Sent a telegram, settled the table, and now "White Shark" Hamilton felt completely relaxed—both in mind and able to focus on the finer details. The first question that came to mind was: "What about the guards outside?" He braced himself with both hands, suddenly stood up, and made his way heavily to the door, pulling it open to find several of his men standing there, leaning slightly off balance and telling jokes about the women. Hamilton was first furious, then calmed down, and with a slight tremor in his facial muscles, he gave a firm tap on the open door. Thud! The guards jumped, instinctively turning their heads toward the doorway. "Boss..." "Sir..." As soon as they saw who had spoken, they quickly straightened up and stammered. "White Shark" inhaled quietly and asked, "Did any of you see someone enter my room?" "Yes, Lardro said there was an issue downstairs." "The guards were utterly puzzled, 'You sent him in, didn't you?' As soon as the words left their lips, they suddenly thought of another explanation and began asking one after another, 'Sir, has anything been stolen from inside?' Hamilton's expression grew serious and he shook his head, 'Don't lose focus!' Clang! He pulled himself back and closed the door, leaving the guards standing there, staring at each other, wondering if their leader had indeed become drunk. But he quickly began to think of more: "It doesn't have to be this magical ability—if it truly aligns with the descriptions in the rumors, illusions, subtle suggestions, and psychological manipulation could achieve similar effects. 'Hmph. There's something off here. That man just now appeared refined on the outside, yet internally frantic, with formidable strength. How could he have pretended to be one of my subordinates in order to infiltrate, and even called me 'boss,' given his clearly established personality? He should have either knocked out or killed everyone he encountered along the way, strolling calmly to the door, and then knocked with the utmost courtesy! If his intention was simply to minimize noise, avoid leaving too much trace, and conceal his own sequence-related secrets, he could have used far more discreet methods—such as climbing through a window. 'That's contradictory. There's only one explanation for this inconsistency: he's feigning it. Is he pretending his personality, or his strength? Or perhaps both?" "Thinking about this, Hamilton suddenly stopped in his tracks, connecting all the details: 'That man is a rookie! His frenzy is a performance! His strength depends entirely on a magical object! 'Yes, that must be it!' 'Only then can we explain the contradictions—his inability to climb the exterior walls and enter through the windows stems from his low rank and lack of skill in such tasks; the magical object doesn't emphasize this area. He is willing to bow down and call me his boss solely because of the magical object, lacking confidence in himself and not being particularly proud or flamboyant. He acts like a madman precisely to create a sense of fear through the magical object, to generate pressure and to inquire about the latest developments." "This also perfectly explains why he simply left without a word. He came to me because he had obtained a powerful magical artifact, which fueled his ambition to capture and eliminate pirates for profit. Once he learned that I was working for Odler, the 'Silver Coin Serpent,' and for Old Quin, the intelligence officer of the 'Blood Commander,' and that my work might involve the 'Mysterious Queen,' he grew afraid—fearful and hesitant. He only gave a cursory nod and chose to depart, unwilling to take any action or risk a confrontation!" "White Shark" Hamilton found himself more convinced with each passing thought. He quickly reset the radio, retrieved his cipher book, and sent an updated message, briefly outlining his deductions. He believed he had not been targeted by the hunters—his earlier experiences stemmed entirely from the growing ambition of a young man who had been blessed with a fortunate encounter. He also provided clear characteristics of his target: "Fair-haired, blue-eyed, neither wildly enthusiastic nor bold—quite the opposite, even a bit timid." "He possesses a rather magical item—perhaps one that can alter his appearance and physique, or perhaps one that creates illusions blended with a sense of dread; the latter seems more likely. Ultimately, we simply cannot know his true form. 'A novice with limited experience, yet exceptionally skilled at projecting an aura of strength through the use of objects!' 'I have a certain level of familiarity with you—far from someone who's just arrived in Damaris Port for the first time.' Clack, clack, clack. Hamilton paused his fingers, leaned back contentedly, and settled into the chair with a creaking groan. A subtle upward curve formed at the corner of his mouth, as if he already saw the fate of that earlier fool: 'A relatively low-tier character, yet endowed with a powerful magical item—on the open sea, he'll surely meet with disaster, swarmed by greedy sharks!' 