Mystery: The Traveler Who Holds the Star Key

The world outside the car window was forcibly cut off.

Orion couldn't see the specific details of the battle, but he could feel a terrifying, sacred aura rising into the sky.

It was a pure and bright moon that seemed to rise right overhead.

The bright moonlight, like mercury spilling onto the ground, instantly drowned out the nauseating howls of the demonic hound.

There was no intense back-and-forth, no evenly matched exchange of blows.

Only absolute "purification" from higher sequences.

That filthy flame that was just moments ago so arrogant, clamoring for "degeneration".

Under the moonlight, it was like remnant snow encountering boiling water; before it could even scream, it completely melted into the air.

Sold out instantly.

Orion gripped the gold coin he used to aid in counter-divination tightly, his knuckles turning slightly white.

He desperately suppressed his spirituality, like a field mouse hiding from a falcon.

until--

"snort."

A very soft snort, yet containing endless anger and resentment, pierced through the spiritual barrier that was about to shatter and entered his ears.

The voice came from the edge of the battlefield, filled with rage.

Jason Beria.

The devil disguised as a banker escaped.

As the cold snort faded away, the world outside the car window resembled a shattered mirror.

With a click, it was pieced back together to its original bustling streets of Backlund.

The cries of newsboys and the clatter of horses' hooves instantly filled the air.

Orion breathed a sigh of relief.

He casually tossed the gold coins into the air.

Face up, safe.

"This is Backlund's official Beyonder..."

Orion leaned back in his chair, his eyes showing a newfound seriousness.

Once you have a clue, eliminating a Sequence 6 demon is as easy as crushing an ant.

This made him realize more clearly that:

If I need to use someone else to do my dirty work in the future...

Or they could use their identity as MI9 to deceive the three major churches.

The script must be polished to perfection.

Otherwise, that "bright moon" could fall on your head at any moment.

……

Half an hour later.

Orion has completely switched back to "detective assistant who doesn't want to go to work" mode.

Outside the circus, colorful carts exuded the sweet aroma of caramel and cream.

Orion was carrying two extremely exquisite boxes—

That was a freshly baked red velvet lava cake, available in limited quantities.

"Miss Bodyguard"

He spoke to the empty air around him, in a tone that suggested he was a "sugar daddy":

"This is just a little snack to celebrate our narrow escape from death."

"By the way, what about that thousand pounds in employment fees?"

Does this include helping the employer get rid of the extra cake?

The air froze for a second.

Immediately afterwards, a voice that seemed to carry shards of ice emanated from the shadows behind Orion, completely calm:

"You did it on purpose."

The sound was very soft, yet it carried a chill that targeted the neck:

"Creating 'surplus' under the guise of 'waste' is a way to test the limits of the 'moderation' faction..."

The gaze from the shadows locked onto Orion, a perfect blend of murderous intent and ravenous desire:

"This was... an extremely clumsy trap."

Orion's smile deepened.

He did not refute it.

Because he knew that being willing to speak meant...

The trap worked.

He didn't expose them, but walked straight into the noisy circus tent.

He found two empty seats in the third row.

Not far behind Klein and Marich.

On stage, the clown was performing a comical ball-throwing act, which was met with thunderous applause from the audience.

Orion calmly sat down, then gently placed the extra cake box on the empty space next to him, even thoughtfully opening the lid.

The rich aroma of milk explodes instantly.

Swish.

There was no transition.

A figure dressed in an elaborate black gothic gown, with a face so pale it was almost transparent, appeared without warning in that empty space.

She sat there quietly, like an exquisitely beautiful blonde doll.

He exuded a coldness that seemed completely out of place in the bustling circus.

"Whoa—!"

A fat man sitting to Orion's left sprang up from his seat as if he'd been electrocuted.

His already tight-fitting apothecary robe almost burst from the fat on his stomach.

"A...a female ghost?!"

The fat pharmacist Darkwell pointed at Sharon in horror, scattering a bag of sunflower seeds all over the ground.

As a wild extraordinary person who came to the circus to summarize the "animal trainer" code.

Although he was timid, he was notorious for his sharp tongue; "he dared to criticize anyone except the night watchman."

Sharon didn't even glance at him.

She simply picked up the small cake silently, elegantly scooped out a spoonful, and put it in her mouth.

The sweet aroma slightly lessened the chill emanating from the vengeful spirit.

But that "keep away" aura is still powerful.

Darkwell patted his chest and sat back down, squeezing three extra seats to the side, while muttering under his breath:

"What the heck... that's terrifying!"

"Who comes out in broad daylight to scare people..."

He was quite good-looking, but he had a sinister air about him, like he'd just crawled out of a grave.

Sharon paused, her hand holding the spoon still.

She turned her head, her indifferent blue eyes glaring intently at Darkwell.

