Chapter 22: A Busy Monday

Chapter Twenty-Two
A Busy Monday

Having formed a rough guess, Klein did not rush to verify it. Pretending nothing had happened, he turned the paper back around so it faced him.

All the information he had written regarding Ian Wright was absolutely true. Even if one confirmed it with divination, the answer would be affirmative. Therefore, he believed that the ambassador’s people would follow this thread and gain a certain harvest. For a short period of time, they would have neither the motivation nor the spare energy to take revenge on him.

Similarly, he would continue leaving the paper spread out on the desk so that the military’s special department’s monitors could see it, guiding them to loosen their focus on him and shift their attention toward Ian Wright—competing with that ambassador for every second in searching for him.

In this way, Klein would become safer.

“It feels like walking a tightrope. Is this perhaps the Clown’s special constitution?”

He laughed and shook his head, opening the oriel window to take two breaths of fresh morning air. Yet the thick, pungent smog outside made him silently close the window again.

Using an ink bottle to press down the paper bearing Ian’s information, Klein went to the washroom next door and quickly cleaned himself. Then he took down the black double-breasted frock coat and half-top silk hat hanging from the hatstand and made his way downstairs.

He had arranged to have breakfast with Solicitor Jurgen today.

Drawing his black, silver-inlaid cane from the umbrella stand in the hall, Klein walked through fog with visibility of no more than ten meters, following the street’s edge until he reached 58 Minsk Street, where he pulled the bell of that gloomy-colored house.

Amid the echoing jingle, a black cat with emerald eyes and tail held high suddenly appeared in his mind.

The black cat, Brody, walked in a straight line to the back of the door, gathered strength for two seconds, and suddenly leaped, extending a paw to catch the door handle.

Afterward, it inevitably fell, using its weight to twist the handle and open the door.

With a creak, morning wind blew in, and the door slowly retreated.

The black cat Brody gave Klein an arrogant glance, then walked aside on his own.

“What a clever cat,” Klein praised the old lady Doris, who wore a white apron.

Doris smiled until her wrinkles unfolded one by one.

“That depends on his mood. Most of the time, he pretends to be stupid, as if he cannot understand what you are saying. Oh, I prepared my best bean-and-turnip thick soup for you. Eat it with bread.”

Bean-and-turnip thick soup… The name sounds like dark cuisine…

Klein smiled.

“I am looking forward to it.”

As he spoke, Solicitor Jurgen walked out of the washroom. Even at home, even though he had only just risen not long ago, he was still dressed impeccably. His white shirt was perfectly stiff, his brownish-yellow waistcoat fitted closely, and the lines of his trouser legs looked as if they had just been ironed.

“The contract you wanted is ready. See whether anything is missing,” Jurgen said, blue eyes sweeping over once. He skipped all pleasantries and went straight to the topic.

His brown hair was neatly combed backward, and the gloss of hair oil was clearly visible.

“All right.”

Klein leaned his cane in place, removed his hat, took off his coat, and followed Jurgen into the first-floor study, where he received a thick contract.

Standing there, he casually flipped through it. The more he looked, the more his head ached. In the end, he only hurriedly scanned the important clauses.

Everything I wanted is there. Clauses I had overlooked before have also been added. For example, instead of paying Leppard one hundred pounds at once, there are three payment points based on his progress. The first payment is fifty pounds… Not bad. This way I temporarily do not need to go to Backlund Bank and withdraw the remaining one hundred pounds from my anonymous account. The money I have on me is enough…

Klein closed the document and smiled at Jurgen.

“I am very satisfied. Your professionalism is better than I imagined.”

As he spoke, he took out two one-pound notes he had prepared.

Jurgen accepted the notes and handed the remaining copies of the contract to Klein as well. Strictly and seriously, he said, “If an error occurs while signing, there are two extra copies here. Remember to use a shredder to destroy the remaining contracts at the end.”

The current shredder was a hand-cranked mechanical paper shredder.

Klein was about to nod when old Madam Doris called loudly from the dining room, “You two fine lads, breakfast is ready!”

“My grandmother’s hearing has declined somewhat,” Jurgen explained, then made an inviting gesture.

Klein followed him into the dining room and saw old Madam Doris scoop a spoonful of thick liquid—yellow tinged with green—from a black soup pot and pour it into the corresponding plate.

“Come, try it. Bean-and-turnip thick soup. Here is your bread,” Madam Doris said with a full smile, pointing at the suspicious-looking food.

Klein glanced at Jurgen and saw that his expression was even more solemn than before. His heart immediately gave a thump.

Forcing himself to sit properly, Klein tore off a piece of white bread, dipped it in the yellow-green soup, and placed it in his mouth with the spirit of an adventurer.

“…”

He was surprised to discover that it actually tasted quite good. Within a light saltiness was a sweetness that stimulated the appetite, drawing out the soft, rich fragrance of the bread perfectly. The layers were very distinct.

“My grandmother was once an excellent chef,” Jurgen said casually while tasting breakfast in slow, measured movements.

…Then why were you wearing such a stiff face? Watching you eat really ruins the appetite…

Klein silently criticized him twice, then immersed himself in the relaxation and happiness brought by good food.

