Wait, Man, Are You Hinting at Something?

“Hold on.”

Elias spoke suddenly.

His voice sounded particularly abrupt in the empty, deathly silent lobby.

“I’ve dropped something here.”

He tapped the floor lightly with his cane.

“Have your people wait a moment.”

The employees who were busy cataloging the scattered remains didn't stop. Instead, they all turned their heads in unison to look at the man standing in the center of the lobby.

“Stop!”

Marcus raised his right hand and made a gesture.

All the employees came to a halt.

“Sir,” Marcus began, clasping his hands in front of him. “Would it be convenient for you to first explain the nature of your visit to the Wayland Shipping office today?”

The question was polite, but between the lines, there was a condescending tone of interrogation.

What was this supposed to mean?

As if sensing his thoughts, Old Ed’s raspy voice echoed from deep within his mind.

“Perhaps he’s asking because you’re the only person here still standing,” the old man said, a hint of schadenfreude in his tone. “If you were like those poor devils on the floor, blown into a hundred and eighty-three pieces… I doubt he’d bother asking you anything.”

“...”

The corner of Elias’s mouth twitched slightly.

The old ghost’s words were a bit macabre, but he had a point.

There was only one reason why the other man’s attitude was so ‘respectful’ yet eerie: Marcus had recognized him as a transcendent.

In this world, ordinary people didn't even have the qualifications to be cannon fodder in front of a transcendent.

Although Wayland Capital secretly funded the cultists of the Mist Veil Society, it remained a legitimate secular company on the surface. To maintain an appearance of legality and compliance, an office located in a bustling district usually wouldn't be equipped with much supernatural force. After all, having a bunch of lunatics who could lose control at any moment working as clerks would be a nightmare to manage.

Of course, the sea was a different story.

The massive ocean-going vessels that drifted along the major shipping routes all year round were the true lawless territories. There was no telling how many supply ship captains like Old Crowley were out there.

Thinking of Old Crowley, a spark of inspiration suddenly flashed in Elias’s mind.

Right!

His original plan was to find ‘Redbeard’ and use either money or more forceful means to find out Old Crowley’s recent whereabouts. After all, that old sea dog was elusive, and catching him on land wasn't easy.

But now, an executive of Wayland Shipping was standing right in front of him. Why bother looking for Redbeard? He could skip the middleman entirely!

“I’m looking for Edward Crowley.”

Elias tilted his chin up slightly and spoke the name without batting an eye. He even went so far as to adjust his collar with an air of importance, his eyes reflecting a perfectly calculated level of annoyance. “The old geezer owes me money.”

Exactly. He made it sound like the absolute truth.

This lie was practically seamless. Given Old Crowley’s personality, the idea that he had a trail of unpaid debts behind him was a perfectly reasonable setting. Even if Marcus investigated, he would likely find a mountain of financial messes.

“Oh?”

Upon hearing the name, the professional fake smile on Marcus’s face froze for half a second. He took two slow, unhurried steps forward.

“How much does he owe you?” Marcus’s gaze was locked onto Elias’s face, as if trying to find any crack in his micro-expressions.

Elias was internally delighted by the question, but the number required careful consideration. He couldn't just throw out any random figure.

Reporting too little wouldn't be logical. Old Crowley was, at the very least, a powerhouse of Scale Three or higher, perhaps even with no upper limit. Would a high-scale transcendent really be hounded to a company office for a few pennies or a handful of shillings? The excuse of ‘coming specifically to the office to collect a debt’ wouldn't hold water.

But if he asked for too much—say, a hundred thousand gold crowns—Marcus would definitely go into a defensive crouch. That wouldn't be debt collection; that would be blatant extortion.

What was the right amount?

There it was.

“Two hundred gold crowns.”

Elias held up two fingers, picking a price that was neither too much nor too little. This number was very deliberate. For a high-scale transcendent, two hundred gold crowns wasn't a crippling sum. However, it was just enough to be a bit painful, making it worth a creditor’s time to show up in person to demand it.

“Very well, I shall give it to you.”

Marcus nodded with a smile, without even a second of hesitation.

Huh?

Elias was stunned. Wait, he’s just giving it to me? Just like that? Is the financial approval process at Wayland Capital really this reckless?

