From the Ship of Fools to Earl of Wugang

Corbyn obediently took out several file boxes from the cabinet by the wall, then squatted down, lifted the carpet, and took out a brown leather-bound ledger from a hidden compartment in the floor.

A few minutes later, the table was piled high with ledgers, blank certificates, seals, and shipping records.

Edmund casually flipped to the top ledger and frowned repeatedly at Corbyn's barely passable bookkeeping skills.

After glancing through it briefly, he closed the ledger: "Tell me, when did the funding stop?"

Corbyn stood across the table and carefully replied, "It had been decreasing, but it stopped completely a week ago. We sent four letters to the Southern Liaison Office and received only one reply, telling us to maintain it ourselves."

"Does 'self-sustaining' mean selling the ritual objects?"

Corbin's lips twitched, and his words carried a hint of resentment: "We can't even pay the rent for this place anymore, and we need paper, chemicals, and stamps for forgery. We also have to bribe people at the port. We can't keep working for free."

"The Eagle Harbor liaison point originally had six people. Now three have left, one has been imprisoned for debt, and the remaining people only show up when there are missions. They are not paid, but they are required to have accommodation and routes readily available."

Edmund chuckled inwardly; he knew perfectly well why the higher-ups were short of money. The funds sufficient to support the Order were currently being slowly transferred through a series of shell companies and offshore accounts.

How many strongholds Jacob can maintain now depends entirely on whether he has been hiding anything in the past. Judging from the situation in Eagle Harbor, the answer is probably not optimistic.

"Any tasks scheduled for the near future?"

Corbyn nodded: "Two members were originally scheduled to come from the south tonight. One of them was to pick up a set of identity documents and a ship ticket to travel from Eagle Harbor to the Principality of Plyshini."

Edmund continued turning the pages: "So they had something come up and didn't show up, what about their identification documents?"

"They called in the afternoon and said they had encountered some trouble on the way and would be a few hours late."

Corbyn explained, grabbing a brown paper bag from the side and placing it on the table.

Edmund opened the paper bag and saw that it contained a complete set of documents.

"These were clean identities prepared for them," Corbyn explained. "They were never actually used. The photograph and the signature on the last page were to be added after the handover."

Corbyn took out a ticket, and Edmund saw that the destination was Cape Lo, the largest coastal port in the Principality of Plichni, and the departure time was the morning after tomorrow.

He was originally considering how to buy a set of identity documents of dubious origin from Tidal Night, and then find a way to buy ocean tickets that wouldn't attract attention.

It now seems that everything prepared by the cult can be used directly, and it is more reliable than anything he could buy himself.

Edmund placed the receipts back on the table and continued in an auditing tone, "Only one set of identities for two people?"

"The other person has his own identification; he's responsible for escorting them."

"Escort what?"

Corbyn hesitated for a moment, and Edmund glanced at him: "The account says it's for the transshipment of twelve boxes of goods."

"That was just a name used for reimbursement," Corbyn quickly explained. "There were actually only two tin-sealed boxes. They contained materials for spiritual veiled coverings, but I don't know exactly what they were."

Corbyn was merely an external liaison; his superiors wouldn't allow him to handle the full mission. Providing accommodation, identification, and cargo handover was all he was responsible for, but that information was useful enough.

Edmund closed the ledger and was about to speak when the doorbell rang.

Beep, beep beep, beep beep, a short pause, then three more beeps. Edmund recognized this rhythm as the code word that members of the Abyss Order often used when entering the temporary contact point.

Corbyn also noticed this, and a hint of doubt immediately appeared on his face.

"It should be them," he said. "Earlier than expected on the phone."

Edmund leaned back in his chair and casually placed the ledger in front of him.

"Go open the door."

Corbyn nodded, left the conference room, and walked downstairs, his footsteps fading into the distance.

Edmund reached into his coat and grasped the cold grip of the revolver.

A moment later, the sound of a door lock turning came from downstairs, followed by hushed conversation.

Edmund hadn't heard the specifics, but he could make out that there were two other men besides Corbyn. This matched what Corbyn had just said.

He stood up, first pushing the passport and boat ticket on the table back into the brown paper bag, then quickly checking the location in the room.

The conference room had only one entrance and exit. The windows were boarded up with thick wooden panels, and sound-absorbing devices on the walls suppressed any sound leakage. A long table stood in the center of the room, with several chairs on either side, and weapons were probably hidden in cabinets along the walls.

This is a suitable place for secret conversations, and actually just as suitable for taking action. The skill he acquired with the remaining 100 points of Bacchus Blood in the Dionysian Drama might come in handy.

Edmund sat down again, placing his right hand under the table.

He only hoped that if the two people who came in were very strong, his [Astral Blink] wouldn't be detected within two seconds.

Soon, the sound of three people's footsteps came from the stairs.

Corbyn entered the room first, followed by a red-haired man in his thirties. The man wore a long, dark coat, had broad shoulders, and his right hand was inside his coat.

The last man was older, with sunken cheeks and an old scar on the corner of his mouth. He carried a square leather suitcase, glanced at the corner of the room after entering, and then fixed his gaze on Edmund.

Neither of them expected a stranger in the room. The red-haired man stopped in his tracks: "Who is he?"

"The person sent from above to audit the accounts," Corbyn said in a low voice. "He knows Eagle Harbor's financial number."

Edmund did not rise, but looked at the two men with the scrutinizing gaze one would use to examine subordinates, and the information vision provided the answer.

Gregory Shaw

Those qualified for the "Path of Death" are agents of the External Affairs Department of the Abyss Order, responsible for delivering identity documents and concealment materials to the Principality of Plichni. They possess the low-level skill "Tidal Breath," which can temporarily enhance their lungs, muscles, and balance.

Maurice Dunn

[A qualified candidate for "The Path of Death," belonging to the Cult of the Deep, skilled in firearms and close combat. In this mission, he is responsible for escorting Gregory Shaw to Cape Los Harbor.]

The red-haired man was Gregory. He didn't relax despite Corbin's explanation and remained standing in the doorway: "Which account?"

Edmund opened the ledger: "All the accounts of Eagle Harbor."

"Who gave the order?"

"You have no right to ask."

Gregory frowned. Dunn, standing behind him, did not participate in the conversation, but simply placed the suitcase by the door.

Edmund noticed that the man's right hand had already reached into his coat pocket, and he had no doubt that a weapon would be drawn as soon as Gregory gave the signal.

Corbyn was still trying to explain to the two visitors: "This gentleman said he was in charge of checking the old accounts left by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. E-17-6419, he even knows that."

Gregory's expression changed slightly, and his gaze toward Edmund became more wary.

"Are you using the old serial number?"