Chapter 112: Tool Person

Chapter 112: Tool Person

Tonight at ten… Klein glanced at Miss Messenger, who was waiting in place, walked to the desk, spread out a blank sheet of paper, and wrote:

“I will be punctual.

“In addition, Backlund’s situation has been tense recently. You must pay attention to controlling the scale.”

After reminding Sharron, Klein folded the paper, took a gold coin and a rectangular “diamond” that constantly refracted light from his pocket.

“This is a Yesterday Once More charm. It can allow you to briefly borrow power from your past self.” Klein handed all three items to Reinette Tinekerr at the same time.

One of the blond-haired, red-eyed heads Reinette Tinekerr held opened its mouth and bit down on all the objects at once, while the remaining three spoke in sequence:

“Why…” “Give…” “Me…”

“Consider it part of the reward paid in advance.” Klein smiled, his expression unchanged.

The Magic Mirror Arrodes’s warning made him feel that he needed to make a few extra preparations.

Reinette Tinekerr did not ask further. The four beautiful heads bobbed up and down together, relying on the hair by which they were held.

She then stepped into the void and vanished from the room.

Klein glanced out the window at the fine, drizzling rain and the sky that had already turned completely black. He took off his coat and handed it to his personal valet, Enuni.

…

At 9:50 in the evening, Cherwood Borough, on a street near the Tussock River.

Amid the chilly autumn-winter drizzle common to Backlund, a rented carriage turned into the street and slowly moved forward.

Inside the carriage, Emlyn White, holding his top hat, looked with his crimson eyes toward the pale-faced, slightly disheveled young man opposite him. The corners of his lips curled slightly.

“This is the place?”

Maric, whose figure seemed slightly illusory, nodded and pointed toward a street-facing building diagonally ahead, which had a shop on the ground floor.

“Yes.

“That is a bookstore. The owner is called Charlie Rake. He is a pure-blooded Loenese. However, when he was young, he once went to the Southern Continent in the hope of becoming rich overnight. There, he became a member of the Rose School of Thought and a believer of the Chained God. He was then assigned back to Backlund, responsible for collecting intelligence and providing assistance to Rose School of Thought members carrying out other missions. We watched him for a very long time back then and wanted to deal with him, cutting off the Rose School of Thought’s intelligence transmission and creating a better living environment for ourselves. In the end, however, we held back.”

Emlyn held a faint smile.

“Facts prove that endurance can often bring better results.

“Heh. To be frank, your behavior is somewhat different from the Wraith of the Temperance faction I had imagined. I thought you would be extremely stingy with words.”

Maric glanced at the vampire opposite him, who was said to already be a viscount.

“Different people have different personalities, and Temperance is merely the restraint of desires that exceed proper limits.

“In this matter, if I do not explain it clearly, I will worry you might not understand and affect the final result. In that case, the desire known as Temperance would itself have exceeded the proper limit.”

Heh. Although it is rather philosophical, there is no need to use me as the example… Emlyn leaned leisurely against the carriage wall, looking at him.

“Continue the earlier topic.”

Maric once again looked out the window.

“Inside Charlie Rake’s home, there is a maid from the Paz River Valley. She is also a member of the Rose School of Thought.

“In addition, in the two houses diagonally opposite Rake’s Bookstore, there lives a widow and a man who is addicted to alcohol. They are believers of the Chained God. At critical moments, they will transmit intelligence for the Rose School of Thought.

“What you need to do is secretly monitor those three people while we deal with Charlie Rake. Through the passing of information, lock onto the person in charge of the Rose School of Thought in Backlund.

“Of course, we will certainly give Charlie Rake some opportunities to request help or send signals.”

Emlyn gave a slight nod.

“I understand.”

He immediately turned his head and glanced at the clouded sky where the crimson moon could not be seen, then rotated the ring embedded with a deep-blue gemstone on the ring finger of his left hand.

This was the Oath of the Rose ring. It allowed Count Mistral to share his sight, hearing, and sense of smell.

This ring had completed one circuit and actually returned to Emlyn’s hand again—though only temporarily.

In this way, Count Mistral had already heard what Maric had just said and shared it with the other Sanguine participants.

Emlyn had originally thought that, although he was only responsible for connecting both sides and could not play an especially important role, he could at least display some spell-like abilities originating from a Crimson Scholar, very imposingly passing information before Maric the Wraith. Who could have expected that he did not need to do anything at all? As long as he wore the ring and arrived on-site, that was enough.

This left him rather dejected. He felt that he was purely a tool.

Until I become a demigod, many matters will not even grant me the qualifications to participate directly, much less save the Sanguine… At that moment, an impulse stirred in Emlyn’s heart. He felt that his level still did not match the hidden identity he carried, nor was he yet capable of bearing the responsibility he should bear.

As for the effect of the Oath of the Rose, which caused the thoughts in the hearts of the two wearers to occasionally appear in each other’s minds, Emlyn was not worried. He had asked Miss Justice in advance to hypnotize him so that, tonight, he would not think about anything that should not be known by the upper echelons of the Sanguine.

