Danzis opened his mouth and instinctively uttered an Intis word: "Inn." The air seemed to freeze instantly. He glanced at the coachman's deep brown skin, his tousled black hair, his softer facial contours, and the equally puzzled expression, exhaled silently, and resignedly carried his luggage toward the other end of the street. "Good heavens! I've finally run into a coachman who doesn't speak Intis! A coachman serving passengers near the docks should know at least a few words from the North Continent, right? There are so many Intis, Ruin, and Vessak people coming and going here!" Danzis murmured, scanning ahead, searching for pedestrians who looked like they were from the North Continent or had the appropriate heritage, so he could check into an inn and have a proper meal. As far as he knew, there were quite a few Intis immigrants in Berlens, along with some Ruin, Vessak, and Feneport residents—just meeting a couple of them would be enough to make communication easy. Nevertheless, Daniz felt there was a precondition: that he hadn't fainted from heat exhaustion during his search. "What a miserable weather!" he muttered, lifting his gaze to the clear blue sky, the fluffy clouds, and the sun that wasn't particularly intense, then wiping sweat from his forehead with a hand, his expression slightly distorted in frustration. Though he cursed thus, Daniz was well aware that the southern continent's climate during this season was moderate, even slightly cool. He had grown so hot simply because of the "sun brooch" he wore. But, being new to this place and still uncertain about its effects, he hadn't dared remove it yet—definitely not ready to pack it away in his luggage. If he accidentally lost it, he could easily imagine the cold, relentless gaze of Germain Sparo. Let me bring a few people from the Northern Continent—any country will do. I'm a big pirate who speaks several languages… Daniz kept murmuring under his breath, his mind filled with icy beer and oceans dotted with icebergs. As he went on, he suddenly raised his hand and rubbed his eyes. Finally, he spotted a clear representative of the Northern Continent! And it seemed almost like someone he knew! At a sun-drenched street corner to his diagonal, a young man with golden short hair neatly parted in a three-to-seven style leaned against the wall, blowing softly on a silver flute. He had bright green eyes, wore a white shirt with the top two buttons loose, an open black doublet, and dark trousers, and held a single black glove—none of the others. That was Anderson Hood, the strongest hunter of the Mist Sea! What a coincidence! He had somehow ended up in Xibai-lang! Daniz felt a surge of joy, as though he had finally caught a floating log in the vast sea of people. He didn’t pause to reflect on Anderson’s performance aboard the "Golden Dream," and instead approached directly, greeting him in the hunter’s standard tone: "Well, giving up on being a treasure hunter, are you now turning to street performance?" Daniz noticed that Anderson had a hat placed upside down in front of him, containing about twenty to thirty copper coins—some "copes" from Intis, the majority being local "dolces."—"Dolces" meant copper coins in the Intis language. Anderson paused his playing and glanced at Daniz: "That’s not my hat. I happened to pass by and saw this hat lying on the ground, unnoticed. I felt a bit moved, so I took out my panpipes and played a few notes. Who knew, though, that so many people had gathered to listen and dropped coins into it." "You're such a rough pirate—probably never really grasp the magic of music. It knows no borders, I tell you, especially Captain—" "Stop!" Daniz's brow jumped, cutting off Anderson's speech as it seemed to drift in all directions, and turned to ask, "How did you end up here?" Holding his harmonica, Anderson thought seriously: "That's a good question. "I honestly don't remember how I ended up in Xibayang. I can't recall what exactly happened over the past two months." Daniz had intended to chuckle, but Anderson's serious expression made him believe without hesitation. He paused, asking carefully, "Do you mean you remember absolutely nothing at all?" Anderson tucked away the silver-white harmonica, bent down to pick up the hat filled with coins, and brushed off the dust: "My last memory stays with Bayam. After parting ways with Germán Spáro, I thought I was heading to a place to meet someone—yet when I woke up, I was in Xibayran." "Ha! Don't worry about these details. As long as we're alive, that's all that matters. Ah, it's nearly noon. Let's go find a place to eat—I've heard the pork shank at Berlens is especially famous." As he spoke, Anderson placed the hat, along with the coins inside, beside the neighboring homeless man. Danzis, feeling hot, hungry, and tired, perked up: "Do you speak the Dautan language well?" Anderson gave a sharp exhalation: "Have you never heard of my numerous adventures as a treasure hunter in Xibayran?" "Yes, I