Who Are You?

As Elias tied the mooring rope, he quickly sorted through the tangled clues in his mind.

“You said this is the first time you've encountered this, which means this kind of situation doesn't usually happen within the vicinity of the lighthouse.”

Elias analyzed calmly.

“Uh-huh,”

Old Ed muttered, his nerves—which had been wound tight due to the sudden disconnection—relaxing slightly.

“If it were an issue with the lighthouse itself, you've been squatting here for fifty years, so you would've gotten used to it long ago. Since it's the first time, it must be something outside.”

Elias narrowed his eyes, gazing out at the distant sea where the waves were gradually calming.

“The last time this happened was the day before yesterday, when we were at the Coast Hotel.”

“That night, Ophelia came to my room because she was afraid of the thunder, and we were talking about...”

At this point, the spark of inspiration that had just flashed through Elias's mind suddenly resurfaced.

“Right! It's about the ghost ship.”

Elias said with absolute certainty in his heart.

“Every single time our core topic touches upon that bizarre Gray Candle Queen, or whenever we try to dig deeper into its origins, you...”

“Hiss—”

Prompted by Elias's reminder, Old Ed let out another incomprehensible sharp intake of breath.

“Exactly, just like that.”

“I asked you then if you knew the secrets behind the ghost ship.”

“And this was your exact reaction.”

“Every single time you brush me off with a ‘hiss.’ Were you a pressure cooker in your past life?”

Old Ed fell somewhat silent.

“Let's talk about this later. I have a headache.”

“How can a spiritual body have a head?”

Elias retorted in his heart.

“What you have is phantom limb pain. I suggest you go see Mester for a psychiatric consultation.”

“Look at that, his host personality happens to be dead now, so he can easily diagnose you.”

His attention returned to reality.

By now, the three of them had stepped onto the dock one after another.

Captain Crowley stepped firmly onto the barnacle-encrusted wooden planks, reaching into his pocket to pull out his pipe.

The flint sparked a faint flame, casting an eerie glow over the old man's heavily wrinkled face.

He took a deep drag and exhaled a thick cloud of smoke.

“Go on ahead,”

the old man said to Elias, tilting his mouth and pointing the stem of his pipe toward the towering white lighthouse in the center of the island.

“I'll wait here for the boys to bring your supplies over. Those crates on the big ship are incredibly heavy.”

“We'll meet up at the keeper's cottage in a bit.”

“Alright,”

Elias replied simply.

He then led Ophelia along the somewhat slippery gravel path, heading toward his cottage.

Twilight fell over the bay faster than expected. The surrounding light dimmed rapidly, leaving only the supernatural beam at the top of the tower tirelessly sweeping across the sea.

Elias walked extremely fast in the darkness, his military boots crunching loudly against the gravel.

He casually glanced back at the girl behind him, only to find that her state was remarkably off.

Ophelia looked as if her bones had been entirely removed, her gait as stiff as a clockwork doll with a broken mainspring.

“Are you alright?”

Seeing Ophelia's deathly pale face and how she shivered in the sea breeze, looking ready to scream at any moment,

Elias, as the temporary landlord of this place, felt he really couldn't help but ask.

Ophelia heard his voice and shuddered violently.

She slowly turned her head to look at Elias.

“Th-that thing just now...”

“Was it the ghost ship?”

“I saw it...”

“No,”

Elias interrupted her directly without batting an eye.

“That was just an optical illusion at sea caused by the intersection of hot and cold air currents. It's commonly known as a mirage—a scientific phenomenon, understand?”

“Don't let your imagination run wild. People scaring themselves is how they end up dead.”

Elias gave her a warning.

“Let's get one thing straight first: you're only here to visit as a reporter. Don't touch my things.”

“I have quite a few dangerous alchemical materials in my cottage used for maintaining the lighthouse. If you accidentally set off an explosion, we'll be holding hands and dancing in the Inferno tonight.”

Ophelia's mental state was clearly at its limit, and she had no energy to argue with Elias's nonsense.

She nodded meekly, following closely behind Elias like a battered child.

The somewhat heavy wooden door was pushed open, and a stale, dry air carrying a faint scent of whale oil wafted over them.

Elias habitually rested his hand on The Roaring Cane at his waist, his gaze quickly sweeping across the pitch-black room.

