Chapter 1: The Land of Hope

Chapter One
The Land of Hope

Woo!

The whistle’s cry echoed through every corner of the platform. The steam locomotive, huge as a monster and dragging more than twenty carriages behind it, slowly came to a stop.

Dressed in formal tails and wearing a half-top silk hat, Klein carried a comically oversized leather suitcase that did not match his frame at all and stepped steadily onto the ground of Backlund, capital of the Loen Kingdom.

This city was split diagonally in two by the Tussock River, which flowed southeast toward the sea. The two banks were connected by Backlund Bridge and ferries. With a population of more than five million, it was the most prosperous metropolis on the Northern and Southern Continents.

Klein looked into the distance and saw only pale-yellow fog everywhere. Visibility was extremely poor. The gas lamps hanging over the platform had already been lit one after another, driving away the gloom and dimness.

“It is only half past six, is it not? Yet it feels like nine or ten…”

Klein shook his head almost imperceptibly and suddenly recalled a joke he had read earlier in the Tussock Times.

A gentleman newly arrived in Backlund had lost his way in the thick smog and had no choice but to ask a wet gentleman passing by, “How do I get to the Tussock River?” The wet gentleman had replied very kindly, “Walk straight ahead and do not stop. I just swam up from there.”

Every time one read Backlund’s newspapers or magazines, those reporters and editors found new ways to mock the air pollution here, to mock the ever-increasing number of foggy days… The Backlund Daily had even made a special statistical report, saying that such weather had grown from about sixty days thirty years ago to around seventy-five days at present… For this reason, quite a few people of insight had founded organizations like the Coal Smoke Reduction Association and the Smoke Gas Reduction Association… One of the bills in September was said to propose the establishment of a Kingdom Air Pollution Investigation Committee…

Klein set down his large suitcase and pinched the bridge of his nose, easing the sudden discomfort.

Then, following the golden watch chain, he took a gold pocket watch from his waistcoat pocket, snapped it open, and confirmed the time.

After truly saying farewell to his elder brother and younger sister, Klein had deliberately made a trip to a department store, spending four pounds ten soli on a gold pocket watch and another one pound five soli on a gold chain.

To him, not being able to clearly and specifically grasp the time at every moment would produce a feeling close to panic.

Originally, Klein had planned to buy a silver pocket watch, feeling that it better suited his temperament. But considering the true essence of the Clown, he had ultimately chosen the more flaunting, more extravagant gold watch.

“6:39… Not too delayed…”

Klein put away the pocket watch, picked up his cane and suitcase, followed the flow of people, and slowly left the steam train station.

Suddenly, without warning, he turned a corner, causing someone who had quietly followed behind him and stretched a hand toward his pocket to grasp empty air.

Klein paid no attention to this little episode. Along the cement-paved avenue, he mingled with the crowded stream of people and walked toward the intersection ahead.

There were lawns and gardens at the center of the street, surrounding a pillar that rose like a chimney.

“No… perhaps it really is a chimney…”

Klein saw thick smoke surging out from the pillar’s top.

Part of that smoke drifted upward into the sky; part transformed into tiny droplets of water and scattered in every direction.

Klein stopped once again, set down his suitcase, and unfolded the newspaper and map in his other hand.

During the steam-train ride, he had already planned where he would go next and what he would do.

The experiences of this period, as well as the mood he had felt that morning while disguised as a clown, had finally allowed Klein to grasp the true essence of the Clown potion: even if one could slightly foresee fate, one remained helpless before it, and so used a smiling face to conceal all sorrow, pain, confusion, and dejection.

At that moment, he had clearly felt the Clown potion digest. He believed that if he continued acting in this way, it would not be long before he could attempt advancement.

The problem was that he did not yet know what the corresponding Sequence 7 potion was called, let alone its formula.

“How should I obtain the formula? The Secret Order rarely appears. They seem interested only in items belonging to the Antigonus family… That is also why others know almost nothing about them. Mm… I should consider two approaches. First, enter the local Beyonder circles and see if I can find clues. Second, actively set a trap by using the Antigonus family treasure as bait to fish out members of the Secret Order. After all, I control that strange vertical eye composed of numerous mysterious symbols.

“But that is far too risky. I have to be cautious enough. The bait cannot be too good, nor too bad. If it is too bad, no one will be interested. If it is too good, I might hook a giant shark—a giant shark that can swallow me in one bite… The leader of the Secret Order, Zaratul, was someone who once guided Emperor Roselle. Perhaps he even obtained the largest slice of that feast of historical change… Of course, he may not have survived until now. All of that happened nearly two hundred years ago…”

As his thoughts flowed, Klein felt Backlund’s damp chill and could not help shuddering. He decided to find lodging as soon as possible.

