Klein let out a long, relieved breath. He'd finally made it through the ordeal with the spirit medium. Turning around slowly, he began to savor the peaceful night and the cool breeze as he strolled toward the entrance of his apartment.
He took out his key, inserted it into the lock, and gently turned it, letting the crimson-tinged darkness expand with the faint creak of the door. Walking through the deserted stairwell, breathing in the chilly air, Klein couldn't help but feel a strange sense of having gained a few extra hours in life compared to everyone else. His steps grew lighter as he climbed up.
With that feeling still lingering, he turned the key in his apartment door and pushed it open, only to freeze. In the dim light near the desk, a figure sat quietly, her dark hair washed by the crimson moonlight, her brown eyes bright, and her face youthful and familiar—it was Melissa Moretti!
"Klein, where did you go?" Melissa's brow relaxed slightly as she asked, her tone curious.
Before Klein could respond, she added, seemingly eager to lay out the full story, "I got up to use the washroom and found that you weren't home."
Klein's years of experience in explaining himself kicked in. He quickly pulled together a response with a slight, sheepish smile, "I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep, so I figured, rather than wasting time, I might as well go for a run to get some exercise. See? I'm covered in sweat."
He shrugged off his jacket and turned to show his back, as if proving his point.
Melissa stood up, gave his explanation a brief glance, and, after a moment of consideration, said earnestly, "Klein, you don't have to put too much pressure on yourself. I know you'll pass the interview for Tingen University. And if… if not, well, you can always find something better."
The interview? I haven't even thought about that... Klein nodded, hiding a smile. "I understand," he replied.
He didn't mention the "offer" he'd already received, still undecided about whether to accept.
After a long look, Melissa turned and quickly disappeared into her room, only to return with a strange, turtle-shaped contraption assembled from gears, rusty metal, springs, and winding parts.
After winding it up, she set it on the desk. With a series of clacks and whirs, the "turtle" began to move in little hops, drawing attention in a strangely captivating way.
"When you're feeling troubled, just watch it move for a bit. It really helps. I've been doing it recently—it works wonders! Klein, give it a try," Melissa said, her eyes bright with excitement.
Klein, appreciating her thoughtfulness, leaned in to watch the little "turtle." When it finally wound down, he laughed softly and said, "Simple patterns do have a relaxing effect."
Before Melissa could respond, he gestured toward the turtle. "Did you make this? When did you put it together? I hadn't noticed."
"I used scraps from school and parts I found along the way. I just finished it a few days ago." Melissa's expression remained calm, though a hint of pride lifted the corners of her mouth.
"Impressive," Klein said sincerely.
As someone with no mechanical skills to speak of, even assembling a toy car had been a challenge for him as a kid.
Melissa's chin lifted slightly, her eyes narrowing with a subtle smile. "It's… okay," she replied with forced modesty.
"False modesty is a vice," Klein teased, then pointed at the contraption with a grin, "It's a turtle, right?"
The room fell silent for a moment, and Melissa's voice, soft as crimson silk, floated through the air: "It's a doll."
A… doll.
Klein gave an awkward laugh and attempted to explain himself, "Must be the materials… too basic."
Then, changing the topic, he asked, "Why were you up in the middle of the night to use the washroom anyway? There's a toilet right here. Plus, you usually sleep straight through till morning, don't you?"
Melissa blinked, momentarily caught off guard. She opened her mouth to answer, only for a loud rumble to emerge from her stomach.
"I-I'm going back to bed!" she stammered, hastily grabbing the "doll" and retreating to her room, shutting the door firmly behind her.
So dinner was that good, huh? Too rich for the stomach to handle... Klein chuckled to himself, then slowly made his way to the desk, sitting down quietly as he let the moonlight spill over the room. Alone with his thoughts, he began to carefully weigh Dunn Smith's invitation.
The drawbacks of joining the Night Watchers as a clerical member were all too clear:
- As a transmigrator and the originator of the mysterious gatherings as "The Fool," Klein harbored many secrets. Working within the Church of the Evernight Goddess's task force for handling extraordinary events would mean constantly staying under their scrutiny—an undeniable risk.
- If he joined Dunn Smith's team, his aim would inevitably shift toward becoming a Beyonder to mask any benefits gained from the gatherings. But that path came with restrictions: full members lost much of their freedom, needing approval even to leave Tingen. He wouldn't be able to travel or act as freely as he wanted, and he'd likely miss many other opportunities.
- The Night Watchers were a tightly regulated organization; once a mission came up, he'd be bound to follow orders without room for refusal.
- Beyonders faced the risk of losing control…
After listing out these disadvantages, Klein began to weigh the potential necessity and benefits of the role:
- Judging from experiences like the "Luck Reversal Ritual," he likely wasn't among the "lucky 80%" Dunn had mentioned. It seemed inevitable that strange and dangerous incidents would continue to befall him, and only by becoming a Beyonder or joining the Night Watchers could he gain the power to counter these threats.
