As soon as he stepped onto the deck, before even entering the cabin, Caine caught a figure moving through the crowd toward him with a glance. On the surface, he appeared casually indifferent, but his inner awareness remained alert as he glanced over. It was a man in his thirties, wearing a half-high black hat and a long coat of the same color. His face, weathered by time, was rugged yet full of masculine presence; his pale blue eyes held no smile, as though carrying the weight of many past experiences. A bit familiar... Ah, yes—the man he'd encountered at the ticket office yesterday. He, too, seemed to be an adventurer. Wearing a coat in January on the sea—quite sturdy indeed. Caine casually raised his cane, pointed slightly downward, and smiled warmly. "Good morning, it's good to see you again." He spoke as if greeting an old friend. The rugged man, however, didn't seem surprised. He stopped, nodded gently. "Crevits, former adventurer. "Hey, you're one of us, aren't you?" "I thought you knew already, Germán Sparo," Klein replied with a smile. He did not hand over the cane to his left hand, as he had no intention of shaking hands. "I can see that," Clevely said after a pause. "Being an adventurer isn't exactly a rewarding career. I've switched fields and now work as a bodyguard—this time, I'm accompanying my employer's family to the capital of the Rosedale Islands." He half-turned, indicating a spot on the other side of the table. Klein followed his gesture and spotted a group of nearly ten people gathered there. Leading the group was a well-set, slightly plump gentleman with a rosy complexion and bright eyes. On his double-breasted formal suit, the gold chain of his watch and a jeweled lapel pin were clearly visible. Beside him stood a lady wearing a wide-brimmed circular hat, her face completely concealed by a flowing deep blue lace, though her figure remained well-maintained. Standing ahead of them were two children—one a boy, under ten years old, dressed in a children's tailcoat, and the other a girl of about fifteen or sixteen, lively and energetic though not particularly striking in appearance. Her brown eyes were lively and bright, and a few light freckles, along with her slightly ruffled skirt, gave her a touch of charm. Around them, three servants were carrying luggage and various items—one man and two women, all dressed in servant attire, among whom one woman had a warm, reddish complexion, clearly of southern continental descent. Protecting these seven figures were a man and a woman dressed simply and efficiently in white shirts, light sweaters, black coats, dark trousers, and sturdy leather boots. These two guards did not conceal the subtle marks of their gun holsters at the waist, and they remained vigilant, constantly scanning the pedestrians who approached, their gaze sharp and their demeanor calm and composed. "Three servants, and three guards?" Kline remarked casually. This setup is quite luxurious, indicating that the employer is a wealthy man—someone who instinctively makes judgments. "Yes," Krivits nodded. He said no more, quickly turned, and walked toward the employer's family. ...Klein stood there, unsure what it meant that the man had come specifically to say hello. Drawing on memories of novels, films, and TV series from his previous life, he gradually grasped the underlying message Krivits was conveying. He remained cautious toward him, the man who claimed to be an adventurer and appeared unapproachable, and thus proactively introduced himself, clarified his identity and intentions, and made it clear that he didn't want to interfere with the employer's family. In short, it was a mutual arrangement: you do your thing, I do mine, and we don't encroach on each other. Was this the unspoken understanding between seasoned adventurers or seasoned bounty hunters? Interesting. Klein chuckled softly, picked up his suitcase, held his ebony staff, and entered the cabin, finding his assigned room according to the ticket. With a soft creak, he pushed open the wooden door and stepped inside. The room was not spacious, just large enough to fit one bed, one table, and one cabinet—no chairs at all. Its greatest advantage was the window, through which the harbor sunlight streamed, casting pure golden spots upon the table and the bed's edges. "The crew member just mentioned that the bathrooms and showers are shared, with about eight rooms per unit. If you're in a hurry, wooden toilets can be provided, though at an extra cleaning charge—three pence per use. Fortunately, the White玛瑙 has been upgraded with numerous metal piping systems and a boiler in operation, supplying hot water, which offers a much more convenient lifestyle. Otherwise, the journey would hardly have been pleasant," Klein murmured silently. He quickly arranged the essential items on the table for easy daily access. After tidying up, he sat at the low edge of the bed, listening to the long, resonant whistle of the steam whistle, feeling the steady power emanating from the steam and machinery within. The ship set sail. Klein looked out the window at the sea scene, then gradually drew his thoughts inward, beginning to consider the most pressing matter ahead: how to embody the "Faceless One." Facing the arrival of the "True Maker" and the powerful Mr. A, his decision to abandon the attempt to flee had slightly weakened his elixir. Based on this feedback, he now had a clearer understanding of what it meant to be the "Faceless One." "The rule that the 'Master of Secret Figures,' Rosago, is required to remember is: 'One can impersonate anyone, but only oneself.' At first, I thought 'oneself' referred simply to one's original identity. But now I realize that this is insufficient—what exactly constitutes 'oneself' must be truly understood." Klein leaned forward, bathed in sunlight, as if a statue in deep contemplation. After a while, he began to form a clearer picture: "Does this have to do with one's inner spirit—the most authentic version of oneself?" "Even on Earth, Zhou Mingrui had always been skilled at pretense, cultivating a social persona—thus forming a kind of personality mask. To some extent, this carried a significant element of falsity. 