Stepping into the Next Chapter of Fate

64

Melissa stood before the open grave, her eyes vacant and unfocused, as quiet as an exquisite doll. Leonard turned to look at her, his heart aching. He also admired the girl's strength. Ever since hearing the terrible news, she had neither cried nor made a scene. Her silence was heartbreaking.

After the priest's eulogy and everyone's prayers, earth began to fall with a soft rustle, covering the black coffin little by little.

The grave was filled and the stone slab laid over it. Leonard took one last look at Klein's gravestone. His epitaph consisted of three lines:

"The best elder brother;"

"The best younger brother;"

"The best colleague."

The body of the other fallen Nighthawk, Dunn Smith, had already received Requiem from a Beyonder dispatched by the Holy Cathedral and had been buried two days earlier. The advancement potion the Holy Cathedral had prepared for him had been given to someone else. Apparently, some unusual mystical connections still remained, which could help them find the murderer. Amid the mournful atmosphere, the people from the Blackthorn Security Company gradually departed. Bowing his head, Leonard silently followed his colleagues away without disturbing the grieving family, the weight of his sorrow leaving him barely able to breathe.

At a street corner, Leonard parted ways with Frye and the others and returned to his lodgings. He drew the curtains, locked the door, and sank into a chair as though all his strength had drained away.

"Old Man." In the darkness, Leonard sounded as though he was both muttering to himself and asking a question. "Why did Klein have to face Ince Zangwill alone? Why was he the only one? Why didn't I wake up?"

"No normal person should wake so quickly from a god's blessing of slumber. That colleague of yours had quite a secret," Pallez replied.

"...You know what I'm asking." Leonard leaned back against the chair and covered his eyes with one hand. "You could have woken me, couldn't you? I could have fought beside him. At least he wouldn't have had to face a Sequence 5 alone, then die so horribly with his neck snapped!"

Pallez snorted. "What good would waking you have done? Were you counting on me to defeat that Sequence 5-a Sequence 5 carrying a Grade 0 Sealed Artifact? Or did you want to join him in delivering your characteristics right to the man's doorstep? His characteristic has already been taken. You wanted to fight beside him, but did you think finding another host would be no trouble for me?"

Anger crossed Leonard's face. He sprang to his feet and paced restlessly through the dim room.

He tried to find some argument to throw back at the Parasite, but the longer he paced, the worse his expression became. At last, he dropped back into the chair, covered his face with both hands, and bent forward deeply.

"...Ince Zangwill." He practically ground the name out between his teeth, as though he wanted to chew every syllable to pieces before spitting it out. "You'd better stay alive. Live until the day I become strong enough to kill you!"

"Heh, the chief culprit behind this incident hasn't been that Gatekeeper for a while now. It's the one who killed your captain and over three thousand people in Tingen."

Pallez spoke teasingly. "Being alive has its advantages. You still have a chance to take revenge yourself, though avenging your captain will probably be very difficult."

Leonard fell silent for a few seconds. He scrubbed his face hard and took several deep breaths, restoring himself to something indistinguishable from his usual state. Then he asked seriously, "Old Man, do you know that person?"

"Yes. More precisely, that's not a person. That's a 'Devil.'"

A Devil? Leonard tilted his head. He felt there was something unusual about the way Pallez said the word. Rather than an ordinary noun, it sounded like a specific designation, or the name of a potion. "Who is that?"

"An Angel. A Grounded Angel. I've never had any dealings with him." Pallez thought for a moment. "Other devils would massacre a city, too. But helping the evil god, the True Creator, descend? No one but him would do that."

Leonard clenched the fabric of his trousers and asked nervously, "What's his name?"

"I'm not telling you."

"...Then what does he look like?"

"You can't know that, either."

"Why?" Leonard raised his voice in astonishment. "If I don't know his name or appearance, how am I supposed to...report this to the Holy Cathedral? How am I supposed to answer for the more than three thousand innocent lives lost in Tingen?"

"You foolish boy, do you think everyone in your Church of Evernight is useless? Would they not know which Devil it was? Even putting that aside, the Evernight Goddess herself took a look at the time. This isn't something you need to worry about." Pallez chuckled, leaving Leonard embarrassed. "I'm protecting you by not telling you his name or appearance, because he has severe face blindness."

A question mark slowly formed in Leonard's mind. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know why, but he can't recognize people."

Pallez clicked his tongue twice. His tone turned rather peculiar as he brought it up. "Unless someone has spent a long time with him or has some obvious distinguishing feature, he can't remember them. Even if you spoke to him, he would have forgotten your face by now. It's a good thing that he doesn't recognize you. But if you recognized him, could you control yourself in front of him? Could you keep your composure?"

"It would be one thing if you attracted his attention, but you'd drag me into it, too," Pallez sighed. "In any case, I don't want to face him in my current state."

"..." Leonard scratched his hair. Unable to come up with anything, he could only sigh. "I understand, Old Man. Thank you for talking to me."

"What are you thanking me for? I just don't want to keep changing hosts." Pallez's voice gradually faded. He had expended a considerable amount of his accumulated power in his contest with the Devil. Now he could no longer stave off his exhaustion and urgently needed sleep to recover. "Whether you become one of the Red Gloves or something else is your own business. Don't wake me unless you're in danger..."

"All right," Leonard said firmly. "I understand."

65

In the cold wind of the cemetery late at night, the newly resurrected and thoroughly bewildered Mr. Fool, Klein Moretti, turned his head with difficulty. The bones in his neck seemed not to have fully healed, and the pain felt rather like a stiff neck from sleeping in the wrong position.

