# 597
Chapter 598: The Oracle Envoy
A flicker of shock crossed his eyes, quickly masked.
“Don’t know them,” he said flatly.
“Really don’t?”
“I won’t repeat myself.” His Japanese was halting.
The red-robed man turned, stared at him, then projected three new photos on the wall.
“Every time outsiders appear, I come to you, and your answer is always the same—‘I don’t know.’ This is your last chance. Miss it, and next time we meet I’ll be reading your death sentence.”
He pointed at the four grainy screenshots. “Do. You. Know. Them?”
Cao Yuan’s gaze swept across the images. “I already said—not one.”
“…Very well.”
Fury flared in the red-robed man’s eyes. He shut off the projection, stepped up to Cao Yuan.
“Hope you won’t regret today.”
He strode out; the heavy cell door slammed shut with a dull boom.
Dong—!
In the blackness Cao Yuan hung chained, tangled hair brushing his cheeks. He turned, stared at the now-blank wall, and after a long moment cracked a thin smile.
“Can’t let them catch you guys…”
……
Yokohama.
“What?!”
On the sidewalk a suit-and-tie man gaped at the handsome wind-coat teen.
“Where can I become a host?” Lin Qiye asked again, dead serious.
“H-host?”
The man scratched his head. “Not many clubs here—try west side, but Shinjuku’s better.”
“Where’s Shinjuku?”
“Tokyo.”
“How do I get there?”
“Take the JR Saikyō Line…”
“Thanks.”
Lin Qiye nodded thoughtfully.
In truth he had no idea what a “host” was, nor any real need for a job. His goal was simple: learn the lay of the land while locating his teammates. Since they’d all sunk together, the currents should have carried them to the same country. But recon and travel cost money—at least enough for train tickets, not hiking across Japan.
Under that mysterious entity’s gaze he couldn’t use Forbidden Ruins. To avoid police suspicion he needed legal income. The water here ran deep; caution came first. Since Yuzuri Nana said hosting paid fast and came easy, why not?
Yet he couldn’t even afford the fare to Shinjuku, let alone a sword-bag for White Slash. He needed quicker cash…
He wandered the neon-lit downtown. Past 9 p.m. the streets still hummed. High-rise signs flashed, izakayas and beef-hotpot shops exuded rich aromas. High-schoolers dashed past him into a convenience store.
At the traffic light he stopped. A giant screen over the intersection cycled photos:
“Villain: Yamamura Ryōta, Sparrow-Hunt level, reward ¥3,000,000; tip-off ¥500,000…”
“Villain: Hirakawa Takashi, Yaksha level, reward ¥100,000; tip-off ¥30,000…”
“Villain: Amemiya Haruki, Fierce-Ghost level, reward ¥10,000,000; tip-off ¥1,000,000…”
Crimson warning bands framed each mug shot; the yellow kanji “villain” blinked like a beacon.
Wanted criminals? Yaksha, Sparrow-Hunt, Fierce-Ghost?
Lin Qiye’s eyes narrowed at the zeros—then he shook his head. He himself was the ultimate illegal alien. Walk into a police station claiming a bounty? Suicide.
The light turned green; he moved on—then paused at a maid-café notice board.
Maybe… this job?
……
Meanwhile, across the center.
A white-robed man with a pale-blue halo in his left eye stepped from an alley into traffic, turned toward Lin Qiye’s direction.
Ding-ling—
A soft wind-chime drifted from him.
Horns, laughter, engines—every sound died. Cars stalled; pedestrians froze. No one dared honk or speak. Trembling, they turned to the road’s center and dropped to their knees.
“Hail the Oracle Envoy.”
“Hail the Oracle Envoy.”
“Hail the Oracle Envoy.”
Drivers, passengers, sidewalk crowds, diners, waiters—all knelt, foreheads to asphalt, as the white-robed man walked the yellow divider line.
The liveliest street in Yokohama lay silent, every soul prostrate like ants beneath a god.