“Mr. Rockland, do you need me to give you two some time to exchange study notes?”
Ms. Cecil’s cool voice rang out without warning in the middle of their conversation.
The atmosphere instantly became a bit awkward.
Ophelia’s face flushed so red it looked like it might drip blood, and she wished she could dig a hole in the expensive carpet and bury herself in it.
After all, getting caught red-handed talking behind someone's back was a form of social death that was far from pleasant.
Yet, far away on his rocky island, Elias remained as steady as an old dog.
Without changing his expression, he tossed the silver-rimmed cap he had just fished out of a puddle into his bag, causing a crisp clink.
“Of course not,” Elias replied exceptionally bluntly.
He didn't care in the slightest about the embarrassment of being caught gossiping.
After all, the embarrassed one was Ophelia, not him.
Ophelia cleared her throat and awkwardly changed the subject.
“Mr. Rockland...”
She averted her eyes from the crow and took a deep breath.
“Can you vouch for her?”
Elias heard the tension in the young woman's voice.
He was in no hurry to answer.
Vouch for the Seventh Agency?
Was she joking?
Elias rolled his eyes inwardly.
He knew exactly what kind of state the Hastings Port Branch was in right now.
Until they cleaned out all the moles, he couldn't even fully trust himself, let alone guarantee the integrity of the entire Seventh Agency.
“I can't,” Elias said honestly.
Hearing this answer, Ophelia’s heart sank instantly.
Before she could even part her lips to say anything, Elias’s voice came through the crow once more.
“But I can guarantee that Ms. Cecil won't hand you over to Wayland.
“Besides, the fact that they captured you and didn't do anything to you already says a lot.”
Elias’s tone sounded lazy, yet it carried an undeniable calmness.
“As for where your evidence is hidden, don't tell anyone.
“And that includes her.”
This “her” naturally referred to Ms. Cecil, who was sitting right across from Ophelia.
Ophelia looked up in astonishment, glancing at the expressionless special envoy standing a short distance away.
Warning someone to watch out for another person right to their face was something only Mr. Rockland could pull off.
“Very well.”
Surprisingly, Ms. Cecil wasn't angry.
The woman in the black trench coat even curled her lips slightly, taking over the conversation.
“That is exactly what I wanted to remind you of, Miss Moore.
“I have no interest in your evidence.
“I only need you to publish the report that will bring down the Wayland Building when the time is right.
“I have no need to touch those things myself.”
Hearing Ms. Cecil say this, Ophelia’s tense shoulders finally relaxed a bit.
She was slightly dazed.
Only at this moment did she realize she seemed to have misunderstood earlier.
This rumored ruthless secret police officer of the Kingdom had absolutely no desire to seize the files in her hands.
She wanted the weapon, not the chest containing it.
“When is the right time?” Ophelia couldn't help but ask.
As a journalist, her intuition told her that the woman before her was plotting a tremendous political storm.
“Thomas Wayland is using the post-disaster reconstruction to package himself as the savior of Hastings Port,” Ms. Cecil stood up and walked to the window.
Outside, Hastings Port was gradually being swallowed by the night, its post-disaster ruins resembling silent beasts in the dark.
“Wayland's public relations team is very clever.”
Ms. Cecil looked out the window coldly.
“Once he has shown the council how much responsibility Wayland has taken on, and once he has claimed all the glory for himself...
“That is when you will show everyone how they treated the lighthouse keepers.
“Show them the piles of bones beneath the Moon Bay lighthouses.”
The room fell quiet for a moment.
Ms. Cecil’s words echoed in the air, carrying a bone-chilling certainty.
“Though your report won't be enough to prove Wayland's other crimes, such as colluding with cults, or those dirty deals hidden deep in the sea.”
She sat back down at the desk, her fingers tapping rhythmically on the tabletop.
“It will trigger a wave of public opinion that will shake the entirety of Landon.
“At the very least, it will force those gentlemen in the council to reconsider...
“Whether Wayland Capital is qualified to obtain firing clearance for the Kingdom's naval cannons.”
Ophelia was silent for a moment.
A struggle flickered in her beautiful eyes, but it was quickly replaced by the determination of a journalist.
“I will write the report?” she asked. “And I decide the content?”
“Of course,” Ms. Cecil replied flatly.
“You are the professional in this field. I won't pretend to know better than you.
“In exchange, I will guarantee your safety.”
Ms. Cecil looked at her, her eyes carrying a high-and-mighty sense of control.
“I will also ensure your report is published smoothly. No newspaper will reject it due to pressure from Wayland.
“From today onward, you are no longer Ophelia Moore.”
Ms. Cecil pulled a newly prepared identification document from the files on the desk.
“Instead, you are my private stenographer.”
She raised her thin eyebrows and looked at the spiritual crow, as if asking for someone's opinion from afar.
