I found you

97

After receiving Klein's enigmatic response, Audrey, who had already agreed on an emergency means of contact with Xio and Fors, soon used Susie the golden retriever to pass Mr. Fool's hint on to the two ladies, presenting it as intelligence she had obtained through another channel.

In a corner of an old church, Xio unfolded the crumpled note as she considered how to confirm Lanevus's identity, create a disturbance, and seize the opportunity to avenge Williams... There's no need to confirm it? That really is Lanevus? Her eyes widened abruptly, and she hurriedly scanned the rest. The paper clearly read:

"You must report this only to the Church of the Evernight Goddess. Remind them that Lanevus possesses the divinity of the True Creator."

"Divinity? The True Creator's divinity?"

Xio blurted this out and looked in astonishment at the golden retriever who had delivered the letter, only to find her looking just as bewildered.

"What?" As Fors listened, she suddenly sensed something was wrong. She snatched the paper and rapidly read through it.

A moment later, her lips moved hesitantly, and she said, unsure whether to laugh or get angry, "This... this has to be a joke, right? How did we get mixed up in something involving an evil god and divinity?"

This was supposed to be nothing more than catching a crafty swindler worth two hundred pounds!

98

The devils, who had no respect for agreements whatsoever, immediately fled after learning that someone was hunting the corrupted. The special intuition of the Devil Pathway helped them keenly sense the approaching danger.

Lanevus's hands trembled slightly.

99

I'm still too weak... otherwise, I would choose to take revenge myself. But right now, I can only settle for the next best thing... never mind the helpers hidden around Lanevus-even he alone, after obtaining "divinity," should be beyond me... once they receive the intelligence, given how quickly the Nighthawks respond, they should act tonight. The Backlund Diocese ranks second only to the Church's headquarters and has plenty of powerful people. They won't need to wait for additional help...

Having given his instructions, Klein returned to the real world, put on some false whiskers, changed his hairstyle, and stared blankly into the mirror for several minutes.

He felt anticipation and excitement, but also melancholy and helplessness.

Before evening arrived, he left the Quelaag Club and returned to Minsk Street. On the way, he stopped at a general market and bought several masks, including a clown mask.

He had decided to watch the operation to capture Lanevus tonight!

He wanted to see with his own eyes the man pay for his earlier madness!

Of course, with his strength, he could only watch from very, very far away. He did not even have the right to approach.

He waited until eleven, when many people had already entered their dreams. Klein changed into a gray-blue worker's uniform and disguised himself, then put on a flat cap and circled several streets away, heading for the clock tower at the East Balam Dock.

Compared with the surrounding buildings, none more than three stories high, it was like a giant. It rose into the night, overlooking the area. Klein easily climbed into the clock tower and hurried through the darkness along a spiraling staircase whose end was nowhere in sight. Soon, he arrived above the enormous clock face, surrounded by dark yellow railings, with a pointed roof overhead that he could touch by reaching up.

He gazed at the union building in the distance for a few seconds, then took a step back, blending further into the darkness. At the same time, he took out a newly purchased mask and put it on.

-it was a clown with upturned lips and red greasepaint on its nose.

A happy clown.

100

Waiting for the show to begin was a troublesome business, because the Church of Evernight's members mainly belonged to the Death Pathway, which excelled at digging up graves and having its own graves dug up, and the Sleepless Pathway, which excelled at invading others' dreams and being caught red-handed in those dreams. Both pathways had an affinity for darkness, so they always preferred to fight at night to maximize their abilities. Barring any surprises, this operation against the True Creator's "flesh" would also be scheduled for the latter half of the night. There was enough time to sleep before coming back to watch.

Edward put Andariel away, went home to pick up some tea leaves, and told the True Creator that the Evernight Goddess might be coming to destroy his flesh. He did not know why the Church of Evernight had managed to get ahead of them, but this turn of events showed that the Aurora Order's intelligence network needed an upgrade.

The True Creator looked displeased, but did not take it too much to heart. If neither of them intervened, tonight's outcome was already decided. In any case, this commission ended here. After all, it was only a portion of divine flesh left as a backup for the Descent of the True Creator. Losing it would be a shame, but at most it would slow his recovery a little. It was not precious enough to warrant fighting the well-prepared Church of Evernight over it. In any case, the Descent of the True Creator had already succeeded.

