The plane landed on Aruba, a Dutch territory. The sky had turned dark, and Ronan, carrying his travel bag, entered the terminal building. He carefully examined the local transportation information platform and found that there would only be a boat to Bileina Island early tomorrow morning.
Not far from the airport was the port of Oranjestad, with hotels situated between the port and the airport.
As Ronan was about to leave the terminal, footsteps echoed outside the main gate and the security room. Over a dozen police officers in uniforms rushed in.
Seeing this situation, Ronan immediately tensed up.
However, these people weren't coming for him; they surrounded two Latin American men who had just come out of the arrival gate. The police officers aimed their guns at them, shouting and yelling.
Ronan didn't understand Dutch, and someone nearby whispered in Spanish, "The police are saying they're members of the Colombian guerrilla group, they're terrorists."
The two Colombians didn't resist and obediently followed the police officers.
Ronan exited the terminal and walked a few hundred meters to a hotel.
He knew a bit about the Colombian guerrilla group. Originally, they were an armed force fighting against social inequality and oppression from the upper class. However, by the 1980s, things had changed. They began engaging in large-scale drug trafficking and turned to activities such as kidnapping, murder, explosions, and robbery.
Any group that gets involved in drugs quickly falls into corruption.
At the hotel entrance, Ronan coincidentally encountered a young woman from the same flight.
They exchanged a glance and entered the hotel separately.
At the lobby bar, due to the small size of the hotel, only one person's check-in could be processed at a time.
Ronan stepped aside and said, "Ladies first."
The woman with brown hair whispered, "Thank you," and completed her check-in before heading to the elevator.
Once Ronan finished his check-in, he entered the elevator lobby, and just as he arrived, the brown-haired woman was about to enter the elevator. She stretched out her hand to hold the door.
"Thanks," Ronan said, quickening his steps to enter the elevator.
The brown-haired woman pressed the button for the fourth floor and asked, "Which floor?"
Ronan answered briefly, "Fourth floor."
"Okay," the brown-haired woman replied, falling silent.
Elevator arrived, possibly due to the order of check-in, their rooms were adjacent.
The room's soundproofing was average. Ronan turned off the shower and could hear the sound of running water from next door.
In the middle of the night, separated by just a wooden wall, the person next door woke up from a dream, immediately alerting Ronan.
Then came footsteps. After about five minutes, the person lay back down.
Ronan adjusted his mood and went back to sleep.
The latter part of the night grew quiet.
Early the next day, after having breakfast at the hotel, Ronan headed to the pier and bought a ticket for the boat to Bileina Island.
This was a ship belonging to Aruba, flying both the Aruban and Dutch flags.
The passenger ship had two decks because it had to stop at various points like Venezuela's Paraguaná Peninsula and Colombia's Guajira Peninsula. It would take at least six hours to reach Bileina Island.
Ronan entered the cabin and went directly to the second floor, where he found the brown-haired woman sitting by the window.
"Morning," they encountered each other again, and she asked, "Isn't it a coincidence?"
Ronan calmly replied, "Only one boat goes to Bileina Island."
The brown-haired woman nodded, saying, "Indeed, quite a coincidence. I'm also heading to Bileina Island."
Seeing Ronan approach, she tested the waters a bit and introduced herself, "Ilse."
Ronan used the fake name on his passport, "Martin."
He took a seat by the aisle and people gradually came up from below. However, there weren't many passengers. When the ship set sail, there were only about six or seven people on the second floor.
Ronan wasn't talkative, and he didn't have the interest to strike up a conversation with the brown-haired woman. Having seen enough of the seascape, he pondered the purpose of his trip to Bileina Island.
Based on videos and information, what he likely needed for his advancement as a Plunderer was a giant chameleon.
If he could successfully find it and create the materials for a new Soul Cooking, he was only missing the ancient one's soul fragment.
After a few battles in Tijuana, he had killed nothing but evildoers, accumulating over 150 ordinary soul fragments.
However, he had only obtained one fragment from the ancient one, from the werewolf Alejandro, and he had already used it while cooking the Spirit Leopard.
That vampire-like figure, José, had been caught in a crossfire between snipers, machetes, and helicopters at the time, leaving him no time to harvest.
Considering the first fragment of the ancient one's soul, this thing was likely to come from an old monster that had lived for centuries.
Soul absorption had a chance of obtaining the target's most skilled ability...
Like scratch-off lottery tickets, winning in bits and pieces.
Up until now, the most practical abilities Ronan had gained from soul absorption were related to shooting, close combat, and language.
Suddenly, Ronan thought of the voodoo cult's witches. Could any of them have lived for centuries?
How great would it be if he could acquire the power of telekinesis?
