Chapter 213: One Last Look

Chapter Two Hundred Thirteen
One Last Look

Ince Zangwill went to Backlund… I wonder how long he will stay there… Mm… I can confirm it once every so often…

Thoughtfully, Klein leaned forward, wiped away the contents on the parchment, and wrote a new divination statement:

“Lanevus’s current location.”

In his view, the one chiefly responsible for the deaths of the Captain and the others, the culprit who had nearly caused him to fall into eternal sleep, was undoubtedly Ince Zangwill. But the madman Lanevus was also an accomplice who could not escape blame. He too had to pay the price in blood.

After silently reciting the statement seven times, Klein once more entered the dream. But after the gray world split open, the scene that appeared was exactly the same as the one he had just seen.

A broad, slightly turbid river. Dock after dock. Rows of houses. Buildings mainly in the Loen style mixed with Gothic architecture. Crowded streets. Flourishing activity. Chimneys continuously spewing “mist.” Palaces magnificent to the extreme. A towering, iconic Gothic clock tower…

Lanevus was likewise in the “Land of Hope,” the “Capital of Capitals”—Backlund.

Klein opened his eyes, slightly puzzled, because what he had wanted to divine was Lanevus’s exact location. Yet the result was still a very large and vague range.

“That means Lanevus’s Sequence is much higher than I expected… No, it may also be that he obtained tremendous benefits while helping the True Creator descend an offspring. For example, a little divinity. Or something similar to the umbilical cord left behind by the baby in Megose’s belly. Uh… the latter was most likely taken by Ince Zangwill…”

Klein’s thoughts raced, and in a low voice, he made preliminary guesses.

After confirming the vague locations of his two enemies, he began to consider a realistic problem: at present, he still did not have the strength to take revenge.

Even if Lanevus was only Sequence 7, or even Sequence 8, he would not be easy to deal with after obtaining tremendous benefits. And he clearly specialized in craftiness; tricking people stronger than himself to death was completely normal for him. Ince Zangwill was even more terrifying: a Sequence 4 demigod who possessed a terrifying Grade 0 Sealed Artifact.

My transmigration does hide some secrets, but clearly it still cannot transform into combat strength. Maybe for a very long time, I will not even see that possibility… There are only two methods: continue improving my Sequence, and collect powerful mystical items. Both hands must grasp, and both hands must be firm…

As thoughts surged, Klein decided to add one more divination.

After weighing his wording, he solemnly wrote:

“My hope of becoming stronger.”

Gently setting down the manifested round-bellied fountain pen, Klein leaned back against the chair and closed his eyes.

While silently reciting the statement, he used meditation to enter slumber.

Inside the gray world, he again saw the scene from moments before: river, docks, chimneys, crowds, palaces, all kinds of machines, and the Gothic clock tower. He saw Backlund, capital of the Loen Kingdom.

Immediately afterward, the image changed. He saw a towering mountain peak that pierced into white clouds. He saw a grand and ancient palace. He saw, at the very top, an enormous seat carved from stone, inlaid with dull gemstones and gold. He saw a strange vertical eye composed of countless mysterious symbols.

Without sound or warning, the scene shattered. Klein slowly sat upright and began tapping the edge of the bronze long table.

“Backlund holds my hope of becoming stronger…

“The second scene points to the main peak of the Hornacis mountain range, points to the treasure left behind by the Antigonus family? That strange vertical eye, composed of countless mysterious symbols—the one the Antigonus family notebook transmitted to me after contaminating the Misfortune Puppet—is the key to opening everything…”

Thought after thought flashed by. Klein decided not to hurry toward the Hornacis mountain range for the time being. The danger hidden there was so high that even a Sequence 4 demigod might not be able to withstand it.

So, Backlund it is…

Klein sighed and made his decision. Wrapping himself in spirituality, he simulated the sensation of falling and left the mysterious space above the gray fog.

Returning to the real world, he slowly walked out from his hiding place and returned to Dunn Smith’s grave.

Deeply, he looked at the photograph and epitaph on the tombstone. Then, slowly, he drew a crimson moon over his chest and turned toward the cemetery’s exit.

