Has the knight lady who married into the countryside fallen into depravity today?

Klein remained silent.

He just stared at the sketch of the dragon on the table, his mind racing through the information.

The missing worker.

The song on the sea.

The unusual behavior of the Silverscale Merchant Guild.

And that dark shadow flying over the sea.

These clues are like scattered puzzle pieces, seemingly connected in some way, but they don't piece together a complete picture.

"We need a plan," Ophelia broke the silence.

She walked to the table and pointed to the list of missing workers.

"If that sound really exists, then we'll go find it."

"Let's visit the surviving sailors first, and then head out to sea."

The middle-aged man was stunned for a moment.

"Are you going out to sea?"

"I'll most likely go—"

"The next full moon is still a long way off," Klein said. "It's just an ordinary night now."

He paused.

"We can use this time to find the source of the sound. Even if it's not the reason for Bernhards' disappearance, it will still eliminate a wrong answer."

Ophelia nodded.

“We’ll go with two people,” she said. “One person will search, and the other will keep watch. If anyone gets affected, the other person can bring them back.”

The middle-aged man swallowed hard.

"And what about me?"

"Continue investigating the Silverscale Merchant Guild," Klein said. "Keep a close eye on their ships, recording the time and route of each voyage. Also, keep track of that dark figure on the sea; notify us immediately if there's any news."

The middle-aged man was silent for a few seconds, then nodded.

"I see."

Klein picked up the sketch of the dragon from the table and examined it carefully again.

"Did Bernhards say anything when he drew this?"

The middle-aged man frowned, tried hard to recall, and finally shook his head.

"This shadowy figure was just hearsay and speculation; Bernhards didn't convey anything to us in detail."

Klein frowned slightly and pressed on:

"So, in the West Coast beliefs, are there any dragons that—have no wings?"

"...No, at least Bernhards didn't mention it to me."

The middle-aged man thought for a moment, then shook his head again.

Klein put the painting of the dragon back on the table.

He walked to the window and lifted a corner of the curtain.

It was already dark outside, and the lights of the harbor were twinkling.

On the distant sea, several fishing boats were returning, their sterns leaving long trails of white foam. The sea breeze carried the salty, fishy smell and the stench of decaying wood.

"Let's go."

"Shall we go now?" Ophelia asked.

"Hmm." Klein turned around. "While the night isn't too dark yet."

He looked at the middle-aged man in front of him.

"Is there a list of the surviving sailors?"

The middle-aged man paused for a moment, then nodded. He walked to the wooden box in the corner, rummaged around for a while, and pulled out a folded piece of paper, handing it to Klein.

"This is what I compiled," he said. "There are three people in total. Two work odd jobs at pubs near the port, and the other lives in the slums."

Klein took the paper, unfolded it, and looked at it. Next to the name were a simple address and occupation. The edges of the paper were slightly yellowed, and there were a few oil stains on it.

"Are they willing to talk?" Ophelia asked.

"It's hard to say." The middle-aged man shook his head. "One of them has gone mad, constantly muttering about the songs of the sea. The other two are still relatively clear-headed, but they won't talk about what happened that night. One of them even moved away from Silverscale Harbor and I heard he went inland."

Klein folded the paper and tucked it into his pocket.

"Let's give it a try."

The middle-aged man hesitated for a moment, then lowered his voice: "Be careful, sir. That mad sailor... sometimes he suddenly goes berserk and tries to rush into the sea. His fiancée hasn't had a good night's sleep in months because she's been trying to keep an eye on him."

Klein didn't speak, he just nodded.

Ophelia walked to the door and glanced back at him.

"Let's go."

Klein followed in her footsteps.

The two left the small room and walked out along the alley.

The night breeze carried the salty smell of the sea.

The sounds of commotion from a tavern and the singing of drunkards drifted from afar, creating a stark contrast to the quiet shantytown.

The two walked through several narrow streets and arrived at a dilapidated area near the port.

Most of the houses here are simple shacks built of wooden planks, with fishing nets and tattered canvases hanging on the walls.

