"Tsk. Couldn't she have gone a little easier on me?"
As he walked, Ron threaded a length of black surgical cord through the wound in his abdomen, stitching the flesh back together with practiced efficiency.
He continued muttering complaints about Janeus and her whims.
Eventually, his grumbling subsided.
Only then did he take a proper look at his surroundings.
The station was silent.
Unnaturally silent.
Everything was white.
Not merely painted white, but overwhelmingly so, as though the entire structure had been carved from a single colossal block of snow.
Ron paid little attention to the station itself.
He had long since grown accustomed to strange architecture.
Instead, his eyes focused on the train tracks, the surrounding railcars, and anything that might reveal who had come and gone.
If possible, he wanted to estimate the number of passengers who had boarded the train.
Unfortunately, the pristine white flooring was protected by maintenance enchantments designed to prevent dirt and wear from accumulating over time.
Footprints were useless.
That avenue of investigation was closed.
Ron wandered among the waiting benches, deep in thought.
As far as he remembered, only three trains regularly operated from this station.
Rail travel had never become a common means of transportation. Most people still preferred other methods unless they needed to travel long distances or transport cargo.
At the end of the year, only a handful of trains remained active.
Most workers stayed on the job until the very last days before the New Year in order to earn a little extra money before returning home.
That was especially common in Jinlus.
Despite its size, it was still a village at heart.
A place where people escaped after growing tired of the pressure and competition of Pegasus City.
The train Ron had boarded had been the final departure before the New Year's celebrations.
The only train scheduled to run that day.
Which meant he could estimate the number of passengers.
There had been ten cars in total.
One locomotive.
One engineering car.
That left eight passenger sections.
Except one of those had been a dining car.
Leaving seven actual passenger cars.
Each could accommodate roughly thirty people.
Seven cars.
Thirty passengers each.
Two operators in the locomotive.
One attendant in the final car.
No permanent staff in the dining section.
That produced a total estimate of two hundred and thirteen people.
At least on paper.
Ron didn't believe the number.
Because before boarding, he had arranged for several acquaintances to purchase additional tickets under different identities.
Four tickets, to be precise.
Identity verification was required during purchase.
Using intermediaries allowed him to avoid attracting attention while also providing hidden storage locations.
His sports bag had occupied one of the seats.
The other two remained intentionally empty.
Those tickets had been spread across Cars Four, Five, and Six.
Which reduced the actual passenger count.
Two hundred and nine.
Ron repeated the number silently.
Then he approached the nearest passenger car.
The door refused to budge.
Locked.
Most likely by magic.
Breaking it open was possible, but reckless.
There could be alarms.
There could be traps.
There could be valuable evidence inside.
Destroying the environment would only make future investigation harder.
The key was probably somewhere nearby.
Fortunately, one railcar stood with its door closed but not locked.
A corpse protruded halfway through one of its windows.
Ron immediately changed direction.
Using the same black cord, he searched through the dead man's clothing.
Eventually, he retrieved a ring of keys.
Attached to it was a small metal tag.
Moroe.
A name.
Or perhaps merely a label.
"Thank you."
Ron paused.
"And I'm sorry, Moroe. Or whoever you really were."
He continued searching the corpse.
This time he discovered a black leather wallet.
Inside was a small pouch containing dozens of compressed gold coins.
Probably New Year's gifts.
Or savings meant for family back home.
Ron removed a single coin.
Then carefully placed it inside the dead man's mouth.
The lips were torn.
Blood had dried around them after a violent impact.
Yet Ron performed the gesture anyway.
A prayer for the dead.
Growing up in an orphanage run by the Church had left certain habits deeply ingrained within him.
The dead deserved a blessing.
A final prayer.
A final farewell.
But there was another lesson he remembered as well.
A lesson once spoken by a priest.
"The world will give you gifts far more valuable than gold, my child. Learn to treasure them."
Ron looked down at the pouch in his hand.
To be fair—
something more valuable than a single gold coin was indeed a pouch containing dozens of them.
"Thank you."
He pocketed the money.
Then added quietly:
"And sorry."