For an instant, Klein thought he had transmigrated back, but the elegant gas lamp enclosed in a brass grille and Old Neil's silver-inlaid tin of ground coffee brought him back to reality.
Was Emperor Roselle, his predecessor in transmigration, really a fellow countryman?
Had he recorded his secrets in simplified Chinese, which did not exist in this world?
With an indescribable feeling of "meeting an old acquaintance in a foreign land," Klein swiftly scanned the three manuscript pages in his hands:
"November 18. What a wondrous thing. A fanciful experiment and an accidental mistake led me to discover a poor fellow trapped amid storms, lost in the depths of darkness. He can only draw slightly closer to the real world during each month's full moon, yet even then, he cannot make his cries reach it. He is fortunate. He met me, the protagonist of this era."
"After writing the passage above, I read it through and suddenly felt rather wistful. Even when using Chinese characters, I've unconsciously adopted a strong translationese style. Forty years have passed in the blink of an eye. My old memories really do feel like a dream now."
"January 1, 1184. A grand New Year's party. Madam Floren truly is a stunner."
"January 2. The gentlemen on my diplomatic committee are all stupid asses!"
"January 3. My original choice was still too hasty. Looking at it now, 'Apprentice,' 'Seer,' and 'Marauder' would all have been better. Unfortunately, there's no turning back."
"January 4. Why are my children so stupid? I've said it ten thousand times: don't be fooled by those charlatans. No, perhaps those charlatans have been fooled themselves. The key to potions isn't mastering them, but digesting them! Not exploring, but acting! And a potion's name isn't merely its core symbol; it is also a concrete image, and, more importantly, the 'key' to digestion!"
"September 22. An alliance against me is taking shape. From Feysac in the north and Loen in the east to Feynapotter in the south, my enemies have finally come together. But I am not afraid. I will show them through facts that the generational gap in weaponry and knowledge cannot be bridged by numbers or low-Sequence Beyonders. Besides, it's not as though I have none under my command. As for the higher end, heh, have they forgotten who I am?"
"September 23. I've lost contact with the ships searching for the 'Forsaken Land of the Gods.' I should consider inventing the wireless telegraph. Hopefully, it won't be affected by storms."
"September 24. Miss Ithaca is even more charming than Madam Floren. Perhaps I am merely missing my youth."
These were traced copies, and because Chinese characters were complex, each character had been enlarged considerably. As such, there was little content on each page. Their reverse sides had even been left blank for preservation and research. Even so, Klein's heart surged as he read. Emperor Roselle's description of the key to potions, in particular, filled him with the wild joy of having found an "approach to the problem" and grasped a priceless secret.
Perhaps this will be the guiding light for my future path as a Beyonder!
Hmm, these three manuscript pages are diary entries from different periods. It seems Emperor Roselle had a habit of noting the year only at its beginning. For now, there's no way to determine which years the November and September pages belong to...
Who was the poor fellow he discovered?
What exactly did digestion and acting mean?
Where was the Forsaken Land of the Gods?
Questions boiled up in Klein's heart alongside his delighted surprise, making him wish he could immediately collect Emperor Roselle's entire diary and read it from beginning to end!
"Klein?" Just then, Old Neil spoke from across the table in puzzlement.
Klein snapped out of his reverie and hurriedly smiled to cover it up.
"I thought I might be the most special one and wanted to try deciphering and interpreting it."
"You really are young." Old Neil chuckled and nodded. "I once thought I was the most special one, too."
Klein flipped through the three manuscript pages in his hands. After making sure he had missed nothing, he handed them back and asked with feigned casualness:
"Are these the only pages we have?"
I want to read more of Emperor Roselle's diary!
"Did you think there would be a lot?" Old Neil stroked the manuscript and scoffed, his wrinkles deepening. "There aren't many incidents involving Beyonders and the mystical each year to begin with. Sigh, it's mainly because those supernatural species are gradually dying out on our Northern Continent. Without them, there are no more potions, so there are fewer and fewer Beyonders. Sigh, over these past few centuries, dragons, giants, and elves have all become records in books. Even the sea folk no longer appear in coastal waters."
Hearing this, Klein suddenly recalled a joke and immediately smiled.
"I think it's time we established a 'Dragon and Giant Protection Society.'"
Old Neil looked utterly baffled. It took him quite a while to understand what Klein meant. Once he did, he patted the table and laughed heartily, with little regard for gentlemanly decorum.
"Haha, Klein, you're quite a humorous fellow. It's a tradition of our Kingdom of Loen. A young man can't go wrong with a little humor. I think we shouldn't be too narrow-minded. Why only dragons and giants? It should be called the 'Magical Animal Protection Society.'"
"No, no, no. How could we forget those poor plants?" Klein shook his head.
At that, he and Old Neil exchanged a look and spoke in unison:
"Magical Creature Protection Society!"
