"This kind of last will and request, just hearing it, you know something's not right."
Shad, whose hand was being grasped beside the bed, didn't show much expression on his face. However, he clearly understood that a detective precisely predicting his own death and taking in a not-so-bright vagrant, leaving all his possessions behind for what seemed like a simple request—there was no way that simple request would actually be simple.
The man in front of him likely had more than just the identity of a detective, but Shad, now occupying this new body, was not the original person. Even if the original Shad didn't know the truth, the foreign visitor now in his place understood that he shouldn't easily get involved in something that clearly didn't feel right. Otherwise…
"If you don't agree, I guarantee that after my death, you won't get a single penny from me. Nothing here will belong to you. You'll become a vagrant again—no gas lamps, no fireplace, no three meals a day, not even a bed. You'll return to your old life…"
But Shad had no choice but to agree. He had nothing in this world. Weighing the option of becoming a vagrant and starting from scratch versus getting involved in something troublesome but gaining property, Shad knew both choices were bad, but he had to pick one.
Moreover, just by standing here and hearing these words, he was already involved. Backing out wasn't an option. Shad understood how to assess the situation and weigh his circumstances.
"But is Mr. Sparrow Hamilton's death related to the supernatural? Could it be connected to the voice in my head?"
He thought, unable to analyze any further conclusions, but then unexpectedly, the voice in his head spoke again:
"It is related to the supernatural. He died because of an [Artifact]. This has nothing to do with you."
The voice was still as elegant and composed as before. Even though the information was brief, the murmured voice still sounded like poetry being recited.
"[Artifact]?"
In the ancient and graceful language used by the woman, this was a special term. Different languages convey different amounts of information, and in the language the woman was using, this particular word carried a vast amount of meaning, including concepts like "sealed item," "contained object," and "cursed item."
Shad was thankful that he could understand this language. From the term, he gleaned the meaning of "a special object capable of wielding supernatural power, but extremely dangerous."
This gave Shad a rather ominous impression of this world.
"So, who exactly are you?"
The voice didn't explain the term, so Shad questioned it in his mind. From the fact that it responded to his questions, he understood that the voice was an entity capable of thought.
"I am you."
The soft, whispered voice replied, like a breeze gently brushing across his heart. But Shad snorted lightly; he was sure this body was male, and the voice in his head couldn't be the original owner.
Looking at the glow of the lamp by the bedside, illuminating the man's wrinkled, lifeless skin, Shad finally said to him:
"I understand, sir."
"Shade, I only have ten minutes left to live. If you have any more questions, ask them now."
The man said something quite extraordinary, his voice filled with exhaustion. But Shad knew that if what the man said was entirely true, then the next set of questions would be critical for his survival in this world. He needed to be careful:
"Your death… it doesn't seem normal."
Feigning a slow and dull voice, Shad continued to act as though his mind wasn't functioning well. Speaking like this was extremely taxing. The first question was about the man's death and how it would affect Shad's own situation. He had to ensure that the cause of the detective's death wouldn't involve him.
"We haven't discussed this before, and I know you've been worried… Don't worry about it. My death, which is coming soon, may frighten you, but it won't affect you. I need you to complete the task in three months, so you can be assured of that. The person responsible for my death will never come back. After all, we ordinary people aren't worth their attention."
It was a good amount of information. The man in bed didn't intend to hide anything.
"Ordinary… people?"
This time, Shad hesitated for real.
"You don't need to know. In fact, even I don't fully understand. Those 'Ring Warlocks,' who wield the four elements of [Miracle], [Enlightenment], [Blasphemy], and [Whisper]; the five major orthodox deities and the three great Arcane Academies... Forget what I just said. You'll live better if you don't know. Remember, you know nothing."
The man in bed emphasized this point as best he could, and Shad could only take note of these terms before nodding:
"Alright, I know nothing."
He suspected that "Ring Warlock" was the term used for the supernatural beings of this world, and that [Miracle], [Enlightenment], [Blasphemy], and [Whisper] were part of the power system. The orthodox churches and arcane academies seemed to be the main forces behind these supernatural individuals.
There were clearly many secrets hidden in Detective Hamilton's life, more than any ordinary person could know.
But Shad didn't press further on this topic. With limited time, he needed the man to willingly reveal more information, rather than waste time figuring out truth from lies:
"After you die… how should I live? I don't understand detective work, and I'm not very literate."
