EFB Chapter 238 Bansi Port
Chapter 238 Bansi Port
Chapter 238 Bansi Port
By the evening of the following day, with the White Agate moving at full speed, the ship, which was supposed to arrive at Bansi Port in the early morning, docked ahead of schedule.
On the deck, Cyril stood at the back of the crowded area, carrying a leather handbag, waiting to queue to disembark.
A short while later, Elena and her family also came out of the cabin. They had no luggage and seemed to just want to get off the ship and have some fun.
He might also be planning to change up his dinner tonight. He remembered that Banshee's specialties were famous and had elven customs that would be perfect for him to digest the "Recorder" potion.
Noticing Sirion, Elaine and her family approached him and greeted him.
"Mr. Randolph, are you also planning to disembark and take a tour?"
Cyril smiled and shook his head. "No, this is just my temporary destination. I'll stay here for a while to experience the local customs before heading to the next island."
The youngest, Pierre, pouted: "Mr. Painter, you're getting off the ship already...?"
"I'd also like you to draw one of those animated paintings you mentioned last night."
Cyril smiled. "Let's save that for next time we meet. Shouldn't life have something to look forward to?"
After spending a brief time together last night, the boy, who had just turned 15, had become his friend.
Elena's gaze swept around the room before settling on the briefcase he was carrying:
"Mr. Randolph, is this all the luggage you brought? Aren't you taking your paintings and painting supplies?"
Xireen pondered and made up an excuse:
"That's a bit too heavy. I plan to find a place to stay on the island first, and then hire someone to help move them."
"Perfect timing, because the White Agate arrived at Bansi Port well ahead of schedule, I have plenty of time to do these things."
6
Irene's father, the gentlemanly middle-aged man, smiled and replied:
"Mr. Randolph, if you need anything, you can come to me for help. I'll also have the opportunity to see the paintings in your private collection."
Cyril chatted politely with Elena's family for a while, and after most of the people in front had left, they also disembarked.
He declined the repeated invitations from Elena's family and left the dock area alone, heading towards the most conspicuous hotel on the street.
After checking in, he followed the hotel waiter's recommendation and found a well-known local restaurant that was said to have the most authentic cuisine.
Looking at the familiar wooden chopsticks in his hand, Xi Ruien wondered if he should share them.
Two seconds later, he buried his head in the recitation of the name of "The Fool":
"A fool who does not belong to this era, a mysterious ruler above the gray fog, the king of yellow and black who holds the reins of good fortune."
In less than half a minute, a thick gray fog billowed out before him, and the "Fool" above the fog appeared as a blurry figure in his eyes.
Then, Klein's voice echoed in his ears:
"Chopsticks? Is there a Russell memorial exhibition at sea?"
"Wait, look around you, this should be Russell's Restaurant?"
With practiced ease, Sirion picked up a dark red blood clot cooked with spices from the bowl in front of him with his chopsticks, waved it in front of his eyes a few times, and then put it in his mouth.
After chewing and swallowing, he then said:
"Don't think of everything in Roselle; it's an elven custom left over from Bansie Island."
"An elf?"
Cyril lowered his head and muttered to himself, "Yes, an elf."
"But it's probably not the kind of elf you're thinking of. It's not a yellow-skinned mouse that can generate electricity, nor is it a tree-dwelling, fair-skinned, beautiful, gentle, pointed-eared creature."
Klein, standing above the gray mist, paused for a moment, then gritted his teeth and said:
Get to the point.
Cyril chuckled silently, rubbed his fingers together to create a spiritual wall around them, and then said:
"The elves of this world worship the ancient gods, and their 'Elf King' is Suniasolem."
"Most of the elves who worshipped the 'Elven King' belonged to the 'Storm' pathway; back then, the 'Wrathful People' were called the 'Storm Guardians.'"
"In short, they are a group of good-looking guys, but also have very bad tempers."
"The elves can use chopsticks, and they invented this dish in front of me, which is made by cooking animal blood with spices."
"Mao Xue Wang?" Klein, standing above the gray mist, uttered the dish's true name.
Although the dish of spicy blood curd in front of Sirion has become somewhat incongruous after generations of improvements, those familiar with it can still recognize some of its original characteristics.
After calming his somewhat excited emotions, he asked:
"You suspect that there were time travelers among the elves of the past?"
"Who knows?" Sirion shrugged.
"That's too far back. The elves were active in the Second Age, and now it's the Fifth Age. Even if pure-blooded elves haven't all died out, there are probably only a handful left, hiding somewhere in the world."