As a former Nighthawk—one who used to patrol Raphael Cemetery from time to time—he was very familiar with the movements of the gravekeepers and the surrounding environment. Without raising the slightest alarm, he easily left that quiet, lonely region and walked along the rammed-earth road, using the shadows of trees as cover as he headed toward Tingen City.

The night was so peaceful. The crimson moon was so dreamlike. Klein walked alone. His thoughts were like horses broken loose from their reins, scattering in every direction. At times, he considered his plan for revenge. At times, he recalled the Captain’s unreliable memory and Old Neil’s tragedy hidden beneath humor and wit.

Without realizing it, Klein entered the nearest street like a wandering soul and turned through intersection after intersection.

By the time he fully broke free of that state and completely regained control of his attention, two full hours had already passed.

He discovered that he stood on Daffodil Street.

Across from him was the home he shared with his elder brother and younger sister.

Instinctively, Klein took one slightly delighted step forward. Then he abruptly stopped, a bitter smile appearing on his face. Mockingly, he murmured:

“If I went over and knocked now, Melissa would probably faint on the spot. As for Benson, he would probably be so nervous his hair would start falling out. Then he would try to stay calm and persuade me, in the name of the curly-haired baboon…”

Shaking his head, Klein took one deep look at that familiar door and walked toward Iron Cross Street.

This is fine. This is fine… The things I am going to do in the future will not involve them… The pensions given by the Nighthawk team and police department should be enough for them to live a stable middle-class life, even if Melissa cannot find work and Benson loses his job…

After walking silently for a while longer, Klein began to feel his own exhaustion. But as a “dead man,” apart from the clothes he wore, the citrine pendant he carried, and Azik’s copper whistle, he had nothing else on him. No gold pounds, no soli, no pennies.

“Should I blow the copper whistle, send a letter to Mr. Azik, and ask him to hurry over and provide relief?”

Klein laughed bitterly, finding what humor he could in suffering.

“Forget it. Better not contact him for now. Perhaps Ince Zangwill is still secretly watching him. When the timing is suitable, I can look for him again… As an ‘old monster’ who has lived life after life for more than a thousand years, he should be able to understand resurrection, right…? Mm. Tonight is not too cold. I will just find some place to make do with sleep, and tomorrow morning I can go to the Tingen branch of Backlund Bank and withdraw money from my anonymous account.”

Because so many things had happened recently, he had not yet had time to conduct follow-up experiments with “sacrifice.” The three hundred gold pounds in his anonymous account remained completely untouched.

“That should support my expenses for a long time… Tomorrow I will buy a newspaper and confirm which day of the week it is… Miss Justice and the others have not sent new prayers, so I should not have missed the gathering…”

Thinking this, Klein found a corner sheltered from the wind. He sat down, removed his coat, draped it over himself, leaned against the wall, and fell asleep.

He had not slept long when someone suddenly pushed him awake. Before him stood a policeman holding a short baton.

Only one V on the shoulder insignia. The lowest-ranking constable…

Klein glanced once and confirmed the other party’s identity.

The constable said viciously, “You cannot sleep here!”

“The streets and parks are not places for lazy tramps like you, people who do not want to work, to sleep!”

“That is what the Poor Law says!”

Is that so?

Klein froze for a moment. Because of his sensitive identity, he did not argue.

He took his coat and once more walked the streets until dawn.

Before long, with head lowered, he entered the Tingen branch of Backlund Bank where he had opened his account. Using the preset “password,” he withdrew two hundred pounds in cash and left the remaining third of his “deposit” in the account for emergencies.

When writing the ancient Hermes incantation that served as the password, Klein, without any surprise, heard a “prayer.”

Next, he spent a total of thirty-eight pounds buying two formal suits, two shirts, two pairs of trousers, two pairs of leather boots, two bow ties, four pairs of socks, and two double-breasted wool overcoats prepared for winter, along with two solid-colored sweaters, two pairs of thick trousers, a cane, a wallet, and a leather suitcase.

After finishing all of that, Klein found a hotel, bathed, and changed clothes. Then, to avoid possibly running into acquaintances, he directly took a rental carriage to Tingen’s steam train station. On the way, he bought a newspaper and confirmed that today was Sunday.

