"All right." Klein bowed slightly, took off his low-crowned top hat, and put it back on. Inwardly, he continued imagining what Sealed Artifact 0-08 looked like.
A very ordinary-looking quill?
It didn't need ink to write?
Then what did it actually do? Why was it so highly classified and considered "extremely dangerous"?
Could it be a pen of causality that killed anyone whose name you wrote?
No, that would be too heaven-defying. Ince Zangwill wouldn't have needed to flee...
Klein had just turned to leave when Dunn Smith suddenly called out behind him:
"Wait, I forgot something."
"What?" Klein turned back, his eyes full of confusion.
Dunn put away his pocket watch and smiled.
"Remember to see our accountant, Mrs. Orianna, later and get an advance of four weeks' wages, twelve pounds in total. After that, you'll receive only half your wages each week until you've repaid it."
"That's too much. There's no need. I can take less," Klein said instinctively.
He had no objection to an advance. After all, he didn't even have the fare for a public carriage home. But receiving the enormous sum of twelve pounds at once still frightened him a little.
"No, it's necessary." Dunn shook his head with a smile. "Think about it. Do you still want to live in your current apartment? You even have to share a bathroom with several other households. Even if you don't consider yourself, you should consider the lady. Besides..."
Seeing Klein nod in agreement, he paused, looked over his clothes a few times with a smile, and said meaningfully:
"Besides, you need a cane, and you'll have to buy a new suit."
Klein froze for a second before understanding dawned. His face immediately grew a little hot, because the suit he was wearing was cheap.
Normally, a top hat had to be made of silk and cost five to six soli, a bow tie three soli, a silver-inlaid cane seven to eight soli, a shirt three soli, trousers, a waistcoat, and a formal tailcoat around seven pounds, and leather boots nine to ten soli. Altogether, an outfit cost at least eight pounds and seven soli. Of course, a respectable gentleman also needed a watch chain, a pocket watch, and a wallet.
Back then, the original Klein and his elder brother Benson had scrimped and saved some money, then gone to ask at a clothing shop. In the end, they had slunk away without even daring to haggle, settling for a suit each from a cheap shop near Iron Cross Street, for less than two pounds in total.
It was because of this incident that the prices of clothes had left such a profound impression on the original Klein.
"All... all right," Klein answered with a slight stammer.
Like the original Klein, he cared about saving face.
Dunn took out his pocket watch again, pressed it open, and glanced at it.
"Or perhaps you should see Mrs. Orianna first? I don't know how long you'll spend with Old Neil. Mrs. Orianna will be heading home soon."
"All right." Keenly feeling his poverty, Klein offered no objection.
Dunn returned to the desk and tugged one of the hanging cords.
"I'll have Rozanne take you."
The cord moved, and gears turned. In the Blackthorn Security Company's reception hall, Rozanne heard the soft ringing of the bell hanging beside her. She hurriedly stood and carefully went downstairs.
Before long, she appeared in front of Klein.
Dunn Smith smiled jokingly.
"I didn't interrupt your rest, did I? Well, take Moretti to Mrs. Orianna."
Rozanne discreetly pursed her lips and answered "cheerfully":
"Yes, Captain."
"That's all?" Klein blurted out in surprise.
Didn't getting a salary advance from "finance" require you to approve a slip or write something, Captain?
"So?" Dunn asked in puzzlement.
"I mean, don't I need your signature to get an advance from Mrs. Orianna?" Klein phrased his question as plainly as possible.
"Oh, no, there's no need. Rozanne can serve as a witness," Dunn Smith answered, pointing at the brown-haired girl.
Captain, there's practically no management in our "financial management"... Klein resisted the urge to complain and turned to follow Rozanne out of the room.
Just then, he heard Dunn call out again:
"Wait, there's something else."
Could you finish everything in one go? Klein turned back with a smile.
"Please go ahead."
Dunn pressed his temple.
"When you see Old Neil, remember to collect ten Demon Hunting Bullets."
"Me? Demon Hunting Bullets?" Klein asked in surprise.
"Don't you have Welch's revolver? You don't have to hand it in." Dunn slipped one hand into his pocket. "With Demon Hunting Bullets, you'll be able to protect yourself if you really encounter some strange danger. Uh, at least they'll give you courage."
