Build an ancient-level power in the nightmare world

The entrance to the washroom.

The warm light from the gilded wall lamp fell on the polished marble floor, and the sounds of the crowd outside could be faintly heard through the door.

Elliott and Chris stood facing each other, less than half a step apart, with a barely perceptible tension in the air.

"Mr. Chris, if it's convenient, there's something I'd like to ask you." Elliott's fingers, gripping the ebony cane, paused slightly, his tone flat and even.

Upon hearing this, Chris's left hand, hanging at his side, clenched almost imperceptibly. A perfectly timed look of doubt and surprise flashed across his eyes, as if he were truly unprepared for this sudden conversation.

"Is it about that carriage?" Chris asked tentatively.

Elliott did not answer immediately.

His sharp eyes, which were usually keen to capture details, softened, and his cold and hard demeanor also subsided.

A meaningful smile played at the corners of his lips, and he lowered his voice even further: "We'd better find a less crowded place."

Chris lowered his gaze slightly, as if weighing his options in thought.

The next second, he slightly turned his shoulder, slowly walked past Elliott, and stepped out of the bathroom, his leather shoes making no sound on the marble floor.

He spoke calmly and without any change in his tone: "Excuse me, it's getting late, and I have to be at work on time tomorrow."

He has no obligation to cooperate with the other party.

Elliott was commissioned by the Duke of Rockwell to investigate the case.

But the Duke didn't pay him a single penny, nor did he entrust him with any help.

Elliott was just a private investigator, not a police officer with law enforcement powers.

Chris's refusal was perfectly reasonable.

Anyone else at this party, at this hour of the evening, would probably have refused this inexplicable inquiry without hesitation.

Just as Chris and Elliott passed each other, Elliott's deep voice rang out again, as if he were whispering in Chris's ear.

The volume was kept extremely low, just enough to penetrate the faint noise of the crowd and reach Chris's ears alone.

"One gold crown."

Chris paused abruptly as he took a step forward, his leather shoes making a very soft, crisp sound as they clicked on the marble floor.

Elliott repeated, "One gold crown as payment for Mr. Chris's assistance in the investigation, how about that?"

He slowly turned his head to look at Chris, his gray-blue eyes filled with a confident certainty.

From the moment he stepped into the villa, his gaze was scrutinizing everyone present, especially Chris.

Although he hasn't discussed the case with anyone since entering the villa.

But he has his own unique way of investigating cases.

From Chris's occasional displays of aloofness, to the suit he was wearing, which, while well-fitting, wasn't made of the finest material, and then to the offhand remark about being on time for work.

Elliott had made a precise judgment.

The man in front of me, named Chris, was not one of the other wealthy and influential guests at the party.

The other party should be a salaried worker.

For the working class, even the highest-paid workers in the city, one gold crown is definitely a tempting and considerable income.

"Detective Elliott is certainly generous."

Chris didn't turn around. He just spoke softly with his back to him, his tone completely calm. At the same time, he lifted his leg and started walking towards the lawn outside.

One gold crown is roughly equivalent to his salary for eight months without eating or drinking.

The numbers are there, and they are certainly tempting enough.

Although the demolition compensation of six crowns that had just arrived in his account that morning had already solved his immediate problem, this offer made so readily available still made his heart skip a beat and he was slightly tempted.

But as much as he was tempted, Chris wasn't short of money.

At least for now, his Wind Avatar Holy Path no longer requires him to go to great lengths to find rare materials to create Holy Wedges.

He has other paths to advancement.

The cost of the Holy Wedge materials, which had been weighing on his mind, no longer seemed so urgent.

Chris currently has enough assets to live a comfortable and decent middle-class life, so there's no need for him to get involved in this matter for such a small amount of money.

"Mr. Chris can name his own price."

Elliott, seeing the other man's unwavering back, showed no discouragement. Instead, he turned around and, facing the direction Chris was walking, calmly continued to escalate the challenge.

Upon hearing this, Chris suddenly stopped and chuckled softly.

He turned to Elliott, his tone carrying a hint of casual jest: "Ten gold crowns?"

"make a deal."

Elliott agreed without the slightest hesitation, not even flinching.

Chris's eyes widened slightly, and his nonchalant expression froze for a moment.

