Chapter 441: The Gaze from Afar
Stelle stepped out into the crisp morning air of Epis Port, casually clutching Pom-Pom under her arm as if the conductor were an oversized, fluffy carrot she had forcibly requisitioned for the journey. Dan Heng walked quietly beside her, his footsteps light against the concrete.
She barely made it a few steps before her boots skidded to a halt. "Huh?" slipped from her lips as she blinked at the street ahead.
In her memory, the perimeter of their warehouse base was a desolate, forgotten corner of the port. Aside from the occasional rumble of a stray cargo truck or the tired shuffle of a dockworker, it was usually empty. The atmosphere had always been characterized by wide-open asphalt and the quiet, salty tang of the sea breeze rolling in off the water.
Now, however, the desolate street had transformed overnight. A chaotic row of temporary stalls had inexplicably sprouted along the roadside. Sizzling grills pumped thick clouds of smoke into the air, offering grilled fish cakes, steaming hot drinks, and stacked sandwiches. Slap bang in the middle of it all sat a brightly painted food truck boasting a neon sign: Authentic New Eridu Fry King. A small crowd of dockworkers and idle loiterers milled about, instantly turning the once-dead zone into a bustling morning market.
"Dan Heng." Stelle turned her head, her brow furrowing in genuine confusion. "Did my memory get wiped again? Or have we just been cooped up inside the base for so long that the local zoning laws changed without us knowing?"
She gestured vaguely at the Fry King truck. "I swear this place was completely empty yesterday. How did an entire food court spawn outside our front door?"
Dan Heng didn't answer right away. His cyan eyes swept coolly over the bustling scene. He watched the vendors flipping fish cakes and the customers sipping their coffees. To the untrained eye, it was a perfectly normal morning rush. But beneath the surface, he noticed the micro-expressions. The way a customer's eyes darted toward the warehouse entrance instead of their sandwich. The way a vendor's grip on their spatula was a little too rigid.
These stall owners lacked the fluid, practiced grace of genuine street cooks. Their eyes held none of the desperate enthusiasm needed to hawk cheap food to passing workers. Instead, their gazes were sharp, calculating, and laced with a subtle, tightly coiled tension.
The "customers" were no better. Despite their mismatched civilian clothes, their posture betrayed them. They stood with their weight evenly distributed, backs straight, eyes constantly scanning their peripherals—habits drilled into operatives, not exhausted port workers looking for a quick breakfast.
It took Dan Heng less than three seconds to piece it all together.
"Your memory is fine," he said, his voice flat and perfectly composed. "It was completely empty here yesterday."
He offered no further explanation, but Stelle caught the slight tightening of his jaw and the guarded shift in his stance. Something was off.
Her suspicion, however, lasted a grand total of five seconds before a far more primal instinct overrode it. Her nose twitched. The rich, greasy, perfectly salted aroma of deep-fried potatoes drifted through the air, hitting her senses like a physical blow. Her golden eyes snapped onto the Authentic New Eridu Fry King truck.
Golden fries danced in a vat of bubbling oil. A massive, steaming pile of freshly cooked potatoes rested on a metal draining rack, flanked by an array of brightly colored sauce dispensers.
"You know what? Who cares!" Stelle declared, her previous confusion evaporating instantly. A bright, chaotic grin spread across her face.
She slapped Dan Heng's shoulder enthusiastically and pointed at the truck. "Fries! Dan Heng, look! Remember those fries Paimon and Soukaku were stuffing their faces with before we went into the Hollow? I've been craving them ever since! Plus, I burned a lot of calories beating things up earlier. We need to carb-load before we head out!"
Pom-Pom, still trapped under her arm, twitched their long, floppy ears in disapproval. "Passenger Stelle, you really shouldn't consume such greasy, unhealthy food! It's bad for your digestion!"
"Relax, Pom-Pom," Stelle waved off the concern, already marching toward the food truck. "I have a Stellaron inside me. My metabolism is basically a nuclear reactor! A little grease won't hurt."
Dan Heng pulled his attention away from the hidden operatives and watched Stelle practically vibrating with excitement. He glanced at the fry stall, acknowledging the objectively appealing smell, but shook his head. "I'll pass. I'm not hungry."
