This man is incredibly petty!
Ophelia gritted her teeth in frustration.
She had previously demanded he accompany her before sharing the files.
After all, that information was an exclusive scoop she had obtained at the risk of her life.
But since she had already gone into the office with him...
The promise was naturally fulfilled.
She would keep her word and share the documents.
Why was this bastard being so calculating?
He was even more narrow-minded than the accountants at the newspaper who bickered over a single Fenny in reimbursement!
Still, complaints aside.
Ophelia was now absolutely certain of one thing.
This mysterious man before her.
He definitely hid things that she couldn't comprehend at all.
Could a normal person come out of an explosion like that without losing a single strand of hair?
“I’ll show you when we get back!”
Ophelia glared at him, her voice still a bit shaky. “Just don’t blame me if your eyes go blind!”
She held her ground, trying to maintain her last bit of stubbornness.
But as soon as she finished her tough talk, her shoulders involuntarily slumped.
A cold wind blew past, reminding her of that absurd and bloody scene.
“But...”
“What on earth was that just now?”
She had lived for over twenty years, mostly leading a decent life in Hastings Port.
While she occasionally visited the slums to cover gang violence for social news.
She had never experienced anything so extreme.
She had watched with her own eyes as that man, who had just stepped into the lobby, exploded into a mess of shredded meat without any warning!
He had reduced the surrounding ornate desks, expensive carpets, and dozens of living people to debris.
This wasn’t something conventional explosives could do!
Compared to Ophelia’s crumbling worldview.
Elias’s current state was exceptionally relaxed.
As for the baobab tree hallucination on his retinas?
He just had to get used to it.
“Terrorists,” Elias said, his tone sounding like it was nothing unusual.
“Just some people with too much time on their hands, taking revenge on Wayland.”
He casually provided the most easily understood explanation.
Hearing this answer.
Ophelia’s eyes widened.
A nameless fire, mixed with fear, rushed to her head.
“Taking revenge on Wayland by making other innocent people die with them?!”
She raised her voice, her tone turning sharp with anger.
The sense of justice inherent in a journalist was completely ignited.
“There were people in there just trying to do business with Wayland!”
“Some were just ordinary clerks, others were merchants coming to sign contracts!”
“What did they do wrong?!”
Ophelia was shaking with rage.
She couldn’t understand why this man could talk about such a horrific massacre as easily as drinking water.
Was human life just a string of irrelevant numbers to him?
Faced with the female reporter’s questioning.
Elias stopped what he was doing.
He turned his head and quietly looked at this laughably naive girl.
There was no mockery in his eyes, only a weariness from seeing through a cruel reality.
“Calm down...” Elias spoke calmly.
“Take a deep breath and control your heart rate.”
“You’ll only encounter more things like this in the future.”
He wasn’t lying.
Nor was he intentionally trying to scare her.
Stepping into the supernatural world was just that unreasonable.
Once a person crossed that threshold, they would gradually turn into something even they didn’t understand.
Just like himself.
Elias sighed silently in his heart.
When he first crossed over.
Seeing a mummified corpse in the lighthouse basement would have made him jump.
But now?
Just now, walking through that bloated lobby and seeing shredded meat everywhere.
He hadn’t even frowned.
He even had the leisure to haggle with a man named Marcus.
This was a damn giant meat grinder.
However.
Ophelia clearly couldn’t accept such a cruel reality yet.
She still looked furious.
Her cheeks were puffed out, her eyes were red, looking like a cat that had its tail stepped on but was helpless to do anything.
Seeing her expression.
Elias knew his dark and cynical attempt at comfort had fallen on deaf ears; it hadn’t worked at all.
So.
He immediately and decisively changed the subject.
“Now what?” Elias tapped the ground with his cane. “Where are we going?”
Ophelia froze for a moment.
She didn’t seem to register how the topic had shifted so abruptly.
But she quickly remembered what she was supposed to do today.
“Can you take me to find that old man?”
Ophelia looked up at him, full of hope.
The old man smoking a pipe in the photo.
He was the only lead she had to find her brother’s whereabouts.
“At least wait until tonight,” Elias answered without hesitation.
“Why?”
Ophelia grew anxious. Time was of the essence; she didn’t want to wait a single second longer.
“No reason.”
Elias dropped a cold sentence, not even bothering to explain.
A tavern called Siren’s Song—just the name sounded suspicious. Why go there in broad daylight?
To watch the bartender wipe tables?
Besides, his temples were throbbing with pain, and his spirit was nearing its breaking point.