More importantly, shouldn't you give me a hint about where the old man is so I can go find him myself? If you agree to pay it right now, my lead goes cold!

Elias’s mind was screaming. He suddenly realized the other man was paying for peace, trying to get rid of this uninvited guest as quickly as possible.

“Could you tell me what it is you lost?” Before Elias could argue, Marcus smoothly changed the subject. His attitude was so good it was impossible to refuse; he even gave a slight bow. “We can help you look for it.”

The path was blocked.

Elias took a deep breath, suppressing the urge to curse. Fine, he’d get the item first.

Ignoring Marcus’s fake politeness, he began to look around. Deep within his pupils, a faint silver-white light quietly flickered. 【Moon Vision】, activated.

Under the scan of Moon Vision, the bits of flesh and severed limbs scattered among the ruins emitted a faint spiritual glow. Elias’s gaze swept quickly through the mess, searching for any part the suicide bomber might have left behind.

Since the man was a fanatic of the Mist Veil Society, he had to be carrying some piece of junk to prove his identity, right?

Suddenly, in a gap between charred wooden boards, an inconspicuous glint caught Elias’s eye. It was a metal tag, its shape and texture very similar to the dog tags worn by soldiers in modern armies.

Found it!

Elias was just about to step toward it when a sudden, violent wave of dizziness returned. His vision began to warp.

Damn it!

Elias cursed inwardly. The dream demon curse he had just forcibly suppressed had actually returned at this critical moment!

“Old man, keep an eye on that dog tag!” Elias growled in his mind, teeth clenched. He didn't dare show any abnormality in front of Marcus.

As soon as he spoke, the scene before his eyes underwent a bizarre transformation. The corpses, the meat, and the wreckage of the lobby turned into a field of Manjushage in a single second.

Vast swaths of crimson flowers bloomed wildly in the lobby of the Wayland office. The petals were seductive and arrogant, swaying without wind and exuding a tragic beauty. This scarlet color actually complemented the blood pooled everywhere quite well.

Each flower was rooted in the charred remains. Severed intestines became stems, and internal organs turned into soil. Every broken body was covered in these flowers and grass that symbolized death.

Elias gripped his cane, comforting himself in his mind. It’s fine. Deep breaths. This is just the old dream demon knowing I’m homesick. The Chinese name for Manjushage is actually ‘stone garlic.’ It’s actually a sign of good luck. And the dream demon curse is definitely weaker than before after being suppressed. At least my senses aren't completely scrambled. This hallucination is limited to my vision. For now, this is actually the least severe situation.

“Under the wreckage of the second row of seats,” Old Ed said, acting as a human GPS. “Three steps to your left-front.”

Elias took a deep breath and, enduring the special effects of the red spider lilies filling his vision, stiffly turned his head to look. At the spot the old man indicated, where the metal dog tag should have been lying, there was now a game cartridge emitting the same white glow.

Elias’s eyes twitched frantically. What kind of dark joke is this? It reminded him of the giant graphics card he had seen on the island. What was the plan? Was it going to cycle through every piece of electronic equipment in his head?

Although he had already cursed the dream demon’s ancestors eighteen times over, Elias maintained a cold, profound expression on the surface. He adjusted his breathing inconspicuously, pretending he wasn't looking for a game cartridge in a sea of flowers.

“It’s an amulet,” Elias said calmly to Marcus, his voice steady. As he spoke, he slowly moved toward the other man, using the angle to gradually get closer to the game cartridge.

His leather shoes stepped on real glass shards and illusory flower petals, making a faint crunching sound. He had to seize back the initiative. The money didn't matter. Information on Old Crowley’s whereabouts was the intelligence he had to get today.

“So, where is Old Crowley?” Elias stopped, standing less than two meters from Marcus. He stared into the man’s eyes and asked again. “And what exactly is your relationship with him? It seems inappropriate for you to pay his debts for him.” He gave a cold laugh and pointed his cane at Marcus’s feet. “After all, this is a matter between the two of us.”

Facing Elias’s pressing questions, Marcus didn't show any signs of displeasure. “There is nothing inappropriate about it,” he said with a gentle smile. “We are colleagues.”

The two of them locked eyes.

Looking at Marcus’s flawless smiling face, Elias for a moment didn't know how to react.

Colleagues?

Wait, man, are you hinting at something?

Who exactly was he referring to?