Where Is Your Sincerity?

“But even so, it was just a dream. It can't be real...”

The female reporter muttered under her breath, seemingly trying to convince herself that the bizarre and grotesque images in her mind were just her brain playing tricks. She attempted to use common sense to explain everything.

However, Elias, standing across from her, was in a state that was anything but sensible.

He leaned on his cane with one hand. On his retinas, those scarlet flowers were flashing like viral pop-up ads. The mental pollution brought by the dream demon curse was attempting to completely take over his optic nerves.

“No, why don't you tell me more in detail?”

Elias interrupted her without ceremony. He spoke quickly, his voice carrying an urgent weight that brooked no refusal.

Inwardly, Elias wanted to grab the girl’s head and shake it until he heard sloshing. You better not actually think that was a dream!

He tried to mask his embarrassment at fighting off visual hallucinations with a stern expression. He had to squeeze as much useful information out of her as possible before she fully regained her composure and started bargaining with him.

Ophelia only felt that the man’s attitude had suddenly become very overbearing. The female reporter frowned, thinking back seriously.

“Because that ‘quite a few’ was in comparison to the documents I obtained.”

“Your documents?”

Elias raised an eyebrow, a hint of surprise in his tone.

He was genuinely curious now. To be honest, this was a massive question that had been hanging over his head.

Ever since he arrived here, he had wanted to know one thing: just how high was the mortality rate for the other lighthouse keepers?

When he first met John Baker, the man had claimed that the keepers on the other lighthouses were all dead. Now it seemed that statement was diluted with half the Pacific Ocean.

One only had the right to speak after conducting their own investigation.

Elias waited patiently, gesturing for Ophelia to continue.

“According to the old sailor in the dream...” Ophelia slowed her speech as she recalled the details.

“Actually, over the last few years, the supply ship fleet has been gradually bringing some surviving lighthouse keepers back to Hastings Port. They are sent to the West Bank Pier.”

“They said they had contracted a rare disease.”

A flicker of doubt crossed the female reporter’s eyes. “The company claimed they would provide convalescence for these sick keepers.”

Convalescence? A rare disease?

What kind of rare disease? Did the dream demon curse count?!

How come a good deal like “paid convalescence” never came his way?! Did he look like some kind of iron man who didn't need psychological counseling?

Thomas Wayland, you selfish bastard!

Elias’s mind wandered as he searched his original host's memories for information about the “West Bank Pier.”

The memories showed that the original Elias had never visited the place. Since the economic center of Hastings Port leaned heavily toward the east, the East Bank Pier was prosperous and bustling, filled with ocean-going giants laden with cargo and merchants waving cash.

The west, however, was an entirely different story. It was mostly a heavy industrial zone with high pollution and abandoned warehouses.

The original Elias only knew the East Bank Pier because whether it was the first time he was swindled into going to the white lighthouse or his recent narrow escape on the return voyage, he had always used the eastern routes.

Wayland Shipping was intentionally isolating the surviving keepers.

“The West Bank?” Old Ed’s voice suddenly rang out. “That place...”

“When I was alive, it was a shady slum. A den of iniquity where all sorts of filthy things happened.”

“Usually, I only went there for entertainment when I had no money in my pocket and wanted some fun.”

Elias didn't pay much attention to the old ghost’s reminiscence. He simply felt that the entire situation reeked of strangeness from start to finish.

Secretly transporting survivors who had experienced supernatural events and were likely severely polluted to the West Bank—a former slum—under the guise of convalescence. It had the distinct vibe of a biological mutation experiment base.

Elias pulled his scattered thoughts back and stared into Ophelia’s eyes, pressing her further.

“In your documents, were there many dead lighthouse keepers?”

“Many,” Ophelia answered succinctly.

“How did you determine that many lighthouse keepers had died?” Elias pushed.

“They mark them!” Ophelia said it as if it were common knowledge. “After all the names, there’s a—”

Mid-sentence, the female reporter’s voice stopped abruptly.

Her beautiful eyes blinked, as if she had finally realized something. Her professional journalistic alertness reclaimed the high ground of her intellect at that moment.

“A what?” Elias frowned, pressing for more.

