Mystery: The Traveler Who Holds the Star Key

The air in the basement seemed to freeze, with only the monotonous sound of dripping water from the pipes.

Lanius held the crumpled, greasy parchment map between two fingers, as if he were pinching the tail of a dead rat with disgust.

But he didn't throw it away.

Because the lines on it were so detailed, so detailed that they marked every single collapse point and ventilation opening that only rats that spend years underground would know about.

"Master...Master..."

The "sleazy ratman" at my feet was kneeling on the ground, trembling uncontrollably.

Those cloudy eyes dared not look at anyone, but were fixed on the money pouch at Lanluus's waist, so greedy they were almost drooling:

"This is...this is the treasure trove that 'big shot' uses to smuggle cigarettes! Even those corrupt government dogs in red gloves don't know about it!"

"If it weren't for... if it weren't for the recent crackdown, I wouldn't be selling it... You, you really want to pay?"

Orion embodied the word "humility" to the very core of his being.

He not only controlled his facial muscles, but also made them twitch uncontrollably.

Even the pheromones emanating from his body, a mixture of fear and sweat, perfectly replicated all the characteristics of a scumbag from the sewers.

Lanius pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses, his gaze behind the lenses scraping across the useless man before him like a scalpel.

Fear? It is real.

Greed? Absolutely!

In this world full of madness and mystery.

Lanius did not believe in gods or men.

But he believed in one thing—

Inherent flaws.

A piece of sewer trash who would sell his soul for a few pennies.

He absolutely has no courage to deceive an extraordinary being who could crush him at any moment.

"Only the dead don't lie."

Lanius chuckled softly, his fingers resting on the revolver at his waist.

The "ratman" on the ground was instantly terrified and collapsed to the ground, letting out a scream that sounded like its tail had been stepped on:

"Don't kill me! Don't kill me! I'm still useful! Only I know how to open the traps ahead! Without me, even if you have the map, you won't be able to get out!"

now it's right.

Lanius's smile deepened.

If this guy isn't afraid of death, then there's a problem.

This ugly behavior of disregarding everything to survive is the most authentic "passport".

The sirens outside blared incessantly, the hounds of the official extraordinary being closing in.

There was no time to hesitate.

"I don't kill trash, because trash isn't worth my bullets."

Lanius took off his money pouch and threw it in front of the puddle of sewage like trash.

The heavy gold pound struck the ground with a crisp sound that made the "ratman's" soul tremble.

"Take it and get out of here. Lead the way."

Lanius rose gracefully, brushed off non-existent dust from his robes, his eyes filled with the compassion and arrogance of a powerful man:

"Thank fate, your vile greed has saved your life today."

Orion lunged at the money pouch, clutching it tightly to his chest like a hungry dog ​​pouncing on its prey, kowtowing and snot streaming down his face.

"Thank you, sir! Thank you, sir! You are my god! This way, please!"

He led the way, his back hunched, looking utterly pathetic and disheveled.

But in the shadows unseen by Lanius.

On that face covered in mud and fake sores, Orion's lips curled into a very subtle smile...

It curved upwards slightly in a crazy arc.

That's the smile on a predator's face as it watches its prey and then puts its own neck into the noose.

Run faster, Lanius.

Your "god" is waiting for you ahead...

……

On Sunday afternoon, the sky over East Bayon Dockyard was as gloomy as a moldy loaf of bread.

Orion leaned against the streetlamp, casually peeling an orange, until the heavy union door was pushed open.

Klein, disguised as a reporter, came out.

Although he still wore gold-rimmed glasses, maintaining a facade of refinement.

But Orion saw right through the molten lava beneath his calm surface.

Klein's fingers were trembling, and there was redness and swelling at the corners of his eyes from vigorously washing his face.

He didn't take the orange Orian offered, but instead took a deep breath, his voice like sandpaper scraping across a table:

"It's him."

"That's the smell of rotten flesh being baked in the scorching sun... My sanity is screaming."

In that instant, the orange in Orion's mouth suddenly became so sour that his teeth chattered.

He crushed the orange peel on the ground as if crushing someone's bones.

Everything about Tingen flashed through his mind in an instant:

Captain Dunn Smith, who always has a bad memory.

Old Neil, who was meticulous in saving money.

Those night watch teammates who fell in pools of blood.

Lanius not only swindled the life-saving money of the poor in Tingen.

Furthermore, in order to please the evil god, the entire squad was treated as a sacrifice.

They completed the massacre, which they called a ritual, by stepping over their corpses.

