Chapter 115: Walk by the River Often Enough

Chapter One Hundred Fifteen
Walk by the River Often Enough

The wheels pressed along the tracks as the horses dragged the carriage forward, heavy yet steady. Very soon, they left behind the street where nothing at all seemed to have happened.

Klein kept his expression normal, one hand wrapped around his cane. Only after the trackless public carriage had passed two stops did he get off early, make a wide detour, and leisurely begin returning toward the place where the demonic giant hound had been killed.

He was not looking for the Beyonder characteristic the creature had left behind. The Churches’ top powerhouses could not possibly be unaware of such a thing; it must have already been taken. Nor was he investigating the source of that earlier light snort. So much time had already passed. Carriages moved along the street, pedestrians came and went. How could any clue still remain? Even divination would certainly yield no answer.

Klein’s goal was to use the subtle remaining details around that street to peek at the traits of the Sealed Artifact capable of creating that strange battle environment, so he could make some preparations for possible future encounters.

This, too, is acting as a Magician…

Walking beneath the gray, dim sky, along the curb divided by gas streetlamps, he sighed inwardly.

The reason he had waited for two stops before getting off and taken a roundabout route back was because he feared official Beyonders might still be secretly cleaning the battlefield. If he could avoid meeting them, he would do his utmost to avoid meeting them.

Dressed respectably, holding a cane, a golden watch chain hanging at his lapel, Klein spent some time before finally returning to the “scene of the demonic hound’s death.” But there was no corresponding trace left on the street at all. The passersby clearly did not know that a rather intense supernatural battle had once taken place there.

“That Sealed Artifact really is miraculous. It’s even more powerful than large-scale, wide-area hypnosis.”

Klein activated spirit vision and slowed his footsteps, like a gentleman out for an excursion rather than someone handling business.

He spent more than half an hour making a circuit of the area, yet his spirit vision brought him no harvest. The target street block showed nothing abnormal.

However, Klein’s spirituality still sensed one thing: the range and boundary.

“When I entered the street block, and when I left it from another direction, I both felt a subtle sense of unreality, as though I had passed from one world into another. In other words, the Sealed Artifact’s influence can reach at least one street block. Its upper limit is temporarily unclear. Mm, I can confirm one more thing: it works only on Beyonders.”

Standing outside the target street, Klein nodded thoughtfully. Then he returned once more, found a fairly decent café, ordered a cup of Southville coffee, and sat down by the window.

While drinking the rich, fragrant liquid, he examined the street outside as it slowly grew livelier, watching to see whether any other change would occur with the passage of time.

Unfortunately, nothing he expected happened.

Of course, he did not come away empty-handed. At the very least, he had confirmed one point: “A Magician does not perform without preparation” was indeed one of the rules for acting.

He felt the subtle precipitate within his body show a very faint sign of being pried loose.

When evening arrived, Klein stopped observing and took the trackless public carriage back to Minsk Street.

By then, the gas streetlamps on both sides of the road had all been lit. Blue flames illuminated the slightly damp cement pavement and the rows of roadside trees with withered, yellowing leaves.

Klein carried his cane and passed outside Solicitor Jurgen’s house, strolling toward the building numbered 15.

As he walked, he suddenly remembered something: the ingredients at home were used up. If he returned like this, he would not be able to make dinner!

Uh. Should I go to the butcher’s, grocer’s, and fruit shop, or find a restaurant first and fill my stomach?

Klein hesitated briefly, then finally decided to be lazy tonight and eat something already prepared.

Although many dishes in this world were simple and quick enough to make—not the sort where one cooked for an hour only to eat for five minutes—they still required labor. Worse, he would have to wash the plates and clean the knives and forks afterward.

Touching his wallet, Klein turned around on the spot and headed toward the direction in his memory where there were more restaurants.

He passed Solicitor Jurgen’s house again.

Jurgen stood behind the open bow window. Looking at Detective Moriarty’s “lost” expression, he raised his voice and called, “Mr. Moriarty, did you—I mean, did you forget your key again? Or did you lose it?”

Why say “again”?

Klein responded with a chuckle.

“No, I didn’t.”

Jurgen nodded very seriously.

“Then come to my house as a guest anyway.

“After dinner, once it’s completely dark, you can go back.”

…

Klein hesitated for one second, then smiled.

“It would be my honor.”

When he entered, the black cat Brody was in the corner licking its paws. Jurgen did not waste many words and went into the kitchen.

After Klein hung up his coat and hat and set down his black cane, he walked step by step into the dining room. The table was already laid with food: blackened steak, mashed potatoes of the same color, and several similar items.

He found this unsurprising. After growing older, Solicitor Jurgen’s grandmother, Madam Doris, had developed precisely such a cooking style: the appearance was poor, but the taste was excellent.

She is a master chef…

Klein sat opposite Jurgen and smiled in greeting.

“You were just preparing to eat?”

“Yes. Before eating, I’m used to looking at the scenery outside and letting my thoughts spread without borders,” Jurgen said, laying out his napkin and picking up his knife and fork.

