70: Chapter 8 An Encounter

The full moon approached, and only a few days remained until the ghost ship set sail.

Lu Li devoted all his spare time to honing his Sequence 9 abilities of the Apprentice Pathway.

He purchased several more fragments of spatial charms from the black market on Water Pump Street, and every day at dusk, he would repeatedly refine his precision in Lock Picking and spatial perception within his cramped apartment.

After days of practice, his spiritual tentacles were now masterful; the moment they touched a spatial fracture node, they could retract precisely without any hesitation.

The success rate, which had once been less than fifty percent, was now firmly stabilized above ninety percent.

Meanwhile, the intelligence transmitted by Abraham grew increasingly grave.

In recent days, the frequency of operations at the Aurora Order's warehouse in the River Bay District had intensified sharply.

Every night, black-curtained carriages arrived on time, and wooden crates engraved with eerie patterns were unloaded and stacked layer by layer, filling most of the first floor of the warehouse.

Yet, the bizarre disappearance cases across the city suddenly ceased.

This was by no means the Aurora Order stopping their activities; rather, they had gathered all the living sacrifices needed to open the blood altar.

Lu Li neatly transcribed the clues into his private notebook in simple, minimalist handwriting that only he could understand.

Once the recording was finished, he closed his eyes and focused again, immersing himself in charm practice, his mind steady and undisturbed by the external shifts.

That evening, as dusk dyed the East Borough of Backlund and the dim streets lit up with sporadic gaslight, Lu Li went out to purchase his daily black bread.

Just as he reached the street corner, a familiar figure unexpectedly entered his view.

Standing at the street corner was a young man wearing a dark grey trench coat and a worn, faded bowler hat.

He held an unfolded, wrinkled map of downtown Backlund in his hands.

His posture was upright, yet he stood there looking around with a feigned sense of bewilderment, as if he had lost his way.

The trench coat style was not the standard uniform of the Tingen Nighthawks, yet inside the tightly fastened collar, the faint, almost imperceptible outline of a holy emblem was vaguely visible.

Lu Li saw through the other person's identity at a glance.

It was not Klein Moretti from Tingen, but the private detective currently struggling to make a living in Backlund—Sherlock Moriarty.

He paused for a moment and stood still on the other side of the street.

His gaze swept over the map, where several locations were clearly circled in red ink: the Old Wharf in the River Bay District, Water Pump Street, and the entrance to the Underground Commercial Street in the East Borough.

Undoubtedly, this newly promoted Seer was following the trails to investigate the serial disappearance cases that had recently shocked the East Borough.

In the next second, the Fate Anchor resting in Lu Li's chest grew slightly warm.

An extremely familiar spiritual fluctuation, originating from the same source, pierced through the layers of twilight and clearly entered his perception.

This fluctuation was suppressed to the extreme, kept below the threshold of Sequence 8, making it absolutely undetectable to ordinary Beyonders.

But to the perception of a Prometheus, it was like an ember buried deep within the ashes—quiet, constant, and containing an unmistakable, homologous origin.

Sherlock, on the other side of the street, sensed it at almost the same moment.

He looked up abruptly, piercing through the hazy night, his gaze precisely locking onto Lu Li across the street.

The two gazes crossed the street, silently meeting and confronting each other in the heavy dusk.

After a few seconds of silence, Sherlock spoke first.

His tone was gentle and polite, yet it concealed the caution and probing ingrained in a private detective's bones: "Excuse me, could you tell me how to get to Water Pump Street? The markings on this map seem to have some discrepancies."

"Go straight ahead, turn left at the first intersection, and turn right at the second alley."

Lu Li raised his hand to point out the direction precisely.

"Many thanks. Judging by your appearance, are you a local resident?"

Sherlock seized the opportunity to strike up a conversation, his probing intent even more pronounced.

"I arrived not long ago, settled in the East Borough, and make a living as a porter at the wharf."

Lu Li's tone was flat as he casually recited the perfect identity he had long prepared.

The East Borough was a mix of dragons and snakes, and a wharf porter was the most inconspicuous and flawless identity for someone from the bottom rungs of society.

No identity documents were required, his daily routine matched the labor at the wharf, and it also reasonably explained his frequent movements around the wharf and the black market.

Sherlock nodded slightly, his gaze sweeping over Lu Li's body without a trace.

The other person's palms were coated with wood shavings and grime typical of old wooden crates, his shoulders had faint pressure marks from long-term heavy lifting, and his back was slightly relaxed and hunched—the unique physical habit of a porter who had carried heavy loads for years.

Every detail was seamless and impeccable.

There was only one flaw.

A wharf porter who relied on manual labor for a living, spending his days with sacks and heavy objects, would never have calluses on his finger joints that only come from long-term writing and studying texts.

The flaw was extremely subtle; had he not been observing with full concentration, he would never have discovered it.

Sherlock understood in his heart, but his face revealed nothing.

He simply thanked him, folded the map and tucked it into his trench coat pocket, then turned and walked slowly toward Water Pump Street.

After walking a few steps, he stopped abruptly.

Deep within his spiritual perception, a fleeting, homologous fluctuation quietly swept by.

