Chapter 165: Epitaph

Chapter One Hundred Sixty-Five
Epitaph

“We are guardians. But we are also a group of poor wretches forever fighting against danger and madness.”

Dunn’s words echoed inside Old Neil’s house. They echoed between the corroded floor, walls, and ceiling. They echoed inside Klein’s mind and heart.

Never before had any moment made that sentence imprint itself upon him more deeply than now.

He felt that perhaps he would never forget this feeling in his life—even if he one day returned to Earth.

In an atmosphere so heavy it seemed almost solidified, Dunn walked to Old Neil’s “corpse” and half crouched. From the upper pocket of his black windbreaker, he took out a white handkerchief and covered those pained, dark-red, crystalline eyeballs.

Just then, from the corner of his eye, Klein saw that the piano keys had stopped jumping by themselves. A nearly transparent figure faintly appeared there.

This…

Klein, who had activated spirit vision while still outside the door, froze at once.

He had not discovered this strange “spirit” at all before.

Was it interference from Old Neil’s mind? Or was it affected by the ability he carried after losing control?

Watching that almost invisible figure rapidly evaporate and vanish completely from his sight, Klein vaguely understood something.

Amid the heavy, stifling feeling, he heard the Captain instruct, “Search Old Neil’s house carefully. Look for any possible clues.”

“All right.”

The moment Klein spoke, he was stunned by his own voice for several seconds. It was so hoarse, so low, as though he had caught a severe cold.

“All right,” Royale answered immediately after.

Her voice is almost the same as mine… as if both nostrils are blocked…

Klein glanced toward this female teammate who almost never showed expression. It was as though he were meeting her for the first time.

He placed his cane into the umbrella stand in the entrance hall, carefully bypassed Sealed Artifact 3-0611, and walked into the living room with heavy steps. Then he went upstairs, searching bedroom after bedroom for clues.

Old Neil regularly hired short-term laborers to clean the house. Therefore, this place did not possess the messiness common to most bachelors. Everything was neat and orderly, as if there truly were a mistress of the house.

Half an hour later, Klein found some manuscripts on the bookshelf in Old Neil’s bedroom. They recorded certain strange and eerie rituals in messy handwriting:

“Life Creation.”

“Required materials include: one hundred milliliters of water from the Spring of Elves—the Golden Spring of Sonia Island; fifty grams of star crystal; half a pound of gold; five grams of phlogiston; thirty grams of hematite… and a large quantity of living human blood.”

Beneath “living human blood,” Old Neil had added a note:

“I may consider extracting my own, accumulating it little by little, and preserving it through ritual magic.”

I may consider extracting my own…

Klein closed his eyes. His fingers crumpled the draft.

…

Thursday morning, nine o’clock. Moon Hour. Raphael Cemetery.

Klein wore a pure black suit and shirt, holding a silver-inlaid cane, quietly standing in a corner of the cemetery.

In his breast pocket was a white handkerchief folded with perfect neatness, while in his hand, he held a solemn, tranquil bouquet of deep sleep flowers.

At that moment, Dunn, Frye, Leonard, and Kernli carried the black coffin containing Old Neil’s “corpse,” step by step, to the front of the gravestone. In silence, they lowered it into the freshly dug grave.

Watching shovel after shovel of yellow-brown soil cover it, Rozanne, dressed in a long black dress and wearing a small white flower on her hat, began quietly sobbing.

“Can someone tell me this is real?”

“Why does losing control have to happen? Why take potions? Why become Beyonders? Why are there wraiths, why are there monsters? Why can there not be a safer way? Why? Why? Why…”

Klein listened silently until Old Neil’s coffin was buried beneath the earth, until all traces of his existence were hidden deep inside the grave.

“May the Goddess protect you.”

He drew a crimson moon over his chest. Then he stepped forward, bent, and placed the bouquet of deep sleep flowers before the gravestone.

“May the Goddess protect you.”

Dunn, Frye, and the others all tapped four points clockwise upon their chests.

Klein lifted his head and straightened. He saw the black-and-white photograph on the gravestone.

