Chapter 81: Long Heard Of, Finally Seen

Chapter Eighty-One
Long Heard Of, Finally Seen

“You have to complete a mission independently before you are considered an official member?”

Klein froze for a moment.

“But we may not even have one mission in a week, and it may not necessarily be simple.”

Doesn’t that mean I might need one or two months before I can officially become a Nighthawk, be promoted, and get a raise?

Old Neil sniffed the aroma of the coffee and glanced at him.

“That is only a ritual among the Nighthawks. After all, we stand on the front line against supernatural dangers. We certainly do not want the teammate beside us to be a child who needs constant care. It does not affect your receiving the official member’s salary, obtaining corresponding rights, or fulfilling necessary duties.”

So it is a ritual to earn the recognition of the other Nighthawks…

But Mr. Neil, why did you emphasize that it does not affect my official-member salary… Did I make it that obvious?

Klein touched his own face, smiled awkwardly, and changed the topic.

“Does it have to be a mission with supernatural elements?”

“Originally, it should. But your performance yesterday was truly outstanding. You cleverly killed a Beyonder of at least Sequence 8. I believe Frye, Royale, and the others should have already recognized you. So Dunn may only assign an ordinary mission.”

Old Neil suddenly sighed.

“A doubled salary… I will never encounter anything like that again in my whole life.”

Klein laughed twice and proactively brought up his own Sequence pathway.

“Mr. Neil, do you think it is true that Clown is the Sequence 8 corresponding to Seer?”

In truth, when he recalled the description in the confidential materials, it did seem to match:

A “profession” skilled in technical combat…

“I cannot guarantee it, but I believe the possibility is very high. First, it matches what the materials record: agile movements and technical combat as its characteristics. Second, other Sequence pathways have similar situations. Do you know what the Sequence 8 corresponding to Mystery Pryer is called?” Old Neil asked back with a smile.

“I do not know. The Church’s materials did not say,” Klein answered honestly, shaking his head.

Old Neil gave a “heh.”

“I am acquaintances with two old fellows from the Machinery Hivemind. They once mentioned, in a joking tone, that the Sequence 8 potion corresponding to Mystery Pryer is called Martial Scholar. Did you hear that? Martial Scholar. Goddess, I do not like fighting at all. That completely fails to match the image of a Mystery Pryer!”

“It can be understood… A Mystery Pryer seeks the secrets behind things, and martial arts are also one kind of thing,” Klein said after thinking.

“Enough. Do not waste time. Continue your mysticism course. There is still plenty of ritual magic you need to master, and you must truly learn how to make charms and amulets.”

Old Neil finished preparing the hand-ground coffee.

“All right.”

Klein sat down, arranging the day’s schedule in his heart.

Study mysticism in the morning, read various historical materials, and submit the reimbursement application. After lunch, go to the shooting club for practice, then head to Deweyville Library in the Golden Indus Borough and see whether I can borrow the academic monograph on the main peak of the Hornacis mountain range, as well as the corresponding journals. After all that, if there is still time, I will sit for a while at the Divination Club. I cannot slacken even slightly on “acting.”

Once the application is approved and I receive the money, I will buy another formal suit on the way home.

Mm. Tomorrow morning, I will apply for materials and try making charms for Melissa and Benson to ward off misfortune.

…

Inside an elegantly decorated dining room hung with chandeliers, several friends were congratulating Joyce Meyer for escaping disaster and returning to Tingen.

“We all read the newspapers. Even the written descriptions were frightening,” said a man with a short beard beneath his chin, sighing with emotion. “Joyce, it is difficult to believe you experienced something like that, suffered such hardship. Cheers. Misfortune has gone far away. The sunlight shines upon us. Steam above.”

Joyce and his fiancée Anna both raised their glasses, clinked them against their friends’, and drank the little champagne remaining inside in one mouthful.

“These past days, Anna truly worried herself sick. I suspect she cried every night. Even when I invited her to afternoon tea, she was always distracted. Fortunately, you finally returned. Otherwise, I suspect she might have withered away just like that.”

A young woman with brown hair pinned up glanced at Anna and spoke to Joyce. She had a small and adorable nose.

“If Anna encountered anything similar, I would be the same—perhaps even more beside myself,” Joyce said, his hooked-nosed face turning gentle as he looked toward his fiancée.

Anna was not especially used to displaying emotion in front of others. She glanced toward the other end of the long table and said, “Bogda, why have you kept your head lowered all this time? I can feel your mood is very bad.”

The young woman with the small nose answered in his place.

“Bogda is ill. His physician told him there is a serious problem with his liver. Medicine can only lessen the pain; it cannot truly cure him. He must undergo surgery.”

“Lord, when did this happen?”

Anna and Joyce asked together, both startled and concerned.

