According to the information he had divined from Ship Destroyer Sel, the person in charge of this base was a half-native old man who loved to drink.
Most of the time, he was the only one here. Unless necessary, the pirates stationed in Nas rarely came by. They preferred a lively, warm place like the Red Theater to this cold, empty base.
Clang!
A gold coin sprang from Cyril's hand, spun in midair a few times, then fell back into his palm.
It landed heads up, indicating a positive result!
After putting away the coin, he turned and headed toward the staircase at the back of the hall.
He was halfway up the stairs when he heard snoring. The faint smell of fermented alcohol lingered in the air.
Drinking causes trouble.
He sighed inwardly and quickened his pace, reaching the second floor in no time.
Through the half-open bedroom door, he saw the old man sitting on the floor, his upper body leaning against the bed and his head lolling as he snored.
Several empty bottles lay toppled on the floor beside him, along with a plate of scattered snacks.
Cyril shook his head slightly, murmured the words of a divination, then flicked his thumb and tossed the coin into the air again before catching it.
He glanced at the result, put the coin away, then drew a blank sheet of paper from his pocket. At the same time, a phantom book appeared in his eyes, its pages turning slowly.
The next second, he snapped his wrist and sent the blank sheet flying like a throwing knife.
Whoosh!
Pfft~
The old man, sitting on the floor with his back against the bed and his head lolling as he snored, shuddered. A hoarse sound came from his half-open mouth, as if