Mystery: The Traveler Who Holds the Star Key

"4500 pounds!"

Count Levitt's voice trembled, not only from anger but also from fear.

It was a fear of technological monopoly by enemy countries, and a gamble on the political future of the family.

The entire banquet hall was deathly silent.

Even the band stopped playing.

Everyone stared in shock at the count, who was usually known for his "steadiness".

At this moment, he resembled a gambler who had lost his mind, desperately protecting the display stand.

Emlyn White stopped in his tracks.

The fervor on the face of this "Fenneport nobleman" froze for a moment.

It then transformed into an extremely realistic, even somewhat distorted, sense of resentment.

He stared intently at Count Levitt, his dark red eyes seeming to spit fire.

The standoff lasted for a full five seconds.

Finally, Emlyn let out a cold snort filled with contempt and regret, and flicked the non-existent cloak:

"The Rune people... savage nouveau riche."

"You have no idea of ​​its value; you're only fit to defile art with money!"

After saying that, he resembled a proud swan who had suffered all kinds of injustice.

He strode out of the banquet hall without looking back, leaving everyone with only a resentful departing figure.

"make a deal!"

Orion delivered the decisive blow at the opportune moment.

Count Levitt slumped in his chair, his back soaked with cold sweat.

He won.

Although he paid £4500, this nearly emptied his entire savings that he had prepared to invest in rubber plantations in the South Continent.

But he preserved the future of the Rune Navy! He preserved his brother's honor!

……

The next morning.

The study in the Earl Levitt's residence.

After the fervor of the night fades, what remains is often a hangover-like headache and a bone-chilling cold.

Count Levitt was sitting at his desk, his eyes bloodshot.

He stared intently at the few sheets of parchment on the table, which he had bought for 4500 pounds.

Yesterday, under the lights of the banquet, those symbols looked so sacred and mysterious.

But in the cold morning sunlight...

"What the hell is this thing?"

The count's fingers were trembling.

No matter how you look at it, it looks like a mischievous child's doodle.

The so-called "submarine" sketch looked more and more like a moldy baguette.

And those Chinese characters... make absolutely no sense whatsoever!

Were we scammed?

I spent £4500 on a pile of waste paper?

Fear coiled around his heart like a venomous snake.

It's not just about money.

If his political enemies, or his serious younger brother, knew that he had spent a fortune on a pile of junk...

His political career is over!

He will become the biggest joke in the entire Backlund aristocracy!

Just then, the butler knocked on the door:

"Your Excellency, Mr. Rosago Zangwell requests an audience."

He said... he's here to provide you with 'after-sales decoding'.

"Quick! Invite him in!"

The count seemed to have grasped at the last straw.

A few minutes later, Orion, carrying a briefcase, calmly walked into the study.

"Mr. Rosago!"

Count Levitt pointed to the manuscript on the table, his tone urgent and even accusatory:

"The writing on this is completely undecipherable!"

"I consulted the best linguists, and they said it doesn't even belong to any known language family!"

"Of course not."

Orion smiled, put on white gloves, walked to the table, and looked at the count with a pitying gaze one might give a layman:

"This is the 'high-dimensional encryption algorithm' created by Emperor Roselle himself."

"If any linguist could understand it, it would have been stolen by Intis's spy long ago. How could it possibly be your turn?"

As he spoke, Orion took out the solid gold slide rule and a notebook filled with data from the box.

"My lord, as I said before."

I am the only person in all of Backlund who understands this logic.

Strictly speaking, it should be "only two".

But considering that there is another "fellow villager" who can understand this thing.

Right now, I'm holed up on Minsk Street worrying about tonight's coal bill, and I don't have time to come here and cause trouble.

Therefore, rounding down, he is the only one.

"Please allow me to demonstrate... the real decoding."

Orion began to doodle and write on the paper.

Actually, he wasn't calculating anything; he was just reminiscing.

Looking back on my previous life, I was a hardcore player of Civilization VI with thousands of hours of gameplay.

In those nights of cultivating immortality, shouting "One more round!" until dawn.

He personally lit up that expensive [nuclear submarine] icon at the end of the information age technology tree.

And the few words in the original work about the development of the Intis Navy.

Ten minutes later.

Orion put down his pen, wrote a message on a piece of paper, and then solemnly handed it to the Earl.

"This is the core translation on the first page."

Count Levitt took it with some skepticism and looked down at it:

Codename: Project Nautilus

[Key parameters: Utilizing a hybrid power source of high-pressure steam and flexible materials, it achieves continuous underwater navigation for 48 hours.]

[Weakness: Its tail propeller generates cavitation noise at a specific frequency when spinning at high speed, which can be detected by high-sequence extraordinary individuals using the "Sailor" pathway from ten nautical miles away.]

