Mystery: The Traveler Who Holds the Star Key

Monday, 2:50 p.m.

The sky over Backlund remained that lifeless, leaden gray.

It's like someone has put a dirty rag over the city.

Orion sat by the window of a mid-range hotel in the Joewood district, holding the monocle made of crystal in his hand.

He didn't move, but just listened quietly to the noise of the carriages passing by downstairs.

And the occasional slight twitching in my calf muscles, caused by the intense exercise last night.

The soreness felt very real.

It was so real that he felt a severe disconnect between the "madman who ran wildly through the streets for steak" from last night and the "charlatan about to ascend into the gray fog" of today.

"call……"

He breathed on his monocle and gently wiped away the fingerprints with a soft cloth.

The movements were meticulous and slow, like polishing a gun that was about to be loaded.

As the fingerprints disappeared, the weariness in his eyes was forcibly suppressed.

2:58.

Orion put on his glasses and adjusted the upward curve of his lips.

The "commoner" who would grimace in pain because of leg pain has disappeared.

Instead, there is that tower overlooking destiny.

"Time to go to work."

……

Above the gray fog, an eternally silent temple stands.

A series of deep red rays shot into the sky, solidifying into several blurry human figures beside the bronze table.

Good afternoon, Mr. Fool.

Good afternoon, Mr. Hanged Man.

Miss Audrey Hall's light, lark-like voice rang out first.

She was always so full of energy, as if the smog of Backlund could never erode the noble lady's good mood.

Orion condensed his movements and leaned back skillfully.

Everyone is present.

Before Klein could even speak to maintain order...

Audrey's barely suppressed voice of excitement rang out:

"Mr. Fool, Lanruus is dead!"

Upon hearing this name, Alger, the "Hanged Man" who had remained silent until then, suddenly looked up.

Even Derrick, who was still in a daze, sensed the change in atmosphere.

"Yes."

Klein's voice was completely flat, as if he had known everything all along:

"I know."

Audrey's eyes lit up instantly, the kind of adoration a fan feels when they see their idol confirmed:

"Viscount Grelint told me that Lanius died in the sewers."

His body was covered with many tarot cards!

"There is the Hanged Man, the Sun, the World, Justice... and of course, the Fool."

She turned to Orion, her emerald eyes gleaming with a desire for confirmation:

"And your card, Mr. 'The Tower'."

"This was simply a perfect... trial."

Audrey pictured the scene in her mind:

In the dark and filthy sewers, the gods' favored ones descend from the sky.

Using tarot cards as instruments of torture, a sacred execution was carried out against the blasphemous fraudster.

What majesty, what a sense of ceremony!

This must be a manifestation of the collective will of the "Tarot Club"!

Faced with the girl's eager gaze seeking confirmation, Orion did not deny it.

He looked at Audrey through his monocle, a subtle, approving smile playing on his lips.

"Your intuition is very sharp, Miss Justice."

His voice was neither too loud nor too soft, carrying a calmness as if he were commenting on an opera that had just ended:

"However, compared to the word 'trial'..."

"I prefer to call it... a 'forced curtain call'."

"The curtain call?" Audrey was slightly taken aback.

"yes."

Orion leaned back, crossed his arms, and spoke with an unfathomable depth:

"A bad actor has occupied the stage for too long and made too much noise."

"Therefore, someone has to pull the gate and let everything... return to silence."

He stared at a point in the void, his gaze turning deep and unfathomable:

"Those tarot cards were nothing more than a final...funeral bouquet for this failed actor."

"They suit each other very well, don't they?"

A brief silence fell over the entire room.

Audrey pondered these words carefully, and the admiration in her eyes not only did not diminish but grew even stronger.

The killing was not motivated by anger, but by a desire to "correct the stage" and bring it to a "curtain call."

What composure! What grace!

In Mr. "The Tower's" eyes, is even a game between demigods nothing more than a drama that needs to be corrected?

"Now that the curtain has fallen, let it return to silence."

Klein, seated at the head of the table, spoke at the opportune moment, his voice calm and deep.

He perfectly caught the "artistic metaphor" thrown out by his own assistant.

