Since Oder, the "Silver Coin Viper," wasn't a pirate, the various rumors about him were true and false alike, making it hard to pin down. Caine turned his gaze from the stairwell and walked over to the bar, finding a seat and lightly tapping the table. "A Zalha, please." This was the locally brewed barley beer, considerably cheaper than the southern Wylde beer imported from the southern continent. "Three pence." The bartender, who had been quiet, now stirred back to life, picking up a cup that was held upside down. The patrons in the tavern began to murmur, under the glow of the gas wall lamps, discussing the reason Oder had purchased ten ship tickets. "He must be being followed—three ships, ten tickets—this way, the pursuers will never know which one they'll actually take!" remarked a member of the crime syndicate, who lifted his sleeve to reveal a tattoo on his arm, drawing on his own experiences of two successful escapes. An adventurer sipped his hot brandy and chuckled, "You don't understand Odel. If his plan were that simple, he wouldn't have the nickname 'Silver Coin Snake.' I'd bet my life they won't board any of the ten vessels represented by those tickets! The only thing certain is that they're heading for Port Priz." Klein held his Zalha cup, idly listening and sipping slowly, waiting for the documents and ship tickets he needed. "Another thirty minutes, I hope there's no surprise—no chaos in the bar..." he prayed silently, mentally drawing a crimson moon. The pale yellow beer was draining slowly, and Klein occasionally glanced at the wall clock or checked the door, hoping time would pass more quickly. Half an hour passed, then the bar door suddenly swung open with a loud creak, and the night breeze rushed in. Not this again, Klein's mouth twitched slightly, suppressing a chuckle as he turned slightly to face the source of the sound. Five people appeared at the entrance, led by a man with black hair and brown eyes, a deeply lined face with strong, firm features—very much in the style of Ruhn—around forty years old. His expression was stern and commanding, instantly quieting the crowd in the bar. Behind him, three men and one woman wore overcoats, openly holding revolvers, as if they would instantly aim and fire at the slightest anomaly. "I don't recognize him," Klein murmured, maintaining the posture of an observer. The five intruders suddenly dispersed, approaching different guests, slightly bowing, gazing at them, and in turn asking: "Where is Odell, the Silver Coin Serpent?" The guests hesitated whether or not to answer, when suddenly the dark gun barrels came into focus on them, the ivory or black walnut grips glowing with a distinct elegance under the light. "He—they've gone up to the second floor!" the guest being asked pointed toward the staircase at the same moment. Someone is indeed tracking Odell. Is this a move aimed at the 'Mysterious Queen,' or has Odell himself done something? Or is it due to the mysterious figure in the hood, eating fruit beside him? Klein took a sip of beer, watching as four of the newcomers moved up to the second floor, while one remained in place, continuing to ask questions. Soon, the latter learned that Odel had purchased tickets for Denier, and immediately walked over to the thin, dark-haired merchant, asking firmly, "Tell me plainly—where did Odel buy the tickets for?" Denier, not trying to impress with his broad network, offered a smile and said, "He didn't specify. He asked for ten tickets, each for a different ship, all scheduled for tomorrow, destined for Port Priz." "Really?" The inquirer was a man in his twenties, known for his progressive style. Denier replied softly, "You can ask anyone here—they all heard it." "Good heavens!" the man exclaimed, pushing Denier roughly, then turned and walked toward another guest. Denier wavered, stumbled backward, and seemed on the verge of falling. His head struck the edge of a small round table, yet he felt a sudden strength at his shoulders, instantly restoring his balance. Instinctively, he turned his head and saw it was the guest who had just obtained a false identification to purchase the black ship tickets. "Thank you," Denier said, his voice a mix of gratitude and frustration. "Those damned military hyenas!" he murmured, gritting his teeth. It was Caine who steadied him. He didn't want the ticket seller to suffer any mishap—after all, he had already paid five pounds in cash. It was also his habit to assist anyone inadvertently affected. Military hyenas? In Bayam, such a description usually pointed to someone connected with MI9. What had "Silver Coin Serpent" Odel done? Caine thought silently, ruling out the possibility that someone was specifically targeting the "Mysterious Queen." For the Roon military, this made no sense at all. As his thoughts turned, he went upstairs to find the members of MI9 rushing down the stairs, hurrying toward the door while speaking to their companions, "They've already jumped out the window!" The group had come in a rush and left just as quickly, and the bar soon resumed its