Mystery: The Traveler Who Holds the Star Key

"You really... can read my father's diary?"

The question lingered in the closed carriage.

It was even more suffocating than the towering pea vines outside the window.

Orion's heart skipped a beat.

This is a demigod.

Completely different from madmen like Mr. A, or Sequence 5s like Sharon.

This absolute suppression from the level of life made him feel like a paramecium being pressed under a microscope.

But he didn't tremble.

On the contrary, Orion adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, and the cool cedar scent emanating from him remained unchanged.

He acted as if he were facing a demanding client, calmly taking out his MI9 identification from his pocket and gently placing it on his lap.

"I know a little, but not much."

Orion did not directly answer "Why do you understand?"

Instead, it cleverly replaced the concept, providing a highly persuasive "source suggestion":

"As a macro-strategy advisor to the military, I had the privilege of accessing some of the Emperor's manuscripts about the 'deep-sea submersible' through Count Levitt."

"Those symbols..." Orian pointed to his head, his eyes clear, "Although they are obscure, once you grasp the father's emotional logic, they are no longer gibberish, but a kind of... encrypted family letter."

This is a perfect lie.

It explained both the access channels and the decryption methods, completely avoiding all lethal options.

Bernadette looked at the document, and the coldness in her eyes softened slightly.

But the oppressive aura of a demigod still hung like a sharp sword in the air.

"I gave you face because the Hall family's young lady was there earlier."

She leaned forward, her deep blue eyes fixed on Orion, her voice low and menacing, each word seeming to strike Orion's very soul:

"Now, tell me."

That language has long been lost in the mists of history.

"Where did you learn this from, you opportunist who frequents the elite circles of fame and fortune?"

What is your relationship with the person who "made" it?

A life-or-death moment.

This is the real deadline.

Answering "time travel" will be treated as an act of corruption by an external god.

Answering "found it" is an insult to the intelligence of a demigod.

Orion's pupils contracted slightly.

Then he laughed.

That's not the embarrassment of being exposed.

Rather, it conveys a sense of helplessness and profound feeling that "only we know this secret."

He did not answer the question about the "source".

As an actuary, he directly addressed the core of the problem.

"Madam, there is a common sense in the field of occultism."

Orion pushed up his glasses, his tone as calm as if stating an axiom:

"Some 'knowledge' itself is polluted in a way that is impossible to look at directly."

"Dwelling on 'where I learned it' might lead you to a certain kind of 'you'—"

Even you, a demigod, would not wish to face such an ancient being.

Bernadette's eyes narrowed.

She thought of her father's madness in his later years, and those indescribable screams.

Seeing the other party remain silent, Orion knew that the first layer of intimidation had taken effect.

He immediately threw out the second layer of bait:

"The important thing is not where the 'water source' comes from."

Rather, it's about whether this glass of water... can quench your thirst, isn't it?

"To quench thirst?"

Bernadette sneered, her gaze once again locking onto the Black Emperor card in his pocket:

"Is this your reason for stealing? To quench your thirst?"

"No, this is called 'forced equivalent exchange'."

Orion faced the terrifying pressure head-on.

Instead of backing down, he leaned back in his chair, adopting an absolutely rational negotiating stance:

"Madam, please forgive my offense."

"You are a high and mighty demigod, while I am just an ant that can be crushed at will."

He pointed to the bookmark hidden in the inner pocket, his tone almost cruelly frank:

"Without this card as a 'hostage,' I wouldn't be qualified to sit across from you and negotiate; I would only be kneeling on the ground begging for mercy."

"This is not blasphemy; it is a 'safety net' that the weak have to put on themselves in order to survive."

Bernadette frowned.

This reason... is so convincing that it's almost logical.

"You want to use it as a bargaining chip?"

"No, I consider it a 'ticket'."

Orion raised a finger, his clear eyes piercing the softest, most rotten part of Bernadette's heart:

"I'll keep this card for now. In return..."

"I promise to translate three pages of your diary every month from now on."

Seeing that Bernadette was about to refuse, Orion immediately delivered the final blow.

The voice was soft, yet carried a weight of a thousand pounds:

"Madam, you did not purchase a translation service."

"You are redeeming... the voice that Father could never convey to you, every time he missed you."

"Isn't this kind of 'reunion' worth a card?"

A deathly silence fell over the carriage.

Orion's words were like a precise scalpel.

They peeled away Bernadette's hard "mysterious queen" shell.

He grasped the heart of that "confused daughter" directly.

She looked at this audacious young man.

He was blackmailing a demigod.

They used her father to blackmail her.

Absurd, despicable, yet...

Can not resist.

That was an open conspiracy.

a long time.

The pea vines outside the window are beginning to wither.

The rustling of the forest, so loud it could drive you mad, gradually faded into the distance.

"Remember your promise!"

Bernadette leaned back in her chair, her figure becoming unreal, and her voice regained its elusive calm:

"A child who likes to play magic tricks..."

boo.

It's like a soap bubble bursting.

The figure in the bright yellow cake dress disappeared.

call--

A cacophony of voices, full of the warmth of everyday life, instantly flooded my ears.

The carriages continued to travel through the crowded streets of Backlund.

The driver was loudly cursing the pedestrians in front of him.

It was as if the thrilling "fairy tale trial" just now was just an illusion.

Orian slumped in his seat, his back already soaked with sweat.

survived.

With trembling hands, he pulled the bookmark from his inner pocket.

My fingertips traced the cold metallic texture as I gazed at the portrait of the emperor, clad in black armor, exuding an air of majesty and profound solemnity.

This is... the Black Emperor card.

A ticket that could drive the entire mysterious world mad.

……

The following day, at the Kingdom Museum.

Crowds surged.

Klein mingled in the group, seemingly listening to the explanation, but his peripheral vision kept his eyes glued to the core display case.

Since there was no riot yesterday, does that mean the sign is still there?

Taking advantage of the moment when the guide turned around, Klein secretly activated his spiritual vision and quickly approached.

My gaze pierced through the glass, and there was a bookmark quietly tucked inside the diary.

Still.

Klein felt a sense of relief, and his spiritual awareness quietly reached out to try to confirm the truth.

hum.

The moment he touched it, that layer of disguised visual illusion peeled away like an eggshell under his spiritual vision.

The once majestic "Emperor Roselle Statue" vanished in the blink of an eye.

It turned into a brightly colored, absurdly styled tarot card—

A tall tower struck by lightning.

But on the faces of the two figures who fell from the top of the tower, there was no trace of fear in the face of destruction.

Instead, they all turned their heads in unison.

Stick out your tongue and lower your eyelids at everyone off-screen trying to pry into your secrets...

I made something that's full of childish mischief and extremely irritating—

grimace.