Turning the newspaper pages, he once again browsed the property rental section and found the listing he had circled earlier:

“15 Minsk Street, Cherwood Borough… terraced house… weekly rent 18 soli…”

Klein had thought repeatedly about where he should live. Although Backlund had a population exceeding five million, he still had to guard against the possibility of encountering local Nighthawks. Whether it was Daly, who had recently been transferred here, or Lorotta, El Hassan, and Borgia, who had originally belonged to Backlund, they would certainly recognize him.

Therefore, Klein had ruled out the North Borough, where Saint Samuel Cathedral, headquarters of the Backlund Diocese of the Church of the Evernight Goddess, was located. He had also ruled out Queen’s Borough and the West Borough, which had the best public security and the strictest oversight—those two districts belonged to nobles and the wealthiest merchants, with the former leaning even more heavily toward Queen’s Borough.

After further eliminating several factory districts, the dock area, the East Borough where the poor gathered, and the Backlund Bridge area, Klein had few choices left. One was Hillston Borough, home to the Backlund Stock Exchange, the clearinghouse, the futures center, the headquarters of the seven major banks, various trust funds, railway companies, and bulk commodity trading firms. It was known as the Kingdom of Loen’s economic, commercial, and financial center. The other was Cherwood Borough, crowded with small companies and residences.

Both districts had heavy traffic, relatively good public security, and were convenient for hiding. After serious thought, Klein had chosen the cheaper Cherwood Borough.

He did not look for organizations such as the Metropolitan Housing Improvement Association or the Metropolitan Working Classes Housing Improvement Company because they all required certain identity documents—and at present, he could not produce any.

“If I cannot rent the house smoothly today, I will find a small hotel that does not require identity documents and stay there temporarily…”

Klein folded the newspaper and map, picked up the suitcase, and, following the map’s directions, walked toward what looked like the entrance of a department store.

That was the entrance to Backlund’s underground railway.

Yes, an underground railway.

When Klein had first seen the word “underground” in newspapers and magazines, he had truly been startled. He had not expected this type of transportation to become reality before the age of electricity had even arrived.

It had been born twenty-five years ago. At first, it connected the two banks of the Tussock River. Now, it had expanded into the main urban districts, although there were not many stations.

Passing through the entrance, Klein followed the people in front of him and walked step by step toward the ticket office.

After waiting in line for several minutes, he finally saw the ticket seller, a young lady with beautiful golden hair.

Without lifting her head, she pointed at the wooden price board hanging near the window.

“During peak hours—seven to nine in the morning and six to eight in the evening—there is one train every ten minutes. At other times, every fifteen minutes. First class is six pence, second class four pence, third class three pence. Round-trip tickets are nine, six, and five pence respectively. Annual passes are eight pounds for first class, five pounds ten soli for second class. There is no annual pass for third class.”

Cheaper than I imagined… And there is no distance limit… Melissa would definitely prefer this over carriages. This is the crystallization of machinery…

Thinking this, Klein suddenly felt a little uncomfortable.

He revealed a bright smile, took out four copper pennies, and handed them to the ticket seller.

“Second class.”

Pap! The ticket seller tore off a ticket, stamped it, and handed it to Klein.

After finding the line toward Cherwood Borough and passing through a rather lax inspection, Klein went down the stairs and soon reached the platform. Following the markings on the ground, he found the spot corresponding to second class.

Woo, woo, woo!

He did not wait long before he heard the rumbling, rolling whistle like thunder. A massive steam locomotive, filled with overwhelming force, broke through the light of the gas lamps on both sides and clattered to a stop.

Its enormous shape, winding body, black-iron color, and complex machinery combined into a unique beauty.

Backlund’s underground still used steam trains. The smoke they produced, through a special design, entered pipes above and rushed through chimneys to the outside world.

That was the “true purpose” of the lawns and gardens in the middle of the street.

Amid the sound of metal friction, Klein first waited for the passengers ahead to get off. Only then did he carry his cane and suitcase up the carriage and accept the conductor’s ticket inspection.

Unlike third class, second class gave each person a seat, so there was no need to worry about someone taking one’s place. Klein had just sat down, put away his suitcase, and propped his cane beside him when he heard hurried footsteps.

He subconsciously turned his head toward the door and saw a thin, rather inexperienced-looking boy enter the carriage in a rush.

The boy wore an old coat that did not fit his age, a round-topped hat, and a worn satchel over his shoulder. His head was lowered very deeply.

“Sorry. I got into the wrong carriage. I am third class…”

He flashed his ticket, apologized to the conductor, and hurried toward the third-class carriages.

Klein withdrew his gaze, confirmed his destination once more, and waited for the carriage doors to close.

Just then, he again heard messy, hurried footsteps. Immediately afterward, several men in black coats and half-top hats rushed into the carriage.

Are they chasing that fifteen- or sixteen-year-old boy from just now?

The thought instinctively appeared in Klein’s mind.

He shook his head slightly and continued reading his newspaper and map, no different from the other passengers in the carriage.