Mystery: The Traveler Who Holds the Star Key

The same scenario played out more than once over these three days.

The magician's hunt never requires sweating.

Day 1, Jack the "Golden Finger".

A master swindler who claims to be able to fool even psychics and has disappeared three times right under the noses of numerous police officers.

He tried to use the same trick against Orion.

But to their despair, they discovered that their prized deception skills were utterly inadequate in the face of the "evil spirits seeking revenge" woven by the "fog creation."

Orion didn't even move a finger; he simply flicked a coin deep in the mist.

The master, whose psychological defenses had collapsed, knelt on the ground.

Finally, he clung to Orion's leg, crying, begging to be taken to the police station that "absolutely has no ghosts."

Bounty: £40. Collecting this "stupidity tax" is as easy as tricking a child out of candy.

The next day, Kug, the "Rat King" of the sewers.

A 60-pound thug who has given the police a hard time with his thirty outlaws and underground labyrinths is trying to use his well-known human wave tactics to overwhelm his prey.

Faced with the surging mob of thugs.

Orion was simply standing at the end of a dead end.

It elegantly detonated the [Fog] and [Flash] that filled the passageway.

In the blinding intense light produced by the Tyndall effect.

Thirty blind men rushed to step onto that invisible, slippery oil film.

Suddenly, a series of satisfying cracking sounds, like dominoes falling, echoed through the narrow tunnel.

The so-called underground legion was reduced to a pile of writhing, rotting flesh in the blink of an eye.

Orion stepped over the Rat King's bruised and swollen face.

Even the soles of his Chelsea boots weren't wet; he looked as relaxed as if he were there to collect rent.

The third day, which is tonight.

As Orion dragged Billy, the "Butcher," who was bound hand and foot.

They threw him into the back alley of the Backlund police station like trash.

The middleman in charge of the connection was dumbfounded.

"Bravo goddess...are you going to rob the Backlund gangs of everything these next few days?"

The middleman counted the thick wad of banknotes in his hand.

He looked at the young man in front of him with awe.

Three days.

Three wanted criminals were arrested.

There wasn't a drop of blood on him, and his hair wasn't even messed up.

This is simply art.

"Just earning a little money to make ends meet."

Orion took the envelope containing £155 in cash.

Feeling its heavy weight, I finally felt a little better.

Although the methods were a bit dirty.

Although the whole process was just acting.

But who cares?

In this damn world, being able to make money elegantly is a skill in itself.

……

And so, it came to the late night of the fifth day.

When Orion turned two more unfortunate convicts into the thickness of his wallet.

The coded communication from Minsk Street finally emerged.

The message was brief, exuding the meticulousness and ruthlessness characteristic of a great detective:

"The trial is over; you are innocent and found not guilty. The firm will reopen tomorrow; please report to work on time."

"Tsk, the holiday is over."

Orion's fingertips ignited a cluster of eerie blue flames, engulfing the letter.

Then he turned and disappeared into the deeper darkness.

……

Queens, the most expensive area in Backlund.

There is no stench or smog in the East District here.

Only a meticulously manicured lawn and a detached villa that seemed exceptionally tranquil at this moment.

Night was falling.

Orion changed into a long, black robe.

He put on the specially made iron mask and stood in the shadow of an inconspicuous house.

The 300 pounds in my pocket, plus the 120 pounds I originally had.

This brings his current market value back to the safe level of £420.

But this is not enough.

I want to buy that sealed artifact that can save my life.

At the same time, it also has to maintain high daily expenses.

This amount of money will disappear instantly if there is even the slightest fluctuation.

"In this world full of mysteries, the gold pound..."

Orion touched the heavy money pouch inside his trench coat and sighed softly.

"...It is also a truly extraordinary power."

I was just about to knock on the door, following the rhythm I remembered.

Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks.

In the shadow of the garden side gate not far ahead.

Two figures shrouded in black robes were huddled together, whispering something.

Although I couldn't see her face clearly.

But that's 1.5 meters tall.

Even a long robe couldn't hide her petite figure, as if God had sawed off a piece of her body.

In particular, she was carrying a clearly illegal three-edged dagger on her back.

The one next to her looked like he hadn't woken up yet, leaning lazily against the wall.

He seemed to be holding something in his hand, something like a manuscript.

Hugh Deercha.

Fors Wall.

"Tsk."

Orion couldn't help but smile slightly behind his iron mask.

I was worried about the cash flow tonight, wondering if it would be too tight.

Unexpectedly, God delivered two walking ATMs right to the doorstep.

It looks like tonight's "Mr. A's Party" will be a must.

Not only can you buy things.

And incidentally... he can also do some "charity" that only time travelers can do.

"What a...wonderful night."

……

Inside the house, the living room has been converted into a temporary trading hall.

Under the dim gaslight, a dozen or so extraordinary individuals, all wearing masks and wrapped in black robes, sat scattered in various corners.

The atmosphere was oppressive and somber, with a faint, almost imperceptible, pungent smell of blood permeating the air.

On the single sofa at the very front sat a man with an almost otherworldly handsome appearance.

He simply sat there quietly, his cold gaze sweeping over the entire room, like a king surveying his territory.

Mr. A.

The Aurora Society's messenger, Sequence 5 "Shepherd," a ticking time bomb that could go insane at any moment.

The moment Orion entered the room, he immediately suppressed all his spiritual energy, even slowing down his breathing by half a beat.

