Mystery: The Traveler Who Holds the Star Key

Saturday, 2 PM.

15 Minsk Street.

Klein sat on a single sofa, holding a cup of black tea in his hand, his posture elegant and his expression relaxed.

That lunch on the Champs-Élysées was truly impeccable.

The foie gras melts in your mouth, and the Ormere wine is rich and has a sweet aftertaste.

Of course, what made him feel most happy was...

It was that astonishing number at checkout—

18 pounds.

This is equivalent to half a year's salary for an average worker.

Even to the middle class in Backlund, it was an astonishing sum of money.

This huge sum of money did not affect the savings in his bank account in the slightest.

"Boss..."

On the sofa opposite, Orion was sprawled out.

Clutching a tattered wallet, his eyes held the look of a salted fish that had lost its dreams.

"18 pounds."

He muttered to himself, as if calculating some mathematical problem concerning the survival of the world:

Do you know what that means?

"At current prices, this is equivalent to 4320 Dipsy pies."

"More than four thousand..."

He looked up, his face filled with an incomprehensible absurdity, and gestured a huge circle:

"I could have used these pies to build a fortress in the square, lived in it, and eaten until next winter."

"But I didn't."

He covered his face in anguish:

"I traded a 'pie fortress' for a damn goose that had never even flown."

"I feel like my stomach is filled with cement, not meat."

Klein put down his teacup, a barely perceptible smile curving his lips.

Even the moment I saw the bill.

His thrifty and hardworking heart also instinctively twitched.

But then I thought about how this money was tuition paid by some "magic master" for his fraudulent activities.

That heartache instantly transformed into a more secretive pleasure.

"Deliciousness usually comes at a price."

Klein spoke in a calm tone, with the composure and instructive manner characteristic of a great detective:

"This will teach you a lesson."

"Before planning this kind of 'surprise' again, think about your wallet first."

Orion clutched his face in pain and let out a wail:

"I was wrong... This rate for 'compensation for emotional distress' is way too high..."

"For the next two weeks, I'm afraid I'll have to live on leftover Dipsy pies."

Klein didn't reply, but simply picked up the newspaper next to him in a good mood.

Although he also felt bad about the money, even if it belonged to someone else.

But this kind of "luxury without spending your own money" is indeed the best medicine for healing your mood.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

An elderly gentleman with gray hair and impeccable attire stood outside the door, looking somewhat anxious.

"Hello, is this Detective Moriarty? I'm Miller Carter."

The old gentleman got straight to the point, pulling out a thick wad of banknotes:

"I just bought a house on Williams Street, but the basement... feels very unclean."

I would like to ask you to investigate and eliminate any potential risks.

"The reward is £50, in cash."

50 pounds.

Klein's previously somewhat gloomy eyes instantly lit up.

He quickly activated his spiritual vision to scan the area and confirmed that the other party meant no harm.

He turned to look at Orion, who was still lounging on the sofa.

"Put on a coat."

Klein was concise and to the point.

"what?"

Orion paused for a moment, then pointed to the clock on the wall, looking resistant.

"Boss, today is Saturday."

In accordance with the spirit of the Russell Code, this is a statutory rest...

"That meal cost 18 pounds, your wallet must be empty by now, right?"

Klein stood up, putting on his hat as he calmly interrupted him:

"This order, cash, £50."

He turned his head, looking down at his assistant on the sofa, and offered an irresistible bait:

"Come with me, and I'll give you 10 pounds to 'recover' your losses. Or you can stay in bed and starve for the next two weeks."

"Choose one of the two."

Orion sprang to his feet from the sofa in an instant, nimbly grabbing his coat and cane, his face showing no trace of fatigue:

"At your service, sir! Are we going to save the world or catch a cat?"

……

8 Williams Street.

This is a house under renovation, and the air is filled with the smell of paint and sawdust.

Mr. Miller led the two to the basement entrance, his face somewhat pale:

"It's right down there."

Every time I try to go inside, I feel like something is watching me...

That chilly feeling definitely wasn't a ventilation issue.

"Cold and damp?"

Orion immediately got into character as the "magic master".

He took an exaggerated deep breath, then frowned and lowered his voice:

"Oh...that's true."

Orion, as if he had smelled some kind of deadly poison, quickly covered his mouth and nose with a handkerchief.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Miller."

His voice came through the handkerchief, sounding muffled, yet all the more unsettling:

"The concentration of 'resentment' in the air is too high."

He turned his head and glanced at his employer with a look of pity, as if looking at a dead man:

"A standard purification ritual might not be enough. To save your life, I have no choice but to use some..."

"A more expensive, non-recyclable, one-time-use relic."

Before he could finish speaking, a terrified Miller screamed:

"Money is no object! Use the best! Please use the most expensive one!"

Klein walked ahead expressionlessly, carrying a lantern.

He silently rolled his eyes in his mind.

This kid really has no shame when it comes to digesting the potion.

The three of them walked along the dimly lit passageway.

The place is extremely spacious, with strange patterns carved on the stone walls on both sides.

The further you go in, the more humid the air becomes, and it even carries a faint fishy smell.

Finally, a heavy, black double stone door blocked the way at the end.

"It's...it's right here."

Miller dared not approach any further and hid behind Orion.

Klein raised the lantern and, without any hesitation, pushed open the stone door.

squeak-

A dull groan echoed in the deathly silent basement.

As the stone door slowly opened, the nauseating stench instantly intensified tenfold.

By the dim light of the lantern, Klein could see the scene inside the door.

That's a snake.

Not one, nor several.

Instead, there are hundreds or even thousands!

In the center of that spacious hall, in those collapsed pillars and crevices.

Countless black-bodied, red-striped venomous snakes were densely packed together.

They resembled a wriggling carpet, intertwined and spitting out their tongues.

Upon hearing the door open, countless pairs of cold, vertical pupils turned around simultaneously, emitting a chilling hissing sound.

That instant.

Klein maintained the great detective's final dignity.

He stood at the doorway, his back ramrod straight, his hands in his coat pockets, his expression cold and icy.

The hellish scene before him seemed utterly unappealing to him.

Only Orian, who was standing behind him, knew.

My boss has crashed.

Klein's palms were covered in cold sweat, and his hands, which were tucked into his pockets, were gripping the fabric tightly. His whole body was as stiff as a board.

A high-decibel scream, loud enough to shatter a spirit, was raging within him:

I didn't do anything to you! Why are you showing me this?!

Why a snake?! Even an evil spirit would be fine!

My legs are weak... I can't move... Someone please help me...

Just when the atmosphere was extremely awkward and Miller was about to scream.

A hand gently patted Klein's stiff shoulder.

"Step back, boss."

Orion stepped out from behind.

Looking at the dense swarm of snakes, he felt no nausea whatsoever.

Instead, he seemed to see a long-awaited audience, and a neurotic smile curled at the corner of his mouth.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the performance has begun."

He didn't chant any incantation; he simply tossed the glass bottle aside like a madman strolling in his own backyard.

Snapped.

The snap of the fingers was crisp and clear.

"Give them a... enthusiastic round of applause."

boom!!!

Magnesium powder exploded.

The intense light and explosion instantly engulfed the snake swarm.

No nonsense, no incantations, just a simple and brutal chemical reaction.

The smoke dissipated.

Amidst the pervasive smell of sulfur, Orion straightened his collar and turned to look at the two dumbfounded people.

Miller was dumbfounded:

"What...what kind of exorcism magic is this?"

"This method is called 'physical salvation'."

"It was a bit noisy, but it was thorough."

Orion spoke as casually as if he had just thrown away a bag of trash, and the potion in his body was being digested in a pleasant way.