or supply lists of those low-level clerks.”
“But...” Old Ed asked hesitantly in his mind, “don't you still have to help her meet Edward Crowley?”
“One thing at a time,” Elias replied irritably.
“As for old Crowley, to be honest, in this current situation, finding him in this port city won't be easy.”
Who knew exactly where he was?
“However, after I deal with the office business tomorrow, I plan to ask Redbeard on the way.”
“Redbeard?” Old Ed’s voice was filled with concern. “Are you sure you won't have a conflict with him?”
“I won't,” Elias said confidently.
“In this world, no one turns their back on gold crowns.”
“I gave him enough benefits before; why would he start a conflict with me?”
“He pocketed so many of my precious supernatural materials; would he have the nerve to turn against me?”
“And most importantly...” Elias’s lips curled into a playful smile. “Don't forget, I am now... a man with an official background.”
The next second, a metal orb appeared in his palm.
It was the contact item Ms. Cecil had given him—the Imprinting Orb.
“I plan to use two approaches at once.”
Elias weighed the heavy orb in his hand.
“I’ll see if Cecil can find out anything about the Octowin.”
With that, he pulled over a notepad and wrote an inquiry regarding the Octowin and Plan B.
A black spirit cat, composed entirely of pure shadow and arcane energy, leapt out from the surface of the orb.
Holding the letter in its mouth, it twisted gracefully in mid-air and stepped directly into a spirit world rift that tore open out of nowhere.
After finishing this, Elias sank back into the sofa again, feeling drained.
Boom—!
Suddenly, a piercing streak of pale lightning flashed across the previously calm evening sky without warning, illuminating the luxury suite as bright as day.
Immediately after, a heavy, massive roar of thunder exploded in the sky, causing the hotel’s thick tempered glass to vibrate and hum slightly.
Rain began to pour down without notice, drumming against the windowsill.
“These coastal storms really do come out of nowhere.”
Elias turned his head to look at the rain-blurred world outside, thinking back to his experience on the island last month.
He stood up and yawned.
After two days of exertion, all he wanted was to wash up and sleep.
But destiny didn't seem inclined to let him go.
Knock, knock, knock.
A very soft knocking sound came from the door.
“...Again?”
Elias’s eye twitched.
He stood at the bathroom door, took a deep breath, and the silver light flickered in his eyes once more.
Sure enough, who else could it be but that troublemaker Ophelia from next door?
“Does this woman think my suite is a public service center?” Elias complained silently.
Still, he had to walk back to the coat rack.
He roughly pulled the Spy's Derby Hat—the symbol of his “Bruce” identity—back onto his head.
As his facial muscles shifted again, the cold factory owner was back online.
He pulled the door open.
Outside, Ophelia had changed into a high-end silk bathrobe provided by the hotel, and her previously neat hair was now a bit messy.
Seeing Elias open the door, the female reporter who had dared to risk her life against the security department in the Landon archives now seemed somewhat fidgety and embarrassed.
She kept her head down, her voice as small as a humming mosquito.
“I...”
“Can I come in?”
Ophelia pressed her legs together uneasily and murmured, “Well... it’s raining too hard outside, and I feel... a bit bored being alone in my room...”
However, the breakdown of an adult often happens the moment they hear the truth.
Elias leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking at the fragile girl with a strange expression.
Then, he exposed her clumsy lie on the spot.
“You’re afraid of thunder, aren't you?”
Ophelia’s body froze.
Her pale face instantly flushed a deep, burning red.
“I am not!”
Rate on N.U.