“Didn't I say it already?” Ophelia crossed her arms, her chin lifting slightly in a negotiating stance. “Accompany me inside, and I’ll show you the files! You’ll only believe what I say once you see those documents with your own eyes.”

She thought she had regained the initiative.

However, as Elias looked at her stubborn expression, the corners of his mouth slowly curled into a wicked arc. An innocent look appeared on his handsome face, and he even went so far as to spread his hands in an affected gesture.

“But you’ve already been inside,” Elias said plainly, his voice a calm statement of fact.

Ophelia froze. Her brain experienced a brief momentary stall.

Been inside? What did he mean?

It wasn't a dream?! Everything that just happened at the Wayland Shipping office wasn't a dream!

The old sailor she spoke with. The various people in the office. The madman who suddenly burst in. That deafening explosion. And...

The shredded meat and internal organs that had splattered everywhere, even landing at her feet!

It was all real! All those people had actually been blown into meat paste right in front of her eyes!

Ophelia’s face turned as white as paper in an instant. All the color drained away.

“Urgh!”

A violent wave of physical revulsion hit her like a tsunami. The reporter girl spun around, bracing her hands against the coarse stone bricks of a nearby building.

She bent over and began to vomit uncontrollably against the wall. It looked as if she were trying to throw up her entire stomach.

Watching this, Elias shook his head. He took half a step back to avoid getting any filth on his shoes.

“Look at you,” Old Ed gave a weird laugh in his mind. “How cruel!”

“Not a shred of tenderness for the fair sex,” the old ghost condemned him hypocritically. “No wonder you’re single.”

“Old man, whose side are you on anyway?” Elias retorted irritably in his mind. The old ghost was becoming increasingly annoying regarding his personal life.

Before long, Ophelia finally emptied her stomach of bile. She leaned against the wall, gasping for air, sweat matting her hair.

She looked up with some difficulty, her eyes glaring fiercely at Elias.

“Why didn't you say so sooner?!” she questioned through gritted teeth.

If she had known that was reality, she would never have discussed it with such a casual tone.

“You didn't ask!” Elias maintained his punchable, innocent expression and shrugged helplessly.

“How did I escape?” Ophelia wasn't in the mood to bicker. “Wait!”

She suddenly realized a much more serious problem. In an explosion of that magnitude, the entire lobby had been leveled, and everyone had been turned into shredded meat.

“How did you survive?” The female reporter’s voice trembled slightly. She stared fixedly at Elias’s face, which was only slightly dusty. An incredible thought exploded in her mind. “That transparent barrier... you did that?!”

Elias didn't answer immediately. He just stood there quietly, looking down at the terrified girl.

At this moment, in his cursed-corroded vision, the hallucinations underwent a new round of transformation.

The Victorian red-brick buildings on either side of the alley were twisting and growing frantically before his eyes. Within a few short seconds, the building in front of him had turned into a gargantuan baobab tree.

The thick trunk looked like it would take a dozen people to encircle it. And Ophelia sat pitifully at the base of that massive baobab, looking exactly like a lost girl scout on the African savanna.

Elias’s eyes twitched uncontrollably. Though he didn't know why it was a baobab tree... that wasn't the point!

The point was that through these several bouts of torment, he had gained a new and deeper understanding of the dream demon curse. He discovered that every time a wave of the curse hit, it wasn't just his vision that hallucinated.

Even his thoughts would scatter uncontrollably like wild horses. With just a tiny bit of association, his brain would automatically manifest those absurd elements before his eyes.

It was like being forced to wear an uncontrollable VR headset.

Of course, Elias admitted to himself that his mind was already quite jumpy, but that didn't change the fact that his divergent thinking, amplified by the curse, would sometimes seriously interfere with his current reasoning and judgment.

For example, right now...

But that still wasn't the point!

The real point was that this reporter girl sitting on the ground had, through today's blood-spattered explosion, inevitably been dragged into this hopeless, death-filled supernatural world.

It was like opening Pandora's box; it could never be closed again.

In that case, Elias’s damnable competitive streak was beginning to stir. He couldn't let a commoner lead him by the nose.

So, he spoke calmly.

“Where is your sincerity?”