His primary objective was simply to ensure Stelle didn't accidentally blow up the port or start a street brawl. The sudden appearance of this surveillance net was annoying, but hardly surprising.
The purpose of their new "neighbors" was blatantly obvious. The recent Bringer incident had sent shockwaves through the city's underground. A group of mysterious, undocumented outsiders had suddenly dropped into New Eridu, plunged straight into the center of a massive crisis, displayed terrifying combat capabilities, and then casually set up camp in an abandoned warehouse. Naturally, every major faction in the city wanted a piece of them.
These fake vendors and loitering pedestrians were just the first wave of scouts, sent to monitor their movements and gather intel.
But while the street-level spies were painfully obvious, Dan Heng's heightened senses picked up on something else. Beneath the chaotic noise of the port, he felt the faint prickle of distant observation. Several hidden snipers and watchers were positioned on the surrounding rooftops. Yet, one gaze stood out from the rest.
It originated from the far edge of the port, specifically from the observation deck of the towering, rusted lighthouse that guided cargo ships through the fog.
The distance was immense, yet the weight of the stare was crystal clear. It carried no killing intent. Instead, it felt like being examined under a microscope—a gaze dripping with intense curiosity, sharp scrutiny, and an obvious sense of elegant composure.
Without a shift in his expression, Dan Heng slowly tilted his head. His cyan eyes tracked the sensation, cutting through the morning mist and the chaotic sprawl of the docks, locking precisely onto the top of the lighthouse.
High above the harbor, bathed in the pale morning light, stood a tall male silhouette. The man leaned casually against the rusted railing. He wore a carefully tailored dark suit that looked entirely out of place against the gritty, industrial backdrop of Epis Port, yet he wore it with such overwhelming confidence that he made the environment look cheap by comparison.
But the most striking detail wasn't the suit. Even across the vast distance, Dan Heng's sharp vision caught the glint of short, golden hair catching the sunlight. Beneath that blonde fringe, a pair of striking, heterochromatic eyes stared back at him.
Those mismatched eyes widened slightly as they met Dan Heng's cold stare, before crinkling at the corners in genuine, intrigued amusement.
He knew he had been spotted.
Atop the lighthouse, Hugo let out a soft breath of surprise. He prided himself on his stealth. Years of handling the treacherous underworld of New Eridu, combined with his unique Talents, had made him a master at erasing his presence.
Factoring in the sheer distance between the lighthouse and the warehouse, he had assumed he was completely invisible. Even someone with monstrously sharp instincts like Von Lycaon would have struggled to pinpoint his exact location so quickly.
Yet, the cold, spear-wielding youth below had reacted within seconds. It wasn't a lucky guess or a vague sweep of the area. It was a direct, confirmed lock-on. The youth's gaze was eerily calm, devoid of any emotional ripples, but it carried a heavy, suffocating pressure that seemed to bridge the physical gap between them.
Fascinating, Hugo thought, a smirk tugging at his lips. The initial shock quickly melted into a deep, burning curiosity.
Instead of panicking or ducking into the shadows to break line of sight, Hugo leaned further over the railing. He raised a gloved hand, elegantly tipping the brim of his matching suit hat, and offered a polite, theatrical bow toward the street below.
The gesture was incredibly fluid and natural. He didn't act like a spy who had just been caught red-handed; he acted like a socialite greeting an old friend across a crowded ballroom floor.
Dan Heng watched the theatrical display without blinking. The man's sheer audacity was mildly amusing, but Dan Heng had no interest in playing games. He didn't return the bow. Instead, he simply broke eye contact, turning his head away with absolute indifference.
Dealing with local factions and external diplomacy was Wise and Belle's job, not his. Judging by the conversations they had with Liu and Lycaon the previous night, the Proxies had already established a fragile, tacit understanding with some of New Eridu's heavier hitters.
Dan Heng figured this clumsy, eyesore of a surveillance net would eventually be pulled back once a formal alliance was solidified.
Until then, as long as these spies didn't draw their weapons or cross the perimeter line, there was no reason to waste energy on them.
Dismissing the man on the lighthouse entirely, Dan Heng adjusted his jacket and walked toward the food truck, where Stelle was already aggressively pointing at the menu and demanding extra sauce.
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