The lobby of Prizh Port Ticketing Company was quite spacious, featuring seven ticket counters, yet each counter was already lined with fifteen or twenty people. Klein glanced around and, instead of heading toward the less crowded line, stepped two paces to the right and stopped in front of a straight, brown wooden board. On the board, a series of white papers were pasted together, displaying the latest week's passenger ship schedules—complete with destinations, ports of call, and prices for various cabin classes. Before Klein could take a closer look, a staff member approached, circled a second-class spot in one of the rows, and marked the word: "Sold out." "It's quite popular," Klein murmured. "Of course, Prizh is the kingdom's largest port, and countless people pass through here to seek opportunities on the southern continent and the colonial islands," replied a middle-aged man standing beside the board, with a slightly exaggerated tone. He wore a black soft hat and a polka-dot police uniform in black and white, but without shoulder boards, only a sea-eagle badge pinned to his chest—exactly matching the emblem of "Port Prizel Ticketing Company." The middle-aged man's face, hands, and all exposed skin were a warm copper hue, rough and textured, as though long exposed to sea breezes and relentless sun, giving the impression that salt grains had seeped into his wrinkles. There was a dispute with the guard at the hall... this must be the guard... Klein remembered the notice posted at the entrance and didn't mind the visitor's initiative, smiling and asking, "Do you seem quite familiar with this port?" "Heard this question, the middle-aged man replied with considerable pride: 'I was a sailor in the Royal Navy, whose main base was Oak Island in Prince's Port. I served for 15 years, spending a long time at sea. Had it not been for the war in Eastern Baylang that damaged my health, I could have continued as a sailor for another ten years! My knowledge of this port is as intimate as my knowledge of my wife's body!' A bit cultured, yet a touch coarse... Caine, eager to gather maritime news, casually remarked, 'After retiring, you came to serve as a guard here?' 'No, I spent two years enrolled in a night school—simultaneously a student and a gatekeeper. Can you imagine a man of my age reading aloud to a group of children just a few years old or in their teens? And not only that, but they learn and remember words faster than I do!' The guard sighed, clearly overwhelmed." Saying this, he tapped his thigh and sighed, "Unfortunately, whenever the weather turns damp and cold, my knees suffer. Otherwise, I'd also teach at the night school—those children make you feel young again. But I must admit, I'm primarily driven by the need to earn more money. When you have a wife and four children, you realize you have to shoulder the weight of the family." Mr. Kline, you're rather verbose—perhaps that's precisely why the ticket office hired you as a guard. Clain didn't pursue the topic further, but smiled, "Just now, I checked the notice at the entrance and discovered that wolf fish canned in brine is not allowed here. To be honest, I've never heard of such a thing." The guard's expression suddenly grew complex. He pinched his nose and said, "That's a specialty from the eastern coast of Fosac and the Galgas Islands—wolf fish salted in brine, still retaining its blood and juices. The aroma is incredibly intense, quite pungent, even off-putting, quite unpleasant!" "It was actually a kind of dark dish... Kline chuckled, saying, "But I can't imagine anyone deliberately eating a canned food while waiting in line to buy tickets, can they?" "No, you don't grasp that feeling yet. Perhaps one day you'll understand it," the guard said, looking deeply relieved. "There was once a northern barbarian who came here to buy tickets, but the line was already long—so long that the hall was packed like a wooden barrel full of fish. He was quite anxious, so he opened a wolf fish can. Within less than ten seconds, the entire hall was left with just him and a few others." That's a biological weapon! A standard version of the 'biological toxin bottle'! Kline laughed. "In the end, he managed to secure his ticket, and there were new instructions posted outside?" "Things didn't go as he expected. The ticket staff—both the lady and the gentleman—also managed to escape. Hah, you know, the barbarians' brains aren't even as sharp as those of a tufted baboon!" "The guard chuckled, saying, 'When I was a sailor, there was a tale of pirates seizing a merchant vessel from Lorus—ah, that was a city on the eastern coast of Fsaq. Anyway, the pirates were eager to open their plunder, only to find it filled with barrels of pickled wolf fish. Can you imagine the result? They fainted, vomited, lost all strength, and ended up as prize rewards for the crew.' 