He paused, took another bite of the blood clot in his bowl, and then said:
"I just wanted to share this dish with you."
"Remember to try it next time you're in Bansie. It's a bit of a letdown, but there's not much else to choose from. If you can make it, then disregard what I said." After a moment of silence, Klein retorted.
"I know, you just want to show off your food, right?"
"Thank you for remembering me while you're away from home, but please don't bother me during meals in the future. I need to eat too."
As the last sentence fell, the gray fog in front of Sirion suddenly dissipated, and the gaze cast down from a great distance also vanished.
"Good friends are meant to share..."
He muttered something under his breath, then dispelled the spiritual barrier around him and focused on enjoying his dinner.
After eating and drinking his fill, he took out a blank sketchbook and a pencil to record his dinner.
At the telegraph office, Captain Airland, wearing a dark red overcoat, and his first mate stared blankly at the ashes of a layer of burnt paper on the table.
He had intended to report the unusual situation of Sirion to his superiors, but after he drew a portrait based on the face in his memory, the portrait suddenly burst into flames before their eyes, and this happened several times.
Airlan's brows furrowed into a deep frown, making the wrinkles on his face appear even more pronounced.
"This matter may be far more serious than we imagine..."
The first mate, standing to the side, chimed in, "Should we report it now? The unusual spontaneous combustion of these portraits suggests he likely already knows."
Airland sighed and shook his head: "Let's leave it at that for now. Make a record of everything. We can talk about the rest when we get to Bayam. Right now, our most important thing is to ensure the safety of the White Agate."
"I'll go see Bishop Miller here in a bit and ask the local scapegoats to keep an eye on him."
Inside the restaurant, Cyril, who was taking a nap in his chair, suddenly opened his eyes, glanced at the wall clock, and went to the front desk to pay the bill in a rather good mood.
He sensed something after Captain Ellan drew his portrait, so he remotely interfered from another dimension, causing the portrait to self-destruct.
...It seems that even a disguised appearance, as long as it has a clear connection to me and is not subject to interference, will point to me and make me feel something.
This is somewhat similar to the names of deities in prayer. A specific name points to a specific being, but if the name is vague or uncertain, it can interfere or respond as long as it matches some of the descriptions.
However, the connection between this disguised image and me is rather vague; it can only be used to create interference by going beyond the dimensional level.
There must be other limitations, such as distance. When I manipulated the portrait to spontaneously combust, I could clearly feel the strain. If it were any further away, I probably wouldn't be able to directly influence the portrait and would only be able to treat it as a vague location.
On the way back to the hotel after checking out, a flustered man bumped into me, but I nimbly dodged him.
"I'm sorry, I..."
The man, who was about to apologize, suddenly froze. A deep purple hue flashed in his azure eyes, reflecting a colorful starry sky.
Then, without warning, it exploded; his eyes exploded...
"what!"
The blind man let out a piercing scream, then collapsed to the ground with a pained expression.
The sudden turn of events startled Cyril, but the fleeting sense of being spied on made him instantly realize that this unfortunate fellow was a "spy."
The sound of hurried footsteps quickly approached, and two men dressed in dark trench coats rushed over from the other side of the street.
Xireen glanced up at them. He was an extraordinary being with a strong spiritual aura. He probably had several talismans or other magical items hidden in his chest. One of them was holding a gun, and although the other was not holding a gun, he clearly had a weapon hidden under his bulging trench coat.
The man, who looked to be in his thirties with sallow skin and a full beard, eyed Sirien warily.
Seemingly confirming that he posed no threat, he took an ID card from his pocket, handed it to him, and then asked in a deep voice:
"I'm the police inspector on Bansi Island. What's going on here?"
Cyril's face displayed just the right amount of bewilderment and fear as he pointed at the unfortunate "Spy" who was rolling on the ground and groaning in pain, and said:
"I don't know, this person suddenly rushed out and bumped into me. After I dodged, he fell to the ground screaming."
"Officers, I'm a tourist who just arrived in Bansi today. I don't know this man at all. He's definitely trying to extort money from me!"
The bearded man turned his head and gave a look to the younger officer beside him, then said:
"I understand. You and my companion should go to the police station first."
"Don't worry, it's just a simple inquiry and a matter of going through some procedures. It won't take up too much of your time."
As he spoke, he pointed to the unfortunate "peeping Tom" lying on the ground groaning:
"This is a vicious fugitive we've been hunting. He probably rammed into you just now to take you hostage. He's probably acting like this because his old illness has flared up again."
"All right."
With a mixture of relief and lingering fear on his face, Sir Ryan nodded and then followed the younger officer away from the scene.