Chapter 71: Instinctive Trembling

Chapter Seventy-One
Instinctive Trembling

Three in the afternoon, East Balam Dock, Dock Union.

Klein wore a thick sweater beneath a brownish-yellow jacket, with a simple soft cap on his head, shaping himself more like a common investigative reporter than the kind who often attended banquets and interviewed people of rank and status. This outfit had cost him an extra one pound ten soli.

At the moment, he wore gold-rimmed glasses. His hair was neatly combed back, glistening with the sheen of pomade. The messy beard on his face had vanished; only a ring of blue-black stubble remained around his lips. His height had also increased by at least five centimeters. He strove to make himself obviously different from the worker image he had worn the night before, so that anyone not especially familiar with him would never make the connection.

In the pockets of his clothes and trousers, there was no All-Black Eye, no charms, and no herb powders or essential oils. There was only a deck of tarot cards, a stack of notepaper, a water-filled fountain pen, a wallet, some change, a bunch of keys, and a fake press pass.

He did not know Lanevus’s current state, nor did he know where the powerful Beyonders surrounding him came from. Therefore, caution came first. He would carry nothing that might provoke suspicion.

Looking toward the two-story building ahead, Klein crossed the street and pretended he had not relied on his Clown intuition to discover several gazes watching him.

He pushed open the door and found the dock union’s layout extremely simple. There was no lady in charge of reception, nor any spacious hall. The staircase leading to the second floor stood in the center, while corridors packed with offices extended on both sides. There were no wooden floorboards, much less carpets. The ground was merely paved with cement.

Klein turned his head slightly to look at the man guarding the door, approached him, and said, “I am a reporter from the Backlund Daily. I wish to interview members of your association and learn about your demands and hopes.”

The man wore a coat covered in patches, with dirty cotton even showing through in some places. Underneath, he had only a linen shirt.

Upon hearing the word reporter, he immediately became alert and answered repeatedly, “No! We have not organized any strikes recently. None!”

“I think you have misunderstood. I am sympathetic toward you. I plan to do a feature report describing what the union has done to help workers, and what practical difficulties it has encountered. Believe me.”

With the help of the Clown’s Beyonder ability, Klein made his gaze look exceptionally sincere.

“I see… You should look for Mr. Rand. He is the committee member responsible for publicity. Turn right, second office on your right.”

After hesitating a few seconds, the man gave the answer.

“Thank you.”

Klein pretended to let out a breath of relief and gave a bow. He sensed that the gaze watching him from a dark corner vanished.

With a little cold sweat on his back, he turned right and knocked on the corresponding office door.

Creak. The door opened, and a middle-aged man with thinning hair looked at him suspiciously.

“May I ask who you are?”

“Are you Mr. Rand? I am Stanson, a reporter from the Backlund Daily. This is my press pass. I would like to make the union the subject of a report, so that you may receive more attention.”

Klein had nearly convinced even himself that he was truly a reporter.

“I am Rand.”

The middle-aged man glanced at the press pass and said with obvious reluctance, “I find it difficult to believe reporters come here to help us.”

“I was born in the East Borough. I know how miserable workers’ lives can be. If you do not trust my intentions, you may follow me from start to finish and supervise every question I ask.”

Klein suddenly smiled and added, “A report made from real interview material is better than news written from nothing but imagination. At least you will be able to express your views and guide the matter in the direction you hope for.”

Rand touched his scalp and answered hesitantly, “All right.

“I will follow you the whole way.”

“Thank you!”

Klein almost failed to control his emotions.

Afterward, led by Rand, he entered one office after another, asking the dock union staff questions he had prepared in advance.

The right corridor yielded nothing. The left corridor yielded nothing… With an expression unchanged, Klein stepped onto the wooden stairs and arrived at the second floor.

This time, Rand brought him into the office directly opposite the staircase and introduced him to the people inside.

“This is Mr. Stanson, a reporter from the Backlund Daily.

“He would like to interview you, but I must remind you in advance that you have the right to refuse to answer certain questions.”

Klein wore a bright smile and took two steps forward, making as though to shake hands with everyone in the office.

It was then that he saw a figure that seemed faintly familiar.

Although the other party’s skin had become bronze, his ordinary round face had turned sharply contoured, and his glasses had changed from round frames to long gold-rimmed ones, Klein still relied on his Diviner’s spiritual intuition to detect a strange trace of familiarity.

Immediately afterward, his body trembled slightly, and the smile on his face nearly slipped out of control.

“S-sorry. I suddenly—suddenly have a stomachache. May I ask where the washroom is?” Klein asked with an awkward smile, pressing the hand not holding the fountain pen and notepaper to his abdomen.