As soon as the words left their mouths, the two shared a knowing laugh, and much of the unfamiliarity between them disappeared.
"There are fewer and fewer young people as entertaining as you... Where was I?" Old Neil smiled, his face creasing with wrinkles. "I remember now. There aren't many incidents involving Beyonders and the mystical each year to begin with, and idiots who worship Emperor Roselle are a minority among minorities. Getting three manuscript pages is already quite good... Hmm, the other cathedrals or dioceses should have some more..."
He murmured a few words, picked up the requisition slip Klein had placed on the table earlier, and glanced at it.
"Pistol ammunition, rifle ammunition, or ammunition for a high-pressure steam rifle?"
"A revolver," Klein answered truthfully.
"All right, I'll get it. Ahem, do you have a shoulder holster? As a gentleman, you mustn't have anything bulging at or below your waist in public." Old Neil made a joke any man would understand.
"Heh, no. Do I need to get the captain to add it?" Klein played along with a smile.
Old Neil stood up.
"No need. We just have to record it properly. It falls under 'accessories.' Repeat after me: 'accessories.'"
"Were you a teacher before?" Klein asked in amusement.
"I spent some time at the Church's Sunday schools and free schools." Old Neil waved the slip, took a key from the drawer, and opened the iron door leading to the inner room.
Beyonders don't seem that different from ordinary people... Klein muttered inwardly, turning his gaze back to the three diary pages on the table.
Emperor Roselle really was involved in mysticism...
His diary is worth a fortune...
To others, these are merely sheets of wastepaper, and who knows when they'll be deciphered. To me, they're treasure!
I wonder where the rest of the diary is...
I have to find a way to get more...
Klein's thoughts churned, refusing to settle until Old Neil emerged from the inner room and closed the iron door.
"Ten demon-hunting bullets, thirty pistol rounds, a cowhide shoulder holster, and a Special Operations Department Team Seven badge. Count them, try it on, and sign the register." Old Neil placed the items in his hands on the table.
The pistol rounds were neatly arranged in three layers inside a cardboard box. Like the bullets at Klein's home, they were golden and rather slender.
The "demon-hunting bullets" were held in a small iron box. They had the same shape as ordinary pistol rounds, but their surfaces were silvery white. On closer inspection, they bore intricate, dazzling patterns, and even their bases were engraved with a tiny holy emblem of "stars and a crimson half-moon against a black background."
The cowhide holster felt sturdy, and its straps had buckles. Beside it lay a badge half the size of a palm. Against its iron-colored background were the silver-inlaid words "Awwa County Police Department" and "Special Operations Department Team Seven." They formed two nearly closed circles around an emblem of "crossed swords flanking a crown."
"A pity it isn't a Nighthawks badge," Klein said, half wistfully and half probing.
Old Neil smiled and merely urged Klein to try on the shoulder holster.
Taking off his coat, Klein struggled for quite a while before fastening the holster snugly beneath his left arm.
"Not bad." He left it on and put his formal coat back on.
Old Neil looked him over twice and nodded in satisfaction.
"A perfect fit. My eye is as accurate as ever."
After putting the other items in his pockets and signing the register, Klein chatted with Old Neil a little longer before saying goodbye and leaving.
Halfway back, he suddenly slapped his forehead in frustration.
"I forgot to ask more about Sequences and potions. It's all because of Emperor Roselle's diary..."
He still did not know the starting Sequence-Sequence 9-of the complete "pathway" controlled by the Church of the Evernight Goddess.
Rozanne seemed to have mentioned it... Sleepless? Just as Klein slowly walked toward the stairs, a figure came clattering down.
He wore tight trousers that allowed easy movement, and his white shirt was untucked. He had the distinctly romantic air of a poet. It was the black-haired, green-eyed police officer who had previously searched Klein's home. The two had already seen each other upstairs earlier, but had not spoken.
"Good afternoon." The poetic young Nighthawk smiled in greeting.
"Good afternoon. I suppose I don't need to introduce myself?" Klein replied humorously.
"No need. You left quite an impression on me." The young Nighthawk extended his right hand. "Leonard Mitchell, a Sequence 8 'Midnight Poet.'"
Sequence 8... He really is a poet... Klein briefly shook his hand and asked with a smile:
"I left quite an impression on you?"
Leonard Mitchell's green eyes were deep as he answered with a faint smile:
"You have a special air about you."
...That sounds so gay... The corner of Klein's mouth twitched, and he forced a smile. "I don't think so myself."
"You experienced an incident like that and didn't accept our protection immediately, yet you're still alive. That alone is special enough." Leonard pointed ahead. "I need to relieve the captain. See you tomorrow."
"See you tomorrow." Klein stepped aside to let him pass.
After Klein disappeared step by step at the end of the stairs, Leonard Mitchell suddenly turned around. Staring at the dim yellow light and stone floor, he murmured to the empty air:
"Did you notice anything..."
"As expected, there's nothing special about him..."