The source was the very street corner where the "porter" had just been standing.

Faint, secretive, yet incomparably familiar.

The inexplicable resonance at the Tingen train station, the spiritual echo in the Backlund plaza, the note left on the windowsill of the abandoned apartment in the East Borough... and that snake-shaped circular ring mark branded deep in his memory, symbolizing the Antigonus Family.

Countless fragmented clues connected in an instant.

He did not look back.

The undercurrents of Backlund were turbulent, far beyond the stability of the small town of Tingen.

Here, everyone hid secrets unknown to others, and behind every secret might stand an existence he was currently absolutely unable to contend with.

At this moment, he was just a lone private detective, Sherlock Moriarty.

With no teammates to rely on, no Sealed Artifacts to protect him, having only paid one month's rent, his progress was difficult, and his foundation was not yet stable.

He was not qualified to investigate further, let alone risk probing.

After a brief pause, Sherlock gathered his collar, his pace steady as he continued forward, completely blending into the shadows deep in the street.

Across the street, Lu Li stood quietly, watching that back disappear completely.

The resonance just now was definitely not an illusion.

No one had actively activated spiritual detection, but the secret bond between the Fate Anchor and Sefirah Castle was like two homologous strings brushed by the same wind of fate, naturally producing a synchronized vibration—silent, yet real.

He had also captured the other's wariness.

The inside of Sherlock's right sleeve had bulged slightly, with a small and hidden outline—it was a Paper Figurine Substitute that could be activated at any time to escape death.

Seemingly asking for directions and chatting, he was actually fully utilizing his spirituality, his vigilance never relaxing for a moment, ready at any time to deal with crises and withdraw.

Lu Li slowly retracted his gaze and turned to return to his East Borough apartment.

Klein had already established a foothold in Backlund and, as a private detective, had quietly set his sights on the Aurora Order's blood sacrifice conspiracy.

According to the established timeline, it would not be long before he constructed Sefirah Castle, gathered members, and formally established the Tarot Club that would span the heavens, connecting Audrey and Alger.

And he himself had to complete all preparations for boarding the ship before the Tarot Club took shape, laying out all his contingency plans properly.

In the same city with turbulent undercurrents, investigating the same bizarre event, the two brushed past each other, strangers with unknown identities.

This was the safest and most tacit way for two homologous passersby to interact at this stage.

Returning to the apartment, Lu Li took out his private notebook and recorded his chance encounter with Sherlock today using his unique shorthand code.

He carefully marked the other's current activity trajectory: Mingde Street, Water Pump Street, River Bay Wharf.

At the same time, he noted the core information—Sherlock had accepted the commission for the disappearance cases and was secretly tracking the movements of the Aurora Order throughout.

Turning to the page recording the preparations for the ghost ship, he picked up his pen and added a new principle: If we encounter each other again in the black market, ruins, or crime scenes, maintain the existing boundaries, do not take the initiative to strike up a conversation, do not reveal identities, do not interfere with the main storyline, and only provide silent support and secret intelligence at critical moments of crisis.

The night passed in a flash.

The next evening, Lu Li went to the River Bay District as usual to stake out the Aurora Order's warehouse.

A black-curtained carriage that had just finished unloading was parked at the warehouse entrance, and the driver was squatting on the side of the road, leisurely wiping the mud off the horse's legs with a tattered rag.

From the cracks in the tin window on the second floor of the warehouse, a strange, dark red faint light leaked out.

Unlike previous days, the red light tonight was increasingly intense, and its flickering frequency was completely chaotic, changing from the gentle rhythm that matched a human heartbeat to a rapid and frantic one, faintly revealing a violent aura that was about to reach completion.

The formation of the blood altar was nearing completion.

Lu Li hid behind the window of the abandoned apartment on the second floor, concealing himself in the shadows, quietly observing the abnormalities of the warehouse opposite.

Just as he was about to finish recording the information and quietly withdraw, a very light sound of footsteps came from the depths of the silent corridor.

The footsteps were small and unsteady, carrying a deliberate, suppressed caution, as well as the wariness of someone probing everywhere.

It was definitely not an official Mandated Punishers officer.

The footsteps of the Mandated Punishers' standard-issue hard-soled leather boots were heavy, regular, and highly recognizable; they would never be so cautious and erratic.

Lu Li pressed his back lightly against the window frame shadow, his right hand quietly pressing on the holy water copper bottle at his waist, his spirituality quietly spreading out, his vigilance fully raised.

The footsteps paused briefly at the corner of the stairs, as if checking the surrounding environment, and after a moment, they steadily moved upward.

A figure in a dark grey trench coat slowly appeared at the second-floor stairwell.

Sherlock Moriarty.

In the dim and dilapidated corridor, the light was murky, and dust floated in the air.

The moment their eyes met, the air suddenly stagnated.

Sherlock's right hand had already retracted into his sleeve, his fingertips quietly pinching a Paper Figurine that was ready to be activated at any time.

His spirituality was tense, and his whole body entered a state of combat readiness.

His gaze quickly swept over Lu Li's face, then fixed on the windowsill beside him.

On the windowsill lay a spatial perception charm that had been more than half consumed.