“How about Irene Adler?” the special envoy suddenly said, a trace of teasing in her voice. “I believe Mr. Rockland has some taste in names.”
Twenty nautical miles away, Elias, who was beachcombing, twitched his lips.
“That is up to you, ma'am,” Ophelia said after a moment of thought.
It was just a fake name; it didn't matter.
As long as she could keep writing, she didn't care what she was called.
“Good,” Ms. Cecil nodded.
“Your birth records, tax bills, former employers, and travel itinerary into Hastings Port will all be filled in today.
“Logically speaking, you will be an impeccable local stenographer.”
Ms. Cecil put away the document and looked up at Xia'an and Dabu standing by the door.
“You will live next door to me.
“Xia'an and Dabu will be responsible for protecting you.”
Ophelia turned her head, looking at the pale-yellow-haired girl with a lazy expression, then at the big, simple-looking guy carrying a massive toolbox next to her.
“Are you sure this is protection?” Ophelia asked skeptically. “It's surveillance, isn't it?”
She pointed out the essence of the issue with pinpoint accuracy.
After all, when these two had caught her in the alley just now, they had snapped the handcuffs on faster than anyone.
“Protective surveillance,” Dabu stood not far away, summarizing with a serious expression.
He felt this term was extremely precise. It both reflected the Seventh Agency's function and spared the feelings of the protected person.
However, the moment he spoke, the top-floor suite instantly fell silent.
Xia'an covered her face in exhaustion, looking as if she didn't know this guy at all.
Ophelia stared at Dabu, completely speechless.
Dabu blinked, not yet realizing what he had said wrong.
Hearing this on the beach of his isolated island, Elias couldn't hold back and commented through the crow's telepathic link:
“The kid summarized it quite accurately.”
Dabu's execution was indeed suited for being an emotionless security guard.
“Shut up!” the two women shouted almost simultaneously through the communication link and in the room.
Elias rubbed his nose and sensibly shut his mouth.
Inside the suite at the Coast Hotel, after everyone confirmed a few more details, the communication officially ended.
The moment the spiritual connection severed, the spiritual crow dissipated into the air once more.
Elias stood on the slippery reef, twisting his lips.
He looked at the heavy, half-filled bag of silver-rimmed caps in his hand and let out a long sigh.
Waves washed up one after another, lapping against his boots.
He gazed as far as his eyes could see.
He repeatedly confirmed that Jack was not rowing his beat-up boat anywhere near the shore.
Aside from the rolling waves and those damn, hat-like shells, there wasn't a single soul around.
Having ensured there was no risk of his senior persona being exposed, Elias finally let his guard down, scratched his hair in frustration, and yelled at the empty sea:
“Why the hell are there only these goddamn silver-rimmed caps here?!”
His voice carried far into the sea breeze.
The echo held an unspeakable sense of collapse and dejection.
Pretending to be a seasoned senior was exhausting.
Especially since to sustain his lie, he had to pick up shells on this goddamn beach every single day.
He had been doing it for several days now.
Every time Jack looked at him, his eyes were filled with the reverence reserved for some reclusive powerhouse researching an ultimate secret potion.
Heaven knew he just didn't know how to deal with this bag of trash.
Elias turned around somewhat dejectedly, stepping onto the wet shingle beach as he walked ashore.
The sea breeze blew against him, bringing a chill that penetrated to his bones.
He tossed the bag by the door of the wooden cottage and leaned against the wooden wall, feeling somewhat drained of strength.
Having vented, he still had to face the reality of his problems.
What he currently faced was an extremely severe survival crisis.
He needed to rid himself of the dream demon's curse as quickly as possible.
Furthermore, he had to raise his Scale level quickly.
Although Scale Three allowed him to easily defeat carapace husks in Hastings Port, it was still far from enough in the face of the upcoming Dead Tide and Wayland's conspiracy.
And being out at sea, many of the supernatural materials required for promotion were difficult to gather.
What disgusted him even more was the curse.
Whenever he thought he was close to finding a lead, thinking he could find a shortcut to lift the curse through Crowley or John... reality would ruthlessly slap him in the face in the very next instant.
He now felt completely stuck, cornered from both sides.
If he returned to the mainland, he wouldn't have enough time before the curse took effect, and he would also be dragged into a political storm.
If he stayed here, he lacked materials, and sooner or later, the upcoming attacks would send him straight to meet the Moon Lord.
Elias’s gaze gradually turned cold.
He looked at his slightly pale palm as the spirituality inside him flowed slowly through his Rational Circuit.
Since it was going to be trouble either way, he might as well start with the easiest one to deal with.
Some debts had to be settled.
That bastard kept subjecting him to Infinite Tsukuyomi day after day. Did it really think he was just a lighthouse guard who only knew how to eat dried meat?
Elias let out a cold snort.
“No, tonight I must play dumb and backstab that dream demon!”
Rate on N.U.