Every drop of blood, every cry of agony, has become a debt that must be repaid at this moment.

"The red gloves are on their way."

Orion swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth, his tone returning to its usual cold and shrewd manner, as if he were dealing with human lives as a mathematical problem.

"Don't be a hero, boss. Lanius is a bomb covered in spikes right now; anyone who touches him dies."

"Let those 'free laborers' in red gloves go first. Once they've stripped away that turtle shell called 'divinity' and turned him into a bald rat that can only burrow into holes..."

"That's when we step in."

Klein pushed up his glasses, a cold glint flashing across the lenses.

He instantly understood his assistant's subtext.

The authorities were responsible for the frontal assault, while they were responsible for the rear-area cleanup.

"You want to... corner him down there?"

"No."

Orion shook his head, his smile devoid of warmth, carrying only a certainty that seemed to have been written in advance:

"It's an execution."

……

Sunday, nightfall.

Deep beneath the East District, in the complex drainage system.

The bright lights on the ground contrasted sharply with the cold and damp atmosphere here.

This is a kingdom of rats, a breeding ground for evil, and tonight's designated graveyard.

Orion walked alone through the muddy passageway.

Only the monotonous echo of his leather boots stepping in the sewage could be heard.

He held in his hand the map covered in red circles—

That was the original copy he had just sold to Lanius for an "astronomical price".

He is no longer the sleazy "black market ratman".

Rather, it is the sole ruler of this vast underground labyrinth.

He is conducting the final "stage inspection".

"This road is too wide, I don't like it."

Orion stopped at a fork in the road, took out a bottle of dark blue alchemical powder from his pocket, and casually sprinkled it on the left-hand entrance.

Upon contact with air, the powder instantly transforms into a distorted, ghost-like purple wisp of smoke, emitting a low-frequency humming sound similar to that emitted during a "red glove" probe, due to the chemical reaction.

As soon as Lanius gets here, this group of "fake pursuers" will drive him back to the right path like sheepdogs.

Dead end.

"This road won't work either; the wind direction is wrong and it will mess up the customers' hairstyles."

He then wrapped a very thin tripwire around the pipe on the right, connecting it to a simple sound-producing device.

Once touched, it will simulate the sound of a mechanical heart steam rifle being cocked.

"Only this road... well, this road leading to a dead end looks the most pleasing to the eye."

Orion clapped his hands in satisfaction, humming an unknown tune, like a freakish scientist designing a maze for lab mice:

"Run, you clever con artist!"

"You'll find that all the other roads are blocked, except for the 'VIP passage' I'm selling to you, which is safe."

"This isn't a trap, it's called... user experience optimization."

He artificially wove countless branching paths into a giant funnel.

The only exit of the funnel points to a dead end that was already chosen.

There, a clown with comical makeup and tears streaming down his face will be waiting for the audience to enter.

Having done all this, Orion leaned against the shadows and glanced at his pocket watch.

A faint tremor came from the ground.

That nauseating, decadent stench wafted through the thick layer of soil.

The official offensive has begun.

Cecima, the Night Watch Deacon, is peeling away the wrapping paper called "divinity".

"The timing is perfect."

Orion gave a graceful bow to the dark entrance, as if welcoming a superstar about to make his entrance:

"Lights ready, stage ready, death ready."

"Please begin your performance, Mr. Lanius."

……

Meanwhile, on the ground.

In the shadow of the clock tower.

Klein, wearing that comical clown mask, stood silently in the cold wind.

He had no idea what kind of "fraudulent show" was going on below; all he knew was that his enemy was closing in on the courtroom.

With each breath, the cold air he inhaled turned into a burning pain in his lungs, reminding him of that bloody afternoon in Tingen.

team leader……

Old Neil...

Melissa... Benson...

He silently recited these names in his heart.

That's not prayer.

That was an oath.

Suddenly, a violent spiritual fluctuation came.

That nauseating aura of divinity vanished.

Instead, a weak yet malevolent life force is joyfully burrowing deep underground.

coming.

Divinity has been separated.

The conman who lost his tortoise shell thought he had won.

Klein tidied his clothes one last time and then jumped off the clock tower.

Gravity captured him.

He was like a drop of thick ink, silently falling into that pitch-black abyss.

Darkness surged and instantly swallowed the comical clown mask.

A few seconds later.

The top of the clock tower was deserted.

The wind stopped.

The fog has solidified.

The whole world seemed to fall into a suffocating silence at that moment.

It was like the guillotine blade finally falling, just waiting for that first sound...

A bloodcurdling scream.