Judging by his final perception, more than two hundred corrupted people remained. The Church of Evernight would deal with them; there was no need for the two of them to bother.

Around midnight, Edward estimated the timing and leisurely set out for the East Borough. When he arrived, the Church of Evernight's hounds had just finished their preparations. An enormous airship painted pitch-black descended soundlessly from the night overhead, as silent as a vulture before a hunt.

Quite the display. Edward simply stopped where he was, corrupted an owl into his servant, and sent it flying to the destination to act as his eyes.

At that moment, three figures in black trench coats quietly appeared before the two-story brick-red building. Their leader wore no hat and had closely cropped golden-brown hair. His dark green eyes were as deep as a lake without wind or light. The collars of both his shirt and trench coat stood high, covering the lower half of his face, and his hands were covered in gloves as red as blood.

A suitcase made of silvery metal was bound to his left hand by a chain of the same color.

The Goddess's sacred relic. I remember it's a bone sword... the one carrying it is... Edward thought back, only to find that neither the name nor the face came to him. As he always did, he performed an extremely quick keyword search in his mind. The result was "the person carrying this sacred relic is always the same," pointing specifically to Crestet Cesimir.

A Sequence 5 carrying a sacred relic. They really did come for the divinity.

Meanwhile, his "eyes" noticed another observer in a nearby tower. There was no aura of the Prisoner Pathway, nor any malice of the Devil Pathway. This was no helper. His gaze lingered for two seconds, then moved away.

Having carried the True Creator's divinity for so long, Lanevus had naturally acquired some powers of the Hanged Man Pathway, though they could not compare to those granted by an actual potion. His helpers were nowhere to be seen, so he took action himself, attempting to detonate the sleeping people around him as flesh bombs. However, the Sealed Artifact the Red Gloves had brought easily neutralized his attempt with an illusion.

After a brief exchange, Crestet Cesimir seized an opportunity and calmly asked, "To the Aurora Order, you are a blasphemer. Why didn't they execute you on the spot when they captured you before?"

Lanevus revealed his trademark mocking smile. "It's very simple. Because I am no longer merely Lanevus."

He paused, his gaze suddenly turning cold:

"I am now also the True Creator!"

At those words, Crestet Cesimir was horrified.

"Pfft." Seeing this, Edward could not help letting out a laugh. Then, staying in character, he immediately regained his composure.

Sorry, I've had special training and generally don't laugh, but calling yourself the True Creator just because you got a piece of flesh is simply too funny... still, Crestet Cesimir actually believed that nonsense. That proves the Evernight Goddess hasn't accurately grasped the true outcome of the Descent of the True Creator yet. The earlier smokescreen in the Aurora Order worked.

Though it was only a loose piece, this was genuine flesh of an evil god. Lanevus had no intention of prolonging the battle. First, he used the divinity to forcibly drive the people he had corrupted to mutate and charge at the Nighthawks, where they were either dispatched on the spot or fell asleep under the power of slumber. At the same time, he used an almost godlike aura to plunge everyone into panic. Even the gas lamps were all swallowed by shadows at that moment. Once the entire area fell silent, the Red Gloves, cowed beneath the evil god's might, could no longer fight with their Sealed Artifacts. Only Crestet Cesimir, who held a sacred relic and effectively carried the Evernight Goddess's aura, could match him. His enemies would instantly be reduced to a minimum.

Although the owl's sight and hearing were limited, events did unfold as Edward had expected. The absolute darkness lasted only a dozen seconds before a sharp ray of light pierced the shadows. Then the lights gradually reappeared, the airship that had fallen through the air rose again, and everything returned to normal.

Lanevus had failed. Understanding this, Edward made the owl take flight and glide silently through the Nighthawks' blind spots.

Crestet Cesimir drove the sacred relic with all his strength, completely destroying the flesh and stripping it from Lanevus. The True Creator should be able to sense that directly. There's no point in continuing to pursue Lanevus now. Whether he lives or dies makes no difference to me- Suddenly, something occurred to Edward. After circling once, the owl returned to its original position and looked up-the tower where someone had been watching was now empty.

The owl remained silent for a moment, then took off again. It flew into the space at the top of the tower and briefly sensed the lingering warmth and traces of presence.

After a long search, it landed at a sewer entrance.