You could have left out that last part... Klein had been worrying about precisely this issue, so he answered without hesitation:
"All right, I'll remember!"
"I'll need to write an official document for that. Wait a moment." Dunn Smith sat down, picked up a dark red fountain pen, and swiftly wrote a "slip," signed it, and stamped it.
"Thank you, Captain." Klein accepted it sincerely.
He slowly stepped back and turned around again.
"Wait."
Dunn called out yet again.
...Captain, you only look thirty-something. Why are you showing signs of premature senility? Klein forced a smile and turned back to ask:
"Is there anything else?"
"I forgot just now. You've never practiced shooting, so Demon Hunting Bullets won't be much use to you. Here's what we'll do: collect another thirty ordinary rounds every day. When you go out, take the opportunity to practice at the underground shooting range down the street, at 3 Zouteland Street. Most of it belongs to the police department, but there's a section reserved for us Nighthawks. Ah, right, you'll also need to collect a badge from Old Neil, or you won't be able to enter the range." Dunn patted his forehead, took the "slip" back from Klein, quickly added the other details, and stamped it again.
"Good marksmen are fed on bullets. Don't take it lightly." Dunn handed the amended "slip" back to Klein.
"I understand." Afraid of danger, Klein wished he could go that very day.
He took two steps toward the door, then cautiously half turned and chose his words:
"Captain, there's nothing else, right?"
"Nothing else." Dunn nodded firmly.
Klein breathed a sigh of relief and walked all the way out the door, fighting the urge throughout to turn back and ask, "Really nothing else?"
He resisted the impulse and finally left the "duty room" "without a hitch."
"The captain's always like this. He often forgets things," Rozanne whispered slanderously as she walked beside him. "Even my grandmother has a better memory. Of course, he only forgets little things. Yes, little things. Klein, I'll call you Klein from now on. Mrs. Orianna is a kind person, very easy to get along with. Her father is a clockmaker, and he's very skilled..."
Listening to the brown-haired girl's rambling chatter, Klein climbed the stairs and returned to the upper floor, where he met Mrs. Orianna in the outermost office on the right.
She was a black-haired lady in a ruffled dress. She looked to be in her thirties, with fashionable curls and clear, smiling green eyes. She was delicate-featured and elegant.
After hearing Rozanne relay Dunn Smith's instructions, Orianna took out a notepad and wrote up an advance form.
"Sign here. Do you have a seal? If not, use your fingerprint."
"All right." Klein completed the procedure with practiced ease.
Orianna took out a brass key and opened the safe in the room. As she counted out the pounds, she said with a smile:
"You're very lucky. There's enough cash today. By the way, Klein, did the captain invite you because you were involved in a supernatural incident and had a particular expertise?"
"Yes, madam. Your intuition is very accurate." Klein did not stint on praise.
Orianna took out four banknotes with pale gray backgrounds and deep black designs, then locked the safe again. Turning around, she said with a smile:
"Because it was the same for me."
"Really?" Klein expressed an appropriate degree of surprise.
"Do you know about the serial killer who caused a sensation throughout Tingen City sixteen years ago?" Orianna handed Klein the four banknotes.
"...I remember! The Bloody Butcher who killed five young girls, taking the hearts of some and the stomachs of others? When I was little, my mother often used that story to frighten my younger sister," Klein said after a moment's thought.
He took the banknotes and found that there were two five-pound notes and two one-pound notes, all with gray backgrounds and black designs, with intricate patterns at the four corners and special anti-counterfeiting watermarks.
The former were slightly larger. At their center was Henry Augustus I, the fifth king of the Kingdom of Loen and a direct ancestor of George III. He wore a white wig, had a round face and narrow eyes, and looked exceptionally stern. Yet to Klein, he seemed indescribably endearing.
These were five-pound notes!
Almost four weeks of Benson's wages!
At the center of the one-pound notes was George III's father, the previous king, William Augustus VI. This "forceful ruler" had a thick beard and a resolute gaze. During his reign, the Kingdom of Loen had broken free of its outdated constraints and once again risen to the top of the nations.
These were all "good kings"... Klein faintly caught the refreshing scent of banknote ink.