Old Neil wore that classical black felt hat of his. The exposed hair beneath it was mottled gray-white. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and mouth were deep. His dark-red eyes looked faintly clouded.

He was so peaceful now. No more sorrow, no more pain, no more fear.

Below the photograph was a line of epitaph, taken from something Old Neil had written in his diary recently:

“If I cannot save her, then let me go accompany her.”

The cool morning wind blew gently through Raphael Cemetery. Its chill, silence, and wordlessness infected everyone present.

…

Noon. Holding an application form signed by the Captain, Klein walked toward the armory.

He pushed open the half-closed door and saw Bright, with his thick black beard, seated behind the desk.

Klein froze visibly. Only then did he hand over the requisition form.

“Fifty ordinary bullets.”

As he spoke, his gaze swept across the silver-inlaid tin can on the desk. The rich fragrance of hand-ground coffee seemed to reach his nose again, and those words, carrying hidden laughter, seemed to ring by his ears once more:

“But why wait until you have extra money before going? You can write an application to Dunn and have him approve the expense!”

…

Bright glanced at Klein’s expression and sighed.

“I can guess how you feel. I myself still cannot believe Old Neil has left us like this. Sometimes, I even feel this might be a dream created by the Captain.”

“Perhaps this is the fate of many Nighthawks,” Klein answered with a bitter smile.

After this incident, in the depths of his heart, his disappointment and resentment toward the Church’s upper ranks for hiding the acting method grew much stronger.

“May tragedies like this become fewer and fewer. May the Goddess protect all of you.”

Bright drew a crimson moon over his chest. Taking the requisition form, he rose and entered the armory behind him.

…

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The smell of gunpowder filled the air. Klein vented by firing again and again at the target before him. Only after using up the brass bullets did he tidy himself and take a trackless public carriage to the home of his combat instructor, Gawain.

Almost masochistically, he performed one set of exercises after another until Gawain called a halt.

“Combat practice is not meant for hurting yourself.”

Gawain stared at Klein with his slightly clouded dark-green eyes and spoke in a deep voice.

“I am sorry, Teacher. My mood is not very good today.”

Klein exhaled and offered a brief explanation.

“What happened?” Gawain asked, his voice flat, without ripples.

Klein thought for a moment, then answered simply, “A friend of mine suddenly passed away.”

Gawain fell silent for several seconds. He raised his hand and touched his blond temples, which had begun showing gray. In a drifting tone, he said, “I once lost three hundred and twenty-five friends in five minutes. Among them, at least ten were people to whom I could entrust my back.”

With some realization, Klein sighed.

“That is the cruelty of war.”

Gawain glanced at him, then suddenly gave a self-mocking laugh.

“The cruelest thing is that I will never be able to avenge them. Never be able to fulfill their wishes. Never, ever.”

“But you still have that chance. Although I do not understand exactly what happened, I know you are still young. You still have many chances.”

Klein fell silent for a while. Then he drew in a breath and rallied himself.

“Thank you, Teacher.”

Gawain nodded faintly, expressionless.

“Rest for ten minutes. Then redo the earlier exercises ten more times.”

“…”

For a moment, Klein did not know what expression he should use to face him.

…

Friday morning. Inside the Nighthawks’ recreation room.

Klein, Siga Teon, and Frye sat around the round table, yet none of them were playing cards. One read a newspaper and flipped through a magazine, one stared blankly out the oriel window, and one held a fountain pen, seemingly wanting to write something but unable to set the tip to paper.

The room was so quiet. No one spoke. No one joked. The atmosphere was nearly congealed.

Hoo…

Klein breathed out, set down the newspaper, and intended to focus his attention on reading various materials.

Just then, Dunn Smith knocked and entered. He looked around and said, “Klein, come out for a moment.”

What is it?

With a faint premonition, Klein stood and followed him out of the recreation room.

Dunn stopped by the staircase leading underground, turned, and glanced at him.

“Someone from the Sanctuary has arrived.”

The person examining me is here?

Klein’s nerves instantly tensed.