Elias leaned back against the sofa cushions.
His gaze lingered on the yellowed register for a long time.
“That’s quite a coincidence, old man,” he said in a low voice within his mind.
His fingers lightly brushed over the rough surface of the paper.
If destiny truly had a physical form, he felt it deserved a medal for malicious editing right about now.
“But I find it strange—didn’t your lighthouses have numbers back then?”
He was genuinely curious about this. If the lighthouses weren't numbered, how did the supply fleets and the poor bastards coming for shift rotations ensure they were heading to the right one?
“We gave them names!” Old Ed replied in his mind, his tone sounding a bit bewildered by Elias’s question, even carrying a hint of disdain as if looking at a modern freak.
“For example, the Emerald Horn Lighthouse, the Whale Bay Lighthouse, and so on...”
“As long as they were marked clearly on the sea charts, even a blind man could find his way there.”
The old man felt his explanation was perfectly logical.
“What kind of old-school approach is that?!” Elias was somewhat speechless.
He rolled his eyes mentally.
“That’s so inconvenient!”
Without a unified digital numbering system, relying solely on those romantically named locations in sea regions prone to sudden fog was practically asking for the keepers to die faster.
However.
The old man clearly didn’t want to continue discussing this pointless issue of modern management.
Old Ed let out a sigh, his raspy voice taking a turn in Elias’s mind.
“If her brother went to the island three years ago...”
“The highest probability, I’m afraid, is that he died at the hands of sirens or a carapace husk.”
The old man’s analysis was objective, even cold, devoid of any warmth.
“A dream demon is unlikely; after all, we didn’t see his corpse on the island.”
As the old man said this, his voice sounded noticeably ethereal.
“This damned spirit world interference...” Old Ed cursed under his breath.
“Anyway, it really is quite a coincidence,” the old man concluded.
Elias didn’t respond.
The pages in his hand continued to turn slowly, making a rhythmic rustling sound.
Ophelia sat in the chair opposite him, staring at the documents in front of her, completely unaware of Elias’s unusual reaction.
Taking advantage of the female reporter’s distraction.
Elias’s hand, hidden inside his trench coat, moved slightly.
He pulled out the dog tag he had swiped.
It was the loot he had just scavenged from the ruins of the Wayland office.
He spun the dog tag between his fingertips.
Elias squinted slightly. Aided by the dim light of the kerosene lamp in the room, he saw a name engraved on it.
Oliver Brown.
Just like the names in the register, this name belonged to a specific lighthouse sequence in Wayland’s secret archives.
“Old man.” Elias flicked the dog tag with his spirituality in his mind.
“Where do you think these people marked with blue circles in the register ended up?”
Since a red cross represented death.
Then a blue circle must represent the lucky ones who survived and transformed into transcendents.
Or perhaps, higher-level consumables?
Wayland Shipping wouldn’t go to the trouble of sending these mutated employees to the West Bank Pier just to give them pensions.
“You don’t say.”
Old Ed’s voice suddenly became somewhat playful, even carrying a gloating quiver.
Hearing this, Elias’s eyelid twitched. He knew this old geezer was planning to tease him again.
Sure enough.
“Didn’t you survive too?” the old man’s voice echoed in his mind.
“Moreover, you didn’t just survive; you crossed the boundary between the mundane and the supernatural.”
“I expect someone will be coming for you very soon.”
The old man seemed quite content to watch the chaos unfold.
“When Wayland’s people or the Seventh Agency’s people corner you in some alleyway...”
“Then, won’t you know everything?”
“Actually, old man, there’s no need for all that trouble.”
Elias didn’t take the bait.
“This matter is actually easy to solve.”
“We hold the initiative now.”
“I have leverage over Old Crowley now.”
He placed special emphasis on that.
“Real leverage.”
His mind involuntarily recalled the terrible shape of that pendulum.
“I can find an opportunity to ask him.”
“If he’s willing to cooperate, the secrets of the West Bank Pier will naturally be revealed.”
Elias shifted into a more comfortable sitting position on the sofa.
“If all else fails, I’ll personally make a trip to the West Bank.”
“At worst, I’ll just do what I failed to do last time at Mester’s Treatment Room.”
“Now, forgive my poor memory.”
Old Ed’s voice rang out gloomily, carrying an unhidden tone of playing dumb.
“Which matter are you referring to?” the old man asked.
“Could it be... the part where you originally planned to hide in the shadows and watch the show, but ended up being snatched by an infernal demon to serve as a locksmith?”
“...”
If this old man had a physical body right now, Elias would have given him a massive eye-roll without hesitation.
He might even have shown him the friendly gesture he most commonly used when communicating with sirens at sea.
The middle finger.
“Go back a bit further,” Elias said through gritted teeth in his mind.
This old ghost was definitely doing this on purpose, bringing up exactly what he shouldn't.
The embarrassing history of his failure at Mester’s Treatment Room was something this old man could probably keep bringing up until the next century.
“Oh!” the old man shouted as if suddenly realizing.
The sound was so forced it made Elias want to physically transcend him right then and there.
“You mean...”
“The time you were hiding in the corner, not daring to move an inch, terrified that the Cecil woman would find out you were a transcendent?”
The damage was minimal, but the insult was maximum.
“I was performing reasonable tactical reconnaissance!” Elias roared back irritably in his mind.
“If I can’t win, I call the Seventh Agency investigators to clean up the mess!”
“It’s called reasonable utilization of official resources!”
“You don’t know jack!”
How could a transcendent’s battle be called 'cowardly'? It was called a tactical transition.
“Oh! That matter!”
The old man acted as if he had only just understood, his tone as punchable as it could possibly be.
“Then I think that’s fine.”
“That tactic perfectly fits your usual style.”
“Just make sure you don’t mess up yourself.”
“After all, you have a whole family relying on you now.”
“What does that have to do with you?!” Elias snapped.
“What do you mean, a whole family?!”
He felt his blood pressure soaring.
“Old man, you aren’t wrong.” Elias took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down.
He decided to employ the mysterious language power from his previous life to perform a dimensional reduction strike on this soul from an ancient era.
“But I can only say, you aren’t my brother.”
“You are a Lao-Deng.”
“What is a Lao-Deng?”
Old Ed was clearly bewildered by this strange, unheard-of term.
His previously playful tone paused instantly.
“It means you are neither my friend nor my brother,” Elias explained slowly and methodically in his mind.
“Nor are you my enemy.”
“We aren’t family.”
“What is all this nonsense?!”
Old Ed felt once again that he simply couldn’t keep up with this kid’s train of thought.
The word sounded strange and illogical.
The old man chewed on it for a moment, feeling as if Elias had said something very hurtful, but upon further reflection, it also felt like he hadn’t.
What on earth was this?!
“You don’t understand, old man. It’s very profound.” Elias looked at the red crosses on the register, a mischievous smile of success hanging on his lips.
“You have to learn.”
Of course it was. How could the culture of another world not be profound?
“No, no, no, I’m still a bit confused.” Old Ed pestered him in his mind.
“What is a Lao-Deng?”
“A Lao-Deng!”
Elias began to think about how to explain the term.
“It’s you, my friend.”
“You are a Lao-Deng.”
“It actually means an old man who is brilliant and great at educating people.”
Rate on N.U.
