Mystery: The Traveler Who Holds the Star Key

The next day, Backlund was unusually sunny.

Sunlight pierced through the thin mist and shone on the windowsill of the cheap hotel.

Orion was woken up by being "smashed".

Of course, it wasn't a physical act of smashing.

Rather, it's a wonderful tactile sensation of money landing on the ground.

He suddenly opened his eyes, almost sprang out of bed, and looked at his pillow.

There lay quietly a bulging, dark brown cloth bag.

There were no special markings, nor even a trace of gray mist.

It was spotless, as if a room attendant had accidentally left it there.

But Orion knew it was "Divine Delivery".

Just last night, that highly proactive "righteous" lady held a sacrificial ceremony overnight.

And the conscientious "Fool" obviously did not withhold any commission.

This huge sum of money was precisely delivered to his bedside through a bestowal ceremony.

Orion took a deep breath and, with trembling hands, untied the ribbon.

Splash!

That was the crisp sound of gold pounds clashing together, the most beautiful melody in the world.

A full 450 pounds.

For a homeless man who was worrying about how to get a free meal yesterday.

This money was not only for purchasing extraordinary materials, but also for the backbone that allowed him to stand tall as a person.

"Praise the fool."

Orion drew a crimson moon on his chest, then added a more sincere thought to himself:

"But we should praise the rich woman even more."

……

Nine o'clock in the morning, 15 Minsk Street.

When Orion knocked on the door right on time, the great detective Sherlock Moriarty was already ready to go.

Klein looked to be in good spirits, although there was a hint of fatigue in his eyes.

It's probably because I used up a lot of my spiritual energy last night dealing with that huge transfer.

The two exchanged a glance.

There was no mention of money, nor of tarot readings.

This is a tacit understanding.

In the real world, they are just detectives and assistants, partners who get paid to do things.

"Today's task is rather complicated."

They were enjoying breakfast, which was probably made by Klein himself.

The great detective flipped through his notebook, his tone serious:

"The boy named Ian has asked us to find a private investigator named Zeryl."

"Based on the existing clues, Zeryl was last seen in the East District, and he is most likely involved in some...not good things."

Orion elegantly wiped the corner of his mouth, his heart completely unmoved, and he even felt a little amused.

Zeryl?

That unlucky guy is long gone.

Zeryl is probably now a pile of black sludge wriggling in the room.

They're just waiting for some unlucky detective to call the police.

Orion had absolutely no interest in these extraordinary official cases that offered no financial reward and were likely to cause him trouble.

But he couldn't show it.

He needed a perfect excuse to disappear from Klein's sight and go about his "black market procurement plan".

"East District..."

Orion frowned, feigning deep thought:

"Since we're looking for someone, it's too inefficient for two people to get together."

He pointed to the chaotic neighborhood on the map:

"Detective Moriarty, you are skilled in... deductive reasoning and crime scene investigation. Go to Zeril's residence."

"I went to the nearby bars and black markets to gather information."

"I know those places well. The most authentic clues are often hidden in the mouths of those drunkards and homeless people."

Klein thought for a moment and nodded.

"Reasonable."

He also felt that it would be more convenient to act separately.

After all, he still needed to find an opportunity to go above the gray fog and divine whether Zeril was alive or dead.

It's really inconvenient to have Orion with me.

"be safe."

Klein pulled down his hat brim and gave a word of advice:

"The bars in the East District are not peaceful."

Orion smiled.

He stood up, straightened his worn but clean trench coat, and a glint of excitement flashed in his eyes.

"rest assured."

"I'll only bring my ears, not my fists."

Weird.

……

Half an hour later.

Iron Gate Street, "Braveheart" Bar.

Although it was morning, the place was as noisy as a vegetable market.

The sour smell of cheap malt beer, the pungent smell of tobacco, and the men's rude shouts mixed together to create a suffocating atmosphere.

Orian pushed open the door and entered.

This time, he didn't try to snag a bargain for 4 pounds like he did yesterday.

His hands were in his trench coat pockets, his fingers gently stroking the thick stack of banknotes; this confidence made him walk with an air of superiority.

He didn't go to the bar to find Kaspas, nor did he pay attention to the malicious glances directed at him.

His gaze swept across the dimly lit hall like a radar.

Finally, the image settles on a round table in the corner.

A dispute is taking place there.

Several burly men, who were drunk, were surrounding a seemingly frail figure, spewing vulgarities at him.

"Found it."

Orion's lips curled slightly.

That was a figure you would never mistake, even in a crowd.

She is only about 1.5 meters tall.

He was wearing an inappropriate gray-yellow work uniform that seemed to have been deliberately altered to make him appear more mature.

Her face was delicate and cute, with a touch of baby fat, making her look like a doll that hadn't grown up yet.

But in those eyes gleamed a fierce, beast-like light, as if ready to bite off someone's throat at any moment.

Hugh Deercha.

The "arbitrator" of the East District, the future "judge".

as well as……

Currently, he is the most cost-effective gold medal hitter in all of Backlund.

Hugh was clearly in a bad mood at this moment.

She was overwhelmed with a debt dispute involving several tens of pounds.

Those thugs, taking advantage of their numbers, were trying to renege on her commission.

"I already said! That's my payment!"

Xiu was like a little lion with its mane standing on end; his voice was clear but full of imposing presence.

"Either pay me, or..."

She clenched her fist tightly, clearly preparing to use the physical persuasion method that the "arbitrator" was best at.

Just as a conflict was about to erupt, and Hugh's fist, wrapped in coarse cloth, was about to smash into the other person's face.

A long, pale hand with distinct knuckles unexpectedly entered the battle.

It gently pressed down on the oak table, which was covered in wine stains and scratches.

Snapped.

The sound wasn't loud, but it seemed to possess some kind of magic, instantly freezing the air.

A neat stack of gold pounds, exuding the alluring scent of ink, was casually pressed onto the table by that hand.

Those were five-pound notes.

Four in total.

A full 20 pounds!

This is an East End bar where people would fight tooth and nail for a few souvenirs.

The brilliance emanating from this enormous sum of money was even more dazzling than the midday sun.

The once noisy corner instantly fell into a deathly silence.

The thugs' Adam's apples bobbed violently with greed, like chickens being choked.

Hugh, who was about to make his move, had eyes that were originally as fierce as a young beast.

At this moment, its eyes widened slightly due to the enormous impact, appearing somewhat dazed and bewildered.

"Instead of wasting your precious fists for a few rusty pennies..."

Orion ignored the greedy, green eyes around him that seemed ready to pounce on him.

He tilted his head slightly, looking at the stunned "arbitrator" in front of him, and a graceful and seductive smile appeared on his lips.

The slender fingers lightly tapped the stack of banknotes, producing a crisp "click" sound.

"Miss, would you be interested in changing employers?"

"How about taking on... a really big order?"