The past was built upon collecting unique characteristics.

As the tram entered the turnaround line, a few rays of sunlight pierced through the morning mist and shone down, illuminating the ground of St. Bernard Street in a golden glow.

For local residents, the sparse fog didn't have much of an impact, but it still carried a faint rusty smell, so the air quality wasn't exactly good.

Even so, rents for surrounding properties remain high.

The reason is quite simple: this street is located in the prime coastal area at the southern end of Bet City, with a pleasant climate all year round, and it is situated right in the middle of the rich and poor neighborhoods.

"If you ask when the flowers will wither, look at that starflower!"

If you ask why there are no roses, cherish the woman beside you!

The bard's song drifted from the park, and a quick-thinking newsboy peered around, soon locking onto his target and jogging closer.

"Sir, would you like a copy of the morning paper? The headline is about the strike in the dock area."

Morian casually waved his hand in polite refusal, his gaze sweeping over the slightly damp cobblestone path in front of him.

Just then, a two-wheeled carriage slowly drove by. He was about to raise his hand to call out when the noble lady beside him called out to him.

"Mr. Morian, over here." Charlotte's voice was clear and pleasant.

Looking in the direction of the sound, an elderly butler with graying temples, dressed in a dark gray suit, stood ramrod straight in front of the black car, his expression respectful and well-trained.

Yes, cars exist in this world.

Although it was an old-fashioned car, it was already remarkably different from horse-drawn carriages, which required a driver and had limited speed.

Not to mention that with the wheels of time rolling forward, the number of horse-drawn carriages has become increasingly scarce.

As for why some people still choose horse-drawn carriages, it's naturally due to economic considerations.

Morian subconsciously touched his nose. He was just about to use the excuse of "experiencing classical charm" to pull the noble lady to get on the carriage.

Unexpectedly, the wealthy woman waved her hand, and her private car, complete with a butler, had been waiting for a long time. He had no choice but to swallow his words and marvel at the terrifying power of money.

After everyone was seated, the butler skillfully started the engine, and with a deep hum, the vehicle slowly drove off.

As the car drove smoothly, you could see through the window that the vegetable vendors were setting up their stalls, the wooden door of the bakery was being pushed open by customers, and drunkards who had been up all night were staggering out of the bars that were open all night.

Morian's gaze swept past the flowing street scene and into the distance.

On the church bell tower, two clergymen can be vaguely seen pulling a rope together, and the heavy, distant sound of the bells spreads out, echoing in every corner of the city, signifying the start of a new day for people.

About twenty minutes later, the car came to a smooth stop in front of a row of buildings.

The streets were exceptionally crowded with people. Several well-dressed gentlemen sat on the outdoor terrace of a café, watching the crowd below arguing fiercely over a few pennies, their eyes filled with a subtle, amused look.

Amidst a crowd of people dressed in various styles and of different backgrounds, Morian carefully stepped aside, leading Charlotte through the noisy streets and, following the address information they had seen before, into a small, unassuming three-story hotel.

The moment you step inside, a pungent smell hits you. This place, which caters to travelers, is not entirely a hotel for temporary stays. Its ground floor area has been independently renovated and also serves the same purpose as a pub.

The bar, which also serves as the hotel registration desk, is located on the left side after entering. A well-maintained middle-aged woman stands there, wearing a linen sweater and a gray coat, with a silver jewelry necklace around her neck, intently wiping a wine glass.

On the right side of the first floor, there are nearly ten wooden tables and chairs for guests to enjoy a drink. The staircase in the middle extends to the left and right halfway up the stairs, leading to two different directions on the second floor.

The middle-aged woman who owned the place looked up at the newcomers, her blue eyes lingering briefly on the two of them. She turned and placed the cleaned cups on the cup holder behind her, asking in a languid tone:

"What do you want? The cheapest wheat beer, or some wine from the west? We have strong vodka, but only if you don't get drunk here."

