Chapter 102: The Cloth Merchant

Chapter One Hundred Two
The Cloth Merchant

The more Klein thought about it, the more possible it seemed. Otherwise, who would borrow those particular journals for no reason?

“Mm. Ancient relics on the main peak of the Hornacis is such an obscure field. Apart from corresponding lecturers and associate professors, ordinary enthusiasts probably have not even heard of it. Even the original owner, a university graduate from the history department, only learned of it from the Antigonus family notebook…

“Tingen may be a city of universities, but there still should not be that many people interested in such a matter. Even if there are, they would mostly exist within university campuses. There would be no need to borrow the journals specifically from Deweyville Library.

“Most importantly, the borrowing happened precisely in the recent period…”

“Analyzed this way, there really is a problem. I was not sharp enough back then. I actually failed to think of it… Sigh. It seems I have no talent for being a detective and acting as Sherlock Holmes.”

While thoughts flashed through his mind, Swain, the owner of the Dragon Bar, asked in puzzlement, “Is something wrong?”

Because there were customers and bartenders nearby, he could only ask in broad terms.

“No problem. I was only thinking about how to investigate this gentleman. As you know, Hynas Vincent died at home.”

Klein had prepared his excuse long ago.

He had no intention of making the Mandated Punishers interested in the ancient ruins on the main peak of the Hornacis as well.

“Vincent was a rather famous diviner in Tingen. He came here often,” Swain said, evidently accepting the explanation. After thinking, he added, “Now that I think carefully, the gentleman in the portrait did first come together with Vincent…”

“That is exactly what I want to know. Do you remember his name?” Klein immediately pursued.

Swain chuckled and shook his head.

“I do not ask my customers’ names or identities unless I already know them, like Old Neil.”

“All right.”

Klein deliberately revealed a hint of dejection.

For him, whether Swain knew or not was in fact no longer important, because he could investigate at Deweyville Library.

Borrowing books from a privately donated library would inevitably leave personal information behind, and of a sufficiently credible kind too. After all, Klein himself had only obtained his library card by relying on a letter of introduction bearing the seal of a senior associate professor.

Even if that gentleman falsified his information, there is a high chance that some clue was left behind, something useful for divination…

Klein watched Swain walk toward the bar counter and then, thoughtful, entered the billiards room.

He did not rush straight to Deweyville Library to investigate. He planned to finish his purchases first. After all, no one could say whether danger might appear later, nor whether there would be some place where ritual magic had to be used.

Passing through several rooms, Klein entered the underground market. At this hour, both stalls and customers were sparse. It clearly had not yet reached its peak period.

He had only taken one step forward when he suddenly saw the “Monster,” Ademisaul, who had previously said that Klein smelled of death, standing in a corner.

The pale-faced young man with dazed eyes, within which terrible madness lurked, also sensed him and looked over.

Their gazes met. Ademisaul abruptly stretched out a hand to cover his face, then leaned toward the corner in panic, inching away step by step.

Very quickly, he reached the side door and stumbled out.

“Is that really necessary? Last time, all that nearly happened was that I almost blinded you… and I did not even do anything. Honestly, you are acting as if I am some great demon.”

Klein’s expression went slightly stiff.

He shook his head with a laugh and did not continue thinking about the Monster. Coming before the already-arranged stalls, he began selecting and purchasing with clear purpose.

Half an hour later, Klein had spent most of his private stash. In total, the cost reached several pounds.

After counting the three pounds and seventeen soli in notes remaining on him, he stroked one metal vial after another in the small inner pockets of his black windbreaker, feeling both pain and satisfaction.

“This is Amanda hydrosol, the kind Madam Daly once used.

“This is powder mixed from the bark and leaves of the dragon-patterned tree.

“Essential oil extracted from deep-sleep flowers.

“Dried chamomile petals.

“This is Holy Night Powder, which I just mixed myself from materials…”

Again and again, Klein reviewed what each inner pocket held so that he would not panic at a critical moment and fail to find the material he wanted.

Relying on his special nature in the mystical domain, he completed the memorization quickly and stepped toward the exit.

Suddenly, from the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a somewhat familiar figure.

It was a young lady dressed in a light-green, easy-fitting gown. Her black hair was smooth and glossy, her face slightly round, her eyes long and narrow, her features sweet. Her temperament was mild and refined.

