Chapter Text
It started, as some things did, with the desire to soak in a bath.
One week ago, Klein overturned the apotheosis ritual of George Augustus III. Zaratul, allying himself with George III for an opportunity to eliminate Gehrman Sparrow, had chased Klein through the historical void as Klein ran from ‘Him’. The real body of Arianna, Servant of Concealment, arrived at the very end. ‘She’ was just in time to assist Klein in his escape.
After a very big detour, Klein had returned to Backlund and booked a hotel in the Backlund Bridge area. The last dregs of his spirituality were barely enough to enter the grey fog.
He left as soon as he’d entered. Through his zoomed-out vision he had seen a very familiar person… no, a corpse… on the very roof of the hotel he was hiding in. The corpse was lying on his back, spread-eagled like he was making a snow angel.
The corpse on the roof of the hotel was his marionette—Enuni.
In Klein’s subsequent dream divination, he saw a figure in a pointed hat and a classical black mage’s robe. After the figure ‘delivered’ the marionette, the expression on ‘His’ face made a particularly sinister look that sent a shudder through Klein’s entire Spirit Body.
Amon!
“Weren’t you thinking about getting help from me?” —Amon was smiling, and the leisurely tilt to ‘His’ head expressed something along those lines, ‘helpfully’ returning Klein’s marionette after decrypting Klein’s choice of shelter.
Klein rushed to the roof. Actual contact revealed that his connection to the marionette was completely severed, and Amon had done it in a way which didn’t leave a Worm of Time behind for Klein either.
He mourned.
Amon Express, where do I file a claim for broken goods?! I lost a useful marionette…
That was a little over one week ago.
At the same time, as he was still in Backlund, he got to see how events unfolded after the assassination. The public were informed through the papers that the assassination was performed by Feysac or Intis. Which… could be considered partly correct, since he had solicited help from Queen Mystic Bernadette of Intis.
To his surprise, Queen Mystic had sent him a letter asking about his situation and if there was anything else she should help him with.
“How is she?” Klein had asked his messenger.
The heads of Reinette Tinekerr that weren’t holding his return letter had said, “She… seems… well.”
Then she might soon be someone referred to as ‘She’ …
Another thing Klein had done was check on Maygur Manor from a distance. He found that the ruins close to the manor had collapsed, turning the surface above into a lake. His startled staff and concerned neighbours had reported this new extension of the Tussock River to authorities. Klein had noticed official Beyonders from churches and Beyonder organisations amongst the responders when he checked the scene.
The Churches…
It had been a little over a week, and even though the Churches should have known that Klein had been the true culprit, nobody had pursued him. Just as George III had tacitly been allowed to attempt his ritual, they did not interfere when Klein tried to stop it at the end.
Well, thought Klein, as he reached a corner. His dowsing rod, a short length of simple wood, indicated he should head down into the sewer entrance. They should have a lot of other things to do.
At Sequence 3: Scholar of Yore, it was very simple for Klein to get around having to smell the inside of the sewers. Klein used his Faceless powers to remove his mouth and nose, tying a cloth around his face where they had been, in case anyone was around to witness his facial features melting. A Scholar of Yore could even shapeshift; as he descended, he adjusted the properties of his eyes to help him see in the darkness.
Immediately those night-vision eyes locked onto a roach. It was next to his hand, with a domed exoskeleton, and within twitching distance of Klein’s little finger.
Usually, cockroaches had two long antennae, but this one was missing one.
Before the remaining antennae could even wriggle at Klein, two seconds passed (Klein attained initial control of its Spirit Body Threads) and then ten long seconds later, Klein used the full control of his new marionette to make it fly far, far, far away.
I can remove my mouth and my nose, but I can’t remove my eyes! My eyes! I need to see!!
Of course, he wasn’t down here in his real body. His real body was seated in a gloomy manner near a two-storey building, a small shop that sold accessories to the middle class. After the start of the war, the healthy men in the owner’s family had enlisted. A few other things happened, and now it was one of the many volunteer centres around Backlund which collected information about the missing.
Secretly, it was also backed by MI9 through the owner’s family.
