Azik muttered to himself, casting a quick glance at Quentin Cohen as though seeking some kind of hint or inspiration.
Cohen, his eyes sunken and deep blue, shook his head without hesitation.
"I don't remember anything about that," he stated.
"...Alright, maybe it's just a similarity in roots," Azik said, lowering his left hand with a self-deprecating smile.
Klein felt a tinge of disappointment with this result, but couldn't resist adding, "Professor, Mr. Azik, you both know how passionate I am about exploring and reconstructing Fourth Epoch history. If you ever think of something or come across any additional information, could you send me a letter?"
"Of course," Professor Cohen replied, appearing quite pleased with Klein's demeanor today.
Azik nodded in agreement, "Are you still at the same address?"
"For now, yes, but I'll be moving soon. I'll send you an updated address in a letter," Klein answered respectfully.
Professor Cohen gave a slight nod, tapping his black cane. "A better environment would certainly be suitable for you."
At that moment, Klein glanced at the newspaper in Azik's hand and carefully asked, "Professor, Mr. Azik, what does the newspaper say about the incident with Welch and Naya? I only heard a few scattered details from the investigating officers."
Azik was about to respond when Professor Cohen suddenly pulled out a pocket watch from the gold chain on his black tailcoat.
Click!
He glanced at the watch, then looked up, gesturing with his cane, "Azik, the meeting is about to start. We shouldn't be late. Why don't you pass the newspaper to Moretti?"
"Alright." Azik handed the newspaper he had been perusing over to Klein, saying, "We have to head upstairs now. Remember to write to us; our address hasn't changed. We're still at Hoy University's History Department office."
Smiling, he turned and walked away with Cohen.
Klein removed his hat, giving a courteous bow, watching as the two professors left. After bidding farewell to Havin Stone, the office's host, he strode out of the gray three-story building.
Under the sunlight, he lifted his cane and unfolded the newspaper, catching sight of the headline: "Tingen Morning Post."
Tingen seemed flooded with newspapers and magazines: "Morning Post," "Evening Post," "The Honest Man," "Backlund Daily," "Tasok Times," "Home Digest," "Story Review"… As Klein idly recalled, he could name at least seven or eight, with some not being local publications but distributed through the convenience of steam trains.
In the current age, as industrial papermaking and printing had advanced, a newspaper cost only a penny, making it accessible to a wider audience.
Klein quickly flipped to the "News" section, locating the article on the "Home Invasion Murder Case."
"…According to the police department, the scene in Mr. Welch's residence was gruesome, with every valuable—gold, jewelry, cash, and anything portable—missing, down to the last copper penny. It is believed that a gang of ruthless criminals was involved, ones who wouldn't hesitate to kill any unfortunate witnesses, such as Mr. Welch or Miss Naya."
"This is an affront to the Kingdom's laws! It's a challenge to public safety! No one wants to face such a tragedy. However, the good news is that the police have identified the culprits and apprehended the main perpetrator. We will provide further updates as soon as possible."
"Journalist, John Browning."
It's been handled and disguised well… Klein walked along the tree-lined path, giving an imperceptible nod of approval.
As he casually flipped through the newspaper, reading other news and serialized stories, an intense sensation suddenly overtook him—every hair on the back of his neck stood on end as if pricked by dozens of fine needles.
Someone was watching him? Observing him? Monitoring him?
Thoughts surged into his mind as he began to realize what was happening.
During his time on Earth, he had occasionally sensed an invisible gaze, eventually identifying the source. But never had the reaction been as vivid or the "conclusion" as clear as now!
This sensation matched fragments of memories from the original owner of his body!
Was it the act of crossing dimensions or that strange "good luck ritual" that sharpened his "sixth sense"?
Klein resisted the urge to search for his observer, mimicking scenes he'd read in novels and seen in movies, slowly halting his steps, folding up the newspaper, and gazing out over the Hoy River.
Then, gradually and subtly, he tilted his head, seemingly to enjoy the scenery, but truly scanning his surroundings from every angle.
Besides trees, grass, and a few students passing by in the distance, there was no one nearby.
Yet Klein felt certain—someone was still watching him!
This…
His heart raced, and he could feel the surging pulse of blood coursing through him.
Unfolding the newspaper, he held it up to partly shield his face, hoping to mask any change in his expression.
Simultaneously, he gripped his cane tightly, ready to draw his revolver if needed.
Step by step, Klein moved forward as if nothing was amiss.
The sensation of being observed lingered, but no sudden danger materialized.
Stiffly walking the rest of the path, he reached the tram stop just as a tram approached.
"Iron… Zott… no, Champagne Street." Klein muttered, correcting himself.
Initially, he'd thought of heading straight home but feared leading this unknown observer to his apartment. Next, he considered going to Zott Lane to seek help from the "Night Watchers"—or rather, his colleagues. However, he worried this could be a ploy to make him expose himself. So, he chose a random destination instead.
"Six pence," the conductor announced smoothly.
Klein, having left his gold pounds safely hidden at home, only carried a couple of silver shillings and had already spent the same amount earlier. With precisely one shilling and sixpence remaining, he handed over the remaining coins to the conductor.
