Ding! The gold coin gently leapt, rolled, and settled steadily into the palm of Cline. He glanced at the result—heads or tails—and with a smooth pivot of his heel, seamlessly entered a quiet, dimly lit alley. The coastal wind was cold and strong, creating a current that caused his woolen coat to flutter slightly, nearly dislodging his half-high silk hat. Suddenly, Cline stopped, turned, and spoke in a low, steady tone: "Come out." His gaze was sharp, fixed firmly on the shadow at the alley's corner. After a silence of four or five seconds, a figure emerged from the darkness, smiled lightly: "You're quite perceptive." The man wore a black cloak, in his early thirties, with yellowish-brown eyebrows, deep blue eyes that sparkled, and a relatively soft facial structure—typical of the people from southern Tyrsis, Lüngburg, and Ségal. As soon as he appeared, images flashed through Cline's mind. As he entered the "Flying Fish and Wine" bar, he professionally scanned the room, looking for any notable figures worth observing. At that moment, the answer was clear—there were none. The man was drinking heartily, curiously watching the scene, no different from other guests in appearance, nor particularly distinctive in looks. Yet the black cloak left a distinct impression on Klein, instantly identifying him as the one being followed. " What would you like to do?" Klein slightly lowered his posture, maintaining his persona—like a large, poised feline ready to spring into action. The man in the black cloak laughed again: "Your demonstrated combat skills and handling of the situation have perfectly aligned with my taste. That's precisely why I came to follow you—I wanted to ask if you'd be interested in joining us." "Although that fellow named Logan indeed was impersonating a Lutherville informant, 'White Shark' Hamilton genuinely has ties to several pirate factions and is playing a less-than-pristine role. The fact that you knocked out one of his men in his tavern will surely be remembered by him—and you can expect some ongoing difficulties. I can help you resolve that. You're an adventurer, after all, and bound to dream of treasure. We are a group of companions who have come together precisely to seek treasure—pursuing legends such as the 'Spirit Empire,' 'Solomon's Legacy,' 'the Secret of the Fountain of Youth,' 'the Key of Death,' 'the Sunken Lavinia,' and 'Rosalie's Hidden Treasures.' We've sailed across the five seas, and though we haven't yet achieved one of our primary goals, we've discovered numerous missing pirate ships. Hm, that sounds remarkably similar to what that mouse just mentioned, doesn't it?" "He cleared his throat and said, 'To be honest, we're a crew of adventurers who call themselves pirates. We only seize merchant and passenger ships when we're particularly poor, and even then, we never harm the innocent. Our primary focus is on seeking treasure—often, we're rewarded handsomely. Indeed, I've slept on beds piled high with gold coins. If we encounter other pirate ships, we'll strike them as well, to secure supplies.' 'By the way, our captain has a rule: before recruiting new members, we must clearly outline our mission and terms of employment.' 'Mission?' The captain seems quite thoughtful... Caine deliberately softened the tension in his voice, testing whether the other would seize the opportunity to launch an attack. The man in the black cloak smiled calmly and said, 'Until now, it's been our mission. Now, let me explain our terms of employment.' What strong confidence he has! Though not a spectator, Caine could clearly sense the other's self-assurance, completely unconcerned with the current situation." "We don't have weekly salaries or pensions, but as long as we find treasure and plunder wealth, it's distributed according to rank. Under normal circumstances, when fortune favors us, even the lowest-ranking sailors can receive two or three hundred pounds a year—heard that's equivalent to the middle class on land? Hah! If we ever locate the 'Sunken Laurel,' we'll all become wealthy!" The man in the black cloak casually explained. "Depending on rank, we also receive different numbers of vacation days each month, though these can only be accumulated and taken at once, not staggered." As he spoke, he suddenly muttered under his breath: "Good heavens! Two years ago, we missed our very best chance to discover the 'Spirit Empire' simply because the captain was on leave!" Do seafarers even have annual leave? Kline was momentarily surprised. He found the pirate crew described by the man to be refreshingly humorous, reminiscent of the parody recruitment ads he'd seen for Somali pirates in his previous life. Seeing that the other seemed startled by his words, the man in the black cloak smiled and added, "As an adventurer, are you still chasing those forces beyond nature as described in legend? 