Neither Rand nor the people in the office doubted him. They all pointed outside.

“Go out, turn left, walk to the end. You will see the sign.”

Klein withdrew with an apologetic smile. Once outside the door, his footsteps became swift as he hurried straight for the washroom.

After entering, he chose the stall closest to the window, sat on the toilet, and locked the wooden door.

He bent over, the corner of his mouth splitting open. He laughed soundlessly, as if unable to straighten his back. A crystalline drop even fell to the floor.

Klein had already confirmed it. That was Lanevus!

And it was not based on that tiny sense of familiarity. It was because he had sensed another aura from that man, an aura that had left an impression upon him so deep it was almost carved into his soul.

That was the main reason he had nearly lost control on the spot.

His body’s trembling came from instinctive fear and terror.

His emotional collapse came from horror and grief buried deep within memory.

That was—

That was…

That was the aura of the True Creator!

…

Klein washed his face, then continued the interview as if nothing had happened. Even when facing Lanevus, whose appearance had changed so drastically for reasons unknown, he still asked questions and recorded answers step by step.

After finishing all of that, he took his leave and exited the dim, poorly lit dock union building.

Outside, clouds were piled thick, and thin fog drifted, as though evening had arrived ahead of time.

The True Creator’s aura can only come from Him, from His child, or from something extended from that foundation. For example, an item He bestowed, or His divinity… This fits what Lanevus once said to Hood Eugen. Add that faint sense of familiarity, and I do not even need to divine above the gray fog to confirm that it is him… If I had not dealt with the True Creator several times and often come into contact with His mental contamination, there would have been no way to recognize that aura belonging to Him when it contains neither power nor level…

Klein felt extremely grave inside, yet outwardly he appeared relaxed.

Standing on the street, he deliberately straightened his interview notes.

During that process, he glimpsed a somewhat familiar figure among the homeless people across the street.

Miss Xio?

Combining it with the course of events, Klein instantly made the guess.

He did not linger. Putting away the notepaper, he headed for the tram carriage stop.

Just then, a carriage suddenly stopped before him.

“We meet again.”

Seated inside was a thin yet refined middle-aged-to-elderly gentleman. His graying temples made him appear rather elegant. It was none other than the great detective capable of assisting the police, Isengard Stanton.

At the moment, Klein’s appearance was not greatly different from usual. He was merely a little taller and wearing different clothes.

“What a coincidence. I was just thinking about the interview from last time,” Klein deliberately replied.

Isengard immediately understood, smiled, and shifted the topic.

“I came here to investigate a case. Sibel’s death has been separated from the serial murders and is mainly being handled by me. The place where she died is quite close to East Balam Dock.”

“So it truly was an imitation crime?” Klein pretended that this was the first time he had learned of it.

After a few casual exchanges, he boarded a tram carriage. He did not return home directly, but changed routes toward Cragg Club in Hillston Borough.

Inside one of the club’s lounges, he swiftly went above the gray fog and confirmed that no one was following him.

Only after reaching this point did Klein fully relax and feel the after-fear.

The True Creator’s aura was like a nightmare, haunting his mind, making the clothes pressed against his back dry, then grow wet, then dry again.

To ensure there was no mistake, Klein manifested a sheet of yellowish-brown goatskin and a dark-red round-bellied fountain pen before him. Then, with familiarity, he wrote down the divination statement he had already considered:

“The source of that inexplicable sense of familiarity from before.”

He set down the pen, leaned back in his chair, and entered a dream while reciting silently.

Inside that gray, illusory world, he saw a figure.

The figure had ordinary features, wore round-framed glasses, and always carried a mocking smile that looked down upon everyone. It was precisely Lanevus.

Finally found you!

No longer using the Clown’s ability to control his expression, Klein muttered that sentence through gritted teeth.

Immediately afterward, he sat upright and prepared to respond to Miss Justice’s prayer.

Klein controlled his emotions. In a low, indifferent voice, he spoke:

“There is no need to confirm.

“That is Lanevus.

“You may report it to the Church of the Evernight Goddess and tell them that Lanevus carries the divinity of the Fallen Creator.”

…

Watching her father train hunting dogs together with Susie, Audrey froze on the spot when she heard Mr. Fool’s response.

The Fallen Creator… Is that not the True Creator? That swindler actually carries the divinity of the True Creator? This—this—a simple mission actually involves the divinity of the True Creator! As expected. I knew Mr. Fool had a deeper purpose hidden behind this… He is acting against the True Creator… As expected of Mr. Fool!

Audrey’s thoughts surged one after another.