Just as his sighing thoughts fell, a voice belonging to Count Mistral suddenly sounded in his mind:

“Arrogant, childish, naive…”

This—this is the Oath of the Rose randomly transmitting some of Count Mistral’s thoughts… Heh… Emlyn gave a derisive laugh inwardly and began repeatedly reciting a name in his heart:

“Ernest Boyar… Ernest Boyar…”

This viscount was the one who, under Count Mistral’s protection, had been tragically hypnotized and sent to do volunteer work at Harvest Church for quite some time!

At that moment, Maric glanced at Emlyn’s expression and nodded.

“Your current attitude reassures me more.”

Very serious, very solemn, very focused.

Ah? Emlyn was first stunned, then slightly raised the corners of his mouth.

“Thank you.”

…

The second floor of that bookstore was Charlie Rake’s home. This merchant was already over fifty. His parents had long since died, and he had never married. It was said that he had a few illegitimate children, but none of them lived with him.

After instructing his manservant and maid to check whether the doors and windows had been locked, he returned to his bedroom, poured a glass of red wine, sat down on the sofa, and rather relaxedly tasted it.

He was accustomed to drinking a little wine before sleep.

When the red wine was finished, Charlie Rake stood and walked toward the washroom.

As he passed the full-length mirror inside the bedroom, he casually glanced over, only for his body to abruptly stiffen.

At some unknown point, his reflection’s face had turned abnormally pale. Its eyes bulged out to an extreme degree, fresh blood trailing from their edges, while the corners of its mouth carried a dark-red smear.

As a member of the Rose School of Thought, Charlie Rake was not unfamiliar with such a situation. He did not scream or run around like an ordinary person. Instead, he directly raised his right hand and reached toward his chest.

Just as he touched the ornament he wore, his body seemed to fall into an ice cavern that would never thaw, becoming icy cold from inside out.

That cold seemed alive. It rapidly expanded, occupying every corner of Charlie Rake’s body, giving him the feeling that his joints and muscles no longer belonged to him and had begun obeying someone else.

At that moment, it was as though an additional person had appeared inside his body—cold, vague, and filled with malice—directly taking over everything except his thoughts.

At the same time, Charlie Rake saw his reflection in the mirror undergo another change. Two figures appeared within its eyes, both young men wearing white shirts and black vests.

Relying on that first touch by his right hand, a bright and dazzling radiance suddenly lit up before his chest.

The radiance seemed to originate from a shrunken “sun,” casting light and heat in every direction.

Charlie Rake immediately felt warmth and was no longer controlled by the cold within his body. Somewhat indistinctly, he uttered a word:

“Purify!”

The miniature “sun” before his chest grew increasingly scorching. Its light, like warm water, surged inward and stirred up layer after layer of ripples.

Charlie Rake then regained control over his body. He immediately gave up on the door and ran toward the window.

The curtains there had not yet been drawn. Outside, fine rain fell lightly, and the streetlamp light was hazy.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

As Charlie Rake passed the carpeted area around the tea table and sofa, his feet suddenly stumbled, and he nearly fell.

That carpet seemed to have come alive, wrapping and binding around his ankles!

Bang!

The tea table flew up. Together with the bone-china teacup and all kinds of documents upon it, it slammed directly into Charlie Rake’s face, shattering him into pieces and turning him into a peculiar dismembered puppet.

A moment later, Charlie Rake’s figure emerged on the other side. Lingering fear remained in his heart as he continued sprinting.

He had never hated the size of his bedroom as much as he did now.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Amid pens shooting about and papers flying everywhere, Charlie Rake finally reached the window.

As a devout believer, he did not immediately break the window and leap out. Instead, he grabbed the curtain and pulled it with a swish.

At the same time, his other hand pressed against the gas pipe.

On the iron-black metal surface, a layer of white frost instantly condensed.

Crack! The glass window before Charlie Rake shattered on its own. Every fragment was like a bullet, shooting outward and striking the merchant’s face, embedding itself so thoroughly that not a single patch of intact skin remained. At his neck, blood gushed explosively.

Charlie Rake’s eyes darkened. Powerlessly, he toppled backward. During this process, he screamed and shouted, but no sound could leave the room.

At that moment, in another room, a certain maid who clearly belonged to the Southern Continent saw the light of the gas wall lamp begin to sway.

She immediately turned her head and looked toward the place where her “employer” was located, only to see that the gas pipe there was covered in white frost.

Inside a house opposite Charlie Rake’s, a red-nosed man with sleeves rolled up, gulping down alcohol, suddenly noticed that the curtains on that side had been drawn only halfway.

In the code agreed upon between him and Charlie Rake, curtains fully drawn or fully opened both meant there was no problem. If only one side was drawn and only halfway, it meant an emergency had occurred and the people above had to be notified immediately.

He abruptly stood up.