Chapter 113: “Professional” Advice

Chapter One Hundred Thirteen
“Professional” Advice

What Klein had originally wanted to ask was whether, before those streaks of bad luck began arriving one after another, Alan or his family had brought home anything unusual—something like a slightly filthy cloth doll.

But just as the words reached his tongue, he suddenly felt that was far too direct. It could easily expose the fact that he understood the mysticism field quite well. Although that could be explained as the broad experience of a great detective, there was no need to take such a risk.

So he chose a more roundabout approach and asked whether Doctor Alan’s family had also suffered misfortune.

Hearing the question, Alan Kress thought back carefully and said, “No. Apart from being involved in the steam train accident with me, they have been the same as before. Most of the time, one could not call them either lucky or unlucky. The rest is a mixture of both. Nothing especially unfortunate.”

That is not right… If it were something like the Misfortune Puppet, an item that requires sealing, it would definitely affect people within a certain range… Unless Alan dripped blood on it, and the two established a stable connection because of that?

In Klein’s spirit vision, Alan’s aura and emotional colors matched his physical and mental state respectively. There was nothing especially abnormal.

After considering his words, he asked, “At the hospital where you work, is there anyone as unlucky as you?”

“No. That is why I feel certain someone has cursed me.”

Alan tugged at his bow tie, looking quite agitated and uneasy.

Under Talim’s curious, watching gaze, Klein thought for a moment and said, “Before those unlucky events began, did you encounter anything strange? For example, did you cut yourself? In folk legends, blood is a powerful medium that allows curses to take effect.”

“After suspecting a curse, I confirmed that point. In the past three months, I have not bled at all.”

Alan pressed down on his knife and fork, answering with a heavy expression.

That is a little strange… And I cannot perform a relatively complicated divination in front of them…

Klein asked again, “Then were there any other somewhat strange matters?”

“Alan, think carefully. Something like this cannot be without cause. Have you offended anyone recently? Or become someone’s obstacle?” Talim chimed in with concern.

Alan lowered his gaze, stared at the food on his plate, and sank into long thought. Klein was not idle either. Before the food cooled and became less delicious, he dealt with it.

Only when he began enjoying dessert after the meal did Alan finally lift his head.

“I am not someone good at socializing. My relationships with my colleagues are not harmonious. But it is hard to believe they would go so far as to find a way to curse me over that.

“Mm… After your reminder, I do remember one thing. It may be connected to mysticism.”

“What is it?” Klein and Talim both perked up at the same time.

“Before the continuous bad luck began, I was responsible for one patient. It was a child less than ten years old. He was very pitiful. Because of certain problems, his left leg had to be amputated,” Alan said, pushing at his gold-rimmed glasses as he recalled. “I had only recently become a father, so I always feel sympathy when children suffer misfortune. Every time I checked the ward, I would chat with him, encourage him, and comfort him.”

He paused, then spoke with increasing fluency.

“I remember it was the day before his surgery. I specifically went to the ward to see him again. He truly was very uneasy and was playing with tarot cards. They were items he had brought with him when he was admitted to the hospital, and he did not even allow his family to take them away.

“To help him relax, I played a tarot divination game with him.

“At that time, I drew one card: the Wheel of Fortune, reversed.

“That child looked at me and smiled very purely, very innocently, and said:

“‘Doctor, your luck will get worse.’”

“Doctor, your luck will get worse…”

Talim drew in a breath.

“Why does that scene and those words make my whole body turn cold… Did that child later die on the operating table?”

Alan shook his head.

“The surgery was very successful. He was discharged smoothly not long after, and he even thanked me especially.

“That is why I never suspected this matter. But now that I think back, I realize this is the only time in the past two months that I came into contact with an item involving mysticism. No matter what, whether it works or not, tarot cards are ultimately used for divination.”

At some point, a brass-colored coin had appeared in Klein’s hand. It leapt and rolled between his fingers, as though symbolizing the thought process of a “famous great detective.”

The coin sprang up, then fell into his palm. Klein glanced at it from the corner of his eye and ended his “thinking.”

“What is the child’s name? Where does he live?”

Alan answered without hesitation, “His name is Will Auceptin. As for where he lives, I do not remember.

“Mr. Detective, what is your advice?

“Do you know any experts in the mysticism field?”

Klein took a sip of black tea. Under Alan and Talim’s expectant gazes, he smiled.

“My advice is this: go to the church of the deity you believe in, describe the misfortunes you have recently suffered to a bishop, and ask whether he has a solution. Alan, I remember you are—hm, a believer of the Evernight Goddess, correct?”

He nearly let the word Goddess slip out habitually. Fortunately, he remembered in time that his current identity was a detective who believed in the God of Steam and Machinery.

