Chapter 1: A Record of Return

Chapter 1: A Record of Return

Drizzling rain. Faint, half-formed mist. Rows of gas streetlamps straining to spread their hazy glow. Carriages occasionally passing along the road.

Together, they formed the most common nightscape in Backlund.

But apart from these, Klein, standing behind the window, also noticed a few welcome changes.

Ring, ring, ring!

A crisp sound echoed as a strange two-wheeled machine sped along the edge of the road, rushing toward the other end of the street. Its overall frame was black, while certain parts displayed the gray-white sheen of steel. Under the gaslight that pierced the rain, it flashed with a metallic beauty.

Seated atop the machine was a man dressed as a postal worker. His legs kept pedaling, clearly exerting himself, while behind him was tied a wooden box painted green.

“It’s being promoted quite well…” Klein, mature in bearing in his white shirt and black waistcoat, watched the scene and sighed silently.

In the few short hours since he had returned to Backlund, he had already seen multiple similar machines along the way.

They were precisely the bicycles he had invested in and pushed forward!

From the newspapers, Klein had learned that the Backlund Bicycle Company had launched a great deal of advertising and held bicycle races in Cherwood Borough and the Backlund Bridge area to attract public attention. Apart from those methods, they had also been actively promoting bicycles to government postal services, police departments, and similar institutions, with reportedly decent results.

Their pricing strategy had followed Klein’s initial suggestion: avoid the upper-middle and upper classes who frequently used carriages, and instead target skilled workers earning at least 1 pound 10 soli per week, students from decent family backgrounds, and public employees who often needed to travel around outside. A bicycle priced at three to five pounds was something people of this class could afford if they gritted their teeth, while also letting them show off to those with lower incomes.

“The current problem is that Backlund often rains, and cyclists can’t hold umbrellas… The next step is raincoats.” Klein withdrew his gaze, shook his head, and chuckled softly.

His current residence was a high-end hotel in Hillston Borough, costing 10 soli a night. It pained Klein considerably, but in order to fit the identity he had designed, he had no choice but to endure it.

According to his plan, the identity of Dwayne Dantès should appear, on the surface, as that of a mysterious wealthy man from Desi Bay, a believer in the Evernight Goddess. He had sold off his original land and mines, come to Backlund to seek new opportunities, and had a certain interest in obtaining a noble title through donation—but without truly possessing overwhelming financial strength. Therefore, he could only first consider broadening his network and making financial investments.

The advantage of such an identity was that it was distinctly different from every role Klein had previously played. It had obvious separation from them and could naturally come into contact with members of the upper-middle class—especially members of officers’ clubs and the bishops of the Evernight Goddess Church’s Backlund diocese. This would make it convenient for Klein to continue investigating the truth behind the Backlund Great Smog while collecting information and formulating a detailed plan to steal the Antigonus family notebook.

Naturally, where there were advantages, there were disadvantages. A mysterious wealthy man of unknown origins would certainly attract the attention of the Nighthawks and the Mandated Punishers, and would suffer a certain degree of background investigation.

According to Klein’s experience, when such investigations did not involve important incidents, they might be conducted directly by official Beyonder organizations, or handed over to the police department. Either way, they would not be overly serious. They would be routine affairs.

Therefore, Klein, who could now be considered an expert in disguise, had designed and prepared a second layer of identity for Dwayne Dantès, one meant to withstand a background check.

In the second layer, Dwayne Dantès was someone who, due to certain reasons, had gone to the East and West Balam regions of the Southern Continent to adventure. Using an alias, he spent over ten years in that dangerous, opportunity-filled land and accumulated a fortune.

Because the origins of that fortune were not especially clean, he secretly returned to Desi Bay, forged a new identity, and prepared to begin a brand-new life in Backlund while gradually legitimizing that wealth.

Such people were not rare in Loen. Their stories belonged to the realm that investigators could accept and imagine. For the sake of this identity, Klein had left behind some inconspicuous clues in Conant City, indirectly helping the “truth” be uncovered as soon as possible.

Those clues included, but were not limited to, a black-market ticket stub from East Balam to Conant City, habits formed from long-term survival on the Southern Continent, and wealth of unclear origin.

Klein believed that as long as “Dwayne Dantès” did not directly become involved in a serious Beyonder incident, such preparations would be enough to fool a routine background check.

And if he encountered an extremely serious official Beyonder who wished to investigate all the way down the trail—even going so far as to ask colleagues on the Southern Continent for help—then Dwayne Dantès still had a third layer of identity: a swindler who had mastered certain anti-divination techniques. He was pretending to be a mysterious wealthy man and spending lavishly on investments in order to carry out one final scam.

That identity would be enough to get Dwayne Dantès arrested, but the level of attention paid to him would not be too high. It would give Klein the chance to withdraw calmly, vanish from the center of the stage, and disappear.