From Tingen City to Backlund, traveling by steam train required only about four hours. A luxurious first-class seat cost three-quarters of a pound, which was fifteen soli. Second class cost ten soli, half a pound.

The extremely crowded and poor-conditioned third class was quite cheap, costing only five soli.

Klein thought it over and bought a ticket for the two-o’clock train that afternoon. Second class.

Holding the ticket and carrying his suitcase, Klein found a random seat in the waiting hall. It was only a little past nine in the morning.

He felt deeply fortunate that the Loen Kingdom did not yet have a strict household registration system. Three months of water, gas, and rent bills were enough to prove identity, and buying a steam train ticket was even simpler: pay, and it was done.

Sitting in the waiting hall, thinking that he would leave Tingen City that afternoon and head for the capital, Backlund, Klein suddenly felt something empty inside.

He thought of that younger sister who had lived more like a mother. He thought of that elder brother who loved telling dry sarcastic jokes. He thought of the scene where the three of them had eaten until they were too full, slumped in their chairs, none willing to move.

Scene after scene passed through him. Klein suddenly laughed. It was a laugh that hurt, because he had remembered Melissa’s turtle, which had been called a “doll,” and Benson’s poor hairline.

All at once, a strong impulse rose within him.

He wanted to look at his elder brother and younger sister one more time.

Only then did Klein understand why he had not chosen an earlier train, why he had bought the two-o’clock departure.

Carrying his leather suitcase, he hurried out of the waiting hall and took a rental carriage back to Daffodil Street.

Then he hid in the shadow of the house opposite, looking at his own front door. Several times, he wanted to cross over, yet could not pass that wide street.

Klein stared blankly at the opposite side and suddenly felt homeless. When he had first transmigrated, he had felt something similar.

Then, all at once, he saw the door open. He saw Melissa and Benson walk out.

One wore a black dress and a black veiled hat. The other wore a black shirt, black waistcoat, black trousers, black coat, and black top hat. Their expressions were equally numb, their emotions equally low.

Melissa has grown thinner… How did Benson become so haggard…

Klein’s heart ached. He opened his mouth but could no longer call out those two names.

Unconsciously, he followed Benson and Melissa to the nearest municipal square. He saw tent after tent set up there again. He saw a new circus performing.

Benson paid for tickets and led Melissa inside, forcing out a faint smile as he said, “This circus is quite famous.”

Expressionless, Melissa nodded.

“Mm.”

Suddenly, her foot slipped. Her ankle twisted slightly, and she was about to fall.

Klein, who had bought a ticket and followed them inside, opened his mouth and wanted to support his younger sister. Yet he could only draw back the hand he had instinctively extended and stand helplessly not far away, among the flow of people passing by.

Benson was startled and already too late to help. But Melissa quickly steadied herself, pressed her lips together, and said nothing.

Just then, the clowns surged over. Some performed balancing on carriage wheels without falling. Some lay prone atop enormous leather balls. Some threw tennis balls one after another into the sky, then caught them one by one with ridiculous movements.

Melissa watched those performances with an expression so still it was as if the performers did not exist. Benson tried several times, cheering loudly, but he failed to stir his sister’s mood. Slowly, he too sank into dejection.

Klein pressed his lips tightly together and watched the scene from afar, wanting to approach yet not daring to.

Suddenly, he touched the wallet in his pocket and had an idea.

Benson and Melissa continued onward, silently watching all sorts of performances.

After a while, they saw a clown painted in red, yellow, white, and other bright colors run over. First, he threw tennis balls one after another into the sky. Then, while everyone’s attention was drawn upward, he produced from nowhere a bouquet of flowers—a bouquet of Sevilla chrysanthemums.

The bouquet was brought before Melissa and Benson, its color golden, symbolizing joy.

Melissa and Benson looked rather blankly toward the clown opposite them. They saw that on his face, painted in red, yellow, white, and many other colors, the corners of his mouth were lifted high, fixed into a happy smile, an exaggerated smile, a comical smile.

(End of Book One)