Kapitel 18: Chapter XVIII: Stepping into the Next Destiny

Melissa stood in front of the grave, her eyes distant and glazed over, as silent as a delicate doll. Leonard observed her sideways, feeling a pang of sorrow in his heart. He admired her strength; despite receiving the devastating news, she neither cried nor caused a scene. Her silence was almost as distressing as the loss itself.

As the priest concluded the eulogy and the mourners offered their prayers, the grave was gradually filled in with mud, obscuring the black coffin bit by bit.

Leonard took one last look at Klein's tombstone, which bore the following epitaph:

"The Best Older Brother;"

"Best Younger Brother;"

"The Best Colleague."

The body of Dunn Smith, another sacrificial nighthawk, had been Requiem'd by the Extraordinaire sent by the Templars and buried two days earlier. The promotion potion prepared for him by the Templars had been given to others. It was rumored that certain special occult connections could aid in finding the killer. As the Black Thorn Security Company members slowly departed in their grief, Leonard, overwhelmed by the weight of his emotions, hung his head and quietly followed his companions away, careful not to disturb his grieving relatives.

At the corner of the street, Leonard and Furry and the others parted ways. Leonard returned to their lodgings, closed the curtains, locked the door, and sank into a chair.

"Old man," Leonard muttered in the dark, as if speaking to himself, "Why was Klein left to face Ince Zangwill alone? Why did I not wake up? Why didn't I realize what was happening?"

"Normal people shouldn't wake up easily from the blessings of the gods, and that colleague of yours had many secrets," Pallez replied.

"... You know what I'm asking. You could have woken me up, couldn't you? I could have fought alongside him. At least I wouldn't have left him alone to face a Sequence Five and die a miserable death with his neck broken!"

Pallez snorted coldly. "What good would it have done to wake you up? Do you think you could have defeated that Sequence Five with a Level 0 Seal Artifact? Did you have some special delivery with him? His abilities were taken away. If you wanted to fight side by side, I would have had to switch hosts."

Leonard's face flushed with anger. He stood up and began pacing the dark room restlessly.

He searched for a reason to honor the parasite but found none. His expression grew darker with each step. Eventually, he sat back down, buried his face in his hands, and slumped over.

"... Ince Zangwill." He said the name through gritted teeth, each word almost chewed before being spat out. "You must live. Live until I become stronger, and then I will kill you!"

"Hey, the true culprit is not just him. It's the one who killed your captain and over 3,000 people in Tingen."

"It's good that you're still alive; you still have a chance to seek revenge yourself. But avenging your captain might be harder."

Leonard was silent for a moment. He wiped his face vigorously, took several deep breaths, and then adjusted himself to his usual calm demeanor. "Old man, do you know who this person is?"

"I do. To be precise, it's not a person but a 'devil'."

"Devil?" Leonard tilted his head, sensing that the term had a specific meaning beyond the ordinary. "Who is it?"

"An Angel, an Angel on Earth. Hasn't been touched. If it was just about slaughtering a city, other demons would do it. But only this one would help the evil god 'True Creator' descend."

Leonard clenched his pants and nervously asked, "What's his name?"

"I won't tell you."

"... Then what does he look like?"

"You can't know that either."

"Why?" Leonard's voice rose in frustration. "How can I tell the Templars about him? How do I account for the more than 3,000 innocent lives in Tingen?"

"Foolish boy, do you think all you Night Church members are clueless? Even if you knew the demon's identity, it wouldn't help you much. The goddess of the night herself saw it. This is not your concern. Besides, he suffers from severe facial blindness."

Leonard's confusion deepened. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know why, but he can't recognize anyone. Unless someone has been with him for a long time or has obvious personal traits, he won't remember them. Even if you talk to him, he'll forget your face. It's good that he doesn't know you. But if you knew him, could you control yourself around him? Wouldn't you lose your temper?"

"When that happens, you'll be noticed by him, and it will implicate me. I don't want to be in that position."

Leonard scratched his head in frustration, unable to come up with a solution. With a sigh, he said, "I understand, old man. Thanks for talking to me."

"Thank me for what? I just don't want to switch hosts so often," Pallez's voice gradually weakened. She had expended a lot of strength in the battle against the demon and was now exhausted and in desperate need of rest. "It's your business whether you become a red glove or something else. Don't wake me unless it's a real emergency."

"Hmm," Leonard said firmly. "I understand."

In the cold wind of the cemetery, deep in the dead of night, the newly resurrected and disoriented Klein Moretti struggled to turn his head. His neck felt as though it hadn't fully healed, the pain sharp and reminiscent of a stiff neck.