- Becoming a Beyonder couldn't be accomplished through the gatherings alone. While acquiring potion formulas wasn't a challenge, actually locating and obtaining the required ingredients, understanding how to prepare them, and learning the basic practices of a Beyonder were significant hurdles. Relying solely on "Justice" and "The Hanged Man" for guidance would not only compromise "The Fool's" mystique but would also be inefficient, and Klein lacked the resources to offer in exchange.
- More tangible exchanges with them would inevitably leave traces that could expose his real-world identity, turning online conflicts into real-life dangers—a risk he could hardly afford.
- By joining the Night Watchers, he would gain access to the broader knowledge and channels of the mysterious world, along with valuable connections. These would provide a foundation for leveraging the gatherings to maximize his gains from "Justice" and "The Hanged Man," improving his real-life position and resources, creating a positive cycle of growth.
- While he could attempt to join other underground organizations like the Psychology Alchemists, which Dunn hinted at, these groups were heavily suppressed by major churches. Life among them would come with even greater restrictions and constant fear of exposure. Plus, Klein didn't know where to start looking, and getting information from "The Hanged Man" without proper caution could be deadly.
- Serving as a clerical member with the Night Watchers would at least allow him some buffer and the possibility of eventually stepping away.
- "The small hide in the wild, the moderate in the city, and the great within the government." The Night Watcher identity could be the best camouflage of all.
- And in the future, if he could rise to a high position within the tribunal itself, who would ever suspect him of being an outsider or the mastermind of a hidden organization?
With these thoughts in mind, Klein's decision became clearer.
"Betting?" Klein was momentarily taken aback, then quickly realized.
"Dog fights?"
Back at Hoy University, noble students and wealthy young men would often ask with a sneer, laced with curiosity, whether the rougher workers and vagrants liked to indulge in barroom brawls and gambling—whether these activities included bloodier affairs like cockfights and dog fights.
The short man scoffed, "Sir, we're civilized. We don't do such unrefined things."
Then he muttered under his breath, "Besides, they banned all that last year..."
"So, what are you betting on?" Klein's curiosity got the better of him.
"On who's the better 'hunter'," the short man replied, just as the crowd erupted around them. He glanced at the cages and waved enthusiastically. "The round's started—no more bets. You can join in the next one."
Intrigued, Klein rose onto his toes and craned his neck, finally able to see two burly men dragging sacks towards the iron cages. They opened the "prison doors" and poured the contents into the enclosure.
A flood of gray, writhing creatures spilled out—rats, dozens upon dozens of them!
The cage extended below ground level, making it impossible for the rats to escape. With the doors latched shut, the handlers unleashed the dogs.
The black dog immediately pounced, snapping its jaws around a rat, killing it instantly. Meanwhile, the black-and-white dog looked around, seemingly confused at first, before eagerly darting after the rats, almost as if it were playing.
The crowd either focused intently or shouted excitedly, lifting their mugs and cheering, "Get it! Get 'em!"
"Go, Dogg!"
Klein could only stand there, face twitching as he absorbed the scene. **"Bets on dogs chasing rats… seriously?"**
The idea that people were betting on how many rats each dog could catch—or perhaps even on specific numbers—was… unique, to say the least.
No wonder people on Iron Cross Street were always paying for live rats...
Shaking his head with a faint smile, Klein stepped away, weaving through the crowd of drinkers to reach the bar.
"A new face, I see," the bartender said, glancing up as he polished a glass. "Black beer's a penny, Emmat's two pence, Southwell's four, or would you prefer a Longley's pure malt ale?"
"I'm here to speak with Mr. Wright," Klein replied directly.
The bartender whistled, calling over his shoulder, "Hey, old man, someone's here to see you."
A muffled voice grumbled, and from behind the bar, a slightly tipsy older man emerged, rubbing his eyes as he looked at Klein.
"Are you looking for me, kid?"
"Mr. Wright, I'm looking to hire a mercenary team for a task," Klein said, repeating Dunn's exact words.
"Mercenaries? You think you're living in some adventure tale? Those haven't existed for ages!" the bartender chuckled.
Wright gave a faint smile and, after a brief silence, asked, "Who told you to come here?"
"Dunn. Dunn Smith," Klein answered.
Wright chuckled knowingly. "Ah, I see… Well, mercenary teams do still exist. They've just taken on a different form—a name more suited to modern society. Head to 36 Zotland Street, second floor, and you'll find one there."
"Thank you," Klein said sincerely, nodding to Wright before turning to weave his way through the crowded bar.
Just as he was about to step out, the noisy drinkers fell suddenly silent, murmuring in disbelief:
"Dogg actually lost…"
"He lost…"
Klein shook his head with amusement and left the bar, striding quickly toward Zotland Street and asking for directions along the way.
"30, 32, 34… Here we are." He counted the building numbers and stepped into the stairwell.
Rounding the corner and climbing the steps, he caught sight of a tall, vertical sign displaying the name of what was once called a mercenary team:
"Blackthorn Security Company."