As an orphan of the "Abraham" family.

At this distance, if one is not careful, one might trigger a resonance with certain characteristics within the other person's body, resulting in instant death.

But amidst the fear, Orion's gaze, hidden behind the iron mask, revealed an almost pathological obsession and regret.

Looking at Mr. A's chaotic spiritual light, which was even murky from absorbing too many souls.

He was like a librarian with obsessive-compulsive disorder who saw a rare and priceless book torn to shreds and stained with oil by a naughty child.

"It's too rough..."

Orion let out a sigh that only he could hear.

This method of gaining power by "swallowing" souls is like having to stuff an entire cow into your stomach just to get a sip of milk.

It is both bloody and inefficient.

"The shepherd is just a nouveau riche plunderer. As for me..."

He unconsciously rubbed his fingertips, the image of that unfinished, illusory book surfacing in his mind:

"When I reach Sequence 6, I will show this world what true 'omniscience and omnipotence' really means."

"Not by devouring, but by recording. Using the cleanest methods, we obtain the most violent divine authority for free."

He found an inconspicuous corner to sit down, as if he were invisible.

The transaction began quickly.

Various herbs, talismans, and spiritual materials circulated rapidly amidst hushed conversations.

until--

"Sequence 8, 'Sheriff' potion recipe."

A hoarse voice broke the silence.

A hooded man stood up, holding a piece of parchment in his hand, speaking arrogantly:

"450 pounds, no bargaining."

450 pounds.

In the corner, Orion keenly noticed that Hugh Deercha's body trembled violently.

The short man, who was only 1.5 meters tall, gripped the money bag tightly in his hand, his knuckles turning white from the force.

She seemed to be going through a fierce internal struggle, and tried to stand up several times.

The exorbitant price forced them to back down again.

"Too expensive..."

Orion heard her barely audible whisper.

Hugh had finally managed to save up 450 pounds, which was almost all her savings from the past year.

If she buys all the formulas, her future promotion materials and living expenses will be completely wiped out.

What's more, there was another person at the scene who raised their hand.

"460 pounds." Someone has placed an order.

In that instant, Hugh deflated like a punctured balloon, slumping into the chair with despair in her eyes.

This is the world of the extraordinary.

Even a hero can be brought down by a penny.

"This is a business opportunity."

Orion smiled silently beneath his mask.

He didn't say anything, but casually tore off a page of sticky note, picked up a pen, and the nib flew across the paper.

Then he beckoned to the ghost-like waiter.

He handed over the folded note and pointed in the direction where Xiu was.

……

Hugh was immersed in the frustration of "wasting several more months in Sequence 9".

Suddenly, a waiter appeared silently in front of her and handed her a neatly folded piece of paper.

Hugh paused for a moment, then took the box and opened it with a puzzled look.

The next second, her pupils contracted sharply, and she almost cried out in surprise!

The note contained only one line of text, written in elegant yet sharp handwriting:

[Sheriff's recipe. £220. Cash, now.]

No signature, no fluff.

There is only one insane number.

£220?!

Half the price?!

Hugh suddenly looked up, glancing around in surprise and uncertainty, trying to find the person who had passed him the note.

This looks too much like a trap; it's unbelievably cheap.

But then she saw the black-robed man wearing an iron mask in the corner.

The other person simply sat there quietly, turned their head slightly, and gently nodded their chin in her direction.

The gesture was casual, exuding a cool and composed air of "take it or leave it, I just need to cash out quickly."

"..."

Hugh took a deep breath.

I'm taking the gamble!

With Mr. A in charge at this gathering, no one dared to play tricks on the authenticity of the goods.

Without further hesitation, she moved as quickly as a hamster guarding its food.

He quickly counted out 220 pounds, stuffed it into his purse, and had the waiter hand it back.

……

A few minutes later.

Orion weighed the heavy money bag in his hand, feeling its alluring weight.

Asset update: 420 + 220 = 640 pounds.

Profits without any investment.

Thanks to the original author, thanks to knowledge.

And just then, the grand finale of the evening finally began.

"Next item."

A burly trader stepped forward and carefully took out a black iron box.

As the box was opened, a hot, sulfurous smell instantly filled the entire living room.

It was a finely crafted dark red leather glove with subtle, flowing patterns on its surface, resembling lava.

[3-054, code name: Scorching Thirst].

"This glove allows the user to master mid-series level fire abilities, including fireballs, fire blades, and fire-resistant skin. The downside is that it causes extreme thirst after use; if the user doesn't replenish fluids in time, their blood will boil and evaporate."

The seller looked around and quoted the bottom price:

"350 pounds."

The entire room fell silent.

Most people's funds have been almost completely depleted in the small transactions just now.

£350 in cash flow is a huge sum for a wild extraordinary person.

Moreover, this is a hot potato with a number on it.

Compared to a magic potion that can be drunk and transformed into permanent strength.

This is an externally mounted "lost item".

Not only could it attract persecution from the church at any time, but it also meant that possessing a treasure was a sin.

Without absolute power, it is often not a life-saving charm, but a death warrant that leads to murder and robbery.

The man who sold the formula seemed somewhat interested and was plotting something.

But Orion didn't give him a chance.

The moment he heard the price, he didn't hesitate for even a second.

Before he could even warm the money bag in his left hand, he had already raised the sign in his right.

The sound was steady, without the slightest fluctuation:

"350 pounds."

"I want it!"