“But I prayed to the Goddess before, attended Mass, and donated money and goods. None of it worked. I believe I still need to find some capable diviner,” Alan said, disagreeing with Detective Moriarty’s suggestion.

Talim nodded from the side.

“Yes. The gods do not care whether you are lucky or unlucky. Good luck is protection. Bad luck is a trial.”

My friend, your faith is not very devout. Be careful the Lord of Storms does not strike you with lightning…

Klein looked at the two of them in turn and smiled.

“This suggestion is based on very simple logic.

“If—and I mean if—there truly exists useful mysticism that can produce real effects in this world, then the ones most proficient in such matters must be the seven orthodox Churches. Otherwise, they would long ago have been replaced by other forces that control mysticism.

“And if there is no such thing as true mysticism, then looking for diviners or witch doctors will not bring any help either. In that case, it is still better to see what solution a bishop of higher standing may offer.”

Alan analyzed this carefully and finally nodded.

“That is very reasonable.

“Perhaps only after a bishop conveys my problem will the Goddess protect me.”

No. To describe it more accurately, only after a bishop conveys your problem will the Nighthawks notice the abnormality on you…

Klein refuted him inwardly.

He had never planned to help Alan himself. To resolve a problem involving luck, besides finding the source of everything, there would certainly also need to be a certain ritual arrangement.

Setting aside whether Klein knew any true ritual for changing luck, even if he did, the ritual would expose before unfamiliar people the fact that he possessed supernatural powers, increasing unnecessary risk out of thin air.

Since the Nighthawks can handle it, there is no need for me to do it myself… I just do not know whether the problem comes from that boy, or from the tarot cards in his hands. If it is the latter, that might be a Sealed Artifact very suited to me. What a pity…

Klein quietly shook his head, pressing down the greed and other emotions that had suddenly surged inside him.

At that moment, Alan had already made his decision. Looking at Klein, he tugged at the corners of his mouth and said, “Thank you, Mr. Moriarty. Although you do not understand mysticism, you relied on strict logic to give the best advice.”

Yes. I do not understand mysticism…

Klein smiled.

“Just call me Sherlock, Alan.”

Mm. Since I stopped being a Nighthawk, the structure of my mysticism knowledge has grown stranger and stranger. On one side, I know many secrets related to high Sequences and deities. On the other, I only understand comparatively basic ritual magic. As for the slightly more complex kind, I only know sacrifice and bestowment rituals, and my charms have been stuck at three types for ages…

Klein sighed inwardly, feeling that he urgently needed a mysticism book that was both broad and deep.

As for the knowledge needed to separate an evil god’s mental contamination from a Beyonder characteristic, he currently did not even have a clue.

…

After taking a midday rest at the club, Klein rode a public carriage to Rice Circus, which was located in Cherwood Borough near the Tussock River.

Today was neither a festival nor a holiday, so there were not many guests inside the circus. Even the clowns responsible for welcoming and amusing people looked somewhat listless.

Passing between the “Divination Hut” and the tents selling pies, pancakes, fruit pies, and alcoholic beverages, Klein followed the edge of the circus grounds and found a small theater. The blackboard at its entrance stated that on non-holidays, there were four performances each day, every performance lasting one hour.

The first afternoon show began at two o’clock. It had started not long ago.

After buying a ticket, Klein entered the theater and heard cheers.

At the moment, an animal trainer stood onstage, whip in hand, commanding a black bear to perform clumsily adorable acts. Beside it lay a tiger with alternating yellow-and-black stripes, and seated nearby was a deeply colored, curly-haired baboon.

Pa!

Following the trainer’s whip-crack, the black bear awkwardly performed a somersault.

“I say, that fellow wanted to slap you just now!”

At the front of the rows of seats, someone suddenly called out loudly, immediately drawing laughter from the few spectators in the venue.

They thought it was a new joke the circus had arranged.

Klein, however, did not think so, because he noticed that the animal trainer’s emotional colors had shifted toward anger and irritation.

He smiled, walked to the first row, sat down, and began appreciating the stage performance, lest he fail to justify the price of the ticket.

Just then, the person who had spoken earlier shouted again:

“That tiger wants to bite through your neck, and that curly-haired baboon wants to grab you and use you as a cushion under its backside!”

Amid the audience’s roaring laughter, the animal trainer’s movements visibly stiffened.

This… Although those words sound a lot like someone causing trouble, why do I hear a reminder in them…

Klein turned his head toward the speaker seated in the same row. He discovered that the man was around thirty years old, with a rather round face.

That tone, that way of doing things… It feels a little familiar…

Klein muttered soundlessly.