101

Lanevus, who had already escaped amid the chaos and scouted the sewer routes here in advance, climbed, ran, and jumped adeptly through the darkness. Suddenly, he instinctively stopped and leaned backward.

Thud! A playing card embedded itself deep in the right side of his chest, blood rapidly dripping from its edge.

Lanevus looked up and, using his innate dark vision, saw his attacker. It was a man of average build in a worker's uniform, wearing a mask with upturned lips and a bright red nose.

A happy clown.

Klein hurled sharp-edged playing cards one after another like throwing knives. He had not let his desire for revenge cloud his mind. At that moment, he was calmer than ever before, like the most precise machine imaginable. Even the finest dealer would have admired his practiced, accurate movements. One card sliced into skin; another cut through flesh. The Star card severed a tendon in Lanevus's foot, while the Sun card embedded itself deep in the wall, level with his neck.

The two Beyonders engaged in a brief, lethal exchange in the narrow sewer. Both understood perfectly that they had to finish this as quickly as possible. They could not let the pursuing official Nighthawks catch up!

Smack! Lanevus knocked a card away, but it left a deep gash in his wrist. Suddenly, he stopped dodging and decided to charge at Klein, trading injury for injury in close combat. Thanks to the powers of the Hanged Man he had acquired, his body was far stronger than his current Sequence should allow. Klein did not meet him head-on, instead retreating deftly to put distance between them.

Sharp cracks exploded beside Klein's ears, and fists appeared in his vision, each blow heavier and faster than the last.

Crack, crack, crack! Bang, bang, bang!

Lanevus punched and kicked with savage speed. Several times, Klein narrowly avoided being hit, but his extraordinary balance always allowed him to evade by luck with movements that defied common sense. One moment he was on the wall, the next on the ground, as though performing acrobatics. Klein acted as if he intended to keep Lanevus occupied until the Nighthawks and authorities caught up. Whenever Lanevus showed signs of trying to escape, he clung to him relentlessly, giving him no chance.

Suddenly, Klein's Clown intuition stirred. He saw Lanevus make a feint to lure him closer! He checked his momentum and raised his guard. Sure enough, amid a teeth-grating scraping sound, Lanevus's upper body abruptly twisted around while his legs remained still, his face pointing straight backward and his toes forward. In that horrifying posture, Lanevus threw a punch at Klein's head with such force that the air cracked like an explosion.

Boom!

His fist struck empty air, still twenty or thirty centimeters from Klein's face. The gust it stirred ruffled Klein's hair. Klein had finally found his opening! Rather than use the gap to attack his enemy, he chanted a word in Ancient Hermes in a low, hoarse voice:

"Crimson!"

A charm? Lanevus's temple twitched, and he immediately lunged sideways to evade it. But Klein did not throw a charm. Instead, he kept his left fist tightly clenched and followed Lanevus's movements.

He lunged to the side as well and rolled along with him, the distance between them widening only slightly.

Is he bluffing? The thought had barely flashed through Lanevus's mind when his eyes clearly reflected the clown's upturned lips, along with the dark red flame that had ignited at some point inside his left fist.

This... Lanevus's gaze froze.

A faint crackling reached his ears, and a deep sense of peace instantly spread, enveloping both him and Klein.

What is he trying to do? He wants both of us to... Lanevus's eyelids drooped heavily. The fatigue and weakness he had previously suppressed seized this opportunity to fight back fiercely. He struggled to stay awake, hoping to rely on his body's current special qualities to endure the strongest phase of the sleep effect.

Klein, however, offered no resistance and swiftly fell asleep. But whenever he fell asleep unnaturally, he would instinctively wake up!

During the fight, once his playing-card knives proved ineffective, he had immediately taken out a Slumber Charm and gripped it tightly in his palm, waiting for an opportunity to use it-an opportunity to affect both himself and his enemy!

In just an instant, his unusually rational dreaming self forcibly broke free, and his eyes clearly reflected the swaying Lanevus.

He drew a sharp breath, twisted his waist and back, pulled his shoulder around, and drove his fist forward, striking Lanevus squarely in the throat! The blow shattered bone and sent flesh and blood flying.

Crack!

It was the sound of bones in his neck breaking. Lanevus staggered two steps backward and pressed against the wall.