'And then, my concerns will remain completely concealed!' …… The port, under the night sky, was quiet. After leaving the "Flying Fish and Wine," Caine turned toward the distance, first briskly, then gradually slowing, settling into a relaxed, strolling pace. After confirming no one was tailing him, he resumed his original appearance—Germain Spaloff—fastening his shirt sleeves into his trousers as he passed through the shadowed areas. Gently smoothing his hairline, Caine removed his gold-framed glasses and settled them on his nose, projecting an air of polished refinement tinged with quiet reserve. Relying on the stars to guide him, he began retracing his steps toward the location where the *White Agate* had docked. As he walked, he chuckled softly, the crisp wind brushing against him, and thought with calm ease: "Hope the *White Shark* isn't that foolish—it can see through the cracks I've left behind..." He had presented himself to the visitors tonight as a young, inexperienced adventurer prone to errors, someone well-acquainted with Damaris Port and the *White Shark*, carrying a magical item that had enchanted him, causing him to feel dazed and slightly unhinged. Klein's initial idea was that pirates roamed the open seas, and even the navy found it difficult to track them. If he could obtain more precise intelligence from the "White Shark," he could simply offer direct services. Otherwise, he would use this identity and appearance as bait to attract discerning pirates to a predetermined location, carrying out an initial hunt. Once he learned that the "White Shark" could communicate with the senior officer of the "Blood Above," Old Quin, his plan matured: he would secure the cipher content and frequency spectrum, monitor the situation closely, track the targets' movements, disrupt their divination, and then, at the most opportune moment, use a combination of powerful magical items and relatively weak adventurers as bait to reel in several large fish. "The current issue is that I don't have any equipment for listening... it's basically unavailable on the sea... so, in my capacity as 'World,' I'd kindly ask either 'Justice' or 'The Magician' lady to help procure a set for me in Beckland, shipping it via a sacrifice—this is precisely the advantage of the Tarot Circle!" Reflecting on this, Caine felt a wave of sentiment. Seeing the White Garnet approaching, he quickened his pace and noticed that the Tanas family and the others had returned via a different street. Crivellis greeted him with a nod, and upon their formal meeting, spoke in a low tone: "I heard there was some disturbance at 'Flying Fish and Wine'?" Indeed, quite well-informed—clearly very familiar with Damaris Port... Caine smiled slightly, responding calmly: "Just dealt with two con artists." Crivellis' brow furrowed slightly, and suddenly felt that his initial assessment of Germán Sparrow might have been off. Having observed and gotten to know him over time, he thought the young adventurer, though sharp, reserved, and somewhat cold, was still someone with a warm smile, good manners, and a sense of knowing when to advance or retreat. Now, however, he felt uncertain—only sensing that deep within the man, there might be a blazing passion. At that moment, Donna's father interjected, "Mr. Krievs, may I introduce you to this one?" "Another colleague, Germán Sparro," Krievs said simply. Klein offered a polite smile and extended his right hand. "Delighted to meet you. Should you ever need someone to hire, and find yourselves unable to secure Krievs or his team, I’d be happy to be considered." "Absolutely—we hope you’ll bring the same strength and professionalism," Donna's father responded warmly, shaking hands with Klein and introducing himself. "Urdi Blanch." As Klein just released his hand and stepped back, a sudden inspiration struck him—there was a subtle anomaly he noticed within the gift boxes being carried by Blanch's servants. He quietly opened his spiritual sight and discovered that the box contained strips of cured meat—yet the meat was vividly red, brilliantly white, and deeply black, as if originating from the spiritual realm. There was a clear spiritual essence, though essentially harmless. This cured meat was truly unusual.克莱恩 was struck by this oddity. Noticing his gaze, the father of Halla smiled and said: "This is a specialty of Damir Port. At the heart of the island lies a dormant volcano, and several underground caverns have natural fissures allowing warm, natural breezes to flow through. The meat is dried and cured there, resulting in a unique and exquisite flavor—perfect as a gift for friends." "Mr. Sparrow, if you'd like to purchase some, you still have time." A unique flavor? A spiritual taste?克莱恩 now had a clear understanding of what was going on. According to esoteric theory, the spirit world overlaps completely with reality yet remains uninterfered with, requiring extraordinary forces to bridge the gap—though this is not absolute. There are certain places where the spirit world is particularly strong and subtly influences the physical realm. In such areas, the deceased often become water spirits, zombies, or other spectral entities, and homes frequently experience paranormal occurrences. The underground caverns of Damaris Harbor likely exhibit such phenomena, though they are not severe and have not caused any disturbances—only imparting a distinctive flavor to the cured meats. One doesn’t need to consume large quantities of it to be unaffected. "I’m not particularly interested in cured meats," Klein smiled, responding at last. Only now did he realize that the cured meats served by the bartender were ordinary, not specially prepared. At that moment, the young boy Danton pointed at the moon in the sky and exclaimed, "It's so red!" "Indeed," Tana nodded in agreement. So red? Klein looked up and felt that tonight's red moon was no different from usual. Since the children's spiritual essence was relatively pure, after consuming this preserved meat and absorbing the spiritual realm's aura, they had acquired a temporary, albeit limited, ability of spiritual sight? Might the children on this island also exhibit similar traits? Ah, perhaps this is the very origin of the folk traditions in Damir Port... Klein examined carefully and found the answer. The group strolled back to the ship, ascending the side ladder to the deck. Klein said goodbye to them and headed toward the second-class cabin. Suddenly, a thought struck him, and he once again activated his spiritual sight. Before him, he saw the great white-boned messenger materialize and gently set down a letter.