He glanced at the wall clock and saw that it was past eight. Aljer set down his heavy glass cup, pushed through the crowd of drunken patrons, and stepped onto the street. Thanks to its abundant coal resources, Bayam was much like Beckettland and Prizeland—its streets were lined with tall, black lampposts. The glow of gas seeped through the metal grates, illuminating the still relatively clean pavement. Aljer adjusted his headscarf, strolled slowly toward a nearby alley, and at its closed end, caught the scent of urine mingled with the aroma of wine—though the café had restrooms, they were clearly insufficient for the volume of customers during peak hours, so some of the more urgent drinkers had to step out to find a quieter spot. The red moonlight filtered through the clouds and streamed into the alley. As Algère was still deciding whether to feign greater composure, a solid, resonant voice, carrying a hint of amusement, came from behind: "Did you deliberately reveal the news of 'Flame' to us?" Not bad at all, Algère murmured to himself, slowly turning to face the speaker, as if guarding against a sudden attack. Although the wanted portraits often differ significantly from the actual person, and many renowned pirates can wander through cities without any disguise, Algier—being an insider of the Church, having seen numerous ritual portraits that resemble photographs, and having attended pirate gatherings—was able to successfully connect the current individual with one of the names on the warrant. He did not display this recognition, instead hesitating and deliberately asking: "Skall, the calm one?" This was the chief assistant of "Steel" Mavithi—a remarkable figure skilled in emotional control and thoughtful deliberation, yet utterly devoid of humanity—warranted at 1,500 pounds. The man adjusted his black coat, smiled without warmth, and replied: "Can I deny it? "Well, it seems I can't—just as you couldn't deny that you deliberately mentioned 'Flame' to Oruma, someone who doesn't think much, while I, on the contrary, am constantly thinking. "I never intended to hide it—I simply hope to exchange the information I've gathered for some compensation. Anyone with a clear mind would know which choice makes more sense: a lone 'Flame' versus a well-supported 'Steel.' Of course, I'd like you to keep my identity confidential; I don't want to be pursued by the 'Ice Admiral.' "Aljer responded calmly. Skall nodded slowly and leisurely. "Go on, tell me more." "As I mentioned before, I encountered and recognized the 'Flame' at the Gold Coin Casino. He asked me to keep an eye on the 'Steel.' Hah, it seems he's aiming for a counteroffensive." Aljer chuckled. "We've agreed on a rendezvous point—I believe this is at least worth 1,000 pounds of intelligence." "1,000 pounds? Look up at the Red Moon—you're not dreaming!" Skall exclaimed, blowing out a breath. "This might be a trap. You haven't grasped it yet, have you? The 'Flame' has likely found allies, which is why he's now actively seeking us out." "Whether it's a trap or not shouldn't be up to me to decide. Five hundred pounds—anything below that, I'd simply act as if nothing had happened." Alger insisted, arguing for his fee. "Three hundred pounds, and you'll come with me to a place, stay for a while, so you won't sell this information to anyone else and disrupt our plans. We'll pay you only once we've actually used this intelligence to capture 'The Flame' or gain access to his inner circle—no worries about food, wine, or lodging; in any case, you'll come out ahead! Should anything unexpected arise from your side, well, you'll know the consequences." Skoal proposed with an uncompromising tone. Indeed, as I had expected, given my unclear background and relatively low risk, the likelihood of them choosing temporary detention over eliminating me was much higher... Nevertheless, I had prepared for the worst and made adequate arrangements; as long as I remained vigilant, escape was certainly feasible. "No more than two days," Aljere hesitated, thinking carefully. "Otherwise my crew will take my ship with them." "I'll inform them if it exceeds two days," said Skoal, who had somehow produced a sharp surgical knife and now performed acrobatics with it, making it leap and spin. After Aljere had described in detail the contact point at 15th Street on the Avenue of the Fragrant Trees and the corresponding communication methods, Skoal said nothing further, simply turned and led the way, guiding Aljere through a series of turns and twists to a building on an unremarkable street, into a plain, unassuming house. "Long time no see, Captain of the Blue Ghost Ship." "The person who opened the door was an older man with more white hair than black, dressed in the local style, wearing loose, wide-legged pants. 