After landing that punch, Klein had already reached into his pocket with his left hand and drawn two playing cards. Each tarot card plunged into one of Lanevus's eyes, and bloody fluid instantly streamed down. Then, taking advantage of Lanevus's lunge into empty space, he reached his back in two steps and wrapped both hands around his enemy's neck.

Crack!

-Klein exerted force with both arms and abruptly turned, snapping Lanevus's neck!

Having done all this, he stepped back twice and watched him.

Lanevus's card-pierced eyes stared weakly ahead as his body slowly crumpled. At the same time, he asked in bewildered, broken gasps:

"Why..."

"Did... you... kill... me..."

Klein, wearing his clown mask, looked at the enemy before him and answered with utter indifference, "No reason."

"No..." Lanevus's eyes widened, and he collapsed onto the sewer floor, unable to accept it. At last, his breathing stopped.

Just then, the seemingly calm Klein abruptly stepped forward, tensed his right leg, and kicked Lanevus's head with all his strength.

Bang! His neck, already mangled and shattered, could no longer withstand such force. Lanevus's head flew off like a ball and slammed into the wall, splattering it with red and white!

Watching this, Klein suddenly bent forward.

"Hahaha, hahaha."

"Hahahahahaha."

He laughed softly, madly, happily. The "clown" mask on his face was just as happy. Those upturned lips, that bright red nose, that white-painted face-all were so happy.

"Haha, haha... hahaha..."

Klein laughed until he could barely breathe, his laughter sounding worse than crying. After a few seconds, he finally calmed down, slowly straightened, and wiped his eyes facing the darkest part of the sewer.

Drop after drop of liquid slipped silently down and fell onto his collar. At that moment, he felt his Clown potion completely digest.

After briefly making the scene stranger and more complicated, Klein put away his mask and removed the traces of his presence. He hurried through a detour in the sewer, then climbed toward an exit that should have been in an inconspicuous part of the street. Squinting as he lifted the manhole cover, he thought the gas streetlamps seemed less dazzling than expected. Only then did he notice a pair of black leather shoes two meters directly in front of the raised cover.

...This is extremely awkward. Klein steadied himself. Looking up from the shoes, he saw a meticulously groomed middle-aged gentleman with medium-length brown hair and glasses looking curiously back at him.

Since he was already disguised anyway, Klein braced himself and pretended to be nothing more than a gentleman who happened to be passing through the sewer. "...Good evening, sir. I'm a private detective investigating something. Sorry you had to see this. I hope you can pretend I was never here. Goodbye."

With that, Klein hurried out of the sewer, pulled his cap low, and briskly walked off to the side. But the middle-aged man apparently had no intention of letting him leave just like that. He stepped sideways, blocking Klein's path precisely, and asked in a very interested tone:

"Mr. Detective, what are you investigating in the sewers so late at night?"

"...That involves confidential information concerning my client. I'm sorry, but I can't tell you." Klein answered with a smile that did not reach his eyes and tried another direction, only to be blocked again.

"I can tell you're wearing a disguise. You must be a cautious and excellent detective," the middle-aged man remarked with considerable humor, then persistently asked, "May I have your name and contact details?"

Realizing he would not be allowed to leave without answering today, Klein took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Reluctantly, he turned his head and offered a smile even more perfunctory than a customer-service smile:

"My name is Sherlock Moriarty," he said as he walked. "You can find my contact details in the newspaper. Goodbye, sir."

The middle-aged man indeed stopped blocking him. But after he had walked only four or five steps, a voice sounded behind him.

"Sherlock Moriarty?"

Is there a problem? Klein looked back and saw the brown-haired gentleman watching him with an odd expression. His tone had grown slightly amused as well. "Forgive me for asking, but do you also happen to have an archenemy named James Holmes?"

Klein felt as though he had been struck by lightning. His mouth slowly fell open, his vision gradually blurred, and he could not utter a word. Just as his brain stopped working, he heard the middle-aged gentleman ask him with another smile, "Hello. What should I call you?"

He had spoken in Chinese.

END (not) TBC

*This chapter had so many fragmented scenes that revising it took forever.

Contact with a fellow countryman established.

Klein: Boohoo, senior, do you know how I've been living all this time? Senior, boohoo, please carry me, boohoo, your cooking is so good.

Edward: There it is. That feeling from when I first tricked Roselle is back.

Roselle: (These obscenities have been censored in accordance with laws and regulations.)