Interlude, to Investigator Beatrice

The metal keys were pressed down, gears and drive shafts meshed, and the copper type blocks engraved with letters clattered onto the parchment like raindrops falling from the sky.

"Beatrice, I am very sorry, but I am writing to you this time because I need to trouble you with something."

"What makes me feel even more guilty is that I still cannot tell you too much; you know, I am a Secret Keeper of the Church."

"However, I heard that you passed the trials and became an investigator... I cannot describe my feelings upon hearing this news. You were a child who loved to get to the bottom of things, so as you wished, you will be closer to the truth now."

"In any case, congratulations. I have been busy with Church affairs, and despite promising your mother I would look after you, I haven't been able to provide much care."

"My own situation is not looking good either, especially lately; they say my methods for executing a cultist were too extreme..."

The parchment on the mechanical typewriter reached the end. A hand composed of gears and various mechanical structures pulled it out and set it aside. At the same time, two other arms, also made of machinery, skillfully retrieved a new sheet of parchment, inserted it into the typewriter, engaged the latch, and secured it in place.

The clattering sound began once more.

"They always have too many reasons, saying I offended the factory owners, saying this would worsen the relationship between the Empress and the Church... No one cares what those cultists are actually like."

"Damn it, how did the Church become like this!"

The figure in the red hood stopped typing, shook their head, and sighed.

"That was an extremely dangerous cultist, and the corruption he brought was terrifying... but fortunately, I have already executed him."

"However, some workers were still contaminated. My proposal to purify them all was rejected by the Church high-ups; they only agreed to exile these workers."

"This is also my request, Beatrice: please go and monitor them for me, to ensure the corruption has ceased and will not spread."

"They will be exiled to the frontiers of the Empire, to an island, so I hear."

"Believe me, Beatrice, staying away from the center of the Empire is not a bad thing, especially at a time like this."

"I know you just became an investigator and want to go on adventures, to see the reality of this world."

"But the dangers of this world have always exceeded your expectations; some things are a form of corruption just by being spoken aloud."

"This is also the meaning of our existence as Secret Keepers."

"In short, stay away from here, stay away from Rhine, stay away from the Empire's territories. That Empress has too much ambition; perhaps she needs the entire Empire to satisfy it."

The fingers tapping on the keyboard stopped. The priest sitting at the desk stretched, then reached toward the teacup on the table.

Pale fingers grasped the cup, which contained steaming black tea—a custom passed down from the New World, where people use a hot cup of tea to relieve fatigue.

The priest took a small sip of the scalding tea. Behind him, the mechanical arms switched to screwdrivers amidst a whir of gears, skillfully opening several mechanical access panels on his body.

Another arm picked up machine oil and poured it into the holes reserved beneath the panels.

The priest set down the teacup and leaned over the desk to continue typing.

At the same time, the mechanical arms on his back did not stop their work for a moment, quickly performing maintenance on the mechanical parts of his body with precision and silence.

"Stay on that island with peace of mind for a while; it is very safe there."

"Do not slack off on your mission either. Keep an eye on those contaminated workers; if they show any abnormalities, tell me immediately."

"If the corruption becomes uncontrollable, do not hesitate; execute the purification protocol at once."

"Do not harbor wishful thinking, do not hesitate or waver, and do not be deceived by appearances. Many cultists look harmless, and some may even be truly kind by nature, but that does not prevent them from endangering the present world."

The priest's movements stopped again. He seemed to have thought of something and fell into a quiet recollection.

After a long while, he let out a long sigh.

His pale fingers picked up the teacup, but after taking a sip, he realized the tea had gone cold.

He shook his head and continued to type.

The mechanical arm behind him had already lifted his robe and started cleaning dust from the pipes on his thigh.

The skin on his body was sickly pale, making the metal components embedded within it look even colder and harder.

"You don't need to worry about me either. The Church has arranged an administrative leave for me. I will find a place with beautiful scenery to recuperate for a while—well, to lay low."

"I haven't decided exactly where to go yet. Perhaps I'll visit the North; they say there are some unique folk customs there, and recently they seem to have dug up some ancient ruins from underground."

The priest scratched the skin on his back as the mechanical arm began to wipe the bolts on his spine.

"Perhaps people get long-winded as they age, but I must still remind you of a few things."

"You might not understand the following, and that is fine, just remember it. Perhaps there will be a moment when you need them."

"When you have time, read the scriptures more. Not just those of the Candlelight Society, but the texts of the other four great churches as well... The Church might hide things, but it does not lie."

"When reason cannot help you judge, trust your intuition."

"Humans can be trusted. Believe in humanity."

"Everything other than humans cannot be trusted, whether it be living creatures, machines, or..."

The priest's typing fingers paused. In the end, he did not continue typing but pulled the parchment and switched to a new line.

"No matter how friendly or reliable they seem, do not trust them."

"Remember, the underlying color of this world is, and always will be, madness."

The work of the mechanical arms seemed to be nearing its end; they began to climb onto the priest's neck, tightening several screws embedded into his flesh.

The priest's letter had reached its end, and he typed the final line of the sign-off.

"Cardinal of the Rhine Diocese, Level 7 Priest of the Candlelight Society, member of the Secret Keeper Council..."

The priest's fingers paused, then he pulled the carriage return of the typewriter, removed the parchment jammed in the slot, crossed out the long signature line, put it back in, and re-typed the sign-off.

"Your uncle, Jules."

He took out the parchment, wrapped it in letter paper, poured sealing wax over it, and then took a wax seal to press onto the wax to seal the envelope.

The seal depicted a lit candle, the holy emblem of the Candlelight Society.

After finishing all this, the priest sat by the desk in a daze, the candlelight beside him flickering.

After a while, as if he had suddenly thought of something, he slapped his forehead.

"Almost forgot about this, I really am getting old."

Following his movement, a crack appeared right in the center of his skull, which then split open to both sides.

Inside that cranium, there was no flesh or blood, but rather a chaotic mess of steel parts, pipes flowing with various liquids, and some rotating mechanical structures, all of which replaced his original brain.

A mechanical arm then reached inside to tighten screws, apply machine oil, and perform maintenance.