Elias quickly adjusted his breathing, controlled his facial muscles, and slowly turned around.
At this moment, there wasn't a trace of panic on his face; instead, it held a look of appropriate confusion common to someone suddenly stopped by a stranger.
There was also a look of weary impatience.
"Hello, is there something I can help you with?"
Elias looked at the young man standing below the steps and asked in a flat tone.
It was a tall youth wearing a well-tailored black trench coat.
Though his appearance was ordinary, his eyes held a sharp, shrewd glint.
Hearing Elias's response, the youth moved up a few steps, stopping three steps below Elias.
"Hey, Uncle, sorry to disturb your rest."
He flashed a professional smile and pulled a folded charcoal sketch from his trench coat pocket, unfolding it before him.
Elias almost lost his composure.
Un-un-un-uncle?!
That was far too offensive!
"Just call me 'Sir' would be fine."
He clearly hadn't realized how prickly the beard on his face had become since returning from the island.
If he let it grow a while longer, he could pass for Blackbeard.
"Alright then, Sir."
"I don't believe I've spoken with you yet."
"Did you happen to see this gentleman while you were in the hotel today?"
An gloomy face was sketched in charcoal on the paper.
It was none other than the dead mystic—Firth.
Elias didn't answer immediately.
He made a show of leaning in closer, squinting his eyes as he examined it carefully under the dim light of the hallway gas lamps.
Since he was an 'Uncle,' it was only natural for his eyesight to be poor, right?
"Doesn't look familiar."
After a few seconds, Elias shook his head with a natural expression.
"This guy looks quite unlucky; I'd probably remember if I'd seen him."
"Is he a guest here?"
Elias asked back, a hint of curiosity in his tone, just like any other citizen who loved a bit of gossip.
"Yes."
The youth tucked the sketch away, observing Elias's expression as he spoke in a steady voice:
"Regrettably, this gentleman passed away earlier tonight."
"Passed away?"
Elias raised an eyebrow, a flicker of surprise surfacing at the right moment, which then quickly transitioned into a polite expression of regret.
"That really is a shame."
His tone sounded sincere, as if he were mourning a neighbor he had never met.
"He died on the beach to the west of the city. Did you go there at any point today?"
"I certainly did not."
Elias wore a contemplative look.
"Was he murdered?"
"Good heavens, when will the security in Hastings Port ever improve!"
He began to grumble.
Of course, he knew the other party might be suspicious of this question due to the sensitivity of an interrogation.
The youth smiled.
"I don't believe I mentioned that this gentleman was murdered?"
Elias let out a couple of mocking, dry chuckles.
"You stopped me just to investigate, didn't you?"
"If he had died of natural causes, you wouldn't be asking me."
These two sentences instantly dispelled the youth's suspicions; he felt as though the other man was mocking his intelligence.
Unfortunately, he lacked evidence.
"Since you know I'm investigating..."
"Then, Sir, it's already nearly midnight."
The youth pointed to the watch on his wrist, his gaze burning as he looked at Elias.
"If you don't mind me asking, where have you been so late?"
Elias's brain was working at high speed.
"Where have I been?!"
"I finally got some time off and originally wanted to go for a drink."
Elias sighed, looking helpless.
He deliberately spoke vaguely.
In this situation, when facing questioning from a professional, if you speak too specifically, the other party will feel you are being unnatural, as if reciting a rehearsed script.
Conversely, if you say too little or hesitate, it's easy for them to read the guilt on your face.
Therefore, the best choice was to be somewhat unclear, maintaining the distance one would have with a stranger while indirectly revealing one's identity and state.
This made it easier to gain trust.
Furthermore, lying should follow the 'thirty-seventy principle.'
Thirty percent truth, seventy percent lies.
The truth was: he really was on leave, and he really was in a bad mood.
The lie was: he didn't go for a drink, but had instead experienced a great deal.
"Drinking?"
The youth frowned.
"Oh? But as far as I can see, you don't seem to have been drinking, Sir?"
The youth paused, his eyes becoming sharp.
The air froze for a moment.
Elias knew the critical moment had arrived.
If he couldn't explain why he said he went drinking but hadn't actually drunk anything, he would be going to the station for tea tonight.
"Don't even get me started!"
Elias suddenly waved his hand violently, his original helplessness instantly transforming into irritation and anger.
It was as if a long-suppressed fire had finally found an outlet.
"I wanted to go for a drink!"
"But with the security in Hastings Port being what it is, how am I supposed to drink?"
"I'd only walked a few steps when my wallet! My cash! It was all snatched!"
Elias pointed at his mud-spattered pant legs, complaining with spittle flying.
He turned the tables.
He packaged himself as a victim of a robbery.
This way, the lack of a smell of alcohol became logical, the mud on his pants became logical, and his current bad mood and late return were perfectly reasonable!
"So..."
Elias didn't give the other man time to think; he raised his eyelids and glanced at him with a resentful, questioning gaze:
"Are you a policeman?"
"You people only know how to care about cases involving dead people."
"Where were you when I was being robbed on the street?"
"What? Do you only care if the robber kills me?"
"And now, I just want to sleep. Could you please stop bothering me?"
"I don't care if that man is dead or alive; it has nothing to do with me!"
Elias spoke with increasing vigor, completely immersing himself in the role of an angry citizen who had just lost his money.
The youth clearly hadn't expected such a fierce reaction.
