The Detective's Last Words

"This kind of last words and request sounds wrong the moment you hear it."

Shade, whose hand was being held by the bed, showed little expression. But he clearly understood that the detective had accurately foreseen his death, taken in a vagrant whose mind did not work very well before dying, and even left behind all his property for the sake of one seemingly simple request. Therefore, that simple request could not possibly be simple.

The man was probably more than just a detective, but Shade, who had taken over this new body, was no longer the original owner either. Even if the original Shade did not know the truth, this visitor from another world understood that he should not lightly involve himself in something that obviously felt wrong. Otherwise—

"If you refuse, I guarantee that after I die, you won't get so much as a penny from me. Nothing here will belong to you either. You'll become a vagrant again—no Gas Lamp, no fireplace, no three meals a day, not even a bed. You'll return to your old life."

But Shade had no choice but to agree. He had nothing in this world. Compared to becoming a vagrant and struggling from scratch, or involving himself in a troublesome matter but gaining property, Shade knew neither choice was good. Yet he had to choose one.

Besides, having stood here and heard these words meant that he was already involved. It was impossible to withdraw now. Shade understood how to assess the situation, and he knew how to weigh his own circumstances.

Could Mr. Sparrow Hamilton's death be related to the supernatural? Could it be related to the voice in my head?

He thought this, unable to draw any further conclusions, but unexpectedly, the voice in his head appeared again at that moment:

It is related to the supernatural. He died because of a relic. This has nothing to do with you.

The voice remained as elegant and composed as ever. Though the information was brief, its whispering tone still sounded like it was reciting The Canticles.

"A relic?"

In the ancient and elegant language used by the woman, this was a proper noun. Different languages carried different amounts of information, and in the woman's language, this term contained an enormous amount of meaning, including concepts such as "sealed object," "contained object," and "cursed object."

Shade was grateful that he could understand this language. From the word itself, he gleaned the meaning: "a special item capable of wielding supernatural power, but extremely dangerous."

This gave Shade a rather ominous suspicion about this world.

"Then who exactly are you?"

The voice did not explain the term, so Shade questioned it in his heart instead. From the way it answered his doubts, he understood that it was an entity capable of thought as well.

I am you.

The whispering voice answered softly. Its whisper-like manner of speaking made Shade's back prickle.

But Shade snorted softly. He was certain this body was male, and the voice in his head could not be its original owner.

Watching the bedside lamp illuminate the frightening, lifeless skin stretched tightly over the man's face, Shade said to him:

"I understand, sir."

"Shade, I have ten minutes left to live. Ask whatever questions you have now, all at once."

The other man had said something extraordinary, his tone full of exhaustion. But Shade knew that if everything the man said was correct, then his next questions would be the key to gaining a foothold in this world. He had to be cautious.

"Your death seems unusual."

His disguised speech was slow, making him sound as though his mind did not work properly. Speaking this way was quite exhausting. His first question concerned his own circumstances after the man's death. Shade had to make sure whether the calamity that had killed the detective would implicate him as well.

"We have never discussed this before. I know you've been worrying about it, but there is no need. My death in a little while may frighten you, but don't worry. My death will not implicate you. I need you to complete the task three months from now, so I can guarantee that. The person who killed me will absolutely never appear again. After all, ordinary people like us are not worth their attention."

The information he gained was quite good. The man in the bed did not intend to hide anything.

"Ordinary... people?"

This time, Shade genuinely hesitated.

"You don't need to know. In truth, even I don't understand much. Those Ring Arcanists, the mysterious people who wield the Four Elements of Miracle, Enlightenment, Blasphemy, and Whisper; the five major Orthodox Churches and the Three Great Arcane Academies—this frightening world... Forget what I just said. You will live better that way. Remember, you understand nothing."

The man in bed emphasized this with all his strength. Shade could only commit those terms to memory, then nod.

"Alright. I understand nothing."

He guessed that "Ring Arcanists" was the title for this world's mysterious practitioners, while Miracle, Enlightenment, Blasphemy, and Whisper were parts of its power system. The Orthodox Churches and Arcane Academies were likely the main forces among such people.

An ordinary detective could not possibly know so much. Hamilton Detective truly had many secrets.

But Shade did not continue pursuing this subject. In the limited time available, he had to make the other man willingly reveal more information rather than have them both suspiciously trying to distinguish lies from truth.

"After you die, how am I... supposed to live? I do not understand detective work. I cannot read much."

