Deputy?

In the ancient legends of Velen, there indeed existed a terrifying creature etched into countless tabloids and bedtime stories—the “shapeshifter.”

According to the elders, they usually possessed a corpse-pale or faintly silver skin.

Their facial features were completely blurred, resembling a wooden puppet that had not yet been fully carved by a clumsy craftsman's chisel.

There were no distinct pupils like those of humans in their eyes, only a shallow, moist sheen.

Their hair was sparse and patchy, ranging in color from milky white to light brown.

What was most hair-raising was their physical structure.

The bones of these monsters were not entirely rigid; instead, they were more like a kind of flexible cartilage that could be folded and twisted at will.

Under the catalyst of spirituality, their muscles could rearrange themselves in a short time, and their skin was densely covered with a vast number of complex, fine spiritual lines.

These lines were specifically used to record and replicate the facial proportions, vocal cord vibration frequencies, gait rhythms, and even the most minute micro-expression habits of those they mimicked.

Under normal circumstances, shapeshifters in their natural form rarely exposed themselves willingly.

But in the ghost stories of abandoned villages passed down from generation to generation by Velen's elders to their children, there was a chilling, ironclad rule.

Legend had it that a shapeshifter would never crawl in through a window.

It would walk through the front door.

Like a civilized person, it would gently knock on your door in the dead of night.

It would call out to you from outside in a voice you knew to your very bones.

It would remember the brand of tobacco your late father loved to smoke, the number of laurel leaves your mother used to put in her stew, and even which tooth you broke in a street fight as a child.

It remembered everything, except for one thing.

And that was: someone who truly loved and cared about you would absolutely never stand stiffly outside in the pitch-black darkness at three in the morning, under such eerie, ghostly circumstances.

And then, ask you over and over again in that flat, emotionless tone—

“Do you still recognize me?”

This was the core reason why Ophelia was currently plunged into endless terror.

“No, I'm not!”

Seeing Ophelia's terrified expression, Elias immediately shouted in exasperation.

“These are just some minor tricks I know! Understand? Magic! A kind of disguise technique!”

Elias added grumpily, patting his derby hat to make himself look like a proper gentleman rather than some monster ready to devour her on the spot.

“Hahahahaha! A shapeshifter! Oh, my Moon Lord, this young lady is a genius!”

Before Ophelia could react, a certain old ghost in the depths of Elias's mind, who had been completely silent just a moment ago, suddenly burst into a fit of wild laughter without warning.

Edmond laughed so hard he doubled over, like a barbell that had attained sentience.

“Shut up,”

Elias snapped back coldly in his mind.

“What?”

“You've recovered now, old man? That ghost ship just now...”

“Sss—!”

Hearing the keyword, Old Ed in his mind instantly let out a sharp, unintelligible gasp.

Finally, his ears were clean.

“Yes, yes! It really is just a minor trick, I can vouch for that.”

Beside them, Jack, who had just recovered from his tense state, quickly kicked his dagger aside and nodded in agreement.

Standing in place, Elias felt a wave of numbness wash over him as he listened to Jack's sincere but completely artless explanation.

The way you're agreeing and your tone... why does it sound more and more like accomplices trying to cover up a crime?!

In the end, it took the two of them a monumental effort to barely convince Ophelia.

After all that fuss, the three of them finally sat down around the wooden dining table in the center of the cottage, feeling somewhat exhausted.

The faint firelight from the fireplace flickered on their faces, making the atmosphere feel rather heavy.

“To be honest, I thought you were dead.”

Elias clasped his hands on the table, looking at Jack sitting opposite him with a sigh of emotion.

He was being genuine.

“After all, lighthouse keepers in this place usually don't live very long.”

Jack curled his lips bitterly and nodded in agreement.

“I've heard about that...”

“My survival was indeed a stroke of luck, all thanks to that hidden door.”

“So, who on earth are you? What is your name?”

Ophelia, who had been staring death glares at Elias as if he were a thief, suddenly spoke up out of the blue.

