Mystery: The Traveler Who Holds the Star Key

"A madman."

Orion did not evade Sharon's pointed question.

He extended a finger and tapped it lightly on the scratched card table, his tone as calm as if he were discussing the weather:

"A madman at the peak of Sequence 6, who could be promoted to Sequence 5 at any time."

"The extraordinary method is unknown, but its destructive power is extremely strong."

He's currently at a crucial point in his promotion process, and his emotions are extremely unstable.

Sharon in the mirror remained silent for two seconds.

Those azure eyes flickered slightly, and they gave their offer:

"Three days, £1000."

"puff--"

Marich, who was standing next to him, had just taken a sip of cheap beer and almost spat it all out.

He stared wide-eyed, as if looking at a robber taking advantage of a disaster:

"Although it's a competitor to the near-Series 5, this price..."

"Risk premium".

Sharon's voice remained flat, like a emotionless quote machine.

Orion's lips twitched.

He touched the few dozen pounds in cash he had left in his pocket and took a deep breath.

No money.

But he has goods that are more valuable than money.

"Deal made, but I don't have that much cash right now."

Orion pulled a heavy iron box from his pocket, slammed it on the table with a dull thud.

"This is that ambassador's extraordinary quality."

According to the market prices on the Backlund underground black market, its starting price is over £3500.

If there's a buyer in urgent need, a premium of up to £4500 is not a problem.

He pushed the tin box toward the mirror:

"I'll use it to buy you seven days of your time."

"For the past seven days, Miss Sharon has been my personal bodyguard."

And Mr. Marich…”

Orion turned to look at the zombie:

"You'll have to go to 15 Minsk Street and temporarily act as Sherlock Moriarty's assistant and bodyguard."

"By the way, although that detective looks frail, he is one of ours too."

You'd better not let him lose a single hair.

Marich looked at the metal box, his Adam's apple bobbing.

Even zombies need to eat, especially since the premium is ridiculously high.

"……make a deal."

Sharon stretched out a pale hand and swiftly rolled the metal box into the mirror, her movement as fast as a blur.

"For seven days, even if the bishop of the Church of Storms comes, he won't be able to touch you."

Get it done.

Seeing his figure disappear in the mirror, Orion breathed a sigh of relief.

Although my heart is bleeding, as long as I'm alive, I can always earn the money back.

As for how to defend against Jason's sudden attack?

Orion had already planned it out—a cunning rabbit has three burrows.

He rented temporary apartments near Storm Cathedral, St. Samuel's Church, and even near the headquarters of the Mechanical Heart.

Every night, we are randomly assigned to different accommodations through a lottery system.

Let that demon go find it!

I slept right under the noses of the punishers and the night watchmen!

Even if he had ten times the courage, he wouldn't dare to knock on my door, braving the thunder of the Lord of Storms and the seal of Charnis Gate!

……

The following day, in Queens, at Earl Hall's mansion.

When Orion stepped into the luxurious manor again, his treatment had changed dramatically.

If he was an "interesting intruder" a few days ago...

So today, he is the "holder of truth".

"Mr. Rosago! Amazing! Absolutely amazing!"

The usually composed Earl Hall was now holding a newly arrived urgent telegram, his face flushed with excitement:

"Just last night at midnight! A local riot broke out in the rubber plantations of Dongbailang! Several large plantations were burned down!"

"Because of your advice, I sold all the relevant futures before the market closed. Not only did I not lose money, but I also made this much by shorting!"

The count held up one hand and gestured a number that would make ordinary people dizzy.

Inside the restaurant, Miss Audrey Hall, who was enjoying an exquisite lunch, was secretly observing the "actuary" who was elegantly cutting steak with a look of admiration mixed with curiosity.

It's possible to predict riots thousands of kilometers away using only data models...

Is this the power of knowledge?

And today, there seems to be a "cool" aura around him?

Audrey vaguely sensed that there seemed to be something unseen hidden in the air around Orion.

"This is just basic procedure, Your Excellency."

Orion put down his knife and fork, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and maintained his enigmatic composure.

"Fate always favors those who respect data."

"This is your consultation fee."

Earl Hall very readily pushed a check for 500 pounds over.

"And, tonight there is an extremely important charity dinner at Earl Levitt’s house."

That's a true gathering of the elite, and I'd like to invite you to attend as my 'Chief Risk Advisor.'

Orion took the check, his gaze behind his glasses narrowing slightly.

Earl Levitt.

The Supreme Naval Commander of the Sunia Sea, and the older brother of the "Arbitrator" demigod Emilius Levitt.

"Since it was your invitation..."

Orion put the check into his pocket, smiled, and stood up:

"Then I must go back and prepare. After all, to handle that kind of occasion, I also need to prepare a... sufficiently substantial gift."

Lunch is over.

Amidst the warm farewell from Hall and his daughter, Orion boarded the carriage bound for the city.

With the car doors closed, the outside view was cut off.

The elite aura that belonged to "top consultants" inside the carriage vanished instantly.

"Five hundred pounds... all from a few lies."

The air distorted, and Sharon's figure, dressed in an elaborate black dress, appeared in the opposite seat.

Her azure eyes looked at Orion as if he were some kind of new hazardous waste, offering a succinct summary:

"fraud."

"Lies? Liars?"

Orion rubbed his stiff, smiling face, then suddenly held up an index finger and waved it rapidly from side to side at Sharon, adopting a serious, earnest expression.

"Wrong, wrong, terribly wrong! Miss Sharon, you have a deep misunderstanding of how this world works."

He leaned forward and began to spout nonsense in the fervent tone of a training institution instructor:

"How can this be called a scam? This is called 'customized hope'."

"It's like selling crutches."

"If a cripple thinks he can run."

"Then sell him a walking stick that's actually just a fire poker."

"If he actually dares to run away while leaning on that stick, then what you've sold him is a 'miracle'."

"As for whether that stick was picked up from the woodpile..."

Does it matter? Not at all.

Sharon watched him perform quietly.

Two seconds later, she expressionlessly reached out and tucked her smooth blonde hair behind her ear, then silently moved to the corner of the carriage.

That was physical isolation from "dirty things".

"...soliciting nonsense."

She uttered this comment coldly, her eyes filled with disdain that seemed to say, "I want to hang you on a streetlight."

Orion felt no embarrassment whatsoever; instead, he revealed a sly smile of triumph.

He carefully took out the few pieces of parchment, which had been artificially aged and covered with Chinese scribbles, from a hidden compartment in his suitcase. He flicked them lightly, and they made a crisp sound.

"Watch closely, Miss Sharon."

He stared at the paper in his hand, the mockery in his eyes fading.

Instead, there is a gambler's madness and confidence before that fateful card is revealed.

"Don't blink tonight."

"I'll show you with your own eyes what it truly means to... turn lead into gold."

Orion held the few sheets of scrap paper, too stiff even to clean windows, high in the air, as if admiring a rare treasure in the sunlight streaming through the car window.

"I'm going to get rid of this pile of garbage..."

"Sell it for a blank check issued by the Navy Department, with the amount I fill in..."