The style, pattern, and spiritual aura were exactly the same as the charm he had previously found left in this apartment.

After a few seconds of silence, Sherlock broke the silence first, his tone calm but carrying a definitive judgment: "You are not a wharf porter."

Lu Li slowly released his hand from the holy water copper bottle, his posture relaxed as he leaned against the window frame, meeting his gaze frankly: "And you are not a foreigner who simply lost his way and came to ask for directions."

Another silent confrontation.

Sherlock withdrew the force in his sleeve, completely putting away the Paper Figurine, and walked to the window, his gaze piercing through the dusk and looking toward the warehouse opposite, where the abnormalities were becoming increasingly intense.

Looking at the rapidly flickering dark red light in the window cracks, he asked in a deep voice: "What is that thing inside?"

"The Aurora Order's blood altar."

Lu Li said bluntly, shedding all disguises, "They transported a large number of ritual instruments here from Storm Cape, stacking the array formations layer by layer, and it is now nearing completion."

"The homeless people and low-level drifters who have disappeared across the city recently are all their sacrifices, and their bodies have all been sunk into the lower reaches of the Hoi River to destroy the traces."

He raised his hand and pointed to a clean, dust-free area on the edge of the windowsill that was the width of a back and shoulders: "This abandoned apartment is the best vantage point for observing the warehouse."

"I have already figured out all the paths of the ventilation ducts and sewage ditches here."

"The official Mandated Punishers have already sent people to investigate this place and are aware of the abnormalities, but the main force has not yet gathered, so they are temporarily holding back."

Sherlock's eyes sank slightly as he sorted through all the clues, slowly stating his deduction: "You have been squatting in this apartment to observe the Aurora Order's warehouse for at least two weeks."

"Who exactly are you? Although you are dressed as a porter, you possess a formal spatial perception charm, and your technique is professional, far exceeding that of ordinary wild Beyonders."

He took out a neatly folded note from the inner pocket of his trench coat—it was the snake-shaped circular ring note he had found here before—and gently rubbed the paper with his fingertips: "This mark, I have seen more than once in Tingen."

"The secret room of the Hoy Family, the ruins of the Textile Factory, the scene of the anomaly in The Dark Channel—every bizarre event involving the Antigonus Family and Ince Zangwill has traces of it."

He took a brand new, fully calibrated spatial perception charm from his waist pocket and handed it to Sherlock: "This charm has accurately locked onto the core coordinates of the altar on the second floor of the warehouse."

"If you want to use a Paper Figurine to sneak in and investigate, using its spatial perception will allow you to precisely locate the core of the array and the ritual nodes, avoiding most of the traps."

Sherlock reached out and took the charm, his fingertips lightly touching the surface.

A pale blue spiritual shimmer instantly flowed and then vanished.

His Seer spirituality naturally began to parse it.

The spiritual circuit of the charm was clean, neat, and rigorous.

The maker's Apprentice Pathway rank was not high, but their technique was proficient and extremely meticulous, without a trace of excess spiritual residue, making it extremely practical.

After a brief analysis, he looked up and said solemnly: "The true main force of the Aurora Order is not in Backlund at all."

"This warehouse is just a temporary forward base they set up in the city."

"The real core power is entrenched on the black sail ship at Storm Cape."

"Once this blood altar is completely formed and completes the linkage with the main force at sea, a huge gap will be torn directly in the spiritual world barrier above Backlund."

Lu Li nodded slightly, confirming his previous pre-judgment: "The Mandated Punishers are waiting for the main force to gather and are looking for an opportunity to surround and annihilate them."

"But the Aurora Order will never give them this chance."

"Around the full moon is the final node for the ritual to begin."

He paused for a moment and added a crucial piece of human-interest information: "When the warehouse anomaly erupts, there is a porter named Old Kohler at the East Borough wharf who will take his twelve-year-old daughter to the Mingde Street church to take refuge."

"If you meet him, you can guide him directly into the church and ask for help from the guarding Nighthawks."

"He is an ordinary laborer at the very bottom of the East Borough, innocently involved in this, and is worth preserving."

Sherlock silently noted this name and information without asking why or probing for details.

The tacit understanding had been reached; no extra pleasantries were needed.

He put the charm away properly, said no more, turned and walked, walking steadily down the stairs and disappearing into the shadows of the corridor.

Lu Li still stood in front of the window, looking at the dark red faint light flickering wildly on the opposite side, his mind calm and waveless.

This encounter was not in the predetermined plan, but it did not deviate from the trajectory.

Sherlock had already connected all the clues, confirming his identity, stance, and past actions—secretly observing, planning in advance, acting in hiding, not seeking fame, only breaking conspiracies.

At this point, there was no need to acknowledge each other, no need to disclose the bottom line, and no need to associate deeply.

Two fellow travelers walking in the Darkness, investigating secret crimes, only needed to pass intelligence to each other and fulfill each other when the wind and clouds surged, which was already the best way to get along.

A moment later, Lu Li retracted his gaze, turned and went downstairs, blending into the heavy night of the East Borough, continuing to lie dormant and wait, waiting for the full moon to arrive, waiting for the day to board the ship.