Chapter 40: Colony

Chapter 40: Colony

The flesh of the comb-spined fish certainly could not compare to a murloc’s, but the many spices were complex without becoming chaotic, and their distinct layers of flavor still earned Klein’s appreciation. He felt that the more he ate, the more he wanted, as though he could not stop at all.

“If a local Beyonder truly wants to withdraw from dangerous circles and live an ordinary life, he could absolutely open a Rorsted-style restaurant in Backlund, specializing in grilled fish like this. Given the inclusiveness of a metropolis, business would certainly not be poor. The only problem is that many spices would definitely not be as cheap there as they are here, so costs would be very high, and the target clientele would have to be positioned properly…” Klein set down the rather crude chopsticks and wiped his mouth with a napkin while his thoughts wandered aimlessly.

In his view, many times, commoners could not find methods to become rich because their horizons were insufficient. Yet horizons were shaped by their education and daily experiences, bound by the class they lived in. It was truly difficult to jump free of such limits. The most effective way to break them was to do everything possible to pursue better, higher-level education. The second was to dare to take risks and wander widely. Of course, the risk was great; many people vanished silently along that road.

This meal cost Klein two soli and five pence. It was not cheap, but he had always been willing to spend on good food. Besides, his main expenses recently had already been contracted to Danitz.

Pulling up his collar and putting on his hat, he picked up his black cane and left Old John’s Restaurant, just in time to see a police officer chasing away vagrants on the street.

The indigenous people of the Rorsted Archipelago had skin darker than those of the Southern Continent, close to the bronzed shade of someone constantly exposed to the sun. Their hair was mainly deep black and naturally slightly curled, making them quite distinct from the Loenese colonists.

This place had been fully colonized for less than fifty years. At first, Loen had cooperated with indigenous princes and chiefs under the name of the East Sonia Company, extracting economic benefits. But afterward, the company’s management quickly became corrupt, fighting for power and profit, even provoking enemies and starting wars for personal gain. Most absurdly, they also reported on one another, accusing their competitors of accepting bribes. For this, each found Members of Parliament who supported them, and those men attacked one another in Parliament, nearly causing the matter to go to court.

The local natives could surely not imagine that the great figures who, in their eyes, could make princes and chiefs bend their backs, kiss the tops of their shoes, and send cart after cart of gifts were, in Backlund, minor characters who were not even Members of Parliament. Although most of them came from noble families, they were very far back in the line of inheritance.

After that dispute, the king and prime minister reached an agreement, bought back the shares, ended the East Sonia Company, and dispatched fleets and soldiers to fully occupy the Rorsted Archipelago, implementing true colonial rule.

At present, the archipelago was governed through the Governor-General’s Office, a council, and courts. The upper levels all belonged to Loenese people. Among the middle ranks, councilors, and magistrates of the police courts, some were descendants of the original princes and chiefs. The lowest levels were opened to educated local natives, including police officers below the rank of superintendent.

The officer waving his baton and driving away the vagrant was one such local policeman. His target also possessed obvious Rorsted ethnic traits.

The moment the policeman saw Klein, dressed in a double-breasted long frock coat, wearing a half top hat of silk, and carrying a black gentleman’s cane, looking over, he immediately put away the baton, straightened his body, brought his legs together, and saluted.

“Good afternoon, sir.

“Is there anything I can help you with?”

Klein felt rather complicated. He gave a slight nod and asked, “Are there no carriages here?”

“The Governor-General’s Office has decreed that carriages are not allowed on this street. You will need to walk to the street ahead, sir.” The policeman explained with a mixture of fear and enthusiasm.

“Thank you.” Klein casually praised, “Your Loenese is quite good.”

The policeman became so surprised and delighted that he was almost excited.

“I believe—I believe this is a necessary, a necessary quality for being a good policeman.”

He had originally wanted to say, “I believe I am also a Loenese,” but was afraid that the gentleman opposite him might become angry because of it.

Klein silently exhaled and slowly walked toward the street corner.

Along the way, he observed that local clothing styles were completely different from those of continental cities such as Backlund and Tingen, and even from colonial ports like Damir and Bansy, which had been colonized for more than two hundred years.

Respectable people from Loen wore formal coats, high hats, bow ties, and gentleman’s canes, making those around them submissive, not daring to look directly at them or make contact. The rest, whether natives or mixed-bloods, preferred jacket-like thick coats paired with wide-legged loose trousers and flat caps from the continent. They disliked black, favoring tea-brown, coffee-brown, and light gray. To Klein, this was indeed somewhat strange, but it also gave him the full sensation of having arrived in a foreign country.

Of course, natives and mixed-bloods with higher status also imitated Loenese dress, believing that was the expression of civilization.

…

At two in the afternoon, inside the Swordfish Bar, a recognized gathering place for adventurers.

There were not many drinkers at this hour, so Klein easily passed between table after table and reached the bar counter.