“Compared to when I first came to Backlund, the me who can now design a three-layer identity really has grown a lot…” Klein slowly walked back to the middle of the room and cast his gaze toward the full-length mirror in the corner.

The man reflected in the mirror had black hair streaked with gray. His eyes were deep, carrying the vicissitudes of someone who had experienced far too much. He was a middle-aged gentleman with mature bearing and a striking, tasteful appearance.

Designing the identity of “Dwayne Dantès” was no longer difficult for the current Klein. But stealing the Antigonus family notebook from behind Saint Samuel Cathedral’s Chanis Gate could be called an impossible mission for any external Beyonder. Even a King of Angels would not dare guarantee success.

Of course, unlike other Beyonders, Klein had two advantages in this matter.

The first was that he had once been a Nighthawk. He possessed sufficient understanding of internal procedures and knew what could be exploited and where there were no opportunities. Therefore, the first method he had eliminated was to transform into a Nighthawk, infiltrate the organization, and look for a chance to pass through Chanis Gate.

The problem with that method was that even Nighthawks could not freely enter Chanis Gate. Captains and deacons were no exception. An incident had to occur before the corresponding authorization could be obtained. Furthermore, there were internal guards behind Chanis Gate. Randomly wandering around and taking items would provoke attacks and lead to battle. Klein did not wish for his theft to cause casualties among the personnel of the Goddess’s Church.

After careful thought, he set his target on the internal guards.

These old men were all retired Nighthawks who had voluntarily entered Chanis Gate to guard the Sealed Artifacts. They and the Nighthawks belonged to two different departments. They entered and left through the underground passages of the cathedral, neither interfering with the Nighthawks’ work nor being interfered with by them.

Perhaps because they spent long periods of time behind Chanis Gate, those internal guards all possessed a certain abnormality. Their auras were cold, their expressions lacking, their skin pale, making them look like monsters from the depths of darkness, somewhere between life and death. Klein believed that as long as he encountered one, confirming the target would not be difficult.

His preliminary plan was to rent a place in the North Borough near Saint Samuel Cathedral, hire a butler, male servants, maids, a gardener, a cook, and a coachman, and build up the bearing of a wealthy man. Then he would frequently go to that cathedral to pray devoutly, attend Mass, donate money, and become slowly acquainted with the bishops and priests.

During this process, he would work hard to find people suspected of being internal guards, choose two or three targets, observe their living habits, and at the right moment imprison one of them, either transforming into his appearance or directly possessing him. Then he would pass through Chanis Gate and look for an opportunity to browse through or take away the Antigonus family notebook.

This was an extremely rough plan, closer to a line of thought. Whether it worked would depend on Klein continuously improving it based on all the information he collected.

In this matter, Klein’s second advantage was the Tarot Club. He had helpers the Evernight Goddess Church and the Nighthawks could not anticipate. He could also consider developing a Nighthawk or guard in Backlund’s diocese into a member of the gathering, completing the theft through an insider—just as Zaratul had once used Emperor Roselle to obtain the Antigonus family notebook.

“I still have to visit the cathedral often. Only then will I have the chance to find a target…” Facing the mirror, Klein nodded soundlessly.

He had to admit that his heart was somewhat conflicted. If there truly was a Nighthawk or guard willing to betray the Church and serve Mr. Fool, his first reaction would be to send down divine punishment and eliminate that disgusting traitor!

Letting out a breath and mocking himself a little, Klein put on a double-breasted long formal coat, donned his hat, left the room, and went out onto the street.

Holding an umbrella, he circled to another street. Taking advantage of the fact that the streetlamps were distant and the fine rain was hazy, he suddenly changed back into Sherlock Moriarty.

Glancing at the wrinkled hems of his trousers, Klein reached out and hailed a carriage, preparing to head to Detective Isengard Stanton’s home, also in Hillston Borough.

More than half an hour later, the slightly old and gloomy building appeared before Klein’s eyes.

He paid the two-soli fare and, amid the fine rain reflecting dim yellow light, stepped steadily around puddles and arrived at the great detective’s door.

After closing his umbrella and pulling the doorbell, Klein waited briefly before seeing a young man with a broad face open the door.

The young man had wheat-colored hair, gray-blue eyes, and high cheekbones. He carried traits common to Lenburg and Masin.

Mr. Isengard Stanton’s new assistant? Someone from the Church of the God of Knowledge and Wisdom? Klein removed his hat and said with a smile, “Good evening. Is Mr. Isengard Stanton in?”

“He is. He just returned from a busy day and finished dinner,” the wheat-haired young man replied politely. “May I ask who you are?”

Klein chuckled.

“Tell the great detective that one of his friends has returned from vacation.”

The young man froze for a moment, then blurted out, “Mr. Sherlock Moriarty?”