'Old Quin, you truly are the intelligence officer known as the 'General of the Blood'!' Aljer said, feigning surprise. Old Quin chuckled warmly. 'Reports are always a mix of truth and fiction; you may think one is false, yet it might be true.' He didn't turn on the gas or the overhead lamp, but held a silver candlestand in his hands, guiding Aljer and Skoal through the dark hall into a spacious, sturdy, windowless basement. 'You'll stay here for a while,' Old Quin said with a smile, 'and I'll have my friends keep watch, serving you wine and food. As a gesture of our goodwill, we won't disarmed you.' 'That sounds good,' Aljer said, stepping over to the low bed in the basement. Old Quin then closed and locked the heavy stone door behind them. Skoal didn't stay, but hurried off, repeatedly checking to ensure he wasn't being followed." After transferring once to a hired carriage, he arrived at Bayum's Roon settlement—the area where the upper class resided. Upon entering the stately villa, Skall found Mewitt lounging comfortably on the sofa in the living room, awaiting him, while the other companions either lay, stood, or sat, forming a semicircle. The puppets and the undead served as sentinels, guarding the perimeter. "Steel" had thick lips, dark skin, and hair in loose, curling strands, reminiscent of steel beads commonly found in factories. His arms muscles contracted with steady strength, yet overall he exuded a cold, lifeless, almost inanimate presence. Skall nodded: "A pirate captain who serves only money—I've detained him at Old Quin's place. If there's any issue, he won't make it out alive. I believe he understands that well enough." With that, Skall offered a cold smile. "Still, we must remain vigilant—this might very well be 'Flame's' trap. "What can you do?" MacVitt asked directly. His eyes first fell upon a pirate lying on the lounge sofa, dressed in a local short robe of coffee brown, his fingers rotating a sun-yellow, brown-hued straw hat with a central depression. This was MacVitt's deputy—the sixth captain of the expedition who had lost his ship during the battle against the "Admiral of Dusk," Hunterley of "Bloodthorn," with a reward of 3,800 pounds. "Clearly, Skoal has a plan," Hunterley said, shielding his slightly pale face with the hat. Skoal chuckled: "Didn't John Smith's group of adventurers join us under the guise of being hidden? Simply let the news slip to him, and make him believe we're still waiting for reinforcements, that we won't act until either tomorrow or the day after." "The greedy adventurers will surely not miss 'Flame'—they'll strike first. Then we'll find a vantage point to watch. Should anything go wrong, let them bear the consequences. If all goes smoothly, we'll have the perfect opportunity to absorb them too!" "Agreed." McVeth's eyes flashed with a sharp, intense hunger, blazing with a fierce thirst for blood. During this process, Huntley produced a black handkerchief, flicked it with a wrist motion, and it transformed into the night sky, mysteriously concealing all the more distinct traces visible under the moonlight. In just about eight or ten minutes, they arrived near 20 Ashwood Drive, directly opposite the target house. They halted, allowing the "flying carpet" to quietly hover above the crown of a large tree, while they themselves surveyed the condition of the target building across the street. Time passed steadily, and Huntley skillfully guided this magical object without any signs of lack of spirit. As the long night wore on, the eastern sky began to blush, and the sun was about to rise—Captain McVey and his crew of pirates began preparing to locate other suitable monitoring sites during daylight hours. At that moment, a figure moved swiftly across the rooftops, bending slightly and making agile progress, arriving above Ashwood Drive 15. He wore a black cloak, with yellowish eyebrows and deep blue eyes, his features and contours soft and refined—none other than "Flame" Daniz! Danzis carefully glanced around, then climbed up the rising chimney, braced himself with his hands, and slipped inside, sliding down. Really? "Steel" McVey, "Bloodthorn" Hunterly, Skoal, and others all instantly stirred with renewed alertness. At that moment, several figures leapt out from the chimneys and concealed spots of houses 13, 14, and 17, moving with swift determination—some breaking through windows, others kicking open doors, or using the chimneys themselves—to enter House 15.