Some of the shacks had their roofs weighed down with stones to prevent them from being blown away by the sea breeze.

The air was filled with a mixture of fishy and musty smells, along with the stench of rotting seaweed.

The ground was covered with puddles and trash, and a few skinny stray cats darted about in the shadows.

Klein stopped in front of a shed and looked at the note in his hand.

"This is it."

He looked up at the shack.

It was more dilapidated than the surrounding houses, with large gaps between the wooden planks through which a faint candlelight could be seen.

The door frame was crooked, and there were several deep scratches on the door panel, as if someone had scratched it desperately with their fingernails.

He knocked on the door.

No one answered.

He knocked a few more times, and came indistinct mumbling and the sound of something falling to the ground.

"Who...who is it..."

"We'd like to ask you a few questions," Klein said, "about things at sea."

The sounds inside stopped.

A few seconds later, the door was pushed open a crack. A pale face emerged from the darkness, with bloodshot eyes, a stubble beard, and messy hair like a bird's nest.

Those eyes were fixed on Klein, pupils dilated, as if they had seen something terrifying.

"At sea..." the man murmured, his voice hoarse, "Did you hear it too? That song... that beautiful..."

Klein and Ophelia exchanged a glance.

Ophelia's hand unconsciously rested on the hilt of her sword, her golden eyes narrowing slightly as she warily observed the man.

"We want to hear what you have to say," Klein said, trying to keep his tone calm. "What exactly happened that night?"

The madman got excited whenever the topic of that night was brought up.

His eyes lit up, and his pupils shone with a light that Klein couldn't quite describe—a morbid, almost fanatical light.

A distorted expression appeared on his pale face, his mouth twisting open to reveal yellowed teeth.

His lips were chapped and bleeding in some places.

"The singing..." he murmured to himself, his voice trembling slightly, his whole body shaking. "That singing...you don't understand...you don't understand how beautiful it is..."

"What did you hear?" Klein asked, frowning.

"Beautiful...absolutely beautiful..." The madman's hands flailed wildly in the air, as if trying to grab something, his fingers curling spasmodically. "That voice...it's right next to my ear...right there...right in my head..."

He suddenly stopped moving, his eyes became vacant, and he looked as if his soul had been sucked away by something.

"They're singing," he said, his voice softening, with an eerie tenderness, "singing on the sea...so gently...so..."

Ophelia took a step forward, blocking Klein's path.

"Them?" she repeated, her voice calm and clear. "More than one?"

The madman nodded, his movements exaggerated, and his neck cracked.

"So many...so many..." He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing, a greedy and longing gleaming in his eyes. "They're all beautiful...so...they're calling me...calling my name..."

He didn't finish speaking, only letting out a muffled laugh, a laugh tinged with tears.

Klein noticed that the man had many scratches on his arm, some of which had scabbed over, while others were still bleeding.

He obviously caught it himself.

"What do those singers look like?" Klein continued to ask, while observing the other person's reaction.

The madman's smile widened, and tears streamed down his face.

"A girl..." he said, his voice tinged with a morbid excitement, "young... beautiful... more beautiful than Lyra... more beautiful than anyone else..."

He stretched out his hand and gestured something in the air, his fingers outlining a shape.

"Long hair...so long...all the way down to the water..." His fingers traced in the air, "And...and...their eyes...those eyes..."

He suddenly stopped, his eyes became even more unfocused, and he began to sway back and forth.

"They're in the water..." he murmured, "swimming...like fish...no...more beautiful than fish...their tails...silver...shimmering in the moonlight..."

Klein's brow furrowed even more.

The monsters' actions were remarkably similar to those of the sirens he remembered, but judging from their appearance, they seemed to be mermaids.

"Did you see their faces clearly?" Klein pressed.

The madman shook his head, then nodded, then shook his head again, his whole being in a state of confusion.

"I can't see clearly...it's too far away..." he said, "but...but it's beautiful...it must be so beautiful...they're smiling at me...waving..."

He scratched at his chest a few times, his fingernails leaving white marks on his clothes, and his breathing became rapid.

