As Azik muttered to himself, he instinctively glanced at Quentin Cohen, seemingly seeking a hint or inspiration.
Cohen, whose deep blue eyes were set in sunken sockets, shook his head without hesitation.
"I don't recall anything at all."
"...All right, perhaps the roots of the words are simply similar." Azik lowered his left hand and smiled self-deprecatingly.
Klein was slightly disappointed by this result, but he still could not resist adding:
"Mentor, Mr. Azik, you know how interested I am in exploring and reconstructing the history of the Fourth Epoch. If you remember anything or obtain any other materials, could you write to me?"
"No problem." Thanks to what had happened today, the silver-haired senior associate professor Cohen was quite pleased with Klein.
Azik nodded as well.
"Is your address still the same?"
"For now, but I'll be moving soon. I'll write to let you know when I do," Klein answered respectfully.
Senior Associate Professor Cohen swung his black cane.
"You really should move somewhere better."
Just then, Klein glanced at the newspaper in Azik's hand and said, choosing his words:
"Mentor, Mr. Azik, what did the newspaper say about Welch and Naya? I only heard a little from the police officer investigating the case."
Azik was about to answer when Senior Associate Professor Cohen, who did not yet have many wrinkles, suddenly followed the gold chain on his black tailcoat and drew out a pocket watch.
Click!
He pressed it open, glanced at it, and pointed his cane forward.
"The meeting is about to begin. Azik, we can't delay any longer. Give Moretti the newspaper."
"All right." Azik handed Klein the newspaper he had finished reading. "We have to go upstairs. Remember to write. Cohen's address and mine haven't changed. It's still the History Department office at Hoy University, haha."
He turned with a smile and left the room with Cohen.
Klein took off his hat in salute and watched the two gentlemen leave. Only then did he bid farewell to the office's owner, Havon Stone, and stroll down the corridor and out of the three-story gray building.
In the sunlight, he raised his cane and unfolded the newspaper, seeing its masthead:
"Tingen Morning Post."
There really are quite a few newspapers and magazines in Tingen... The morning post, the evening paper, the Honest People Paper, the Backlund Daily, the Tussock Times, Family Magazine, Story Review... With barely any effort, seven or eight names surfaced in Klein's mind. Of course, some were not local publications, arriving through "distribution" by steam train.
With industrialized papermaking and printing increasingly advanced, the price of a newspaper had fallen to one penny, bringing them within reach of an ever-wider readership.
Without examining the other contents closely, Klein soon found the report on the "burglary and murders" in the news section;
"...According to the police, the scene at Mr. Welch's home was horrifying, and all the gold, jewelry, banknotes, and anything valuable and easily carried away were missing. Not even a copper penny remained. There is reason to believe that these are cruel and vicious criminals who will not hesitate to kill innocent people who have seen their faces, such as Mr. Welch and Ms. Naya."
"This is a trampling of the kingdom's laws! This is a provocation against public safety! No one wishes to suffer a similar fate! Fortunately, the police have identified the perpetrators and arrested the principal offender. We will provide further coverage as soon as possible."
"Reporter, John Browning."
They've doctored the story and covered things up... Walking along the tree-lined avenue, Klein gave an almost imperceptible nod.
He casually flipped through the newspaper, reading other news and serialized stories as he strolled.
Suddenly, every hair on his back stood on end, as though tiny needles were pricking him.
Is someone watching me? Studying me? Monitoring me?
Thoughts arose one after another, and Klein vaguely understood.
Back on Earth, he had sometimes sensed an unseen gaze and eventually discovered its source, but never had his reaction been this clear or his "conclusion" this definite!
The same held true of similar incidents in the original owner's fragmented memories!
Was it transmigrating, or that strange "Luck Enhancement Ritual," that strengthened my "sixth sense"?
Klein resisted the urge to look for whoever was watching him. Imitating what he had seen in novels, films, and television dramas, he slowly stopped, folded his newspaper, and gazed toward the River Hoy.
Then, as though admiring the scenery, he turned his head little by little before turning around naturally, taking in his surroundings.
Apart from trees, lawns, and students passing in the distance, there was no one here.
Yet Klein was certain someone was still watching him!
This...
Klein's heartbeat quickened, his blood surging with each violent thump.
He unfolded the newspaper and half concealed his face, afraid someone would notice something wrong with his expression.
At the same time, he tightened his grip on his cane and prepared to draw his gun.
One step, two steps, three steps. Klein moved forward slowly, just as before.
The feeling of being watched and scrutinized remained, but no danger suddenly erupted.
His body somewhat stiff, he walked the length of the tree-lined avenue and reached the public carriage stop. Fortunately, a carriage was just arriving.
"Iron... Zoute... No, Champagne Street." Klein rejected his own ideas in succession.
Initially, he had intended to go straight home, but he feared leading the watcher, whose intentions and disposition were unknown, to the apartment. Next, he considered going to Zouteland Street to seek help from the Nighthawks, or rather, his colleagues, but worried that the other party was trying to startle him into exposing himself. In the end, he could only pick a destination at random.
"Six pence," the fare collector replied with practiced ease.
Klein had not brought his gold pounds today, leaving them in his usual hiding place for money and taking only two soli in banknotes. His earlier journey had cost the same amount, leaving him with exactly one soli and six pence. He took out all his coins and handed them to the fare collector.