[Current R&D Progress (Simulated): Intis Royal Shipyard has completed the prototype and is expected to deploy it at the Trier estuary.]

The count's hands began to tremble violently.

This time it wasn't out of fear, but out of shock.

If it were fake, they couldn't have fabricated such detailed data!

"Nautilus"? "High-pressure steam"? "Sustained submersion"? "Cavitation noise"?

These unfamiliar technical terms left even a layman like him feeling a sense of awe and suffocation.

"Is...is this real?"

The count suddenly looked up and stared intently at Orion.

Orion calmly put away his slide rule:

"Whether it's true or not, you can pass this information on to your brother, Admiral Emilius."

I think it wouldn't be difficult for the military to verify whether Intis had attempted shipbuilding there.

Before Orion could even finish speaking, the count rushed out of the study and headed straight for the telegraph room.

……

Two hours later.

When the Count returned to his study, the way he looked at Orion had completely changed.

It was a look that mixed reverence, ecstasy, and deep dependence.

"It's true...!"

The count's voice was hoarse with excitement:

"Amelius has called back!"

"Although they couldn't find the specific parameters, their spies did discover..."

"Intis shipyard is currently conducting secret underwater tests!"

"Mr. Rosago! No, Master Rosago! You've done a tremendous service! This intelligence is priceless!"

Orian smiled but did not speak.

He looked at the count and excitedly and carefully locked the pile of scrap paper, which was actually "garbled Chinese characters," into the safe.

He knew in his heart that the Trojan horse had been successfully implanted.

Even at this moment, Count Levitt still harbored a sliver of doubt deep down that these manuscripts were fake.

He would never dare to reveal it, and would even risk his life to maintain its authenticity.

Because only if the manuscript is genuine can the "information" he provides have a legitimate source.

Only if the manuscript is genuine will his £4500 expenditure not be considered "stupid".

Instead, it is a "far-sighted patriotic investment"!

From that moment on, Count Levitt became Orion's most steadfast "accomplice".

"Verification complete."

Orion slowly put away his slide rule, closed his notebook, and made a crisp "snap" sound.

He stood up, as if he had just completed a routine on-site repair, his tone relaxed and detached:

"Then, a pleasant transaction, Your Excellency."

"The remaining work of deciphering the manuscript is vast, and I need to go back and rest."

"After all, Backlund has many generous clients like you who are waiting in line for my appointments."

After saying that, he picked up his suitcase and turned to leave.

The movements were fluid and graceful, without the slightest hesitation.

At that moment, Count Levitt panicked.

Watching Orian's departing figure, he suddenly realized a terrifying truth:

If the only person who can understand the "heavenly book" leaves.

That £4500 locked in the safe has truly become nothing more than a pile of worthless paper!

"Wait! You can't leave!"

Count Levitt rushed forward, disregarding even the decorum expected of a nobleman.

He grabbed Orion's arm with a force as strong as someone grabbing a rock edge before falling off a cliff.

"Other customers? Make them wait!"

"Mr. Rosago... no, Your Excellency, Advisor!"

The count stared intently at Orion, his eyes burning with an almost fanatical dependence and awe:

"You can't just treat this as a business deal! This is a monumental undertaking concerning the fate of the kingdom!"

"On behalf of the Levitt family, I hereby formally appoint you as 'Chief Naval Intelligence Declassification Officer'!"

Seemingly fearing Orion's refusal, he quickly threw out a bargaining chip that would drive any Backlund speculator crazy:

"You don't need to work full-time! Even just two hours a week is enough!"

In return, you will receive the Levitt family's "eternal friendship"—

In Backlund, this means you have free access to the Senate dinners, and your name will be protected by the Grain Act!

Orion stopped, adjusted his glasses, and a hint of reluctance flashed behind the lenses:

"Since this is for the sake of the kingdom..."

"Okay, I accept this...heartfelt friendship."

Seeing Orion nod, Count Levitt breathed a sigh of relief and slumped into his chair.

But he immediately straightened up, his eyes gleaming with a fervent desire to quickly monetize this "merit".

He walked to his desk, spread out a sheet of paper bearing the Royal Navy insignia, picked up a quill pen, and gave Orion a meaningful smile:

"Being just an advisor isn't enough."

"Mr. Rosago, a talent like yours should not be buried in the salons of the common people."

The count's pen flew across the page as he signed the name that carried immense weight in the military circles of Ruen.

Then he raised his head and uttered the "promise" that propelled Orion to the peak, and also to the abyss:

"I am writing to my brother, General Emilius Levitt, right now."

"Prepare yourselves, Your Excellency."

"At the latest by tomorrow... the military will come to your door in person to 'invite' you."