'With us, you'll have a real chance to experience them!' " Pausing here, he cleared his throat and said, "I forgot to introduce myself." His expression grew serious, no longer as cheerful as before: "Dañiz, the Fourth Mate of the *Golden Dream*, subordinate to Edwena Edwards, the 'Ice Mountain Commander'." After stating his nickname, full name, and background, Dañiz patiently waited for the other to show signs of surprise or apprehension. A moment passed, and then, the adventurer—polite in appearance but somewhat erratic in demeanor—spoke in a steady, low tone: "Dañiz, the 'Fierce Flame,' with a bounty of three thousand pounds?" Danyiz was about to reply when suddenly he felt a strange impression—that the figure standing in the shadowed alley had transformed into a monstrous being, hungry and insatiable, its eyes fixed on his soul and flesh. Danyiz clenched his fists tightly, his body losing the earlier ease, growing taut until it began to tremble slightly. His intuition told him that he was facing a deep abyss, overflowing with madness and bloodthirst. In this state, Danyiz had no sense of how much time had passed, until the other spoke again: "Why have you come here?" "I—I'm on vacation..." Danyiz's dignity, as the Flame, made him reluctant to answer, yet his instinct compelled him to speak. As soon as he finished, he felt the other's gaze withdraw, and the hunger that had been pressing upon him like a devouring force vanished entirely. He stood there, watching the young adventurer—dressed in a black wool coat and wearing a half-high silk hat—turn around and walk toward the other side of the alley. As he approached the corner, he paused, half-turning his head and asking, "Where is the 'White Shark'?" "He lives at No. 1 on the Sea Embankment Road, but most often stays on the second floor of 'Flying Fish and Wine,' just as today," Daniz replied truthfully. Only when the figure disappeared into the distance did Daniz straighten his posture and tug at his cloak. "A formidable one," he murmured, without speaking. Then, regaining his composure, he spoke to himself, "I must inform the captain that there's now a formidable one at sea. He's a man who looks like a gentleman but behaves like a madman. Unless one has both the determination and the confidence to kill him, it's best not to face him." Danzel raised the hat of his black cloak and decided to return to the inn to sleep, waiting for the post office to open in the morning so he could send the message to his intermediary contact residing on the Rosedale Islands. As for what would become of the "White Shark," he didn't care at all. Fortunately, Kline has always maintained excellent self-control in this regard, and from the earlier remarks, he judged that Spargo was not a pirate burdened with guilt, thus easily taming his inner impulses. "With the 'craving hunger,' Spargo's character profile is now fully intact..." Kline paused for a few seconds, then produced a gold coin and performed two divinations—one to verify whether 'Flame' Daniz was lying, and the other to assess whether 'White Shark' Hamilton could harm himself. The first revelation indicated that 'Flame' Daniz had no need to lie, while the second confirmed that 'White Shark' Hamilton could not pose any threat. Kline folded the coin, then, as he placed his hat down, slid his palm down and gently brushed over his face. Instantly, his appearance changed—he now had golden hair and blue eyes, with an ordinary facial structure! Immediately afterward, Kline unbuttoned the buttons of his woolen coat and unfastened his shirt, letting it no longer stay tucked into his trousers. After a simple change of attire, Caine, without his cane, perspired profusely and found his lips dry as he struggled to orient himself, making his way back to the "Flying Fish and Wine" tavern! On the way, he encountered Daniz, "The Flame," who merely glanced at him before turning away and heading toward the inn on the other side of the tavern. Caine calmly surveyed the reward board, then reached out and pushed open the door, stepping inside. It had been less than ten minutes since he had escaped. Inside the tavern, many guests had dispersed, though several drunk patrons remained gathered, watching the spectacle. Their eyes fixed on the new arrivals, only to shift again and again—Caine moved smoothly and unimpeded to the bar counter. There, he saw the bartender standing anxiously beside a tall, broad-shouldered man, whose forehead was wrapped in a thick white bandage, nasal passages stuffed with soft paper, and face streaked with bruises. The man himself was tall and imposing, with a pale complexion, as if a true white shark had indeed made landfall. He ran a hand over his gleaming bald head and addressed Elran, who wore a dark red coat with a captain's straight sword: "Someone told me you know that man who just arrived." "There are only three ships arriving today, so it's unlikely that strangers would be numerous. Don't try to deceive me!" Elran tapped the hilt of his sword and smiled lightly. "Yes, he's one of my passengers." "But the issue today is clearly with you." "So, I simply want him to return here, apologize, and compensate for the damaged bar," the tall, broad-shouldered white man said, frowning. Elran chuckled heartily. "White Shark, in my homeland there's a proverb: don't hate a stray dog simply because there are mice in your warehouse." "...A just Elran, is that your stance?" Hamilton, the White Shark, narrowed his eyes. Elran grasped the wooden handle of his hand cannon, stepped forward, and spoke solemnly: "Yes, that is my stance." The captain is quite assertive... Cline was slightly surprised by Ailran's performance. They exchanged a quiet glance for a few seconds. "White Shark" Hamilton took a deep breath and said, "You've helped me before, so I won't need to apologize—however, he must compensate for half the losses, which you'll personally deliver." "A solid proposal," Ailran smiled. "White Shark" Hamilton frowned, glancing around. Then, with a sudden motion, he slapped the bartender across the face. The bartender flew backward, dropping several teeth. At five meters away, Cline watched silently, as if all of this had nothing to do with him.