Even though time was running out, he couldn't afford to speak faster. Not only because he was pretending, but also because he still wasn't fluent in this language. It was as if he was in a race but could only walk, which made him incredibly anxious. He had to keep his nerves in check, so his urgency didn't show, making him feel even more impatient inside.
"It's fine. What I've taught you is enough. You just need to stay here for three months. After three months, sell everything and move to the countryside. It's a better place for you, and you'll be able to live peacefully for the rest of your life… prices are lower there, after all."
The man on the bed, seemingly out of energy, couldn't complete his sentence. But Shad had no memory of the past and didn't know what the man had taught him. He sought help from the voice in his head, but it didn't respond.
"Is there anything else you need to tell me?"
For the third time, Shade asked a question, this one after much careful thought.
"Remember what I've told you over these three months. Remember the simple commissions I left in the memorandum; you can try to complete them to keep the detective agency running. And, there's this card in the diary…"
The frail man pointed to the bedside table, releasing Shade's hand. Shade bent over and picked up the diary. The brown leather cover was fastened with a magnetic clasp, and it was well-preserved, protected by its owner.
Shade handed the diary back to Mr. Hamilton, but the latter shook his head, unable to speak further. So, Shade opened it himself, flipping through the pages. Each entry was dated, with both sides of the pages used. Most of the entries contained just one line: "Nothing happened today, and the savings are running low." A few recorded the progress of commissions received by the agency.
As he reached the middle of the diary, the flipping stopped with a rustle. A sturdy card was wedged in between the pages. Suppressing a raised eyebrow, Shade noticed the card was about the size of a palm, rectangular in shape.
He carefully pulled it out, feeling that the surface was covered with a thin, transparent layer of wax, protecting the card from environmental damage.
The card wasn't thick, and when held up to the light of the room, Shade could see through it. On what Shade assumed was the back, there was an abstract combination of the sun, moon, and stars, overlapping in a peculiar design. On what Shade thought was the front, there was a woman, sitting sideways on a tall stool, holding the moon in her hands.
She had silver hair, a smile traced on her side profile, and was wearing a long robe. The colors on the card were minimal, mainly black and white, with cool tones bordering those hues.
In the top right corner of the front, the number 3 was printed, and in the top left corner was a small sun symbol. Between the two, in the center of the upper edge, a black vertical line was drawn within a white circle.
Below the woman's figure, near the bottom of the card, there was a small amount of blank space, where a line of text was written:
"When using this card, the number can be adjusted within the range of 1 to 5."
The card looked somewhat worn, and when held up to the dim light of the room, tiny damages could be seen on the edges, though it was clear the owner had gone to great lengths to preserve it.
Shade found it strange that he could fully understand the text on the card, just as he could comprehend the language spoken by the man and the voice in his head.
"Odd. After coming to this world, I can understand and read the language, but I can't speak it fluently."
He mused to himself, then asked softly:
"What is this?"
"A valuable card, part of a standard deck of 54 cards commonly used here. It belongs to the suit of Sun, Moon, Star, and Flower, representing the 'Sun 3.' However, this card is a special edition with rare artwork. Keep it safe, don't get it wet, don't fold it, and certainly don't show it to others unless absolutely necessary. If you're ever truly desperate, go to the Birmingham Collection House in Tobesque City; they'll know its value… This card, the Rod card, is the most important piece of my collection…"
Shade nodded, mentally noting the term Rod card. It seemed to be part of a common card game in this world, and the 'Sun 3' was akin to a commemorative coin or stamp. He placed the card back into the diary, understanding that while the card was finely crafted, it was likely the product of the current era's technology. No need to overthink it.
"Is there anything else you want to say, sir?"
Shade asked again, sensing that letting the man speak freely would be more valuable than interrogating him directly.
"Shade…"
Mr. Hamilton reached out once more, gripping Shade's hand. His eyes softened as he looked at the young man standing beside his bed.
"I know I've never been a good man, and for dragging you into this, I truly apologize. After three months, leave Tobesque City. A capital like this isn't suited for someone like you… But, I believe you'll come to see that taking you out of that vagrant life was the right choice. You may not be the sharpest, but remember, don't trust people too easily. Especially don't trust those trying to take your money…"
His grip weakened, but he continued:
"I've already arranged a burial plot at the public cemetery in Tobesque. The undertakers will come soon; you don't need to follow them. Stay in this house, live as I taught you for three months."
Mr. Hamilton's breath became more labored.
"Shade, I'm sorry… and good luck."