The girl currently had her arms crossed over her chest, her face written all over with intense dissatisfaction from being deceived.

What made it even harder for her to accept and left her feeling psychologically unbalanced was something else.

She had originally thought he was a mature, mysterious, and reliable man.

But once the mask was off, he actually looked a few years younger than her.

Hearing this, a cheeky smile played on Elias's lips.

“Haven't I already introduced myself?”

“My name really is Bruce Wayne.”

“As for whether you believe it or not, that's your own business.”

“Hmph.”

Ophelia let out a cold snort and stood straight up from her chair.

“Fine, don't tell me then. I have no interest in prying into the background of a man who doesn't even dare to reveal his real name.”

“I'm going to find my brother's things.”

With that, the girl turned her head and walked straight toward the two slightly warped pine floorboards Elias had pointed out to her earlier.

Watching Ophelia crouch down and start prying at the wooden boards with her pocketknife, Elias leaned forward, refocusing his gaze on Jack.

His eyes gradually grew sharp and searching.

“Alright, Jack. Let's talk business.”

“Why did you immediately assume the two of us were from the Mist Veil Society earlier?”

“Did you discover something on this island, or did you have contact with them before?”

Hearing the name “Mist Veil Society,” Jack's body visibly stiffened, and an extremely troubled and resistant expression appeared on his face.

“This matter... is really complicated.”

He picked at his fingernails, speaking hesitantly.

“If I have to start from the very beginning, it's really a long story.”

“Then make it short.”

Elias ruthlessly cut off his evasion, urging him with a hint of impatience.

Jack spread his hands and shook his head in despair.

“It can't be made short, sir.”

“Knock, knock, knock.”

A knocking sound drifted in from the edge of the cottage's wide-open wooden door.

The three of them turned their heads in unison.

Outside, old Crowley was leaning against the doorframe.

He still held his pipe in his hand, its glow flickering in the darkness.

“Hey!”

“Hello there, Jack!”

“I'm truly glad to see you standing here alive!”

Sitting in his chair, Elias coldly watched the old sea dog putting on a clumsy performance.

Where exactly are you glad?

If anyone could detect even a shred of genuine relief in that line, they had to be blind or deaf.

For as old Crowley uttered those pleasantries that sounded like a warm welcome, his face was dead serious.

“However, now is not the time for you youngsters to be having a tea party and catching up in here, boys.”

Crowley poked his head into the dimly lit room, quickly scanning the interior.

“My men have already unloaded this batch of supplies from the skiff.”

“You need to come over now and help those laboring lads haul the supplies for the next month.”

Having said this, the old man looked up at the sky outside.

“It's about to get pitch-black soon. I have no desire to spend the night here.”

After finishing his instructions about the supplies, old Crowley's gaze swept across the dining table and finally landed on the back of the figure crouching in the shadow of the bed.

“Also, Miss Moore, are you finished with your brother's personal belongings left here?”

“I might need a bit more time, Captain Crowley.”

Ophelia was currently sitting somewhat disheveled on the dusty wooden floor.

In her hands, she tightly clutched a worn, yellowed notebook she had just retrieved from beneath the pried-open floorboards.

Without even raising her head, the girl spoke with a stubborn determination.

“Regarding this...”

Jack, who had been sitting opposite the table, silently stood up from his chair and quickly walked over to old Crowley's side.

Elias sat by the dining table, observing the two of them.

He saw Jack lower his voice and begin whispering with the old captain in the shadows.

It was impossible to hear what they were saying.

Elias watched as Jack reached out with his right hand, covertly showing Crowley some delicate object he had kept hidden up his sleeve.

The moment old Crowley got a clear look at the object, a flash of astonishment crossed the depths of his cold eyes.

Then, looking at Jack thoughtfully, he gave him a deep look and nodded.

The two had reached some unspoken consensus.

Then the old man called out to Elias.

“Hey, kid!”

“Jack will be staying here to assist you for a while.”

“?”