After leaving Jurgen’s home, he first transferred, and transferred, and transferred again to reach Satchy Street in Saint George Borough. There, he and Leppard signed the formal agreement and he paid the first sum of fifty pounds. The second payment of thirty pounds would be given two weeks later depending on the other party’s progress.

At this point, Klein had only twenty-one pounds eight soli left.

Next, he returned to Cherwood Borough and went to the public library there, flipping through the past year’s issues of the Tussock Times to search for news related to the Intis Republic’s ambassador to the Loen Kingdom.

Close to noon, he finally saw the other party’s black-and-white photograph and confirmed that it was precisely the man he had seen in dream divination.

“Bakerland Jean Madan.”

Silently reciting the name of the Intis Republic ambassador, Klein walked out of the library and casually found a small restaurant to solve lunch.

…

At 2:50 in the afternoon, Klein pretended to rest, drew the curtains, walked four steps counterclockwise, and entered above the gray fog.

He first divined whether the military’s special department had loosened surveillance of him, and obtained an affirmative answer. Only then did he write down the divination statement he had prepared that morning:

“Last night’s infiltrator.”

Leaning back against the chair, silently reciting the statement, Klein lowered his eyelids and entered slumber.

Inside the illusory, fragmented, gray world, his bedroom appeared.

At that moment, Klein saw a shadow writhing at the crack beneath the bedroom door.

A long, thin, iron-black worm crawled inside. The middle part of its body arched high, then flattened, repeatedly cycling as it moved toward the desk.

Its movements were extremely stiff, as though split into frame after frame of slow motion, carrying an eerie feeling.

The iron-black worm wriggled to the desk and climbed to the top, leaving behind a trail of mucus that quickly evaporated.

It stopped before the paper bearing Ian Wright’s information. Its head abruptly lifted, and the central portion rose with it, leaving only its tail end supporting the body.

At that moment, it resembled a human.

After examining the paper for a while, the iron-black worm pushed it until it turned. Then it returned along its original path and vanished.

So that is how it was… In other words, last night’s infiltrator did not refrain from taking revenge because it did not wish to. It simply lacked the ability… unless this iron-black worm is highly poisonous…

Klein nodded in realization and, through divination, confirmed that the Beyonder manipulating the iron-black worm had been dispatched by the Intis ambassador Bakerland Jean Madan.

After finishing all of this, he used the gray fog to thoroughly cover the paper bag in the corner, then sent a message to The Sun Derrick.

When the pocket watch’s hands reached the appointed time, Klein pulled Justice, The Hanged Man, and The Sun in at the same time.

This week’s Tarot Gathering arrived as scheduled.

…

The familiar gray fog and hazy human figures entered her vision. Audrey, who had successfully advanced to Sequence 8, half rose, lifted the hem of her skirt, and greeted cheerfully, “Good afternoon, Mr. Fool~ Good afternoon, Mr. Hanged Man. Good afternoon, Mr. Sun!”

Klein, who had activated spirit vision early, relied on the special nature of the space above the gray fog to notice that deep inside Miss Justice’s Ether Body, on the surface of her Astral Body, changes had occurred again. The uniform color had become much purer.

He chuckled softly.

“Welcome, our Miss Telepathist.”

Audrey smiled with reserve and modestly replied with a couple of sentences. Then she turned her head to the opposite side.

“Mr. Hanged Man, it is time for you to submit this week’s six pages of diary.”

Perhaps after Mr. Fool sees them, He will be reminded of something and tell us a little more common knowledge…

The corners of her mouth lifted faintly in expectation.

Alger nodded and, with Klein’s help, began manifesting six pages of Roselle’s diary.

Before this, he had considered whether to ask The Fool for permission to submit the remaining diary pages directly through sacrifice. But after seeing that the other party did not seem especially interested and had never taken the initiative to mention it, he gave up on that plan.

This fit his understanding well. Roselle’s diary was of some use to Mr. Fool, who was like a deity, but the use was not too great. He would collect it, but He absolutely would not be impatient.

The six pages of the diary were soon completed. Alger was just about to offer them to The Fool at the head of the bronze long table when he suddenly remembered something and hurriedly spoke respectfully.

“Mr. Fool, I have learned a piece of information related to the Secret Order.”

Upon the seas and oceans, news was not blocked. It merely lacked timeliness.

Those great pirates similarly valued intelligence. They often sent people ashore at colonial islands to exchange information each had gathered. It was precisely through that channel that Alger learned something about the Secret Order.

“Very good.”

Klein nodded lightly, signaling The Hanged Man to speak. He did not avoid the presence of Miss Justice or Little Sun.

This would help the former gather other information about the Secret Order, while the latter basically heard without understanding.

At the same time, he let the six diary pages flash into his palm.

The Hanged Man Alger spoke unhurriedly:

“The Secret Order has a certain connection with the Intis Republic.”

The Intis Republic… That makes sense. Emperor Roselle was an Intis citizen, and Zaratul approached him in Trier, the capital of Intis… The Secret Order later participated in that famous Intis incident as well… Mm. That the Secret Order still has some connection to the Intis Republic today is not especially unexpected…

Through mutual confirmation, Klein judged that the information The Hanged Man provided was true.

Heh. As it happens, I am about to deal with the Intis Republic’s ambassador…

Klein did not rush to read Roselle’s diary. He lifted his head and looked toward the only three members.