"I'm here to visit a resident." Morian shook his head, took out a pen from his coat pocket, and wrote Skol's name in the front desk register.

"It's that guy again, the one who likes to tinker with weird gadgets." The middle-aged woman next to her glanced at him and then looked away, as if she was used to it. "He's got a lot of customers lately, huh?"

"You know him?" Mori asked casually.

"Of course, he's a loyal customer of our hotel. He always pays a deposit for several months at a time when he stays." The proprietress picked up another cup and continued wiping it.

"I still remember how pathetic Little Skol looked when he first arrived, getting drunk by that bunch of alcoholics and throwing up everywhere."

That's a bit unusual.

Given Skol's circumstances, he could easily buy a much more comfortable house. Why does he choose to live here so long-term? Is the hotel merely a transit point for "transactions"? Or is he trying to hide his true address from the other party in the transaction?

After listening to the hotel owner's words, Morian quickened his registration process.

After completing the formalities, he winked at Charlotte, and the two of them went straight up the stairs to the third floor. The wooden steps creaked under the pressure.

Unlike the cramped and densely packed second floor, the hotel's third floor is more spacious, with only a few scattered rooms, and is surprisingly quiet.

Perhaps due to the dust on the ceiling, the lighting was dimmer and the hygiene conditions were worse.

Arriving at room number 302, the dark wooden door was tightly closed, and there was no doorbell to ring, so Morian simply raised his hand and knocked on the dusty wooden door.

knock!knock!knock!

The knocking echoed in the quiet corridor.

A minute passed, and there was no sound from inside, not even a footstep.

He paused for a moment, then knocked on the wooden door again, but still received no response; there was only deathly silence.

"Could he have gone out?" Charlotte tilted her head slightly and offered her guess.

"If you're going out, the doorknob should still be able to be turned when it's locked." Morian withdrew his right hand from the doorknob and looked inside with a strange expression.

He discovered this little-known fact by chance: hotels deliberately designed door handles in this way to distinguish whether there are guests inside. When locked from the inside, the outside handle will be completely jammed.

After all, short-term departures do not require registration, while long-term departures require prior notification to the front desk.

At this moment, not only could the doorknob not be turned, but when you got close to the wooden door, there seemed to be an unsettling smell in the air.

This faint, fishy smell... it's almost like...

The smell of blood!

Oh no, could this really be the worst possible outcome?

If the clues we've gathered just disappear like this, it will be troublesome to continue the investigation.

Mori made a firm decision and immediately broke down the door.

He only brought a dagger with him when he went out, and he didn't have a suitable tool. He couldn't very well use "Passage" in front of the young lady next to him.

Just as she was agonizing over this, her brow furrowed, Charlotte suddenly volunteered, her calm voice carrying a certain certainty:

"Mr. Norman may be in some kind of danger. It's an emergency. I should break down the door and check on him immediately."

"By you?" Morian was taken aback.

Miss, your arms are even more slender than mine, and you're wearing an exquisite dress.

Charlotte didn't explain further, but simply rolled up her lace-trimmed sleeves and took a half-step back.

Then, she threw a seemingly light and weak punch forward.

boom!

A loud bang suddenly rang out, and the center of the originally sturdy door panel instantly dented, leaving a large hole.

Morian's eyes widened, as if he doubted his own eyes.

Without batting an eye, Charlotte then delivered two more straight punches to other areas.

boom!boom!

With two loud crashes, the overburdened wooden door finally tilted inward and collapsed.

"What are you doing upstairs! Be quiet!" The hotel owner's angry complaint echoed up several floors and reverberated in the stairwell.

"Sorry, sorry! I promise I won't make any more noise," Charlotte replied, raising her voice and speaking in a light tone.

As she stepped over the fallen door panel, a satisfied smile still shone on her face.

Even Morian, who was still in the stairwell and hadn't reacted yet, was a beat late in following him inside.

If you don't understand, just ask. Is this also part of financial power?

My left punch deals high damage, and my right punch deals high damage...