Ophelia Moore was having a very bad day.
Of course, if one were to stretch the timeline a bit, ever since she began investigating the behemoth known as Wayland Capital, the word “smooth” had vanished from her life’s dictionary.
In the Kingdom of Velen, no sensible person would ever dare to provoke this capitalistic titan.
It was like an unceasing, steel meat grinder, perched upon the nation’s economic lifeline, churning through steam and gold.
But Ophelia was different.
She had a reason she could not abandon.
Three years ago, her younger brother had rushed home, face flushed with excitement, claiming he had been hired for a high-paying job at Wayland Shipping.
Then, the young man packed his bags and set off alone for the distant Moon Bay.
From that day on...
There was no more news.
It was as if he had vanished from the face of the earth.
For the average citizen of Velen, Wayland Capital was a suffocating giant, and its reputation had always been steeped in controversy.
Everyone suspected that behind such a monopolistic enterprise lay dark, unspeakable dealings.
Sensational urban legends even circulated through the streets.
Some swore that Wayland was the primary backer of several underground cults.
Others gossiped in taverns that the heavy industrial factories under the company’s name were actually man-eating pits, designed to squeeze the poor dry until they became nothing more than machine lubricant.
These rumors were told with such vivid detail that they seemed plausible.
Yet, the irony was thick.
If anyone’s child or relative managed to beat the odds and secure a job at Wayland Capital—even as a low-level clerk—everyone around them would be sick with envy.
This was the reality.
In the face of the gold coin’s mesmerizing luster, even rumors of man-eating could be temporarily forgotten.
The Moore family was no exception.
When her brother pushed open the door that day and loudly told their parents he had secured a formal position at Wayland Shipping, the entire family erupted in joy.
They were sincerely happy for him, feeling as though they had finally seen the dawn of their family’s social ascent.
That joy was impossible to hide.
Even their neighbor, Mrs. Downs, who was notorious for her bitterness, broke tradition by bringing a gift to congratulate them, treating the family with uncharacteristic politeness and warmth.
For the first two months, everything seemed to be progressing toward a bright future.
Her brother sent letters home on time every month.
He described the salty sea breeze of Moon Bay, the novel sights of the lighthouse reefs, and promised a generous salary would be sent home soon.
But as time passed, things began to go wrong.
Starting from the fourth month, the green metal mailbox at their door never received another letter from him.
At first, her parents comforted themselves, saying perhaps the winds at sea were strong and the postal ship was delayed.
But they waited.
Three years passed in the blink of an eye.
During this time, the Moores had visited Wayland Capital’s local office countless times to ask for information.
They were met with nothing but the cold expulsion of security guards and the front desk’s dismissive “no such person on record.”
Clinging to their last shred of hope, they reported it to the police station at Old Palace Yard.
The officers there merely recorded her brother’s name in a thick, dust-covered ledger of missing persons.
And then...
Those reports were like stones dropped into the ocean, yielding no substantial response.
The disappearance of a son from an ordinary working-class family barely made a ripple in Velen, where countless people died in the streets every day.
It had been three years.
Ophelia watched her parents age day by day in the face of endless waiting and despair.
She was sick of this feeling of powerlessness.
She resolved that, no matter the cost, she would find the truth behind her brother’s disappearance!
Even if it meant peeling back the polished facade of Wayland Capital.
To this end, she made a reckless decision.
Through relentless effort, she spent her days and nights studying writing and investigative techniques, eventually squeezing her way into the fiercely competitive world of journalism.
This was despite the fact that her previous life’s resume held only a single, meager entry: “spinning mill worker.”
She started as the lowliest intern and clawed her way up to becoming a formal journalist for the Landon Post.
All so she could have a legitimate identity to investigate Wayland.
Just a few days ago, the opportunity she had been waiting for finally arrived.
Taking advantage of her press credentials, she managed to slip into a public banquet held for Landon’s high society.
Ignoring the warning glares of numerous security guards, she successfully thrust her microphone in front of the man.
Thomas Wayland.
The man who truly controlled Wayland Capital, one of the most powerful figures in the entire Kingdom of Velen.
To Ophelia’s surprise, the legendary tycoon was far more affable than she had imagined.
He didn’t possess the aura of a bloated nouveau riche, nor did he carry himself with lofty arrogance.
Dressed in a perfectly tailored tailcoat, his eyes were deep and his manners elegant.
He was nothing like the stereotypical image of a blood-sucking, evil capitalist.
During the brief interview, Ophelia gathered her courage and made a highly provocative request:
“The Landon Post wishes to conduct an in-depth tour of Wayland Capital’s internal offices to understand the true operations of your company.”
