Chapter 1: A New Identity

Chapter 1: A New Identity

Beyond the window, the sky was dim and overcast, yet it lacked the fog Klein knew so well. Waves rolled in one after another, scattering every trace of haze, leaving the clouds high above to coil and unfurl into all manner of shapes as they reflected the golden-red sunlight.

This was Pritz Harbor, the largest and busiest port in the Kingdom of Loen.

Dressed in a pale waistcoat and a white shirt, Klein stood by the window and gazed outside for a while. Only when his pocket watch urged him on did he return to the mahogany desk.

Beside the warmth of the fireplace, he picked up a deep-black, round-bellied fountain pen, unfolded a sheet of letter paper, and slowly wrote:

“Dear Mr. Azik,

“Please forgive me for only writing to you today. Over the past few days, I lingered in Backlund, immersed in the wounds the previous incident left upon that metropolis. If we had both been ordinary people, we might already have been covered with white cloth, carried into a crematorium, and housed inside a very small box…

“I waited for a long time before finally finding an opportunity to retrieve my belongings. Among them is the Blasphemy Card I promised you. There is also another item I will have the messenger bring along—a copper whistle, one capable of summoning a messenger. It came from an accidental encounter, from an old man who climbed out of a coffin. I am certain that, upon reading this, you must feel puzzled, for the description I used could equally apply to you. That is precisely what confuses me.

“…That is the course of events. I suspect the original owner of the copper whistle was a member of the Numinous Episcopate who attempted to revive Death, and one of no low standing. Perhaps you may be able to discern something from the whistle…

“Before leaving Backlund, I wrote to the Machinery Hivemind, describing the vast underground ruins where you fought Ince Zangwill. I hope they can use the information to uncover the truth behind everything.

“Through circuitous and indirect probes, I have confirmed that, for the time being, they bear no hostility toward either you or me. Should you encounter trouble, you may wish to try seeking their help.

“Lastly, I have one more question. Is there any method to cleanse the residual mental corruption within a Beyonder characteristic that has already solidified?

“…I am about to set sail. I wish you a smooth journey in search of your memories, and I wish myself safe passage.

“Your student and friend,
“Klein Moretti.”

After setting down the pen and reading the letter through from the beginning, Klein folded the paper and placed it into an envelope together with the “Black Emperor” card and the copper whistle suspected to have been left behind by a member of the Numinous Episcopate.

Once that was done, he picked up the copper whistle Mr. Azik had given him and summoned the messenger by blowing it.

The messenger was still nearly four meters tall, formed entirely of white bone, with pitch-black flames burning within its eye sockets. Yet Klein’s spiritual intuition told him that this was already another messenger.

He sighed inwardly, raised his arm, and placed the letter into the palm the figure lowered toward him.

The messenger looked down at it once. Then, at once, it rapidly disintegrated, turning into individual bones that rained down like a storm and burrowed into the ground.

Seeing this, Klein lightly tapped his right molar and deactivated his Spirit Vision.

His gaze returned to the desk. Lying there was a pale-yellow identity certificate—an indispensable item for purchasing an ocean-going ticket through proper channels.

For this, he had specifically gone to Sharron and obtained a new identity through her circle.

The identity belonged to a bounty hunter, a madman who wished to venture out to sea in search of sudden fortune. In accordance with Klein’s wishes, the man was called Gehrman Sparrow.

“Hunting evil…” Klein murmured, then put away the set of documents that proved his new identity.

Immediately after, he drew the curtains shut, took four steps counterclockwise, and entered the world above the gray fog.

There was still some time before the Tarot Gathering. Klein quickly took out Creeping Hunger and put it on his hand.

Closing his eyes and sensing the twisted, illusory souls within, he attempted to release the Faceless.

If this had been the real world, Creeping Hunger would have very happily devoured the offering and spat out the corresponding Beyonder characteristic. But while above the gray fog, it dared not show the slightest impulse. The Faceless’s soul left the glove without incident and appeared beside the long bronze table.

It was a middle-aged man whose features were indistinct. Much of the distortion and pain clinging to him had already dispersed.

With difficulty, he bowed to Klein, who was leaning back in his chair. His figure gradually faded, on the verge of falling beneath the gray fog.

Within the towering palace, Klein could directly perform spirit channeling without any additional ritual preparations. He extended his spirituality, stabilized the other party, and asked in a low voice, “Do you know where living mermaids can be found?”

The man answered in a daze, “Apart from those raised by the Church of the Evernight Goddess, one must sail from the Gargas Archipelago into the depths of the Sonia Sea for at least a week to find them. That was my destination.”

So he was also a Faceless seeking advancement… It was in pursuit of mermaids that he took the risk of going out to sea, only to somehow die at the hands of Vice Admiral Hurricane Qilangos… The Goddess’s Church keeps quite a number of mermaids? Klein asked, realization dawning, “Which organization do you belong to? Or rather, where did your potion formula come from?”

The indistinct middle-aged man suddenly trembled. Two seconds passed before he made a sound.

“The Secret Order. I belong to the Secret Order.”