Bogda was a young man with very short, pale hair. His face had turned yellowish, and the red eyes that had usually looked sharp were now dulled.

“Last week. Because Joyce had not yet returned, I asked Irene and the others not to tell you,” Bogda explained with a bitter smile.

Joyce asked steadily, “Have you decided when to undergo the surgery?”

Bogda’s expression changed several times.

“No. I still have not made a decision. You all know those surgeons are practically butchers. Someone undergoing surgery is a piece of meat on a chopping board, left for them to slaughter as they please! I have read plenty of reports. They even use axes when amputating people! Lord, I suspect I might die on the operating table.”

“But if you keep delaying, perhaps even surgery will no longer be able to save you,” said the short-bearded man, trying to persuade him.

At that moment, Anna suddenly cut in.

“Bogda, perhaps you can consider having a divination done. If the divination shows that everything will go smoothly, then undergo the surgery as soon as possible. If the result is not good, then seek another method, following the diviner’s guidance. I know a true, miraculous diviner. No, it would be better to call him a Seer. I believe he will certainly be able to help you.”

“Truly?”

Bogda asked back with obvious doubt. Their other friends had more or less the same attitude.

“Truly,” Anna answered without hesitation. “I asked him to divine Joyce’s situation. Then he told me: Go home. Your fiancé is waiting for you there. At that time, I was just like all of you—my heart full of doubt. But when I returned home, I truly saw Joyce. He had truly come back!”

“I can testify to that,” Joyce agreed.

He did not mention his own visit for dream interpretation, because the police had told him Tris had not yet been caught. Therefore, he had to keep that secret hidden to avoid inviting retaliation.

“Lord, that is simply unbelievable!”

“Can divination truly be that miraculous?”

…

Amid one exclamation after another, Bogda thought silently for a while and said, “Perhaps I truly should have a divination done. Anna, Joyce, can you tell me that diviner’s address and name?”

Anna sighed in relief.

“You have made a wise choice.

“That Seer is at the Divination Club in the Howes Street area.

“His name is Klein Moretti.”

…

Golden Indus Borough, Deweyville Library.

Using the letter of introduction his mentor had included, Klein successfully obtained a borrowing card.

While looking over the small card in his hand, he asked several librarians, “Do you have Studies of Ancient Relics on the Main Peak of the Hornacis? It was published by Loen People Publishing House.”

One of the librarians immediately answered, “Please wait a moment. I will look for it.”

He turned to face the rows of drawers, pulled open the drawer corresponding to the first letter of Hornacis, and then, following a certain system, flipped out several cards filled with words.

After examining them carefully, he shook his head.

“I am sorry, sir. We do not have this book in our collection.”

“What a pity,” Klein answered, somewhat disappointed.

Looks like I can only write to Loen People Publishing House, or go back to Hoy University…

At the same time, he inwardly sighed at the way this world’s libraries still used ancient methods to manage their collections.

What you need is a computer. Unfortunately, I cannot build one…

Klein laughed at himself and asked instead, “Then do you have journals such as New Archaeology and Review of Archaeology?”

“Yes,” the librarian answered with certainty. “A gentleman returned them not long ago.”

He searched out the corresponding cards again and pointed Klein toward the shelves where they were located.

Klein went over, scanned issue after issue, and pulled out the ones his mentor had mentioned.

Then he casually found a window seat and sat down. Beneath the brilliant afternoon sunlight, in the quiet library, he began reading through the materials.

“…Ancient ruins exist not only on the main peak of the Hornacis mountain range, but are also widely distributed throughout the surrounding forests, valleys, and gentle slopes…”

“…These ruins are composed of towering domes and enormous stone pillars. They can be described directly with one word: magnificent…”

“…What is puzzling is how the original inhabitants quarried and polished these stones. Let us first suppose that they quarried the stones locally and did not need to transport them up the mountain…”

“…One strange pattern is that the closer one comes to the summit, the more magnificent the ruins become. Yet unexpectedly, no ruins exist at the summit itself. Based on our conjecture, there should have been a palace unlike any human structure there, a temple used for worship…”

A palace unlike any human structure… A temple used for worship…

Could that be the place I saw in my dream?

As thoughts surged through Klein’s mind, he suddenly heard several footsteps approaching from the distance.

He lifted his head and saw a familiar face—the kind of face that often appeared in newspapers.

A square face, thick brows, a high and straight nose, short dark-golden hair, blue eyes, and tightly pressed lips: all of these belonged to a famous man in Tingen City, a philanthropist, entrepreneur, and the owner of this library—Sir Deweyville.

Beside Sir Deweyville stood the middle-aged butler Klein had once met.

From more than ten meters away, Klein watched them pass by. Curious, he lifted his right hand and lightly tapped the space between his brows twice.