“You’ll end up with very little tactical value if you play like that.” Samuel Lincoln reminded him, though he was quite happy to accept this batch of warriors, since it would help him level up.

Henry Lincoln supervised the game screen, issuing necessary commands, while also opening another page to continue browsing online information.

Whether it was because of the earlier interruption, the comfort brought by Charles Griffin, or simply pure exhaustion, Henry Lincoln found his attention less focused than before. Information flashed by one after another, and after a long while, he realized he hadn’t read a single piece—not even the headlines.

“You collect information, I’ll focus on leveling up in the game. We’ll split the work.” Samuel Lincoln was having a great time and no longer worried about assassins showing up.

Henry Lincoln pulled himself together and continued to dive deep into the “Wastesea” to fish for information.

Regarding the barber’s death, most speculation pointed to the Star Union or some extremist organization.

The Star Union was short for the Human Planetary Alliance, a loose organization whose main duty was to provide a framework for deliberation to the governing bodies of various planets. No sane person would believe the Star Union had assassins.

As for extremist organizations, there were many, with a wide range of views, making them hard to define. Henry Lincoln picked out ten organizations, filtered them repeatedly, and was left with five. But he had no means or channels to investigate, so he could only make wild guesses like the conspiracy theorists online.

Henry Lincoln sadly realized that all his painstaking browsing and summarizing might not be worth as much as a simple explanation from Charles Griffin.

“One last hour.” He set a deadline in his mind—at most one more hour. If he still found nothing, he’d go lie down and catch up on sleep, then focus on leveling up his character after waking up.

Planetary heir, assassin, extremist organizations, Charles Griffin… So many things were tangled together, and Henry Lincoln was getting deeper and deeper into a dead end. With about ten minutes left, he suddenly changed his mind and switched his search keyword to “homeworld territory.”

Rather than aimlessly searching for assassins, it was better to ponder the “one sentence” that Charles Griffin should have said but didn’t.

Henry Lincoln was quickly drawn to an article titled “Chronicle of Major Events on the Homeworld.” He read on, exceeding his self-imposed time limit, and then realized that this chronicle was actually part of the game’s own content, merely reposted online.

So he entered the game and quickly found the “Chronicle” option to reread it.

This game was even older than expected. By at least New Era Year 130, not long after the major planets restored their information networks, this game had already appeared. No company had ever claimed it; it spread across the internet like a virus. At its peak, it had tens of millions of players, sometimes declining to near obscurity, and had even been banned by the authorities several times, yet it never completely disappeared and always managed to quietly resurface.

For Henry Lincoln, the game’s history was far more interesting than the game itself.

He was shaken awake by Samuel Lincoln.

“We haven’t eaten all day. Did you find anything?”

“Not yet… Let’s eat first.” Only then did Henry Lincoln realize it was already evening outside.

“Let’s eat out—my treat this time.” Having just received his salary, Samuel Lincoln had become generous.

The two tidied up a bit and were just about to head out when, unexpectedly, there was another knock at the door.

Both of them were startled. Samuel Lincoln asked, “Who is it? Who are you looking for?”

After about half a minute, a strange voice outside replied, “483.”

Chapter 9: Colleagues and Rivals

“Double agents are people you’ll definitely encounter in the future, definitely.” When Third Uncle said this, he didn’t emphasize it with his fingers as usual, but slouched his tall, thin body in the chair, eyes downcast, as if confessing his sins. “Don’t be fooled by them, but don’t get too emotional either. Make full use of their value, and then do what you must. Don’t be too harsh on them, because—that double agent might just be your friend, or even yourself.”

483 was not only the group’s code number, but also a secret code shared exclusively between the leader and members—unknown even to top superiors. It wasn’t assigned in sequence, but chosen at random. If two groups happened to have the same name, neither side would ever find out.

At least, that’s how it was supposed to be.

So, when a clearly unfamiliar voice—not Charles Griffin—called out this number, the confusion of the two inside was understandable. The word “double agent” popped into their minds at the same time, and they felt as if they’d been betrayed.

“We’re friends,” the voice outside spoke again.

Charles Griffin had specifically warned them: trust no one, not even familiar faces from the farm or superiors in the organization.

The two exchanged glances. Samuel Lincoln turned to look for a kitchen knife, while Henry Lincoln hid by the wall to avoid being shot from outside.

“Old Bei, Yezi, don’t be stupid. The enemy wouldn’t be this polite.”

The person outside even knew their nicknames.

Samuel Lincoln ran back with the knife, signaling with his eyes to ask what to do.

Henry Lincoln hesitated for a moment, then reached out to open the door.

“Should we contact Lao Qian first?” Samuel Lincoln whispered.

Henry Lincoln shook his head. He had a feeling it was better to obey the orders from outside. The two of them were just rookie, low-level spies, with no information or weapons, and were completely unable to protect themselves.