'Hmm... When I assume someone else's identity and step into their role, in order not to be detected, I also have to maintain social interactions—effectively wearing a different mask each time. 'What would the 'self' finally reveal itself as when all these masks are removed, leaving no trace behind? 'Is that the deeper meaning of 'self' embedded within that rule? 'When I face my inner thoughts, overcome my fears, and challenge the impossible not for social reasons, do I then truly become myself? 'This remains to be explored and verified...' With these thoughts, Kline shifted his posture to find a more comfortable seat." Reflecting on what had happened before, he discovered another issue concerning performance: "When I was in the underground ruins, I had impersonated Ins. Zangwei and successfully escaped the crisis—yet I had absolutely no sense of the magical potion beginning to be digested. Does this mean that a superficial impersonation is insufficient to trigger the digestion of the 'Faceless' potion? "This suggests that the performance required is not merely acting, but rather an exceptional ability—one that truly embodies someone else, becoming them socially and genuinely? Only when relatives and friends are unable to detect the impersonation over an extended period does the disguise succeed." "So, I feel a deep resonance with the 'Faceless' potion because I had previously successfully impersonated Caine Moretti. "The First Rule of the Faceless: one may assume the identity of anyone, but only one's own. The Second Rule: one must achieve a deep, all-encompassing disguise that goes unnoticed by everyone?" "Yet, merely imagining oneself as that person in social terms—replacing him—is already evil... 'Must one seek someone who died abroad, with unfinished wishes?' Cain settled his inexplicable fear and began to form a tentative direction. 'The higher the sequence, the harder it becomes to embody him...' He sighed, pulled out his watch, and checked the time. Seeing that lunch was still early and the room too narrow and confining, he decided to go on deck, breathe in the sea breeze, and enjoy the view. After the initial hour of lively activity, the deck wasn't particularly crowded. As he walked along the hull, he gradually reached a quieter, shaded corner. Today the sunlight was excellent and warm—except for the wind, which was stronger and required careful attention to his hat. Otherwise, there were no drawbacks. He adjusted his half-high hat and leisurely surveyed the ship's cabins, listening to the faint music drifting from within. Suddenly, he spotted the former adventurer Krivis busily working in the corner, seemingly arranging a three-pronged spear, a dagger, and a short knife before him. Krivis noticed him and looked up, his expression weathered and composed, speaking with quiet reserve: "Old companions—they need regular care." He added, as an afterthought: "There are children in the ship's cabin." "Understood," Klein replied with a smile. Krivis resumed his work, and, casually, asked: "You don't seem to have brought these with you?" "I tend to use weapons that are current with the times," Klein said subtly. "And I also take good care of them." Krivis silently raised the dagger, glanced at it in the sunlight, and murmured to himself: "On the sea, a gun alone isn't enough. Pirates will board, come in large numbers—once your ammunition is spent, you won't have another chance to reload. These older companions may not be the latest trend, but they remain indispensable." "Quite professional... Truly, no surprise that you're a former adventurer." Kline leaned against the ship's rail, half-jokingly. "If pirates actually boarded, I'd probably just choose not to resist." Krievs turned his head, gazing at him for a full three seconds before shifting his gaze, then began packing his belongings with a low, steady tone. "It seems you don't need to be reminded—you already understand the rules of the sea. 'The bounty hunters who walk the land rarely make it as seafaring adventurers.'" He skillfully tucked his dagger, short knife, and trihedral spear into the folds of his garments, leaving Kline momentarily dazzled. "Thank you," Kline nodded, smiling. Krievs said no more, turned, and returned to the cabin, leaving behind a broad, deep silhouette. Kline curled his lips slightly, shook his head, and turned his eyes toward the ship's rail. The blue waves gently swayed, and silver-white flying fish occasionally leapt from the surface, soaring through the air. This fish can both fly and swim, and fishermen and sailors regard it as a favored companion of the "Lord of Storms," often releasing it back into the sea even after hauling it up. Klein leisurely enjoyed the sunlight reflecting on the sea horizon, and the schools of flying fish darting across it, his mind suddenly flashing with a thought: Hmm, I wonder how the meat tastes... PS: Updates will be posted earlier in the morning.