"Yes. If the Nighthawks hadn't arrived in time, I would have been the sixth victim." A trace of lingering fear remained in Mrs. Orianna's voice, even though more than a decade had passed.
"It sounds like that serial killer-no, butcher-was a Beyonder?" Klein carefully folded the notes and placed them in the inside pocket of his suit, then patted the area several times to make sure.
"Yes." Mrs. Orianna nodded gravely. "He had killed many more people before that. The reason he was caught that time was that he was preparing a demonic ritual."
"No wonder he needed different internal organs... Sorry, madam, for bringing back unpleasant memories," Klein said sincerely.
Orianna chuckled. "I stopped being afraid long ago... Back then, I was studying accounting at a business school. Afterward, I came here. Well, I won't keep you. You still need to see Old Neil."
"Goodbye, madam." Klein removed his hat and bowed, then left the office. Before going downstairs, he could not help patting his inside pocket again to confirm that the twelve pounds were still there.
He turned right at the crossroads and walked on. Before long, he saw a half-open iron door.
Knock, knock, knock.
Amid the knocking, an elderly voice came from within:
"Come in."
Klein pushed open the iron door and found a narrow room with space for only a table and two chairs.
On the far side of the room was another iron door, tightly locked. Behind the table, an old man with graying hair and a classical black robe was reading several yellowed pages by gaslight.
He raised his head and looked toward the doorway.
"You're Klein Moretti? Little Rozanne came by earlier and said you were very polite."
"Miss Rozanne is a very friendly person. Good afternoon, Mr. Neil." Klein removed his hat in greeting.
"Sit down." Neil pointed at an intricately patterned, silver-inlaid tin on the table. "Would you like a cup of hand-ground coffee?"
The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and around his mouth were deep, and his dark red eyes were slightly cloudy.
"You don't seem to be drinking any yourself?" Klein keenly noticed that Neil's ceramic cup contained plain water.
"Haha, it's a habit of mine. I don't drink coffee after three in the afternoon," Neil explained with a laugh.
"Why?" Klein asked casually.
Neil looked into Klein's eyes with a smile.
"I'm afraid I won't sleep well at night. Then I'd hear whispers from inexplicable beings."
...For a moment, Klein had no idea how to respond, so he changed the subject:
"Mr. Neil, what documents and books should I read?"
As he spoke, he took out the "slip" Dunn Smith had written.
"Things related to history. Complicated, fragmented things. Honestly, I've been trying to learn, but I can only grasp the basics. The rest is too troublesome. Diaries people kept at the time, popular books, epitaphs, and so on and so forth." Neil complained, "For instance, these pages here require more detailed historical records to deduce their specific contents."
"Why?" Klein was a little confused.
Neil pointed at the yellowed pages in front of him.
"This is a diary Roselle Gustav lost before his death. To keep it secret, he recorded everything using strange symbols he invented himself."
Emperor Roselle? My transmigrator predecessor? Klein froze for a moment, then listened intently.
"Because many people believe he didn't truly die, but became a hidden deity, cultists who worship him have continued holding various rituals in an attempt to obtain power. We occasionally encounter such cases and obtain a few original pages or transcribed copies of his notes." Neil shook his head. "To this day, no one has deciphered the true meaning of those special symbols, so the Holy Cathedral permits us to retain copies for study, hoping for an unexpected breakthrough."
At this point, Neil smiled proudly.
"I've already deciphered a few of the symbols and confirmed that they represent numbers. Look what I've discovered: this is actually a diary! Yes, I hope to compare historical events on different dates back then, especially events surrounding the emperor, with the entries for the corresponding days, and thereby decipher more symbols."
"A brilliant approach, isn't it?" The deeply wrinkled, gray-haired old gentleman looked at Klein with shining eyes.
Klein nodded in agreement.
"Yes."
"Haha, you can take a look too. You'll have to start helping me with this work tomorrow." Old Mr. Neil pushed the yellowed pages toward Klein.
Klein turned them the right way up, and after just one glance, he froze completely!
Although those "symbols" had been copied very clumsily and were slightly distorted, there was absolutely no mistaking them...
Because this was the writing he knew best:
Chinese!
Fucking simplified Chinese, at that!
PS: Please vote with recommendation tickets~