【Darkvision】 suddenly expanded across his vision, making the once-dim room crystal clear in an instant.

But what puzzled Elias the most was that not only had they not seen any sign of Jack along the way,

but there wasn't even a single trace of Jack's living presence in the entire cottage.

The water cup on the table remained at the same tilted angle as when he had left. The dust on the floor was uniform, showing no signs of being stepped on.

The canned food neatly stacked in the corner was exactly as he had left it.

It was as if Jack had never set foot on the island during these past two days.

“This isn't right,”

Elias muttered, his brow furrowing deeply.

If Jack had never been here, then who had poured the lamp oil at the top of the tower on time?

Surely this white lighthouse hadn't evolved an automatic maintenance function on its own?

He then turned to Ophelia, who was standing somewhat awkwardly by the door, and said,

“Your brother used to live here too.”

“You can look around and see if any of his things are still here. After all, the previous keepers always liked to stuff personal items into the wall cracks.”

“Though I haven't seen any myself.”

Elias walked over to the table and reached out to touch the cold breadcrumbs.

He didn't plan on dwelling on Jack's situation for now.

After all, the sudden death or mysterious disappearance of a keeper was practically a regular occurrence here.

Although the lighthouse outside was lit, proving that someone had indeed replenished the lamp oil over the past forty-eight hours,

it was also entirely possible that Jack had died at some point during these two days right after completing his final routine maintenance.

For example, he could have been eaten as a snack by a carapace husk that crawled ashore, or he could have fallen into the sea and drowned.

In any case, since his whereabouts were unknown, Elias would just assume he was dead.

“Poor lad, didn't even get the chance to spend his first month's wages.”

Elias offered a completely unsympathetic three seconds of silent tribute in his heart.

He figured that once Ophelia left, he would try his best to search around the reef for the unlucky bastard's corpse.

The two of them began searching the room.

But aside from the tattered clothes left behind by his body's original owner, Elias had lived here for two months

and had indeed never seen anything resembling items left behind by previous keepers.

Of course, that excluded the gloomy basement hidden beneath the trapdoor where Old Ed was.

But that place was currently covered by whale oil barrels, making it impossible for an ordinary person to discover.

Compared to Elias's somewhat half-hearted, purely luck-based search,

Ophelia's search was far more professional and meticulous.

It had to be said that the girl truly lived up to her role as a newspaper reporter.

Her professional habit was on full display at this moment.

She checked with extreme care, her hands feeling almost every crack in the walls, and she even used a small iron shovel to poke through the charcoal ashes remaining in the fireplace.

From her posture, she looked as if she wanted nothing more than to pry up the entire wooden floor beneath her feet to take a look.

Elias leaned against the bedpost, watching the girl rummage under the cabinet, and let out a bored yawn.

He lazily withdrew his gaze, letting his eyes wander over the edge of the bed where he had slept for two months.

Suddenly, he noticed something off about the wooden floor.

It was in the shadow beneath the edge of the bed.

Two pine floorboards, which should have been tightly fitted together, appeared to be slightly warped.

Even stranger, there were a few iron nails driven into them.

Elias's eyes sharpened, and his muscles tensed in an instant.

He squatted down and drew his dagger from his boot.

Click. The sharp tip of the blade wedged firmly into the gap between the floorboards.

He had just pulled out the dagger, intending to pry them open for a look.

Suddenly,

“Ah—!!”

Ophelia's scream rang out from behind him without any warning.

The sound was sharp and ear-piercing, instantly tearing through the dead silence of the cottage.

Elias's pupils contracted.

His body reacted faster than his brain, executing a quick roll on the spot.

A cold gleam flashed.

By the time Elias awkwardly pushed his upper body up from the ground and looked up,

the situation had completely spiraled out of control in the blink of an eye.

A sharp dagger was already pressed against Ophelia's fair neck, carving a terrifying indentation into her skin.

Ophelia was frozen in place, tears welling in her eyes, not daring to make even the slightest movement.

Elias traced his gaze all the way up from the hand gripping the hilt—its knuckles white from excessive force.

Only then did he realize that the dirt-covered figure hiding behind Ophelia

was actually Jack.

Jack stared at Elias, who currently bore the appearance of Mr. Wayne.

“Who are you?”