He was stunned for a moment, and his original scrutinizing gaze instantly became somewhat awkward.
"Uh... that is quite a shame, Sir."
The youth hurriedly waved his hands, trying to soothe the bristling man.
"I feel sorry for you; it truly is unfortunate."
"It's just... I'm not a policeman."
He pointed to the badge on his trench coat.
"We belong to a special detective department, only responsible for this specific case."
"If the amount of property you lost is significant, it's best to report it to the nearby police station as soon as possible."
"Report it?"
Elias let out a cold laugh, as if he had heard a joke.
"Forget it!"
"By the time those slow-moving police find those bastards..."
"My money will have been squandered by them long ago!"
This series of maneuvers left the youth completely at a loss.
It was just too realistic.
This distrust and resentment toward the police was a true reflection of every lower-class citizen in the Kingdom of Velen.
"I'm terribly sorry for disturbing you."
The youth smiled apologetically.
He had basically ruled out this man as a suspect.
A poor wretch who had just been robbed and was full of complaints didn't look like a tough character capable of taking down a Scale Two mystic no matter how you looked at him.
"Hmph!"
Elias let out a cold snort from his nose, didn't even look at the other man, and turned to continue upstairs.
His back was the picture of anger and exhaustion.
But in reality.
Both of his hands, which had been shoved into his trench coat pockets from the start, were already drenched in sweat from excessive tension.
One step, two steps.
Until he turned the corner of the stairs and completely disappeared from the youth's field of vision.
Until he took out his key, opened the door to Room 406, slipped inside, and quickly locked it behind him.
"Whew..."
Elias leaned against the door, letting out a long sigh of relief.
That was too intense.
This was more exhausting than fighting a siren.
...
By the stairs.
The youth named Dabu watched the direction where Elias had disappeared and shook his head helplessly.
"Wasn't it just a casual chat?"
"Was there any need to get that angry?"
"It's not like I was the one who robbed you."
If it weren't for the agency's rules.
He would have used a spell to mess with that unlucky fellow a bit.
However...
Dabu recalled the feeling of the close contact just now.
That middle-aged man, though he looked like an ordinary person.
Seemed to have an extremely faint trace of spirituality about him?
Dabu thought pensively.
But he didn't look into it further.
After all, in the Kingdom of Velen, ordinary people with some talent did exist.
Perhaps that unlucky fellow just had naturally high spirituality.
Dabu turned and walked back toward Room 302, putting the episode out of his mind.
The priority now wasn't to worry about a robbed passerby.
What gave them the biggest headache was still that crazy, incoherent woman in the bathroom.
That cultist had been completely corrupted, and the difficulty of interrogating her was absolute hell.
...
Inside Room 406.
Elias didn't immediately relax his guard.
He first walked to the window in the dark, carefully drawing the curtains to ensure there were no gaps.
Only then did he fumble to turn the valve of the gas lamp and strike a match.
The dim yellow light flared up, dispelling the darkness in the room and bringing a long-awaited trace of warmth.
Elias sat on the edge of the bed, but he didn't lie down immediately.
He remained sitting, listening intently for any movement outside the door.
The hallway was very quiet, with no footsteps approaching his room.
Ten minutes passed.
Safe.
Only then did Elias feel as if a thousand-pound weight had been lifted from him. He collapsed onto the soft bed, too lazy to even take off his shoes.
"Not bad!"
"What a performance!"
In his mind, Old Ed's voice rang out again, carrying a hint of praise.
"What? Did you cut the Mental Message again just now?"
Elias closed his eyes and asked irritably in his mind.
"Wasn't that because I was afraid they'd notice something?"
Old Ed said righteously.
"That was someone from the Seventh Agency."
"You certainly look out for me."
Elias also admitted the old ghost's caution was correct.
"I take it you were feeling a bit depressed earlier?"
Elias suddenly asked.
"Regarding what that black haired lady said?"
The air was silent for a few seconds.
"A little."
Edmond's voice sounded somewhat low, no longer as playful as usual.
"But I can be certain that I haven't lost any memories."
This time, Edmond's tone was more serious than ever before.
"Though I don't know why that woman said I was lying, or who she even is."
"Perhaps there's some misunderstanding."
"Anyway, Elias, don't worry."
"I won't harm you."
"We're in this together."
"I'm still counting on you to get me to Arlington."
"Hmm?"
"So who exactly is Olivia?"
Elias suddenly thought of the name Old Ed had mentioned while on the island.
"My granddaughter."
Edmond's voice softened, filled with a thick sense of nostalgia.
"She was only two years old when I died."
"She had just learned how to walk."
"Then she'd be fifty-two by now."
Elias silently calculated the time in his mind, offering a cold reminder.
Fifty years had passed.
"Yeah!"
Old Ed let out a melancholy sigh. The sound echoed in Elias's mind, carrying an indescribable weariness.
"Time has no meaning for the dead, but it's too cruel for the living."
"There are always some people you don't get the chance to say goodbye to."
Elias didn't speak.
He could feel the old ghost's current low mood.
"If..."
After a long while, Old Ed spoke again.
"I mean if."
"When you get to Arlington and find that the child is no longer there."
"Then you don't need to look for her."
"Just find a place in Arlington with a good view—preferably a hillside where you can see the sunset."
"Bury this bracelet."
"And send me on my way."
Rate on N.U.