"I want...I want to go back..." he said, his voice becoming pleading, "I want to find them...I want...I want to be with them...together in the water..."

A desperate longing shone in his eyes.

Klein was about to ask more questions when a girl's voice suddenly came from behind him:

"What are you doing!"

The voice was sharp and angry, carrying obvious hostility.

Klein turned around.

A young woman stood at the entrance of the alley, holding a bamboo basket with several fish inside. The fish scales reflected a faint light in the moonlight.

Her face was pale, with deep dark circles under her eyes, and her hair was casually tied back, with a few loose strands sticking to her cheeks.

Her clothes were patched, but clean.

Most striking was the silver anchor pendant hanging around her neck, which gleamed softly in the moonlight.

"Who are you?" Her voice was wary and weary. "Why are you asking Karen these questions? Do you know that every time someone brings up what happened that night, he goes crazy all night!"

Klein glanced at the madman at the door, then at the woman.

"Who are you……"

"I'm Lyra," the woman said, her voice trembling slightly. "Karen's fiancée."

She took a few steps forward, placed the bamboo basket on the ground, and blocked the doorway. Her hands were trembling slightly, but her eyes were resolute.

"What do you want? He's already in this state, and you still want to bother him? Are you here to laugh at him? Or to satisfy your curiosity by listening to those horrible stories?"

Ophelia took a half step back, her tone softening: "We just want to know what happened that night."

"What happened that night?" Leila's voice rose, her eyes instantly reddening. "That night turned him into this! Do you know? He used to be the best sailor in this area! Every captain wanted him on their ship!"

Her finger pointed at Karen inside the door, her hand trembling slightly, her voice trembling with tears.

"And now? Now he doesn't even remember who he is! He keeps chanting those songs, wanting to go back to the sea! I have to keep an eye on him all the time, afraid he'll run away when I'm not looking! He almost drowned in the harbor!"

Klein remained silent for a few seconds; he could sense the woman's pain and despair.

"We're not here to hurt him," he said softly.

"So what are you all here for?" Leila stared intently at him, tears welling in her eyes. "To watch the show? Or to hear the story? And then you'll just leave, leaving me alone to take care of him?"

"We're investigating the disappearance," Klein said, "the port workers, and the sailors who went out to sea. If we can find the cause, it might help Karen."

Leila was taken aback.

"You..." She bit her lip, the hostility in her voice lessening slightly, "Are you government officials? Sent by the church?"

"No," Klein shook his head, "but we want to find out what really happened."

"We're here to help you."

Leila's expression softened slightly. She glanced down at the bamboo basket on the ground, then looked up again, a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

"You...you really can help him?" Her voice became very soft, with a hint of humble pleading. "I'm willing to do anything...as long as he can get back to normal..."

Klein did not answer immediately.

He didn't want to make false promises.

"I don't know," he said honestly, "but if those disappearances are related to Karen's situation, perhaps we can find a way. At least, we can try."

Leila's eyes reddened. She took a deep breath, wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and then turned and pushed open the door.

"Come in," she said hoarsely, "but please... please don't upset him."

Klein and Ophelia followed her into the shed.

The space inside was very small, containing only a bed, a table, and a few wooden crates.

In the corner lay a pile of fishing nets and tools, the air thick with the smells of mildew and herbs. An oil lamp sat on the table, its flickering flame casting swaying shadows on the wall.

There were many scratches on the floor next to the bed, and the wood was scratched with deep grooves.

Karen sat on the edge of the bed, still muttering to herself, holding her head in her hands and swaying back and forth.

Lyra walked over to him and gently pressed her hand on his shoulder. "Karen, stop talking."

Her voice was gentle, filled with endless weariness and heartache.

Karen looked up at her, her eyes glazed over. "Lyra... I want... I want to go back... back to the sea... they're waiting for me..."

"I know," Leila said softly, tears streaming down her face, "but you can't go. You promised me, remember? You said you'd marry me, that you'd take me to see the snow-capped mountains in the interior..."

She turned to look at Klein and Ophelia, her eyes filled with pleading.

"What do you want to know?"