He chuckled softly, his gaze seemingly piercing through the gray fog to look at that murky world, his tone carrying a barely perceptible hint of pity and sigh:

"Unfortunately... beneath this glamorous stage."

"There are many 'actors' as twisted and insane as him."

"In such an era..."

"What a breeding ground for evil gods."

A breeding ground for the descent of evil gods?

Alger's heart clenched.

He keenly grasped the deeper meaning behind the phrase "fool".

Lanius is associated with the "true creator".

And the fool laments the comfortable bed...

Is this an indication that more similar conspiracies are brewing on this land?

"hotbed?"

Audrey was somewhat puzzled, as a noblewoman living in a privileged environment.

She found it difficult to associate the bustling Backlund with this word.

"You mean...those criminals?"

"No."

The "world," which had been silent all along, suddenly spoke.

That was Klein's time to play the straight man.

He described it slowly in a hoarse voice, as if it contained grit:

"In the East District, in those sunless, muddy puddles..."

"They're not human, they're just breathing animals."

"Five or six people crammed into a moldy cage, selling their flesh for a penny, slitting the throats of their fellow human beings for half a pound of spoiled black bread."

"The children there are ghosts who died young, and the workers are burning ashes."

That's why the old saying, born of despair, remains: In the East End, white hair... is rarer than gold.

Audrey was stunned.

Although she knew the slums were miserable, she never imagined it would be such a stark and bloody hellish scene.

"How could this... happen?"

She muttered to herself, feeling her worldview crumbling.

Are you surprised?

A light, airy voice drifted in.

Orion fiddled with his monocle, a half-smile playing on his lips.

In this atmosphere filled with compassion and heaviness, his voice seemed out of place, yet terrifyingly sharp.

"Miss Justice, there's nothing surprising about that."

"For the factory owners and members of parliament in Backlund, it wasn't hell."

"That's... heaven."

"Heaven?" Audrey looked at him in disbelief.

"Yes, a paradise of industrial miracles."

Orion spread his hands, his tone as relaxed as if he were explaining the working principle of a sophisticated machine:

"Miss Justice, please abandon your superfluous sympathy and try to think like a factory owner."

"In this age of steam roaring, they are not human."

"It's... a human-shaped piece of coal."

Through his monocle, his eyes revealed a chilling blend of rationality and indifference:

"If a piece of high-quality coal is burned in the furnace for too long and turns into 'ash' that cannot be completely burned, it is a waste of boiler space."

"The best fuel should be used before the age of thirty, when the firepower is at its peak... to burn completely to ashes."

"Then it gets blown away by the wind, making room for the next shovelful of fresh coal."

He looked at Audrey's bloodless face and softly added a final, chilling conclusion:

"Only in this way can the steam engine named 'Backlund'... turn faster than anyone else's."

"As for the cries of the ashes?"

Orion, as if he had heard a funny joke, asked in return:

"Miss Justice, don't be silly."

Have you ever seen...coal cinders cry out in pain?

boom.

These words struck Audrey like a thunderbolt.

Looking at the elegant "tall" gentleman in front of her, she felt a chill run from the soles of her feet to the top of her head.

That was even more despairing than the tragedy described in "The World"... a rational indifference.

The world allowed her to see the surface of suffering.

And the "Tower"... directly and brutally exposes the most brutal operating logic of this sophisticated machine to everyone.

Klein sat deep in the gray fog, offering neither rebuttal nor further comment.

In such situations, silence is the best evidence.

Only by truly seeing through this bloody and brutal "reality" can one truly understand it.

Only then can true "kindness" not become cheap "self-pity".

"alright."

Klein tapped the table lightly, ending the overly heavy topic.

"Let's begin the transaction."

The Fool's calm and authoritative voice echoed within the temple, forcibly pulling everyone's thoughts back to the long table.

The cold gaze of "the world" falls upon us, while "the tower" casually wipes its monocle.

Facing these two extremely imposing gazes.

Alger felt a chill run down his spine.

He took a deep breath and decided to drop a bombshell to stabilize the situation.

"There's something urgent before the transaction."

Alger's voice was low and deep, carrying the suppressed tension of an impending storm:

"The landscape at sea has changed dramatically."

"A new pirate general has been born—"

"General of Disease, Tracy."