Is that the young lady whose body was trembling abnormally last time? She truly does look fine now… I did not expect her to be a mysticism enthusiast too…

Klein slowed his steps. After thinking for several seconds, he finally remembered who she was.

He had to admit that aside from Justice, whose appearance he currently could not see clearly, this young lady was the most beautiful girl he had encountered since transmigrating to this other world.

The sweet, refined lady stood before a stall selling mysticism books. Somewhat impolitely, she half-crouched and ran her fingers over an ancient book.

The ancient book had a deep-black hard-paper cover. Written upon it in Hermes were the words Book of Witches.

“There are black magics of witches recorded inside. Although I have not dared try them myself, someone else has. They truly work,” the stall owner seized the chance to pitch.

The mild, sweet lady thought for several seconds, then asked, “In your mind, what is a witch like?”

“A witch? An evil bringer of disaster, disease, and pain,” the stall owner answered after some thought.

Klein heard none of their conversation, because he had already walked quickly out the door. He was in a hurry to go to Deweyville Library, in a hurry to finish everything and return home to cook dinner for his elder brother and younger sister: tomato oxtail soup.

…

Backlund. Crown Racetrack.

Audrey Hall stood within a VIP box, dressed in a white gown with leg-of-mutton sleeves, ruffles, and lace at the chest, watching the horses sprint rapidly toward the finish line.

On her head was a gauze hat adorned with blue ribbons and silk flowers. Pale gauze gloves covered her hands. Her gaze was cool and distant, as if she could not immerse herself in the lively atmosphere.

Just as the racehorses crossed the finish line, her friend Viscount Glaint came closer and lowered his voice.

“Audrey, every time I see you, you possess a different kind of beauty.”

“Is there something you need?”

The Audrey of the past might have briefly immersed herself in the praise, but now, from Glaint’s words and manner, she could tell her friend had another purpose.

Because his father had died early, Glaint had inherited his title as soon as he turned twenty. He was a rather thin young man. Looking left and right, he gave a low laugh.

“Audrey, I have met a true Beyonder. A Beyonder not belonging to the royal family.”

You say that every time, and every time I am disappointed…

Audrey looked forward and spoke with an elegant smile.

“Truly?”

“I swear by my father’s honor. I have witnessed his extraordinary power,” Glaint answered quietly.

Audrey no longer felt the excitement she once would have, because she herself was now a Beyonder as well. But considering that she must avoid arousing Glaint’s suspicion, she still widened her eyes, outlined a surprised smile, and asked in a trembling voice, “When can I meet him?”

Mm. Meeting other Beyonders would not be bad. I cannot bring every little matter to the Tarot Gathering to be resolved… And I also need resources of my own, resources that can be used to trade with Mr. Fool and the Hanged Man… Not everything can be solved with money… Hoo. After sending out that thousand pounds, I must also economize a little…

Glaint was very satisfied with Audrey’s reaction. Looking toward the racetrack outside, he said, “Tomorrow afternoon, there will be a salon of literature and music at my home.”

…

Inside Deweyville Library.

Klein took out his identification and badge from his pocket and placed them before several librarians.

“I am a probationary inspector from the Awwa County Police Department’s Special Operations Division. I have a matter requiring your cooperation in an investigation.”

Recalling the police films he had watched in the past, he spoke in a deep voice.

The librarians examined the identification and badge, exchanged glances, and nodded.

“Officer, please ask whatever you wish.”

Klein recited the names of journals such as New Archaeology and finally said, “I need the borrowing records for these journals and magazines from the past two months.”

He noticed that one of the librarians was the very person who had received him last time, but the other party clearly failed to recognize him.

“All right. Please wait for a moment.”

The librarians began working. Before long, they found the recent borrowing records.

Klein carefully flipped through them, searching for names that had borrowed the same journals as he had.

There were not many such names. Only one person had come again and again, borrowing journals that basically included the portions Klein knew about. The earliest borrowing record was at the end of May, while the most recent was on last Saturday—the day before Hynas Vincent’s death.

Klein rubbed his finger over the borrower’s information, firmly committing it to memory.

“Sirius Arapis. Cloth merchant. Residence: Number 19, Howes Street area…”