'A fine story,' said Kline, suppressing a smile. He turned his gaze back to the paper on the board, searching for information about the vessel on January 5th. As a professional, he had already consulted his oracle to determine the most favorable days for departure this week—either the 5th or the 8th. Among the passenger ships scheduled to sail to the Rosted Islands on the 5th, the Saint Ferval and the White玛瑙 stood out as the most suitable." Tickets are still available, and prices are quite similar—third class at four pounds, second class at ten pounds, first class at thirty-five pounds… People who live by the sea naturally believe in the "Lord of the Storm," even in countries like Intis and Fosac, where fishermen and seafarers quietly venerate this deity, not officially permitted, in hopes of smooth voyages… The name *Saint-Veran* clearly originates from a saint of the Church of the Storm, giving it a certain credibility… After careful consideration, Klein leans toward choosing the *White Chalcedony*. "Moreover, the captain is highly experienced—he was the chief officer of the Royal Navy's HMS William V, though actually, the king has always insisted on calling it the Royal Navy, claiming he has been granted the title of Emperor of Bayron. Hm, in the Royal Navy, no matter how outstanding or accomplished a sailor may be, they can at best rise to the rank of chief officer; to become an officer, one must first win over their superior, no matter how—through any means necessary! Only then can one be recommended for admission to the Prince of Wales' Naval Academy to become a reserve officer. That's exactly how Elran was pushed out of the navy and onto the White Garnet, gradually rising to become captain. 'I recommend you take first-class accommodations—this will give you a room where you can sleep with three or four servants, a well-mannered steward trained in etiquette, a skilled chef, a quiet dining room with a view, a dedicated smoking room, and a space where you can gather to play cards...' Hearing the steward describe it so thoroughly, Caine found himself somewhat puzzled. Noticing his expression, the guard hesitated and smiled awkwardly, "Erlan used to be my superior. He often invited me to drinks and asked me to promote first-class tickets for him. But please rest assured—every word I've said is true!" It wasn't a matter of truth or falsehood—it was a matter of money... Klein murmured to himself silently. He had already made up his mind and paused to ask, "Sir, what advice would you offer to a sea adventurer?" To better fit the identity of Gorman Sparrow, Klein had previously refined his appearance, making himself appear more composed and sharp. "An adventurer?" the guard raised his voice unconsciously. Several people in the ticket queue turned to look, directing their attention toward Klein. By instinct, guided by a subtle intuitive sense, Klein followed the line of sight toward that direction. He spotted a man in his thirties wearing a black hat, with a rugged face, weathered lines, a sturdy yet slightly less upright build, and eyes the color of calm blue, as if having seen many things. Was he also an adventurer? Klein and the man exchanged a brief glance before both looked away. At that moment, the guard managed a smile and said: "Sorry, I'm a bit overly dramatic about the term 'adventurer.' In my mind, it means a desperate man, a sea rogue, or someone who breaks their vows—no, I'm not talking about you. A sincere piece of advice: remember three points. First, don't get on with pirates. Second, don't get on with pirates. Third, still don't get on with pirates! Unless you're part of the navy or the church, don't stand up to pirates!" "Wait—don't be fooled by the girls' enthusiasm on the island. They're either part of the pirate crew, or they're hoping you'll take them to Priz, or to Beckettland. It's not entirely their fault—many sailors, crew members, and passengers have been deliberately misleading them, painting vivid pictures of glamorous urban life and idyllic living conditions, only to then kick them off their beds and abandon them back where they started." What a bunch of unpleasant people... In this era, it seems the seafarers aren't much better. How poor the order at sea is? How rampant the pirates have become? Kline nodded and said, "Thank you—I understand what to do now." With that, he walked toward the group with the fewest members. The guards called after him, "Also, the legends about treasure at sea are mostly false!" ... After purchasing a second-class ticket on the White Beryl, Kline returned to the inn and patiently waited for nightfall. During this process, he enjoyed the most famous fried fish from Prizh Port, finding the flavor acceptable, though he knew he couldn't sustain it indefinitely. As the time approached eight o'clock, he entered the realm above the gray mist, holding in one hand the insignia from Larnuus and writing down the corresponding sentences: "the current state of the gathering." Ticking, ticking—when the watch hands reached the designated eight o'clock mark, he closed his eyes, leaned back against the chair, and began reciting the divinatory phrases repeatedly. He had reason to believe that when the doors of the gathering "opened," he—bearing the properly positioned insignia—would be able to summon something definite through this medium in the realm above the gray mist! Previously, his attempts had failed because nothing had yet emerged; this time, however, things were unfolding, and Klein possessed a sufficiently accurate medium! Soon, Klein entered that hazy, dreamlike world. He saw the Tassok River flowing steadily, the broad valley flanking it on both sides, and dozens of people at various positions, gradually fading into the thin light, either blurred or ethereal. Among them, one with black hair and green eyes, well-featured, clearly a familiar face to Caine. Leonard Mitchell!