actually wanted to find out more about Xibairan earlier—things here are so chaotic and dangerous. If we can bring in Anderson, we'll be much safer, and we'll have an extra translator! I can't exactly say I'm hiring him—I simply can't afford his pay. Daniuz smiled slightly: 'Then I'm reassured. Let's go.' He carried his luggage and, together with Anderson, walked to a nearby street and entered a restaurant. Hearing the service staff speaking in a flurry of native words and seeing the menu filled with unfamiliar characters, Daniuz felt a headache coming on. He quickly turned to Anderson and said, 'You take a look.' As he spoke, he handed the menu to the strongest hunter from the Mist Sea. Anderson didn't reach out; he simply responded calmly, 'I also don't understand.' '...Didn't you say you were fluent in Duan language?' Daniuz stammered. Anderson spread his hands. 'I never said that. Does having visited Xibairan many times make me fluent in Duan language?' "You wouldn't think that with just a knowledge of Dantian, you'd be able to understand the inscriptions on ancient temples and castle ruins and locate the treasure, would you?" Danyiz's expression twisted again, and his speech speed naturally picked up. Anderson picked up the cup just set down by the waiter, took a long sip, and said, "A problem that can be solved with a dictionary isn't really a problem at all. 'Besides, wouldn't someone who doesn't speak Dantian be completely unable to communicate with people from the southern continent?" He then turned his head to the waiter and ordered in Inthis: "Two specialty pork shoulders." The waiter looked utterly puzzled, continuously pointing at the menu. Anderson didn't seem at all rushed. With a calm hand, he pressed his nose with his right hand, mimicking the sound a pig makes. The waiter was first taken aback, then suddenly understood, and Anderson then pointed to his own elbows and to the Berens icon on the menu, forming the number "2" with his fingers. “*%￥#” The waiter, speaking with a strong accent in the Deltan language, nodded continuously, indicating he understood, while Daniz stood by, nearly stunned. After a series of gestures and a few simple Deltan words, Anderson finally finished placing his order and turned to Daniz with a smile, saying, “Got it? In this world, the truly universal language is body language!” Daniz stared blankly, then gave a slight draw of the corner of his mouth as a response. ………… The carriage left the western district, turned south at the junction, and soon reached a military base. With a letter handwritten by Colonel Calvin and a junior officer guiding him, Klein entered smoothly and arrived at a broad plaza paved with compacted earth, where a massive vehicle in deep blue and pure white stood waiting. The airship is several dozen meters long, with sturdy yet lightweight alloy frames extending from its cabin, interweaving and supporting a waterproof, non-breathable fabric lined with bladders. Below, gunports, bomb-launching ports, and cannon positions are arranged. At this moment, the hum of the high-flame steam engine has not yet begun, and the propeller blades remain still—everything is remarkably quiet. Klein handed his documents and identification to the officer stationed at the gangway, then, after receiving permission, carried his luggage and stepped steadily onto the airship. Here, it resembles a ship's cabin, divided into three levels: the uppermost level houses complex machinery and cargo storage areas; the middle level features a large hall suitable for buffet dinners and galas, with restrooms and corridors flanking the hall and connecting to the upper and lower levels; the lowest level contains gunrooms, ammunition stores, cannon positions, and sleeping quarters for the soldiers. Passing through the ranks of sentries holding rifles as instructed by the officer earlier, Caine located the corresponding lounge and placed his luggage beside a sofa-like seat. Then, he picked up a cup of water placed on the table and walked to the window, gazing out at the view beyond. Honestly, though he knew a little about everything, he only knew a little—so he still didn’t understand the design principles of this newest type of airship, nor was he certain how high it could fly or how much turbulence it would experience in the air. This made him a bit uneasy. Before departure, he had even consulted the misty sky for a divination, which had offered him a favorable indication that he would reach his destination smoothly. There seems to be a safety belt—the airship industry in this world has been around for quite some time now, with ample experience across all fronts. Klein was about to shift his gaze from outside, appreciating the room's layout and the flickering candlelight behind the solid glass dome, when he suddenly noticed a group of people approaching the airship bearing the number "1345." The gentleman stood behind a window, offering a warm smile and raised his cup.