Klein glanced around in confusion.

“Where is Madam Doris?”

Jurgen sighed and answered solemnly, “The weather has been growing colder. Her old lung problem has returned, so she had no choice but to stay in the hospital for some time.”

“May God protect her.”

Klein somewhat awkwardly drew the triangular sacred emblem of the Church of the God of Steam and Machinery on his chest.

Then he cut off a piece of steak, speared it, and prepared to put it into his mouth.

At that very moment, he suddenly thought of a problem and hurriedly asked, “So this is the dinner you prepared?”

“Of course. It was finished a few minutes ago,” Jurgen answered succinctly.

It is not Madam Doris’s cooking, and it still looks like this…

The corner of Klein’s mouth twitched. Suppressing the fear in his heart, he still bit down on the small piece of steak on his silver fork and chewed it slowly.

His brows furrowed little by little. At last, he forced the food down and squeezed out a smile.

“Why did you prepare two portions in advance?”

“One portion was prepared to take to the hospital for my grandmother.”

Jurgen looked up at Klein, seeming to feel there was no problem with this at all.

“I’ll make another later.”

“…So that’s how it is.”

For the sake of politeness, Klein secretly inhaled and resolved the food before him with the attitude of facing battle.

By the time he finished, Jurgen still had nearly half left. The senior solicitor temporarily put down his knife and fork, lifted the nearby stemmed glass, took a sip of red wine, and asked expressionlessly, “How does it taste?

“Which dish did you like best?

“I know there is still quite a gap between my skill and my grandmother’s, but it should not be too exaggerated.”

Mr. Solicitor, I suspect you don’t just have a facial nerve disorder. You may also have a problem with your sense of taste… Can you not have a correct understanding of yourself?

Klein pursed his lips into a smile and moved his head left and right.

“The white bread is not bad.”

“That was bought from Dodge Bakery.”

Jurgen lowered his head again and resumed dealing with the remaining food.

After finishing the last of the red wine, he thought for a moment and said, “Detective Moriarty, I’d like to entrust you with a matter. A very simple commission.”

“What is it?”

Klein kept drinking water.

The mashed potatoes had been too salty!

“My grandmother will be in the hospital for the near future. Sometimes, because of cases, I may not come back. If that happens, Brody will go hungry,” Jurgen said, looking toward the black cat. “I would like you to feed Brody when I don’t return, clean its toilet, and play with it for a while. It likes having its chin scratched most. Mm. Every night at ten, if my house is still dark with no lights on, you can come in. Two soli each time, until my grandmother comes home.”

Klein saw an expression that resembled tenderness appear on Solicitor Jurgen’s stern, rigid, perpetually serious face. The corners of his mouth rose.

“A very simple task, and a comparatively generous payment. I have no reason to refuse.”

As he spoke, he turned toward the black cat Brody and smiled at it.

The black cat Brody slowly turned its body around, presenting him with its back.

Klein’s smile stiffened on his face.

…

Having drunk enough water to feel full, Klein bade farewell and left Jurgen’s house. He slowly strolled back to the building he rented under the night that had fully descended.

By now, people who had finished work had returned home and were enjoying their dinners. There were few pedestrians on the road and not many carriages. Everything was rather quiet.

Walking beneath the light of the gas streetlamps, Klein, who felt no particular urgency to return, slowed more and more. The black shadow beside his feet did the same.

When he passed the Sammars’ house, he saw through the bow window that the inside was brightly lit. Figures moved back and forth. Voices and laughter could be faintly heard.

But right next door, 15 Minsk Street was dark and silent.

Klein sighed, quickened his pace, took out his key, and opened the front door.

Before entering, he habitually glanced at the mailbox and discovered that another letter lay inside.

Who sent this?

Klein took out the letter and glanced at it under the streetlamp’s glow.

No stamp… The handwriting looks like Isengard Stanton’s…

He nodded faintly, entered the house, closed the door, lit the gas lamp, and opened the letter.

In the letter, the great detective Isengard wrote:

“…I am very pleased to tell you that the murderer has already been found and killed on the spot.

“The police department believes our work is worth at least half of the reward. It should be issued to me this week. At that time, I will invite you and our other friends over to share the bounty.”

…

Isengard received the news this quickly? His relationship with the Backlund Police Department really runs deep… Mm, no stamp, which means he directly found someone to deliver it. The Loen Kingdom’s postal system could not possibly be this efficient. A letter mailed in the afternoon could never arrive by evening…

Klein exhaled, put down the letter, and prepared to change clothes and go out.

The serial murder case had been solved, and Backlund’s tense situation had relaxed accordingly. He could now try doing certain things.

For example, he could go to Bravehearts Bar, find Kaspars, contact Maric, and ask whether that Beyonder who controlled living corpses and Miss Sharron had any books in the field of mysticism.

If my guess is correct, they should be defectors from the Rose School of Thought. They belonged to a formal organization before and definitely know quite a lot of mysticism knowledge. And I now have enough money to buy it!

Klein touched his wallet, feeling rather expectant.