Chapter 91: Feathers

Chapter Ninety-One
Feathers

White feathers?

Klein stared at the grave with no corpse and no bones inside, and a single word abruptly sprang into his mind:

Angel!

In the sacred texts of the seven Churches, there were countless legends of angels and Saints. One of the defining traits of the former was a pair, two pairs, three pairs, even six pairs of pure white wings growing from their backs.

Yet in the next instant, Klein remembered something from the past.

Mr. Azik had once described his dreams to him—dreams that seemed like life after life, existence after existence.

In one of those scenes, Azik had been inside a dark mausoleum. Around him had stood many ancient coffins whose lids were open, and inside them had crouched corpses with white feathers growing from their backs!

Is this a special manifestation of the Death pathway, or something bizarre created by the Numinous Episcopate?

Klein did not speak. He restrained his emotions and calmly watched the white feathers at the bottom of the grave, stained with faint yellow oil.

He preliminarily judged that the old gentleman was unlikely to be an angel. A terrifying Beyonder at Sequence 2 or even Sequence 1 would certainly have an intense effect on the surroundings after death. For example, the Saint’s ashes behind Chanis Gate in Tingen City had extended nearly invisible, black, cold threads in order to seal the people and objects nearby.

Of course, it was also possible that he had not truly died… just like Mr. Azik?

Klein bent down and, with his right palm covered in a black glove, picked up three white feathers.

He intended to perform a divination above the gray fog once he returned home.

At that moment, Kapusti finally recovered. He scrambled closer to Klein, half crawling and half rolling, and looked into the grave with fear hidden in his eyes.

“Where is the body?”

Klein turned his head to look at him and said in a low voice, “Perhaps he left on his own.”

“Left on his own…”

Kapusti repeated the words in terror, finally understanding completely just how frightening it was for the dead to awaken.

His legs trembled. As though talking to himself, he said, “But—but I did not use the resurrection ritual on him. I did not…”

Klein turned to face him, watched him for several seconds, and said, “Death is not the end.”

“Death is not the end… Death is not the end…”

Kapusti was frightened badly by the very philosophy he believed in. The words burst out of him:

“He—will he come back?”

Mm. The messenger summoned by that copper whistle most likely corresponds to this old gentleman. In other words, giving a note to the messenger is the same as mailing a letter to the old gentleman—mailing a letter to someone who has been dead for almost half a year… Heh. I wonder where he is now, and what state he is in…

Regarding Kapusti’s question, Klein offered one light reminder:

“Do not blow that copper whistle again.”

“You mean the copper whistle will attract him back?” Kapusti asked back in horror.

Without waiting for Klein to answer, he pleaded on his own, “Could—could you help me throw this copper whistle into the Tussock River?

“If not, then I—I will go myself.”

Were you not interested in death and its corresponding philosophy earlier?

Klein lampooned inwardly, then reached out and accepted Kapusti’s copper whistle.

He planned, under suitable circumstances, to try mailing a letter to a dead person and see what would happen.

Of course, the premise for all of this was that he first confirmed there would not be much danger.

After instructing Kapusti to bury the grave again, Klein discussed the spirit dance and its corresponding mysticism knowledge with him for a while, enriching his own experience. He also confirmed that when Kapusti buried that old gentleman, he had followed the man’s will and placed the corpse face down.

Under certain special circumstances, using a spirit dance to replace part of the complicated arrangement in ritual magic is even more effective and simpler…

Seeing that he had accomplished his goal, Klein warned Kapusti once more not to keep playing with so-called resurrection rituals.

Then he left the garden, exited the street, took a carriage after making a long detour, and headed for the East Borough.

After changing back into his earlier clothes, he returned to Minsk Street and entered the bedroom. Through a series of procedures, he brought the three white feathers and Kapusti’s copper whistle above the gray fog.

Sitting in the high-backed chair belonging to The Fool, Klein manifested paper and pen, then wrote the divination statement he had already considered:

“Its origin.”

Immediately afterward, he gripped the three white feathers and leaned back in his chair.

As he silently recited the statement, Klein entered a dream. Around him, everything was hazy and filled with gray-white fog.

Within that world was a patch of thick, lightless darkness. Suddenly, the darkness was dyed crimson, and a pale, almost bony hand reached out of the yellow-brown earth.

A human figure slowly climbed up. It did not lift the stone slab or stir the soil. It simply penetrated through and emerged.

Under the crimson moonlight, the clothes on the figure’s back were ragged and torn, with white feathers growing from within.

This graying-haired figure turned its head slightly, revealing the obvious red birthmark on the side of its face, as well as eyes that were wooden, dull, and devoid of all emotion.

It stepped forward, passed through the fence with difficulty, and walked into the black depths. Farther and farther it went, until it vanished.

The dream shattered, and Klein woke.

White feathers really did grow from the corpse’s back… Its state is very much like Miss Sharron’s, but there are obvious differences too. It gives a very heavy, substantial feeling—not illusory. It seems able to transform between human body and Spirit Body in a semi-natural, incomplete way? A messenger communicating between the real world and the spirit world or Netherworld?