Meeting Ronan again and again, Ilse remained guarded. She continued probing, "Are you going to Bileina Island for vacation? Have you been there before?"
"First time," Ronan snapped back to reality, coming up with a reason on the spot, "I heard the beaches and coral reefs there are very beautiful. And if you're lucky, you can find natural diamonds from the volcanoes on the island."
Ilse chuckled, "Unverified diamonds?"
Ronan didn't quite understand, "It's for commemoration." Since she had asked him, he reciprocated, "And you? Are you also on vacation?"
Ilse reined in her smile, getting into the role instantly, "No, I'm bringing someone back home."
Ronan asked, "Did the island's scenery captivate her?"
Ilse shook her head slightly, her delicate features tinged with sorrow, "She had an accident."
"Sorry," Ronan expressed his condolences.
Ilse managed a faint smile, "It's okay."
She reached out to tidy her wind-mussed hair.
Ronan subtly swept his gaze over her hand. The skin on the brown-haired woman's hand was somewhat rough, as if she often did manual labor.
Ilse was sensitive; even though Ronan's gaze quickly retreated, she turned her head.
Ronan, appearing naturally curious, asked, "From your accent, British?"
Ilse tied her hair back, "British, but I came from New York." She asked Ronan in turn, "Your accent sounds like the West Coast."
Ronan shook his head, "Mexican, from Baja California. I often go to the US, but I haven't been to New York."
Ilse smiled slightly, "I'm also going to New York for the first time."
Ronan said, "I thought you were working in New York."
"Handling procedures at New York University," Ilse was prepared for this, "My cousin is an exchange student at NYU. She went to Bileina Island with some classmates for a vacation and had an accident."
Ronan suddenly remembered the five college students who were allegedly killed by the giant chameleon.
According to CIA data, they were from New York University.
Was this Ilse a relative sent to collect the bodies?
As the conversation reached this point, Ronan continued, "Injured?"
Ilse replied, "Fatality due to an accident."
Ronan reiterated, "Sorry."
Ilse shook her head, "It's okay."
The ship reached the port on Paraguaná Peninsula, stopping for ten minutes to allow people to disembark and board. After departing, it turned west, heading towards the next stop, Colombia's Guajira Peninsula.
The captain from Aruba made a special announcement through the broadcast, reminding passengers that when they arrived at Guajira's port, they shouldn't disembark casually. There had been recent activity by Colombian guerrillas on the Guajira Peninsula, and they might encounter unexpected situations if luck wasn't on their side.
Ronan remembered the two Colombians captured by the Aruba police last night.
When a group gets involved with drugs, whether buying or selling, they quickly descend into corruption.
The ship rocked for nearly three hours, arriving at the port on the Guajira Peninsula.
As the ship docked, people began to disembark and embark one after another. In about ten minutes, seven young and sturdy men came aboard, coming in from various directions.
Among them were six black men and one Latino.
These people exchanged glances. The Latino man led three of the black men to the first floor, while the other three black men went to the second floor cabins, spreading out.
As soon as the people came aboard, Ronan noticed. He discreetly reached into his pocket and grabbed the Swiss Army knife he had bought at the hotel shop during breakfast.
Without warning, the ship's speed suddenly decreased. The curly-haired black man pulled out a pistol and shouted loudly in Spanish, "Don't move! Raise your hands!"
The other two black men also drew their pistols, pointing at the fewer than ten passengers, "Anyone who moves will be shot!"
Ronan cooperated fully, immediately raising his hands.
Other passengers seemed to have received some training. They all raised their hands in cooperation.
Ilse was actually the slowest to raise her hands.
"Faster!" the curly-haired black man shouted again, "Let me see your hands!"
Ilse raised her hands as well.
The curly-haired black man shouted once more, "Stand up, all of you, stand up slowly! Let me see your hands! Do you understand? Keep your hands visible at all times!"
At this moment, the ship's broadcast came on, "Good afternoon, I'm called James, and I apologize for disturbing your journey. We are soldiers from the Colombian National Liberation Army. Please cooperate with us and trust that we will not shoot civilians, as long as you cooperate. Our goal has never been civilians..."
The person's tone and attitude seemed quite friendly, "Yesterday afternoon, two of our comrades arrived at Aruba Airport. They were arbitrarily detained by the Aruba authorities. So, please wait patiently. As long as the Aruba authorities release our comrades, we will naturally let you all leave."
Not only did these people control the first-floor cabins, they also took command of the captain and first officer.
On the second floor, under the orders of the black men, the passengers stood up and began to move down.
The bandits were gathering people on one floor for surveillance.
Ronan intentionally lingered behind, contemplating whether to take action.
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