Mystery: The Traveler Who Holds the Star Key

Dark as ink.

North District, next to St. Samuel Church.

An unassuming row house.

The heavy velvet curtains inside were drawn tightly, blocking out all outside prying eyes.

Under the dim, yellowish glow of the gas lamp.

On that round oak table, which was a little moldy from the dampness.

At this moment, it was piled high with things that would make any human from Backlund dizzy.

That was a full 4500 pounds in cash.

The colorful gold pounds were piled up like building blocks into a small mountain, exuding a charming ink fragrance.

"By the progenitor above..."

Emlyn White's red eyes were wide open.

As a down-on-his-luck vampire baron who even needs to save money to buy doll clothes.

The biggest "cash flow" I've ever seen in my life is probably his pitiful pocket money.

Now, what lies before them is a huge sum of money, enough to buy a villa.

"These...are all ours?"

Emlyn swallowed hard, all the arrogance he had displayed at the banquet—the "money is dirt" attitude—vanished completely.

Instead, there is an inflated sense of self-importance, a feeling that "I can be a millionaire too."

He puffed out his chest, subconsciously adjusting the collar of his rented tuxedo, his tone carrying a hint of self-righteous pride:

"I must say, without my acting skills, which are worthy of being recorded in the history of vampires, this scene would not have been possible at all."

"That foolish count was completely intimidated by my aura!"

"Ahem, I think if it's distributed according to contribution, I should also..."

"That's right, Emlyn, your acting is definitely MVP."

Orion interrupted him with a smile, and like a true, ruthless actuary, pulled out the black notebook he always carried with him from his pocket and turned to a page:

"So, let's now conduct a professional audit."

"An audit?" Emlyn was taken aback.

"certainly."

Orion picked up his pen and began "cutting" on that mountain of gold pounds:

"First, deduct the venue operation fee."

Although Earl Hall provided the stage, that was my initial investment, equivalent to 200 pounds.

"Secondly, scriptwriting and risk planning fees."

This is core intellectual property; according to industry standards, that's worth £1000.

"Also, security consultant fees."

In that high-pressure environment, we were protected from being shot on the spot.

This requires paying a hefty premium to the security team, another £1000.

As Orian counted the money, the pile of money on the table dwindled at a visible rate.

Emlyn's face began to turn pale.

"at last……"

Orion raised his head and gave the arrogant vampire a half-smile:

"Mr. Emlyn, when you introduced yourself at the banquet..."

The phrase that slipped out was, "Great blood... cough, South."

Although you managed to cover it up, this is still considered a serious performance accident.

To cover this loophole, I had to prepare an extra £500 as "hush money" for any potential witnesses.

"Therefore, after deducting the performance accident damages, it's £200."

"You...you're using robber logic!"

Emlyn panicked, pointing at Orion and jumping up like a cat whose tail had been stepped on:

"That was improvisation! It was artistic embellishment! How can you deduct my pay!"

"Don't rush, Mr. White."

Orion closed his notebook, his cold expression instantly melting away, replaced by the gentleness and concern befitting a "caring agent."

He counted out a thin stack of money from the pile that had shrunk by more than half—

It was about 300 pounds, and it was pushed in front of Emlyn.

"Only 300?!"

Emlyn's voice even changed tone:

"I just helped you earn 4500 pounds! And you only give me 300?!"

"It's not just £300."

Orion lowered his voice and, in a devilish whisper, threw out the "value anchor" he had prepared long ago.

He pulled out a poster that he had prepared beforehand from a hidden compartment in his suitcase.

That's a flyer for the auction that Backlund's famous "Dollhouse" will be holding next week.

In the most prominent position, there is the Fourth Age replica doll that Emlyn so longed for, which is fully articulated.

"I know that for a noble vampire like you, money tainted with the stench of money is an insult."

Orion pointed to the poster, his tone so sincere it brought tears to one's eyes:

"So I've decided to use this £300, plus my personal connections, to buy out this 'Fineport Highland Doll' for you."

"even……"

Ollie paused for a moment, then delivered the winning move:

"I also had a pure gold base custom-made for you, with your name engraved on it—"

Dedicated to the great vampire artist, Emlyn White.

The air was silent for two seconds.

Emlyn's angry expression froze.

His gaze darted back and forth between the stack of banknotes and the posters.