She had expected to be thrown out on the spot.
But as fate would have it, a surprise was in store.
Thomas Wayland actually agreed to her request with a smile!
Not only that, the great capitalist raised his voice toward all the cameras and microphones around him, declaring:
“There have always been unnecessary misunderstandings regarding Wayland Capital among the public.”
“I welcome all members of the media to come and conduct a comprehensive tour of the Wayland Company!”
That single sentence ignited the room.
A capital titan voluntarily opening his doors to the media was a once-in-a-century scoop.
This statement led to the following morning, where journalists from every corner of Velen swarmed the Wayland headquarters like sharks sensing blood.
Looking back now, that media frenzy personally incited by Thomas might have been the final stroke of luck in Ophelia’s life.
That day, under the chaotic cover of her many colleagues, she decisively slipped into a washroom and disguised herself as a man.
Then, using the excuse of looking for a toilet, she successfully infiltrated the board of directors' archive room.
Perhaps the suffering of the past three years had finally moved the heavens.
Or perhaps...
Perhaps at the very moment she entered that room, she had completely exhausted all the luck she would ever have in this life.
Regardless, it didn’t take much effort for her to find her target among the vast sea of filing cabinets.
It was a row of backup records belonging to Wayland Shipping.
As one of the most important subsidiaries under Wayland Capital, all core data from Wayland Shipping was periodically backed up and sent to headquarters for storage.
With trembling hands, she opened those dust-covered, hardbound ledgers.
She had found the most critical section of the records.
It contained detailed hiring lists for Wayland Shipping and descriptions of their secret operations in various locations.
This was what she had dreamed of finding.
But as she truly processed the words on the page, she felt a chill run through her entire body, as if she had been plunged into a pit of ice.
She truly wished she had never opened this file.
The contents were too shocking for her—and for the entire world of journalism—to handle.
If this information were ever released, Wayland Capital would instantly become the center of a storm that would engulf the entire Kingdom of Velen.
On that yellowed register, the first thing that caught her eye was a staggering statistic spanning the past twenty-five years.
For the twelve lighthouses standing on the reefs of the Moon Bay region, Wayland Shipping had hired over two thousand keepers!
Twenty-five years.
Twelve lighthouses.
Over two thousand people.
No matter how poor Ophelia was at math, she could calculate a terrifying truth.
It meant that, on average, each lighthouse replaced at least six to seven keepers every single year!
These weren’t lighthouses meant to guide ships.
They were gaping maws that devoured human lives!
And what made her feel truly suffocated was that behind every single one of those two thousand names, without exception, was a glaring red cross drawn in crimson ink.
She could only guess that this symbol represented “death.”
Ophelia’s fingers trembled as she frantically flipped through the timeline.
Finally, in a record from three years ago, she found the name she knew better than any other.
Her brother.
The boy who always had a bright smile and promised to make enough money to buy their parents a big house.
His name lay there quietly.
And behind it, an identical red cross had been ruthlessly drawn.
The moment she saw that symbol, Ophelia broke.
All her strength and all her pretenses were shattered in an instant.
Her legs gave out, and she slumped onto the cold, dusty floor of the archive room.
In that moment, she could only bite the back of her hand with all her might, forcing her sobs back into her throat.
She crouched there, convulsing in pain, for a long, long time.
It wasn’t until she tasted the metallic tang of blood in her mouth that she forced herself to stand up once again.
She had to get this information out; she had to bring this man-eating truth to light!
The most recent records ended two months ago.
They showed that Wayland Shipping had once again hired twelve brand-new keepers for the twelve lighthouses of Moon Bay.
Looking at those twelve fresh names, Ophelia’s heart was filled with sorrow and a bitter chill.
She wondered if these people were still alive.
Or would they, too, soon become the next souls crossed out in red ink in this ledger?
Furthermore, as she pored over the register, another inexplicable detail nagged at her mind.
If everyone confirmed dead was marked with a red cross...
Then why, among these thousands of names, were there a tiny few that had no red cross at all?
Instead, their names were marked with a strange blue circle drawn in blue ink.
What did the blue circle represent?
Survival?
Or were they chosen for something even deeper?
Ophelia frowned, intending to search for an appendix explaining the blue circles.
At that moment, a series of hurried footsteps echoed from the empty corridor outside.
“I saw it with my own eyes! That fellow went in just now and hasn't come out!”
Hearing that voice, Ophelia’s blood turned to ice.
She knew that voice all too well.
It was a fellow journalist who had been jostling with her at the front of the pack during the interview this morning!
Argh!
Those damn colleagues of mine!
Rate on N.U.