It really hurts... He couldn't help furrowing his brows. When the entire city had fallen silent, Ince Zangwill had somehow arrived at the Blackthorn Security Company. Klein had intended to pretend to be unconscious, but he simply couldn't stand by and watch that traitor approach the captain's body while cursing. He had barely managed a few amateurish moves before the man brutally killed him. The last thing he saw was the man picking up the urn.

Carefully avoiding the cemetery keeper, Klein left the cemetery, recalling what he had just done and planning what he needed to do next: head to Backlund, the "Land of Hope," the "City of Cities."

His hope of becoming stronger, the clues, and Ince Zangwill's whereabouts all pointed there. He had no choice but to go to Backlund. There was something else, too. When he had attempted to divine "the murderer who killed Dunn Smith" above the gray fog, he had suddenly felt a chill as though he had plunged into an ice cellar, along with a terror deeper than death. The warning from his spiritual intuition had made him stop the divination in a panic. Only after returning to the real world did he realize that cold sweat had soaked his back.

Phew... That murderer is even more terrifying than I imagined. Even the gray fog couldn't block it. I didn't feel this way when I divined the Eternal Blazing Sun. Could it be because the murderer bears me ill will? Or could his level be-no, that's wrong. That was a true god. He couldn't possibly rank higher than the Eternal Blazing Sun. My own fear must have amplified my spiritual intuition.

Before leaving, he looked back one final time toward Dunn's grave. Then, with a desolate sigh, he departed with determined steps.

After walking silently for a while longer, Klein began to feel tired. But as a "dead man," he had nothing except the clothes he wore, his Citrine Pendant, and Azik's Copper Whistle. He had no pounds, no soli, and no pennies. He was penniless.

Should I blow the Copper Whistle and ask Mr. Azik to help me out?... Thankfully, I still have the three hundred pounds Miss Justice gave me earlier. That should cover my expenses for quite a while... What day is it today? I'll withdraw the money tomorrow and buy a newspaper... Ah, I'm so sleepy... I can't go home... I can't let what I need to do drag Melissa and Benson into this... It isn't too cold tonight. I'll just find somewhere to sleep...

Thinking this, Klein found a sheltered corner and sat down. He took off his coat, draped it over himself, and fell asleep with his back against the wall.

He had not slept long before someone suddenly shook him awake. He saw a police officer holding a short baton and glaring fiercely at him.

"You can't sleep here!" the officer said viciously. "The streets and parks aren't places for lazy vagrants like you who refuse to work to sleep! That's what the current Poor Law says!"

The Poor Law? Klein froze for a moment. Given his sensitive circumstances, he did not argue. He picked up his coat and was just about to leave when the officer continued relentlessly, "How are there still vagrants around? What rotten luck!"

Still? That word stopped Klein in his tracks. He turned to look at the officer, hoping he would say more. Perhaps because Klein's clothes were reasonably neat and his manner suggested he was educated, the officer did not immediately abuse him. Instead, he looked him up and down several times and spoke in a tone that was unfriendly, but not quite contemptuous. "Do you have a problem?"

"Didn't you know there was a huge fire on Lower Street last week? It burned down more than half the neighborhood. The people and their shacks were all burned to a crisp. When the police went in to put down the unrest, they shot quite a few criminals who tried to take advantage of it to cause trouble, too! With fewer of those vagrants spoiling the city's appearance, the streets of Tingen have been much safer this past week. No one has to worry about getting robbed when they go out at night. Isn't that a good thing?"

"What are you still standing here for? Do you want to be arrested?"

The officer shook the handcuffs hanging from his belt, his expression hostile.

For a moment, Klein had no words.

He stayed no longer, turning and walking away. If being woken had initially left him a little irritable, then after hearing those words, all his irritation had been swept away by an indescribable sorrow. He knew he couldn't demand that people of this era abide by the moral standards of modern society, but, but-how could they do this? How could they treat the deaths of innocent people so casually, as something worth celebrating?

Don't vagrants' lives count? They only wanted to survive. Being homeless isn't necessarily their fault. How could you, how could you...

How could you say it in that tone?!

What chilled him even more was the thought of how many people might take that view for granted and consider it only natural to be pleased.

He shouted soundlessly in his heart, all traces of sleepiness gone. He walked the streets, stopping and starting, sometimes lost and anguished, sometimes determined and angry. And so he walked alone along the deserted streets until dawn.

After daybreak, he went into a bank to withdraw part of his money, then bought clothes, luggage, and a train ticket.

At the station, Klein hesitated uneasily for a long time. In the end, he could not suppress the urge to see his brother and sister one more time. He rushed out of the station and headed straight for their home on Daffodil Street. As it happened, the two siblings were going out. Klein followed Benson and Melissa, both dressed solemnly in black, for a long time, an invisible wall towering between them.

The sorrow of being unable to change fate even when he vaguely knew what was coming, the weakness of being able only to watch his captain die before his eyes, the helplessness of being so close to his family yet unable to reveal himself, the pain of seeing his peaceful family life collapse within mere hours, and the folly of having to struggle for survival amid danger while trying every possible means to kill a terrifyingly powerful enemy... All those emotions, all those barriers, were finally condensed into a clown's greasepaint-covered face, its smile exaggerated and ridiculous.

He bowed and offered the Sevia Chrysanthemums, watching as those brightly colored flowers finally brought a momentary glimmer to his sister's eyes, which had been dark and lifeless for days.

TBC

*Klein's journey to Backlund begins here.

*If you feel that what Edward does doesn't fit his identity, don't be surprised. The Monarch of Decay's true personality is completely different from his current one. Nearly all the preferences, interests, views, ways of dealing with people, and even speech patterns you've seen so far imitate the real "Edward Vaughan." Apart from his own internal thoughts in the first person, almost everything else is an act.