Klein extended a hand and lightly tapped the edge of the long table, pondering for quite some time.

After that, he divined whether using Kapusti’s copper whistle to send a letter right now would be dangerous. He received an affirmative answer, and the pendulum’s rotation was wide and fast.

“What a pity. I cannot use the copper whistle directly above the gray fog. The messenger cannot enter at all. Otherwise, there would be no danger…”

After saying that to himself, Klein dropped into the gray fog and returned to the real world.

…

At early morning, inside the relatively fresh woods of Queen’s Borough.

The round-faced Apothecary, who was in his thirties, appeared in a secluded corner and placed the herbs he had secretly planted into the leather pouch he carried.

After completing today’s task, he straightened his waist, stretched his body, and silently muttered in satisfaction:

“As expected, my physical qualities improved. I am no longer like before, where only my resistance to toxins was relatively strong.”

“But… why is my Sequence 8 Beast Tamer? What does that have to do with Apothecary?

“Mm. An Apothecary tames and uses plants, as well as parts of dead animals, while a Beast Tamer tames and uses living animals, including extraordinary creatures?

“Then does my Sequence 7 tame and use humans?

“The old man did not tell me the name of Sequence 7, nor did he give me the formula. Once I stabilize, I will have to try contacting him.”

The Apothecary punched and kicked, adapting to his stronger body, until he was too tired to continue.

Hoo…

Panting, he began thinking about a serious question:

How exactly should a Beast Tamer act?

“Beast Tamer… What should I do? Find animals to tame?”

While muttering, the Apothecary suddenly sensed something and looked toward the artificial lake.

There, a large golden retriever was running happily.

As though sensing his gaze, the golden retriever abruptly turned its head and looked over.

Their gazes met in midair. The golden retriever froze for a second, then, with great alertness, turned and vanished in a flash.

…

Inside Earl Hall’s luxurious villa.

Susie returned to the piano room and crouched by Audrey’s feet, tongue lolling, panting heavily.

Only after the golden-haired girl finished playing one piece did she say in lingering fear, “Audrey, I met a terrifying fellow.”

“His eyes were frightening!”

“Is that so? What did he want to do to you?”

Audrey asked with both curiosity and concern.

Susie thought seriously for a moment.

“I do not know. In any case, he was very dangerous. That is my intuition.”

“What did he look like?” Audrey was already considering whether she should have the family’s guards and attendants warn that man.

“I did not see clearly. I felt—felt that he was my natural enemy!”

Susie answered solemnly.

Your natural enemy? A dog nemesis?

Audrey revealed a reserved smile.

“Susie, do not go to that patch of woods for the next few days.”

“Woof. Audrey, were you in a bad mood just now? I heard it in your piano playing,” Susie asked instead.

Audrey nodded lightly.

“Mm… I just received news from Glaint. Fors and Xio told me that tonight’s gathering has been canceled. I had been planning to exchange for your Beyonder material.”

And try to make contact with members of the Psychology Alchemists…

She silently added that in her heart.

“Why?” Susie asked in confusion.

Audrey thought for a moment and answered, “It is said to be because of the influence of that serial murder case.”

…

Saturday morning. Backlund’s air was as terrible as ever.

Klein was attempting to make a type of wheat-based food he had loved as a child. For this, he had bought high-quality flour, added water and sugar, and mixed it into a thin “paste.”

Then he poured oil into the pan, dampening its surface.

Once it was heated, he scooped up some batter with a ladle, poured it along the side of the pan, and spread it very thin.

Amid sizzling sounds, he made several thin pancakes. Gradually, the scent of flour spread outward.

When they were about ready, he lifted the soft, pancake-like sheets one by one and placed them on a plate. Then he added water to the remaining mixture, turning it into a bowl of porridge-like paste.

The moment he returned to the dining room with the pancakes and “paste,” Klein impatiently tore off one piece and stuffed it into his mouth.

Those pancakes contained only the rich aroma of wheat and a sweetness that stirred the appetite. Simple, plain, yet exceptionally delicious.

The taste from memory…

Klein ate quickly, occasionally drinking a mouthful of the paste.

Just as he was almost finished and beginning to slow down, the doorbell was suddenly pulled, its dinging ringing constantly through the house.

A new commission?

Klein removed his napkin, wiped his hands, stood, and walked toward the door.

Before he could grasp the handle, the visitor’s image naturally appeared inside his mind.

It was a middle-aged-to-elderly gentleman with graying temples, a thin face, and an outstanding bearing.

It was the private detective whom the police would invite for assistance: Isengard Stanton!

What is he here for?

Klein opened the door in confusion and asked with a smile, “Good morning, Mr. Stanton. What can I do for you?”

Isengard removed his half top hat of silk and smiled.

“Good morning, Mr. Moriarty. I would like to cooperate with you. I believe you are an excellent detective. Previously, relying purely on yourself, you traced matters to East Balam Dock and to the dock union.”

“Cooperate?”

Klein did not hide his astonishment.

Isengard tapped his black cane lightly and answered in a deep voice, “To find the murderer in the recent serial murder case.

“The police have already offered a reward of two thousand pounds.”