He boarded the carriage and found a seat. As the door closed, Klein finally felt the unease of being watched disappear!
He exhaled slowly, feeling his hands and feet tremble slightly.
What should I do?
What should I do next?
Klein looked out the carriage window, trying his hardest to think of a solution.
Until I know the watcher's intentions, I should assume they're malicious!
Ideas surfaced one after another, only for Klein to reject them in turn. Having never experienced anything like this, he spent several minutes before finding a direction.
I have to notify the Nighthawks. Only they can truly resolve this trouble!
But I can't go straight there. That would expose them. Perhaps that's exactly what the other party wants...
Following this train of thought, Klein roughly devised one plan after another, his ideas gradually becoming clearer.
Phew!
He exhaled a stale breath, regained a basic measure of calm, and carefully watched the scenery rushing past outside.
Nothing unexpected happened before the carriage reached Champagne Street, but the moment Klein opened the door and stepped down, that uneasy sensation of being stared at and watched returned!
Pretending not to notice anything, he took his newspaper and cane and strolled toward Zouteland Street.
However, instead of entering that street, he circled around to Red Moon Street behind it, where there was a beautiful white square and a cathedral with a pointed spire!
Saint Selena Cathedral!
The Church of the Evernight Goddess's headquarters in Tingen!
As a believer, there was nothing at all strange about coming to attend Mass and pray on a day off.
The cathedral had a distinctly Earth-like Gothic style and was black overall. On its front facade stood a tall, weathered bell tower, rising into the clouds from a massive central buttress between red-and-blue latticed windows.
Klein entered the cathedral and followed the passage toward the main prayer hall. Along the way, narrow, tall windows inlaid with intricate blue and red patterns admitted strands of colored light, blue so deep it was nearly black and red like the moon, making the surroundings exceptionally dim.
The feeling of being watched disappeared again. Keeping his expression unchanged, without showing any joy, Klein walked step by step to the open entrance of the main prayer hall.
There were no tall windows here, and profound darkness dominated. But behind the arched sanctuary, on the wall directly opposite the entrance, fifteen to twenty fist-sized round openings pierced through to the outside, allowing brilliant, pure sunlight to shine in, concentrated and luminous.
It was like a traveler in the night suddenly looking up and seeing the starry sky, seeing points of brilliance, so exalted, so pure, so sacred.
Even though he had always believed that deities could be studied and understood, Klein could not help lowering his head.
Amid the bishop's low, gentle sermon, he quietly walked down the aisle dividing the seats on either side, found an empty place near the aisle, and slowly sat down.
After resting his cane against the back of the seat ahead, Klein removed his hat and placed it on his lap with the newspaper. Then he clasped his hands and pressed them against his lowered forehead.
He performed the entire sequence slowly and methodically, as though he had truly come to pray.
Klein closed his eyes and quietly listened to the bishop's voice in the darkness of his vision:
"They were naked, without clothing or food, with no covering against the cold."
"They were drenched by heavy rain, and for lack of shelter, they clung to the rocks."
"They were mothers whose children had been taken away, orphans who had lost hope, and poor people forced from the righteous path."
"The night did not abandon them, but bestowed its favor upon them."
...(Note 1)
The echoes overlapped, each word reaching his ears. Darkness filled Klein's vision, and he felt as though his soul were being cleansed.
He calmly experienced all this until the bishop finished his sermon and concluded Mass.
The bishop opened the door to the nearby confessional, and gentlemen and ladies began to queue.
Klein opened his eyes, put on his hat, picked up his cane and newspaper, and rose with the others to join the orderly queue.
After more than twenty minutes, his turn finally came.
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, and darkness once again filled his vision.
"Child, what would you like to say?" The bishop's voice came from behind a partition made of wooden slats.
Klein took the Special Operations Department Team Seven badge from his pocket and passed it to the bishop through a gap.
"Someone is following me. I want to see Dunn Smith." As though influenced by the darkness, his tone had softened as well.
The bishop took the badge and, after a few seconds of silence, said:
"Turn right outside the confessional and go to the end. There's a concealed door beside it. Once you enter, someone will guide you."
As he spoke, he pulled a cord inside the room, making a certain priest hear a bell ring.
Klein retrieved his badge, took off his hat and pressed it to his chest, and bowed slightly. Then he turned and pushed the door open to leave.
After confirming that the feeling of being watched had not returned, he put his black half top hat back on. Carrying his cane, with no unnecessary expression on his face, he turned right and walked all the way to the side of the arched sanctuary.
On the wall facing its side, he found the concealed door, opened it soundlessly, and slipped inside.
The concealed door closed quietly. A middle-aged man in black priestly robes appeared in the glow of the gas lamps, coming into Klein's view.
"What is it?" the middle-aged priest asked succinctly.
Klein showed his badge and repeated what he had just told the bishop.
Without asking anything more, the middle-aged priest turned and walked on in silence.
Klein nodded, adjusted his hat, and followed quietly with his black cane in hand.
Rozanne had said that turning left at the crossroads on the way to Chanis Gate led to Saint Selena Cathedral.
Note 1: Adapted from chapter 24 of the Book of Job in the Old Testament.