He discovered that the greatest difference between this place and others was that, beside the counter, three blackboards supported by wooden frames had been set up. On them were posted one notice after another, white with hints of yellow, their contents extremely varied and strange. Some hired bodyguards, some asked for help finding people, some sought investigation of a certain island’s situation, some offered high rewards for the head of a pirate, and some claimed to have obtained a treasure map and wished to form a team. In short, the affairs that, within the Kingdom of Loen proper, had already been divided up by private detectives and security companies still belonged to adventurers here.

“A glass of Zarha.” Klein tapped the surface of the bar.

This was a local malt beer, cheap and flavorful, deeply loved by adventurers. Klein had learned of it from Blazing Danitz.

“Three pence.” The bartender glanced casually at the customer and showed no change in attitude because the man’s face was unfamiliar.

After obtaining the beer, Klein sat on a high stool before the bar, sipping it slowly while quietly listening to the drinkers around him, searching for valuable targets.

After nearly an hour, as more customers arrived, Klein finally heard a topic that might be useful.

At a table less than three meters from him sat four people, all lamenting a man called Winter.

“I always thought Winter had gone out to sea. I never expected that he had been at home all along, terribly ill.”

“Sigh. If I had knocked on his door two days earlier, he would not have died. You have no idea how awful it was inside. There were mushrooms growing all over his corpse, patches and patches of them, all white.”

“Shit! Stop talking! Can’t you see I’m eating sausage?”

“Fine, fine. Winter’s room was full of insects. Moths, flies, butterflies, bees, cockroaches. Storms above, I could not believe a human lived in a place like that. Even the police who came afterward were frightened!”

…

Those sentences entered Klein’s ears one after another. His brow furrowed slightly. He felt that Winter’s death was not quite normal. After being dead for only a few days, his corpse had grown full of mushrooms, and the room had been filled with flying and crawling insects of all kinds.

Is it related to an extraordinary incident? With this level of abnormality, the police would certainly report it to the Mandated Punisher team… From the sound of it, this happened three or four days ago. Anything that needed to be handled should already have been handled… Klein seriously considered whether to go take a look. At the very least, that man named Winter had been an adventurer living alone in Bayam, and no companion seemed to want to deliver news of his death.

After eavesdropping for a long while, he gained a preliminary understanding of where Winter had lived: Apartment 47 on Blackhorn Street, nearby.

Draining the last of the Zarha beer, Klein put on his hat, left the bar, and went directly toward that apartment building.

After entering the main door, he half closed his eyes and murmured, “The room where someone recently died.”

After reciting it seven times in succession, Klein used his cane to conveniently and efficiently arrive outside the room where Winter had once lived.

It had not yet been rented out again. The abnormalities inside had already been dealt with, and nothing seemed wrong at a glance.

Klein put away the note paper used to open the lock, locked the door behind him, and carefully walked around the room.

After confirming the situation, he took out pure hydrosol, essential oil, herbal powder, specially made candles, and other items, swiftly arranging a spirit-channeling ritual in front of the bed.

Although several days had already passed, and he could only obtain the most superficial, fragmented, and residual bits of information, Klein believed that having something was better than nothing.

Without question, he was still praying to himself. After that, he would enter the world above the gray fog, respond, and grant the power of spirit channeling.

The candle flame suddenly rose higher and, while swaying, turned an eerie blue.

Klein felt everything around him quiet down, as though he had entered a realm that did not belong to reality.

His pupils were occupied by pure black, even driving away the whites of his eyes.

Without needing to use the techniques of dream divination, now that he had advanced to Faceless, with the help of the gray fog that had preliminarily entered reality, he directly saw the lingering thoughts of Winter’s spirit that refused to disperse.

There were three scenes.

In the first, Winter, a tall, thin man with slightly curled black hair and rather deep features, arrived before a discarded corpse and looked on in astonishment as a gleam flashed upon it, condensing into a green gemstone filled with vitality.

In the second, Winter lay on his bed, eyes tightly shut and mouth slightly open. All kinds of mushrooms had grown across the surface of his skin, and swarms upon swarms of cockroaches and moths surrounded him. On his chest was a silver necklace whose pendant was precisely that green gemstone.

In the third, there was a clear-featured young woman with moist eyes and flaxen hair. She was sitting by the sea, surrounded by Winter’s unwilling voice:

“Renee, I am going to die. I regret it. I regret never telling you that I love you, that I want you to marry me…”

The scenes shattered. The spirit channeling ended. Klein looked around and found the room still filled with a dim, gloomy residue.

This fellow really was unlucky… Klein shook his head and sighed.

He had preliminarily grasped the reason behind Winter’s death: picking things up at random.

The vast majority of Beyonders did not know the law of indestructibility and conservation of Beyonder characteristics. They had no idea that dead members of their kind could also separate out characteristics and become materials. The process was also relatively slow and easy to miss. Therefore, after killing Beyonders, they often searched the bodies once, discarded the corpses, and conveniently benefited passersby like Winter—or creatures in the wild and at the bottom of the sea.

Winter did not know that it was a Beyonder characteristic. He thought it was a miraculous gemstone, so he made it into a necklace and kept it against his body. As a result, he was slowly affected by its corruption and died in pain.