Looking at Elliott's seemingly genuine expression, a sudden pang of regret shot through him; had he asked for too little earlier?

"Then let's talk in private."

Elliott gave Chris no further chance to back out or refuse. He turned around, gripped his ebony cane, and strode quickly toward a less crowded area deeper into the villa.

Chris stood still, exhaled softly, and a few moments of deliberation and thought flashed through his eyes. In the end, he took a step and followed at a leisurely pace.

The moment he signed the pledge not to spread his extraordinary power with the torchbearer, he knew that it would be extremely difficult to monetize this extraordinary power legitimately and openly through normal channels in this society.

Even though he has become a true saintly traveler who has stepped into the extraordinary realm, he still cannot escape the mundane necessities of daily life and cannot live without the worldly needs of food, clothing, shelter, and transportation.

Elliott's actions from just now to now have practically made it clear that he is an Extraordinary, and the other party has most likely already guessed his identity.

The fact that this person agreed to a price of ten gold crowns without batting an eye clearly shows that he is not short of money at all.

Chris, on the contrary, felt a bit curious.

Did the other party actually have any dealings with the torchbearer?

Where did they get all this money they can't spend?

Can you really earn this much just by doing ordinary detective work?

With these questions in mind, Chris followed at a leisurely pace.

Elliott seemed extremely familiar with the layout of the villa. He led Chris past several groups of waiters and guests, around several thickly carpeted corners, and finally to a secluded and quiet semi-open lounge area.

Far from the hustle and bustle outside, even the light from the wall lamps is much softer. Against the wall are two exquisitely crafted dark brown leather chairs, and in the middle is an oval dark red solid wood coffee table with a smooth gold trim around the edge, which looks very valuable.

Elliott stood by the coffee table, glanced back at Chris who had followed him, then gripped his ebony cane and lightly tapped the thick carpet with the copper-tipped tip.

There was no light, no sound.

next moment.

In Chris's perception, the evening breeze and the faint voices on the distant lawn all vanished instantly.

An absolute silence fell over the surroundings.

Chris's eyes flickered, and his fingers unconsciously tightened.

He knew very well that Elliott had set up some kind of sound-isolating barrier here.

The other party didn't even bother with the most basic pretense and directly revealed their extraordinary skills in front of him.

Elliott placed his cane firmly against the edge of the coffee table, then straightened the hem of his suit jacket and slowly sat down in one of the leather chairs.

He looked up at Chris, who was standing still, and gestured to the empty seat opposite him, making a standard "please" gesture.

Chris nodded slightly, pulled out a chair and sat down opposite Elliott, his back still ramrod straight, without the slightest slackening.

"Let me formally introduce myself. I am Elliot Windsor, a detective." Elliot spoke first after Chris was seated, his tone flat and emotionless.

Chris nodded slightly, briefly introducing himself with a slight pause in his voice: "Chris Kraft, a... leatherworker."

"cobbler……"

Elliott silently recited the profession to himself, his fingertips tracing the coin slightly paused.

His first thought was of the sacred path of the Forge of Craftsmen's Souls.

When he looked up at Chris again, his previously scrutinizing gaze unconsciously softened with a touch of friendliness, as if he were on the same path.

"I won't beat around the bush and waste each other's time, Mr. Chris."

Elliott leaned forward slightly, sat up a little straighter, and stared directly at Chris's face.

When that out-of-control carriage rushed towards you, did you notice anything unusual?

He paused, then added, his tone knowing: "You should understand which kind of anomaly I'm referring to."

Chris lowered his eyes, pondered for a moment, and finally shook his head, looking up at Elliott.

"I only noticed that the people in the car were breathing normally, and I didn't notice anything else unusual."

"breathe?"

A barely perceptible look of surprise flashed across Elliott's eyes, and the movement of his fingertips tracing the coin paused slightly.

He never expected that Chris would specifically mention this most ordinary and mundane detail in his answer.

Normally, for an extraordinary person, the first thing to notice in such a situation should be the fluctuations and anomalies on the spiritual level.

In Elliott's original plan, Chris's answer was supposed to revolve around his spiritual perception and the state of the people inside the car.

Even if something is really wrong, it should be an anomaly on a spiritual level.

Why did the other person specifically emphasize breathing?