He needed a soft bed and a sound sleep without insane hallucinations.
Having said that.
He turned around, strode away, and headed toward the main road outside the alley without looking back.
“Where are you going?!”
Ophelia watched his decisive back, stomping her feet in anger and shouting.
“Back to the hotel to rest!”
Elias didn’t even turn his head, waving a hand casually in the air. “And to receive the documents someone wants me to see!”
Ophelia stood there, watching that slender back grow distant.
She gritted her teeth hatefully.
But in the end.
She helplessly started walking.
“Wait for me!”
...
Meanwhile.
The ruins of the first-floor lobby of the Wayland Shipping office.
The stench in the air was still pungent.
Marcus stood in the center of the lobby.
He was stepping on a piece of shattered glass that no longer showed its original color.
He was standing exactly where Elias had been during their conversation.
This usually high-and-mighty Wayland executive was now looking down, lost in deep thought.
Several employees in protective suits walked over.
“Manager.” The lead employee bowed slightly. “The locations of all the bodies have been marked.”
“Good.” Marcus nodded faintly. “You may leave.”
Of course, he still didn’t look up at his subordinates as they silently dispersed.
His mind was entirely occupied by the strange behavior of the man named Elias.
It was too irrational.
Putting aside the fact that the man had left while carrying a living sailor under his arm like a briefcase.
And putting aside whether that man actually knew old Crowley.
After all, that amount of money was less than a drop in the bucket for Wayland.
If paying it could get rid of him, then the money was well spent.
What truly puzzled Marcus was...
Why would he be companions with an ordinary sailor?
It defied all logic!
Marcus was certain his spiritual perception hadn’t failed him.
That man who claimed to be here for a debt.
The subtle fluctuations emanating from him were definitely those of a transcendent with a spiritual scale similar to his own!
A Scale Three transcendent.
Yet he was with an ordinary sailor who had no spiritual fluctuations at all.
And he had waltzed into the Wayland Shipping office just to claim a stale debt of a few hundred gold crowns?
It sounded absolutely ridiculous.
There had to be some hidden meaning he hadn’t seen through yet.
What was that guy plotting?
Just as Marcus’s brain was frantically deducing various conspiracy theories.
Bang!
The half of the front door of the Wayland Shipping office that was already teetering was pushed open from the outside.
A group of people in uniform flooded into the ruins.
They were investigators from the Seventh Agency.
Leading them was a tall man.
The investigation team leader of the Seventh Agency’s Hastings Port Branch.
Sir Vere.
The moment he stepped over the threshold, his sharp eyes narrowed slightly.
As an old hound who dealt with various cultists year-round.
He didn’t even need to activate Spirit Vision.
Just by using his nose, he could clearly sense the thick, inseparable negative spirituality lingering in these ruins.
That was the stench of the Mist Veil Society.
He would never mistake it in his life.
“Sir Vere.”
Marcus immediately snapped out of his thoughts.
He stepped over the debris and took the initiative to nod to the newcomer.
His attitude was neither humble nor arrogant.
Sir Vere stopped and coldly surveyed the carnage around him.
Then, he fixed his gaze on Marcus’s face.
“How’s this?” Sir Vere snorted, his tone laced with blatant sarcasm. “When did you people at Wayland provoke those mad dogs from the Mist Veil Society?”
He used his military boot to casually kick away a wooden plank.
“Wasn’t the rumor...” He deliberately trailed off, his eyes like knives as he stared at Marcus. “That the two of you had very close ‘business dealings’ in private?”
This was extremely blunt, practically calling a spade a spade.
However.
Faced with this official heavyweight’s direct mockery.
“You must be joking.” Marcus didn’t get angry; instead, he offered a slight smile.
“The Mist Veil Society is an anti-human cult, after all,” Marcus spoke with righteous indignation, as if Wayland truly were a law-abiding and conscientious enterprise.
“As a legitimate company, Wayland has its standards. We also have the right to choose our clients.”
At this point.
The smile on Marcus’s face slowly faded.
He pressed a hand to the left side of his chest and bowed his head slightly.
A perfectly timed look of pity and sorrow appeared in his eyes.
“Regarding this sudden attack...” He took a deep breath, his voice low and raspy. “Losing so many excellent employees brings me great pain.”
However.
Standing behind Sir Vere.
The girl with pale yellow hair heard Marcus’s soulful performance.
She stopped writing with her pen.
And rolled her eyes hard in her mind.
Where exactly is your pain?
Rate on N.U.