lively atmosphere—only the slightly swaying door remained a quiet reminder of the disturbance that had just passed. Finally, Klein secured his forged identification and the ticket for the Black Ship, no longer worried about being interrupted unexpectedly. After paying the remaining 15 pounds in cash, he left the seaweed bar and returned to his ordinary rented hotel. "John Jorl... that name is too simple. Before I head back to Beckett, I'll still need to obtain more authentic identification." Klein reviewed the series of documents and placed them in his suitcase. He took a bath to relax and prepared for tomorrow's departure from Bayam, the final leg of his journey by sea. At that moment, he heard a steady knocking at the door. Who could it be? Klein hurriedly removed his robe, dressed in his shirt and pants, and walked to the door. Outside stood several police officers in black uniforms—one appeared to be from Roon, the others either mixed-blood or native. "Is there something wrong?" Klein asked, puzzled. "Could you please produce your identification?" the mixed-blood officer politely requested, as the man across from him also seemed to be from Roon. Thank goodness I just obtained one—otherwise I'd have to go to the police station tonight or flee on the spot, changing my appearance and starting over... Klein murmured as he returned to his room to retrieve his ID. The Roon officer casually flipped through it and asked, "Mr. Jord, are you living alone here?" "Yes, all the guests at the inn can confirm that," Klein replied calmly. The Roon officer smiled slightly and asked, "Have you ever seen this person?" "He spoke while asking a nearby officer to open a portrait, depicting an elderly man with an unusually thin frame and a disheveled, completely white beard—beyond that, he had no particularly striking features." "No," Kline shook his head. "The man liked fruit," the Roon officer added. "Fruit…" Kline suddenly remembered the mysterious figure in a hood who had been regularly sipping coffee-colored fruit at the side of 'Silver Coin Snake' Odel. After a moment's thought, Kline decided to be open and honest: "Perhaps I've seen him before—I recall a fruit enthusiast accompanying Odel when I was at the seaweed bar." The Roon officer didn't conceal his disappointment, simply thanked him and concluded the interview. Only after they had knocked on the door of another room did Kline close the wooden door and return to his armchair. "Oder's case hasn't just drawn in MI9—it's also prompted the Governor's office to deploy personnel for a citywide sweep. No ordinary matter, indeed..." He murmured these words and decided to head to the Grey Mist, browsing the prayer glimmers surrounding the 'Staff of Neptune,' seeking further insights from the prayers of Bayam's many devotees, so as not to inadvertently get swept into a major crisis due to misjudged responses. He is now a Superintendent! Then, Caine projected the will of "Poseidon" into the corresponding light spot. Suddenly, Brya, who was arranging subordinates at the police station, broke into a cold sweat and hurriedly found an excuse to enter the restroom, where she whispered a prayer: "To the beloved of the sea and the spirit realm, the great Cawitua, hear the report of your devoted follower. Tonight's key figure is a thin elderly man whose hair has turned completely white but remains fairly dense, though disheveled. He is very sensitive to cold and wears thick clothing even in Bayam. He is a great eater—like a steam engine fueled by high-quality coal. The message is: find him, but do not harm him." Caine paid no further attention to Brya, pulled his thoughts back, and lightly tapped the edge of the long table: "Compared to the portrait, this description gives me a sense of familiarity." "It seems I've heard this somewhere before..." For the seer, familiarity meant a clue. Thus, Caine began writing the divinatory incantation and asked his spiritual senses questions. As he silently recited the words, he leaned back against the chair, using meditation as a stepping point to enter a deep sleep. In the dim, dreamlike world, Caine found himself back in Bekkan, returning to his former apartment at 15 Minsk Street. Before him stood Ian, his eyes bright red. The young man raised his head and said: "Turani von Hermosyin, the greatest scientist, mathematician, and mechanical engineer of the age after the Great King Roser, the father of the second-generation Analytical Engine." Suddenly, Caine awoke, realizing who the intelligence service was seeking! They were looking for the scientist—whose single manuscript on the third-generation Analytical Engine had sparked fierce competition between the Roon military and the Intis intelligence network, resulting in numerous deaths. They were seeking the enigmatic scientist who had vanished from sight years ago! It's no wonder Senior Intelligence Officer Quin, known as the "General of the Blood," has wireless telegraphy equipment that's more advanced than anything in Beckland! Kline suddenly understood. P.S.: Post first, then revise.