Mystery: The Traveler Who Holds the Star Key

Jowood district, hotel suite.

Orion was awakened from a nightmare.

My dreams are filled with those flying gemstone dust.

And the tragic scene of being forced to work as a porter at the docks due to bankruptcy, only to be whipped by a devilish overseer wearing a monocle.

He sat up abruptly, his pajamas soaked with cold sweat.

The suffocating feeling of being pressed against the face by a Sequence 6 demon still lingered, making his heart pound wildly.

"Then who the hell is it?"

After calming down, my spiritual intuition as an astrologer began to review the events.

The monster displayed madness and bloodlust.

This immediately reminded him of the recent sensational news reports about the serial heart-rigging murders targeting streetwalkers.

"Serial killer... Demonic path..."

Orion rubbed his temples, trying to unearth the fading memories of the transmigrator.

He had been immersed in the role for too long in order to digest the "Master of Tricks" potion.

Many details from the early parts of the original work are like looking through frosted glass.

"There's no other way but to ask Mr. K for help."

Orion quickly washed up, hurriedly stuffed two bites of cold bread into his mouth, and tried to clear his head.

Then, he skillfully arranged the spiritual wall, took four steps backward, and whispered in ancient Hermetic:

"A fool who doesn't belong to this era..."

Above the gray fog, that great being cast its gaze.

Orion gave a vague account of his encounter in the East End last night.

He prayed that "The Fool" could help him recall clues about the demon's identity.

Almost instantly.

The fog that shrouded memory was lifted by an invisible hand.

Several key fragments flashed clearly through his mind like a slideshow:

Jason Beria.

[Public identity: Banker on Edward Street in the West End, warm and outgoing, single.]

[Feature: Owns a giant black demon dog.]

[True Face: Cold blue eyes, high cheekbones—this is a true demon in human skin.]

"call……"

Orion finished his prayers and slumped into a chair, his face pale.

Jason Beria.

The madman who committed several major crimes in the original work and even assassinated Duke Negan in the end.

Last night, I actually fought a full-level demon who was hunting for advancement? And I survived?

"...Is this what they mean by 'ignorance is bliss'?"

Orion gave a wry smile, then his eyes became incredibly determined.

I will never stage an accident to extort money.

The foolish act of going to fight the devil alone in the name of justice is absolutely not something a qualified member of the Gou family would do.

This kind of thing can be left to the official "punishers" and "night watchmen" to investigate.

Those criminals and lunatics, when they fight, it's like they're all self-destructing trucks.

The Gou family only uses underhanded tactics, not risking their lives.

"I will never go to the East District after dark."

Orion made a silent vow.

He then glanced at his balance sheet.

After deducting last night's "unexpected expenses" and the "holding tax" on the sealed items.

His cash flow had plummeted to a level that would have given him a heart attack.

Fear was instantly replaced by anxiety.

We need to make money.

For safety, so that I can later use gold coins to kill demons, and also to cleverly digest the astrologer's potion.

We must immediately and without delay go and deceive those foolish and wealthy nobles!

……

Nine o'clock in the morning.

Orion first went to 15 Minsk Street.

Seeing his assistant's resentful expression, as if he had just been robbed of a million dollars and was extremely depressed, Klein readily granted him a day off and considerately did not ask what had happened last night.

After leaving the detective agency, Orion headed straight for the department store.

This is a battle we must win; our equipment must be upgraded.

Half an hour later, when he came out of the locker room, the slightly flamboyant Intis speculator had disappeared.

Instead, there was an absolutely rational gentleman from Ruen.

The dark gray, handmade three-piece set is meticulously tailored, with crisp fabric and no unnecessary patterns.

Only half an inch of the snow-white shirt was visible at the cuffs, exuding an extreme sense of asceticism and professionalism.

Her hair was combed meticulously and styled with hair wax.

Item Upgrade:

The bronze sextant was polished to a gleaming shine.

He also spent a lot of money to buy a slide rule with pure gold markings.

And a book as thick as a brick, "Celestial Dynamics and Probability Theory".

At last.

He walked into a high-end printing shop.

Ten minutes later, a box of gold-stamped business cards, exuding the fresh scent of ink, was produced.

There were no fancy patterns on it, only a single title that would brighten the eyes of any bewildered nobleman:

Independent Actuary/Macro Strategy Consultant

……

11:00 AM.

Although I swore I wouldn't go to the East District, it was nighttime.

During the day, the eastern district remains a safe trading area as long as you avoid secluded alleys.

A slightly dilapidated rental house.

Hugh Deercha, still troubled by his height, was so surprised to see Orian, who seemed like a completely different person, that he almost pulled out the triangular dagger from his waist.

