199: Contracts and dusty archives

Duke Howard's fox-like smile seemed increasingly inscrutable under the dim light.

"Tell me, how much do you know about my daughter?" he suddenly asked a seemingly irrelevant question.

Lin Feng didn't answer, just looked at him calmly.

The Duke gave a self-deprecating smile: "It seems she's doing well. That's good. For this deal, I have one additional condition."

He picked up his wine glass and looked out at the brilliant city night view, his tone carrying a sense of detachment.

"I don't want her to know that I'm still alive. To her, I've long been an irresponsible father who died over seventy years ago. Letting her continue to think that is better for all of us."

"Fine," Lin Feng agreed without the slightest hesitation.

To him, the old family squabbles of the Cavendish Family were far less important than the clues to the nine tripods.

"Very well." Duke Howard nodded with satisfaction. "Go back to your hotel. Someone will deliver what you need to your door."

He leaned back into the sofa and closed his eyes, adopting a posture of seeing his guests out... Back in the presidential suite of the Alvear Palace Hotel, Wang Dalong slumped onto the sofa, his whole body looking as if his bones had been removed, turning into a soft puddle.

"Brother Feng... are we really going to believe that old monster's words?" He gulped down a large mouthful of ice water, the lingering fear on his face not yet fully faded. "He's over a hundred and twenty years old, yet he still looks like a handsome middle-aged man. This isn't scientific! He said he wants to resurrect The Painter—could that really be true?"

Lin Feng didn't speak. He was standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking the heavy traffic below, his mind rapidly replaying all the information he had obtained tonight.

Resurrecting The Painter... Ouroboros... eye of odin... nine tripods... clues surged in his mind one by one, giving him a massive headache.

Just then, the communicator in the suite rang. The steady voice of Carlos, the security supervisor, came through.

"Mr. Lin, the hotel front desk has received an express package addressed specifically to you. The volume is... very large. Should I have someone bring it up?"

"Have them bring it."

Ten minutes later, when several hotel staff in uniform pushed three huge wooden crates, tightly wrapped in waterproof tarpaulin, into the room on a luggage cart, even the well-traveled Carlos showed a look of surprise.

Lin Feng signaled that Carlos's men could leave.

Once the door closed, he took a multi-purpose entrenching tool from his backpack and inserted the crowbar end into the edge of one of the wooden crates.

"Rip—!"

The tarpaulin was easily sliced open.

With a forceful twist of his wrist and a "creak," several rusty nails were wrenched out, and the lid of the wooden crate loosened.

A heavy smell, mixed with the mustiness of moldy paper and the dust of ages, instantly filled the entire room, causing Wang Dalong to sneeze several times in a row.

There were no gold or silver treasures in the crate, nor were there any lethal weapons.

There were only bundles of yellowed, brittle paper archives, neatly tied with hemp rope.

Densely packed, they filled the entire crate.

On the cover of every file, lines of German were printed in a rigorous Gothic font.

"Projekt Ahnenerbe - Sonderforschung Nr. 7, Argentinien Abteilung" (Ahnenerbe – Special Research No. 7, Argentina Department)

Below was a bright red stamp that remained striking even eighty years later.

"Geheime Reichssache!" (Top Secret!)

Duke Howard had delivered what he promised.

From the arrival of Nazi remnants in Argentina in 1945 to the departure of the radicals in 1949, all the core secrets of the predecessor of the Ouroboros organization during those five years were here.

Wang Dalong leaned in, looking at these three large crates full of "scrap paper," feeling his worldview being refreshed once again.

"No way, Brother Feng, these are the clues that old monster gave? How long is it going to take to read through all this?"

Lin Feng didn't hear his complaints at all.

Like Columbus discovering the New World, he radiated a strange excitement. He carefully picked up the file on top, ignored the dust, and flipped it open.

Under the dim light, his fingers lightly brushed over the fragile paper, and he became completely immersed, as if everything around him had disappeared.

Seeing him in this obsessed state, Wang Dalong didn't dare disturb him, so he turned on the TV and started watching a spanish football match he couldn't understand.

Minutes and seconds ticked by.

The suite was terrifyingly quiet, with only the "rustle" of pages turning and the occasional excited roar of the commentator coming from the TV.

Wang Dalong was drowsy, his eyelids drooping.

After an unknown amount of time, he was startled awake by a rapid rustling of pages.

Turning his head, he found that Lin Feng had opened the second crate at some point and was kneeling on the carpet, frantically flipping through a document, muttering to himself.

"No... that's not right... the timing doesn't match..."

Wang Dalong rubbed his eyes and leaned over: "Brother Feng, what did you find?"

Lin Feng ignored him; his movements suddenly stopped.

His finger pointed to a document titled "Monthly Logistics Procurement and Consumption Report (1947-1949)."

This was a pure data report, recording staggering material consumption across detailed tables.

"Massive amounts of canned food, fresh water, medicine, fuel, clothing..." Lin Feng's voice was somewhat raspy as he read the German entries word for word.

Wang Dalong was completely confused: "What's so strange about that? With so many people, they definitely need to eat, drink, and use the bathroom."

"No, you don't understand." Lin Feng shook his head, his finger continuing to slide down, finally stopping at a specific entry that appeared repeatedly.

His gaze narrowed.

"Here... look here."

Wang Dalong poked his head over and saw a line of handwritten German notes.

"Replenish sailors, 62 men."

"Replenish sailors, 48 men."

"Replenish sailors, 35 men."

Lin Feng's mouth almost soundlessly uttered a few words.

"They were maintaining a Ghost Fleet in South America."