Time was clearly short, yet he could not speak any faster. It was not only because of his disguise, but because Shade had yet to master this language proficiently. This situation—being forced to walk while in a race—made him extremely anxious. But he could not show his anxiety, which only made him even more anxious inside.

"It's alright. What I taught you is enough. You only need to stay here for three months. After three months, sell everything and go live in the countryside. It will suit you better, and it will be enough for you to live out your life safely. Prices are lower there, after all."

Perhaps he truly had no strength left. The man in the bed could not speak more completely. But Shade had no memories of the past and did not know what the man had taught him. He sought help from the voice in his head, but it did not appear.

"Is there anything else... you need to tell me?"

Shade asked for the Third Time. This question had also been spoken only after careful consideration.

"Remember what I told you over these three months. Remember the simple commissions I left in the memorandum. You can try doing them to keep the Detective Agency running. And this card in the diary."

The weakened man pointed at the bedside. He released Shade's hand, and Shade bent down to pick up the diary. Its brown leather cover was secured with a magnetic clasp. The diary had been very well protected by its owner.

Shade handed the diary to Mr. Hamilton on the bed, but the latter shook his head. He could barely speak anymore.

So Shade opened the diary himself and flipped through it roughly. Each page bore different consecutive dates, with both sides used. Most pages contained only one sentence: "Nothing happened today. Savings are running low." A small number recorded the progress of commissions accepted by the Detective Agency.

When he flipped to the middle of the diary, the rustling of pages stopped. A stiff card was tucked inside. Shade restrained himself from raising an eyebrow as he saw that it was a rectangular card smaller than his palm.

After taking it out, he found that its surface seemed covered by a completely transparent layer of wax, protecting the card from environmental damage. But when he rubbed it carefully, it felt more like a layer of transparent skin. For some reason, Shade suddenly thought of human skin.

The card was not thick, and he could see it clearly under the room's light.

What Shade considered the back showed abstract patterns of the Sun, Moon, and stars, layered into a strange composite image. What he considered the front depicted a Lady sitting sideways on a high stool, her face turned away so that her full appearance could not be seen, holding the Moon in one hand.

She had silver hair, a smile outlined on her profile, and wore a long robe. But the card's colors were not rich, consisting only of white, black, and cool shades close to those two colors.

The upper right corner of the front bore the number 3, while the upper left had a small Sun symbol. Between them, at the center of the card's upper edge, a black vertical line was drawn within a white circle.

Beneath the image of the woman, in the blank space at the bottom of the front, was a line of small text:

When using this card, the number may be adjusted within the range of 1 to 5.

The card did not look very new. Holding it sideways toward the dim room light, he could make out subtle damage that was difficult to notice, though it was also clear that its owner had gone to great lengths to preserve it.

Shade could completely understand the words on the card, just as he could understand the man and the woman speaking.

How strange. I can understand speech and writing after transmigrating, but I cannot speak.

He thought to himself, then asked quietly:

"What is this?"

"A very valuable card. It is compatible with the ordinary set of fifty-four cards we commonly use. Among the four suits of Sun, Moon, stars, and flowers, it represents Sun 3. But this card was specially issued. Its design is rare and has great collectible value. Keep it tucked inside the diary. Do not get it wet or fold it, and do not casually show it to others. But if you are truly left with no way out, go to the Birmingham Collection in Tobesk City. The people there know its value. A Rhodes Card—my most important collection in life."

Shade nodded, memorizing the term "Rhodes Card." He understood that it was a relatively common Card Game in this world, and that Sun 3 was like a commemorative coin or stamp. He tucked the card back into the diary. Though the card was somewhat exquisite, judging from the era's level of production based on the bedroom's decorations, this world was capable of manufacturing such things. There was no need for excessive suspicion.

"Sir, is there anything else you wish to say?"

Shade asked again. It was better to let the other man speak on his own than to keep asking questions.

"Shade."

Mr. Hamilton took Shade's hand again and looked toward the young man at his bedside, his gaze becoming gentler.

"I know I have never been a good person, but I am truly sorry for dragging you into this. Three months from now, leave Tobesk City. A major capital city like this is not suitable for you.

But I think that if you can understand, you will also feel that taking you away from a vagrant's life was the right choice. Your mind does not work very well. Remember, do not easily believe other people's words in the future, especially the words of those trying to make you spend money. I have already contacted Tobesk Public Cemetery and chosen a burial plot. The corpse bearer will come shortly. You do not need to go with them. Live in this house for three months, using the life skills I taught you.

Shade, I am sorry. Good luck."