More cash? Or a unique doll engraved with your name, a symbol of honor?

"...A pure gold base?"

Emlyn's voice trembled slightly; it was the sound of his heart fluttering.

"Pure gold, and it's the vintage style with intricate patterns," Orian added.

"make a deal."

Emlyn snatched the poster, carefully rolled it up, and his arrogant expression returned, as if he weren't the one who had just been arguing heatedly over money.

"Hmph, at least you're sensible."

For vampires, art is indeed far more important than money.

Get it done.

Look at Emlyn holding the poster as if it were a priceless treasure.

Orion concealed the cunning glint in his eyes that belonged to a "dream weaver".

The cost is fifty pounds, combined with a magic called "limited edition".

How can this be called exploitation?

This is called precisely replacing "vulgar money" with "noble happiness".

After all, this vampire clearly needs dreams more than heavy gold pounds.

And I was just doing it out of kindness.

"Then, it's your turn next, Miss Sharon."

Orion turned toward the seemingly deserted corner in the air.

This time, he didn't try anything fancy.

He pulled out the thickest stack of money directly from the pile—

A full 1000 pounds.

"This is the security fee for next week, plus... an extra bonus."

Orion's tone became serious and respectful:

"The Earl of Levitt is reasonable, but some people are not."

"If it weren't for your covert deterrence... I'm afraid I would have died from a sudden attack by some 'mentally unstable serial killer' long ago."

"After all, a madman's knife doesn't listen to the logic of an actuary."

"This is money to buy your life; you deserve it."

The air distorted.

Sharonna, dressed in an elaborate black court dress, appeared out of nowhere like a ghost.

Her delicate, pale face remained expressionless. Her azure eyes glanced indifferently at the money on the table, then at Emlyn, who was clutching the poster and grinning foolishly.

She reached out and deftly pocketed the thousand pounds, without refusing or uttering any unnecessary words.

After accepting the money, he simply nodded slightly to Orion.

That sense of tacit understanding between professionals made the entire transaction process incredibly smooth.

"Wh...what?!"

Emlyn, who was lost in his fantasy about the doll, suddenly snapped back to reality. He stared in horror at the girl in the black dress who had suddenly appeared, and pressed himself against the wall in fright.

"Who are you talking to? There's someone else here?!"

"And... that's 1000 pounds?! Why should she get 1000 pounds?!"

Sharon turned her head and gave him a look as if he were an idiot.

Then, she slightly opened her mouth and gave the comment that was enough to make Emlyn want to vomit blood:

"...Vampires."

The tone was flat, without any contempt, yet it was more hurtful than contempt.

It's as if it's saying: Such stupid creatures, they really are that race with a bit of a brain.

"A vengeful...vengeful spirit?!"

Emlyn finally recognized the other party's method.

As a vampire with darkvision, he was completely unaware that a Sequence 5 vengeful spirit was hiding in the house!

This is absolutely a horror story!

"Who...who are you?!"

Emlyn pointed at Orion, his finger trembling:

"Not only are you a con artist, but you also keep vengeful spirits around you? You're also that terrifying detective's assistant... What exactly are you trying to do?!"

Orion did not answer.

He simply swept the remaining several thousand pounds on the table into his briefcase in a very good mood.

With a "click," the lock closed.

Orion stood up, patted the box, and looked around at the group of "strange teammates" in the room—

A naive and innocent vampire, and a cold and aloof vengeful bodyguard.

"Mr. Emlyn, don't be so nervous."

His eyes gleamed with a light called "ambition":

"These few thousand pounds are not the end; this is just the initial investment."

"Welcome to my 'Asset Management Group'."

We'll use this money to leverage even more heavily in Backlund...

For example, buying a "tower" that truly belongs to us.

However, in this very moment of ambition...

Boom, boom, boom.

A sudden, dull knocking sound abruptly cut off all the cheerful atmosphere inside.

Sharon's figure vanished instantly, disappearing into the shadows.

Emlyn stood frozen in place, his face deathly pale, unable to move despite his desire to transform into a bat.

Orion's pupils contracted sharply.

His left hand slipped silently into his pocket, and he quickly put on the dark red leather glove—

[Burning thirst].

"Who?"

There was a moment of silence outside the door.

Then, a cold, hard voice pierced through the wooden door, nailing fear to everyone's heart:

"Open the door."

"MI9".