"It really hurts..." he couldn't help but furrow his brows. The city had fallen silent, yet Klein's mind remained haunted by the scene from earlier. Ince Zangwill had somehow infiltrated Blackthorn Security. Klein had tried to feign unconsciousness, but couldn't bear to watch the traitor approach the captain's corpse, cursing as he did. He had barely enough time to command Banman to throw a few axes before Ince brutally killed him. The last thing Klein saw before his death was Ince taking the urn.

Carefully, Klein slipped past the gravekeeper, leaving the cemetery. He reviewed what he had done and plotted his next steps: going to Backlund, the "Land of Hope" and "Capital of All Cities." There, he could pursue strength, uncover clues, and find the whereabouts of Ince Zangwill. His intuition told him that Backlund was the next critical step.

Yet, his thoughts drifted to an earlier attempt at divination. When he had tried to divine the "murderer of Dunn Smith" above the gray fog, he had been engulfed in a cold terror, a fear deeper than death. His spiritual intuition screamed a warning, forcing him to stop the divination in a panic. When he returned to the real world, he was drenched in cold sweat.

Call... That murderer is far more terrifying than I imagined, and even the gray fog couldn't shield me from that. I didn't feel this way when I was divining the 'Eternal Blazing Sun'... Could it be that the murderer holds personal malice toward me? Or is it a true god? No... No, that can't be. It's probably just my own fear amplifying my spiritual intuition.

Before leaving, Klein glanced one last time toward Dunn's grave, sighing softly. He then walked away with firm steps into the night.

After some time, fatigue started creeping in. But as a "deceased," Klein had nothing—no money, no supplies, only the clothes on his back, the citrine pendant, and Azik's bronze whistle. He was penniless, with not a single gold pound or penny.

Should I blow the whistle now and ask Mr. Azik for help? … No, fortunately, I still have the 300 pounds Miss Justice gave me before. That should be enough for a while… What day is it today? I'll take out the money tomorrow and buy a newspaper… Ah, I'm so tired… I can't go home… I can't involve Melissa and Benson. Tonight's not too cold; I'll find somewhere to sleep…

Klein found a secluded corner, sat down, took off his coat, and covered himself. He leaned back against the wall, falling into an uneasy sleep.

It wasn't long before he was rudely awakened by a police officer. The officer, short stick in hand, glared at him fiercely.

"You can't sleep here!" the officer barked. "The streets and parks aren't places for lazy bums who don't want to work! This is the law now!"

Klein blinked, still groggy, but didn't argue. His sensitive identity made it unwise. He grabbed his coat and was about to leave when the officer sneered, "Another homeless? Disgusting luck."

Klein paused, struck by the remark. He turned back, curious despite himself, hoping the officer would say more. The man, seeing Klein's somewhat neat appearance, held back the worst of his contempt but still looked him over critically.

"What? Didn't you hear about the fire last week? Burned down most of the lower block. Even the slums were scorched. The police had to kill plenty of criminals trying to stir up trouble in the chaos. With fewer of these vagrants around, the streets are finally safer. No one has to worry about being robbed at night anymore. Isn't that a good thing?"

Klein felt a knot form in his throat.

"And why are you still here?" The officer rattled the handcuffs on his belt, his face darkening. "Want me to arrest you?"

Klein said nothing. He turned and walked away, the officer's words echoing in his mind. The earlier grogginess was gone, replaced by an unspeakable sadness. He knew that the moral compass of this world couldn't be measured by modern standards, but still… How could anyone be glad about the deaths of innocents?

Aren't the homeless still human beings? They just want to survive—how is being homeless their fault? How could anyone speak so indifferently about their suffering?

Klein's heart screamed in silent anguish as he continued walking down the empty streets, alternating between pain and confusion, anger and determination. He walked alone until dawn.

When the day broke, he withdrew some of his savings from the bank, bought clothes, luggage, and a ticket to Backlund. But before boarding the train, he couldn't resist the urge to see his siblings one last time. He hurried to Daffodil Street, trailing behind Benson and Melissa, who were dressed in solemn black, clearly still in mourning.

Klein followed from a distance, the invisible wall between them almost palpable. Even though he knew the futility of his situation, witnessing his captain's death, seeing his family torn apart, and being unable to recognize his loved ones, the pain cut deep.

As he placed a chrysanthemum in front of their door, the flowers' vibrant colors finally brought a fleeting light to his sister's dark, sorrow-filled eyes.

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*This is where Klein's trip to Backland begins.

* Don't be surprised if you feel that what Edward is doing doesn't match who he is. For the true character of the Monarch of Decay is very different from what it is now. At present, all the preferences, interests, concepts, ways of behaving in the world, and even speaking styles are almost all imitations of the real "Edward · Vaughan", except for his own first-person heartfelt words, everything else is basically acting.