The Secret Order? The Secret Order doesn’t keep a few mermaids of its own? Klein considered his wording and asked, “Have you met your leader, Zaratul?”

The illusory, translucent Faceless was silent at first. Then, in a shrill voice, he cried, “I have!

“He—he isn’t normal! He is an undying monster!”

As he spoke, his figure grew increasingly faint, on the verge of scattering completely.

Zaratul really is still alive! What exactly happened to make members of the Secret Order fear him so much? More precisely, I should be using “Him”… Klein hurriedly asked another crucial question.

“Apart from the treasures left behind by the Antigonus family and the internal channels of the Secret Order, where else can one obtain the high-Sequence potion formulas of the Seer pathway?”

The Faceless grew more and more transparent, more and more illusory. In the end, he left behind only one sentence.

“The Church of the Evernight Goddess… the Cathedral of Serenity…”

The Holy Cathedral… Klein quietly watched as the Faceless’s spirit was fully released, while a single term echoed repeatedly in his heart: The Cathedral of Serenity was the headquarters of the Church of the Evernight Goddess—the “Holy Cathedral” spoken of by the Nighthawks.

It really does hide the high-Sequence potion formulas of the Seer pathway… Who knows how many secrets the major Churches have buried and concealed… Klein sighed inwardly as he allowed the blackish-green, gelatinous substance condensing on the surface of the glove to slide down onto the long bronze table.

The Faceless’s Beyonder characteristic ultimately formed into a jelly-like, translucent object. Within its black-green depths, faces of all different appearances drifted in and out of view from time to time, like human silhouettes hidden behind dark curtains.

Klein studied it for a few moments, then nodded almost imperceptibly and said to himself, “At the meeting, I’ll have The World ask Mr. Hanged Man to sell this Beyonder characteristic—sell it to the Artisan, or to a Beyonder who needs it.”

Although, through divination above the gray fog, he had found a gap in the official Beyonders’ surveillance of 15 Minsk Street, Klein ultimately did not return there. He did not wish to provoke them, nor expose the secret of his spirit body. Instead, he spent additional money buying a change of clothes and various necessities, for a total cost of twelve pounds.

Together with the eight pounds spent on the proof documents for his new identity, his wallet had shriveled to the point of hardly needing to exist.

As for his ten percent stake in the bicycle company, Klein found an opportunity to meet the great detective Isengard Stanton. He signed the legal papers and entrusted the shares to the other man’s management. In any case, the relationship between the two of them was no secret in the eyes of the Nighthawks and the Machinery Hivemind.

Only five pounds in cash and five gold coins left… Just reaching the Rorsted Archipelago will cost four pounds, and that’s for a third-class ticket in the lower cabins… Transferring from the Rorsted Archipelago to the Gargas Archipelago will cost at least another four pounds… I have to sell that Faceless Beyonder characteristic as soon as possible… That way, at least I’ll be able to travel second class and eat decent food… Thank goodness Emlyn’s suitcase has been kept above the gray fog all this time; otherwise I would have had to buy another one… Klein silently calculated his financial situation. It was as if he had returned to the straitened days just after his transmigration, when he could only afford a formal suit by relying on the salary advanced to him by the Nighthawks.

“A Sequence 6 Beyonder characteristic should sell for somewhere between three and four thousand pounds. If I run into someone who urgently needs it, there might even be a premium… But besides daily expenses, I still have to consider the cost of supplementary ingredients for the Marionettist potion, and the expense of the ritual to remove the mental corruption from the main ingredient.” Klein sighed, pulled out his pocket watch, and clicked it open.

Seeing that the time was about right, he first sent Little Sun the message that the gathering was about to begin.

…

Fors’s vision abruptly cleared. She saw three figures seated across the mottled long table.

There’s a new member? The thought flickered through her mind and quickly sank away.

At that moment, she was not concerned with whether the Tarot Club had gained a new member. Her head was full of the great smog and plague from the previous week.

She remembered very clearly that, during the last gathering, The World had warned her and Miss Justice that something major was brewing in Backlund, something highly likely to end in tragedy. Mr. Fool had affirmed the speculation and further pointed out that the key figure was Prince Edessak.

She had never doubted Mr. Fool’s abilities. She had merely assumed the tragedy would still need time to ferment, and that there would be enough time to investigate. Who could have known that it would arrive so quickly, so suddenly?

According to the reports, Prince Edessak had also fallen ill during the great smog and had unfortunately passed away… It really happened. It truly happened… Fors recalled the newspapers from the past few days. She seemed to understand something, yet at the same time she could grasp nothing at all. For a moment, unease and fear rose within her.

I’m only a Sequence 9, yet merely because I joined the Tarot Club, I seem to have become “involved” ahead of time in a terrifying incident that touched an entire metropolis, a prince, and the lives of tens of thousands! Only at that moment did The Magician Fors truly feel the weight of being a member of the Tarot Club.

Then she heard Miss Justice greet him as usual, though without her customary lightness.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Fool.

“You have saved Backlund once again!”

Ah? What? When was I saved again? The Moon Emlyn was instantly baffled.