Once aboard, Klein took a seat. As the door shut, he felt the unsettling sensation of being watched finally fade.
He exhaled slowly, realizing his hands and legs were still trembling slightly.
What to do?
What should he do next?
Gazing out the window, Klein forced himself to think of a plan.
Assuming the observer had hostile intentions until proven otherwise seemed wise.
Thoughts came and went, each one discarded in turn. Lacking any experience with such situations, it took several minutes for Klein to gather a viable course of action.
"Klein carefully weighed his options, realizing that notifying the 'Night Watchers' was his best chance to truly resolve this issue.
But he couldn't go to them directly; doing so would risk exposing himself. Perhaps that was precisely what his watcher wanted…
Following this line of thought, Klein began crafting a series of rough plans, slowly honing his approach.
With a deep exhale, he managed to calm himself, focusing on the fleeting scenes outside the carriage window.
Nothing unusual happened until the tram reached Champagne Street. But the moment Klein stepped off, that unnerving sensation of being observed crept back.
Feigning ignorance, he gathered his newspaper, held his cane, and strolled casually in the direction of Zotland Street.
However, he didn't enter that street. Instead, he circled around to Red Moon Street, where a beautiful white square and a towering, spired cathedral awaited.
Saint Selena's Church.
This was the headquarters of the Church of the Evernight Goddess in Tingen.
As a follower, visiting the church for prayer on a rest day wouldn't raise any suspicion.
The cathedral itself had a distinct Gothic style, with a towering, weathered black bell tower on its front facade. It stood between two massive stained-glass windows in red and blue, soaring into the clouds.
Klein entered the cathedral, walking down the aisle towards the main prayer hall. Rays of colored light filtered through narrow, high windows, casting blue and crimson hues across the space, making the surroundings appear dark and mysterious.
The feeling of being watched faded away again, yet Klein maintained a composed expression, neither relieved nor anxious, as he approached the grand, open hall.
There, deep shadows reigned. But on the wall directly opposite the main entrance, behind the arched altar, tiny circular openings allowed beams of pure sunlight to stream through, forming a focused, radiant display.
It felt like a traveler in the night who, looking up, suddenly beheld a sky filled with stars—so lofty, so pure, so sacred.
Even Klein, who viewed the divine with a blend of curiosity and skepticism, instinctively bowed his head.
In the deep, resonant voice of the bishop's sermon, Klein walked down the aisle that separated the rows of seats. He found an empty seat near the aisle and quietly sat down.
He rested his cane against the bench in front, placed his hat and newspaper on his lap, then clasped his hands together and rested his forehead upon them.
His movements were calm and deliberate, displaying the poise of someone genuinely there to pray.
Closing his eyes, he let the darkness fill his vision as he listened intently to the bishop's words:
"They are naked, unclothed, exposed to the cold."
"They are drenched by rain, with no shelter, so they cling tightly to the rock."
"They are mothers robbed of their children, orphans bereft of hope, the poor driven astray."
"The Night has not abandoned them; it has given them solace."
Each echo layered upon the last, sinking deep into Klein's ears, immersing him in a profound, purifying darkness that seemed to cleanse his spirit.
He absorbed this peace, letting it wash over him, until the bishop finished his sermon and concluded the service.
The bishop opened the confessional nearby, and the gentlemen and ladies began to line up.
Klein opened his eyes, adjusted the brim of his hat, picked up his cane and newspaper, and joined the queue, moving forward steadily.
After about twenty minutes, it was finally his turn.
He entered, closing the door behind him, and darkness enveloped him once again.
"My child, what do you wish to share?" The bishop's voice came softly, muffled by the wooden partition.
Klein reached into his pocket, retrieved the badge of the "Special Operations Team Seventh Squad," and slipped it through the small opening.
"Someone is following me, and I need to speak with Dunn Smith." The quietness of the room made his voice sound softer.
The bishop took the badge, silent for a few moments before responding, "When you exit the confessional, turn right. Walk down the corridor until you reach the end, where you'll find a hidden door. Enter, and someone will guide you further."
As he spoke, the bishop pulled a cord in the room, causing a bell to chime nearby, summoning a priest.
Klein retrieved his badge, removed his hat, placed it on his chest, and gave a small bow before turning to leave the confessional.
Once outside, feeling no suspicious gazes on him, he put his black, half-brimmed hat back on, maintained a composed expression, and, holding his cane, turned to the right and walked steadily toward the arched sanctuary.
Following the wall, he found the hidden door, which he opened silently, slipping inside.
The door closed quietly behind him, and in the dim glow of the gaslight, a middle-aged man in a black priest's robe came into view.
"What's the matter?" the priest asked succinctly.
Klein presented his badge again, repeating what he had told the bishop.
The priest asked no further questions, turning around and proceeding silently down the corridor.
Klein adjusted his hat, gripped his black cane, and followed with quiet steps.
Rosanne had mentioned that turning left at the crossroads leading to "Chanis Gate" would take one to Saint Selena's Church.