At this moment, Orion's carefree demeanor as a "wandering, down-on-his-luck nobleman" had completely vanished.

Instead, there is a convincing, even somewhat oppressive, aura of elitism.

"I need to see Miss Audrey Hall."

Without wasting any words, Orion handed over the gold-embossed business card and a £5 note as a "referral fee".

He adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, his tone exuding unwavering confidence:

"I know you have connections. Take me there."

"After it's done, I'll give you 10% of my consulting fee."

Hugh glanced at the business card, then at the 5 pounds in cash.

As an extraordinary individual who had already risen to Sequence 8 [Sheriff], her intuition told her that this man was dangerous.

But her wallet told her that this deal was a good one.

"...Come with me."

……

The Earl of Hall's luxurious villa in Queens.

Walk through a garden that is manicured to perfection, like a geometric shape.

Orion stood before the carved mahogany door.

Hugh had already gone to the side gate to inform the familiar head maid.

Ten minutes later.

A well-dressed butler with an arrogant expression came out.

"Miss Hall has gone to a charity art exhibition and will be back in about two hours."

The butler sized Orion up and down, captivated by his rigorous scholarly demeanor, and his tone became slightly more polite:

"If you'd like to wait, you can rest for a while in the side room."

"That would be my honor."

Orion nodded slightly, holding his briefcase in one hand, his tone calm and polite.

Inside the side hall.

The walls were adorned with soft, Intis-woven carpets and several valuable oil paintings.

But Orion was not in the mood to appreciate art.

Ever since he sat down, a gaze has been fixed on him.

It was a big golden retriever.

It lay on the carpet in front of the fireplace and didn't bark at him like a normal dog would.

Instead, she observed him quietly with an almost scrutinizing gaze.

Orion glanced at the dog without making a sound.

In his vision, filled with hidden starlight.

Countless pale blue specks of light, like dust particles attracted by a magnetic field.

They gathered in fragments, floating around the golden retriever's head.

They coalesced into several rows of slanted, glowing labels that seemed ready to dissipate at any moment:

Risk Level: Low

<Spiritual Brilliance: Sequence 8 Levels>

<Intelligence Level: Abnormal>

<Mental state: Currently assessing your threat level>

"...Mind readers?"

Orion's lips twitched slightly as he politely nodded to the golden retriever.

Yet, a strange, bitter feeling welled up inside me.

Ancestors above!

Just a few days ago, I was juggling magnesium powder in the sewers...

The dog, however, was already lying on the Intis woven carpet, trying to read minds.

Reincarnation is indeed a skill.

In this damned world, "effort" is utterly worthless compared to the starting point of "the Hall family's dog".

Susie seemed to be taken aback for a moment, and then surprisingly tilted her head in a human-like manner, as if in response to his greeting.

Two hours passed in the blink of an eye during this strange eye contact between the man and the dog.

The sound of a carriage suddenly stopping came from outside the door.

Immediately following was a young man's loud, slightly anxious voice, which echoed down the hallway even before he entered the room:

"Butler! Where is Audrey?"

"Get her out here! That so-called 'psychic master' is a complete fraud!"

I still haven't found my pocket watch...

Damn it, my luck lately is practically cursed by a witch!

The door to the side hall was pushed open.

The first to barge in was a well-dressed but impetuous young nobleman—

Viscount Grelint.

He originally wanted to complain to Audrey about that charlatan.

When he looked up, he saw Orian sitting on the sofa.

And, there was that big golden retriever lying on the ground with an innocent look on its face.

Grynt was stunned.

He frowned, eyeing the aloof stranger with some wariness.

"Who are you? Earl Hall's new secretary?"

Orion stood up calmly.

He didn't answer immediately, but instead swept his gaze over Grlint with an extremely professional look, as if he were assessing a balance sheet.

In that instant.

Without activating his spiritual vision, no one could see the fleeting glint in Orion's eyes.

That wasn't the look in someone's eyes.

That's like a butcher seeing top-grade Wagyu beef, or a miner seeing an open-pit gold mine.

"The fat sheep... oh no, the customer is here."

Orion instantly suppressed the greed in his eyes, and a perfectly timed, cold smile with mathematical logic curled at the corners of his lips.

He straightened his perfectly smooth cuffs, took the gold-embossed business card from his pocket, and presented it to him with both hands in textbook-perfect business etiquette:

"Nice to meet you, Your Excellency Viscount."

"Miss Hall is not available at the moment."

"But perhaps I would have the honor of conducting a scientific risk audit for your 'bad luck'?"

Grelint instinctively took the business card.

My gaze fell.

Below the title "Independent Actuary" is a somewhat obscure name:

"I am Rosago Zangwell."