While chewing on cake with bulging cheeks, he exuded a terrifying murderous intent that seemed to threaten to turn the fat man into a puppet at any moment.

It's a blend of cuteness and horror.

"What are you looking at!"

Darkwell shuddered at the palpable killing intent emanating from him.

Even disregarding appearances, he pressed his buttocks against the seat and scooted three spaces to the side, trying to create a safe distance.

Once he was certain that the distance was slightly safe, the fat pharmacist's talent for chattering instantly came to life.

He nervously peeked at the stage while muttering in a voice that said, "I'm wronged, but I'm going to disgust you anyway":

"What... You think the cake your sweetheart bought is delicious? Why are you glaring at me?"

"Young people these days... they even need a bodyguard when they're dating, always exuding a murderous aura..."

My young lover.

Orion, who was watching the show, couldn't help but cover his mouth with a "pfft".

This fat guy is a real talent in some ways.

Despite her sharp tongue, her taste...

In some ways, it's quite "unique"!

However, the laughter only lasted for half a second.

Orion felt a chill on the back of his neck.

Miss Sharon, who was beside her, did not speak immediately.

She simply turned her head away silently, her indifferent eyes, which had just been fixed on Darkwell with a terrifying murderous intent that seemed to say "turn people into puppets," now turned back to reality.

At this moment, they locked onto Orion without any gaps or gaps.

As she chewed on the red velvet cake, her cheeks bulging, her eyes silently declared with a chilling gaze:

"You dare laugh? Looks like you want to become a puppet along with him."

Orion's smile froze on his face instantly.

Friendly fire!

Upon hearing that mocking laugh, Darkwell instinctively wanted to lash out, but he was also afraid of the "ghost" lady.

However, this fat pharmacist possessed a rat-like keen survival instinct.

He stole a glance at Sharon, who was glaring fiercely at Orion, and his mind immediately began to work out his plans:

"Although her eyes were fierce, she was still chewing on her cake..."

"Besides, she's glaring at that pretty boy right now, not me."

Conclusion: She wouldn't kill someone in public! She's just a paper tiger!

Once the premise of "absolutely not dying" is confirmed.

Darkwell's courage, which had just receded, rebounded instantly like a spring.

They even became more vicious because of the embarrassment they had just suffered.

If we can't afford to offend that woman, surely we can at least afford to offend this skinny-looking man?

He glanced at the young man in the dark blue trench coat, who looked refined and even somewhat thin, and his mutterings suddenly grew louder, taking on the personal attacks characteristic of a "quack doctor"—from a medical perspective:

"What are you laughing at! He looks like one of those pretty boys who've been drained dry."

"His face was so pale, his eyes were so dark, and his steps were unsteady..."

Tsk tsk, a classic case of kidney essence deficiency!

"That skinny build... aside from being decent-looking, it's utterly useless!"

"That kind of place must be very small and cramped, all show and no substance..."

No wonder that young lady had such a bad temper...

Most likely it's because they've never been satisfied, and they're bottling up their anger with nowhere to vent it...

Orion's smile froze instantly.

There are some bottom lines that cannot be crossed.

Especially as a man.

He slowly lowered his hand from his mouth, a hint of cunning flashing in his eyes.

My initial feeling of laughing at Sharon instantly turned into a determination to "punish this fat guy."

"Since you're so talkative..."

Orion tossed the piece of red velvet cake he was only halfway through eating.

A subtle, spiritual movement at the fingertips.

[Trick: Creating Wind]

The cake instantly defied the laws of physics, transforming into a precisely guided "cream projectile."

Whoosh—smack!

"Ugh...?!"

Darkwell only saw a flash of red and white before his eyes.

The cloying sweet cream mixed with the cake base was precisely and forcefully smeared onto his incessantly chattering face.

The physical aspect effectively blocked all the malicious comments about "shortness".

"Hahahahaha!"

The surrounding audience, thinking it was a clown interaction surprise arranged by the circus, erupted in even louder laughter than before.

Just then, the performance on stage came to an end.

Klein, who was in the front row, heard the noise behind him and instinctively turned around.

He saw the fat man with a face covered in cream, looking like he was questioning the meaning of life.

I saw Miss Sharon wiping her mouth elegantly.

as well as……

That familiar figure sitting there, with an "it's none of my business" expression, even clapping along with the audience.

Klein paused for a second, then the corners of his mouth slowly widened into a smile.

It was a feeling of relief that "you've finally decided to show your face," and helplessness that "you're causing trouble as soon as you arrive."

He turned around and, across two rows of seats, extended his hand to Orion, who was feigning innocence.

In an extremely rare, slightly sarcastic tone, carrying a hint of "deliberate flattery," he loudly proclaimed:

"How was your holiday?"

"My dear... 'chief' assistant?"