Klein’s historical projection of himself could last fifteen minutes, and that was enough to finish tracking down the subject of this commission—a pet bird, a retired messenger pigeon. It had lived happily in a household of two dogs and three children. Klein scooped up the little body and did a small divination.
Then he used a projection of Creeping Hunger to teleport himself to an alley he’d scoped out a few moments previously.
Klein didn’t take the bird. It was like the gloomy man by the building didn’t have the presence of mind to notice his surroundings. Klein subtly refreshed the historical projection of himself, resetting the limit. Then, trusting his spiritual intuition to monitor his real body, he swapped his consciousness and let the historical projection walk past him, into the building.
He wasn’t stopped as he passed through to the back of the store in a very familiar manner.
A person with a lean face and a full beard looked up. “Todd, you and Sherlock found it?”
Klein only occasionally took these commissions as Sherlock Moriarty—he was still trying to determine how safe it was to use any of his existing identities. At the moment, his historical projection was another youngster styled after Ian Wright.
The detective across from Todd was one of the lucky few who knew that ‘Todd Baker’ was Detective Moriarty’s new assistant.
Todd nodded. “In the sewers.”
“The, ah…?”
“Mr. Moriarty told me, look at the marks on its wings. Seems some kind of cat took it down there, that’s what he thinks.”
Detective Stuart patted down his clothes, and then laughed in simple amusement.
“Impressive as ever. It’s hard to believe it.” Stuart, who had of course noticed that the remains of the bird was with Todd, proceeded to make the next set of arrangements.
Once he was done, Todd said, “Has anyone been asking about…?”
“No, still no one.” Stuart seemed to already know why Todd waited for him to finish.
Klein’s other reason for staying connected to the missing persons hunters was to learn if anyone was looking for his more sensitive identities: Sherlock Moriarty, who had gotten in the way of many important plans, and Dwayne Dantès, who was linked to many important people. It would have been very easy to sneak either of those names onto the lists.
(Gehrman Sparrow had a 90,000 gold bounty. People would be looking for him.)
Todd bid his farewell and vanished after ducking behind the building. A little later, the real Klein was at the end of the block under a new appearance. There, Klein stared quietly at a building that was half-collapsed after the bombing.
Flipping a coin, he found somewhere to change his features to Sherlock Moriarty, and again pulled Creeping Hunger out of the air.
The glove turned transparent as he Travelled.
The clouds in the sky near Backlund Bridge were a darker shade of grey. Sherlock knocked and entered a building used by Detective Kaslana, where he met with Kaslana’s assistant, a red-haired lady named Lydia.
“Yours, Mr. Moriarty.” The assistant nodded to a stack of newspapers wrapped in string. Directly under the knot of the string was a folded sheaf of paper.
This apartment was where Sherlock picked up his newspapers, because Kaslana’s people had started providing a service that summarised them. There was much to report, and it seemed the Backlund Bulletin had seen their recent investment in a radio come to early fruition, for they were able to get more updates on the battles than any other paper. The printing presses there must have been running non-stop—they had quickly started distributing a smaller, separate evening paper along with their morning edition.
The other newspaper companies didn’t dare to skive either. The Daily Tribune had reporters who were close to officials in West Borough, where the kingdom’s parliament, various departments, and municipal halls were located. New public safety instructions, policy proposals, and wartime justifications had to be dispensed. The Daily Observer, where reporter Mike Joseph worked, focused on what they were good at, writing about the effects on ordinary lives, public grief, hardships, and displacement.
There were always new stories to tell, and reasons to keep publishing them.
As Kaslana’s people were also in the know about Beyonders, Klein paid them a small additional fee to mark any articles that seemed like they were covering up Beyonder-related activity.
It looks like the Weather Warlock has withdrawn from the north… A ‘gas explosion’? … The effects suggest it wasn’t an attack, it might have been a Beyonder losing control. That’s right—it’s going to get more and more difficult to keep a tight leash on the existence of Beyonders as things continue.
In conflicts where Beyonders are facing other Beyonders, it will be too dangerous to stay around and collect the characteristics of those who fell. Random people will find them, or find the subsequent mystical items, and those in the know are actively alerted to this possibility. That’s why the public service notices are so prominent.
Every city’s churches and police stations maintained information about staying away from objects that had unusual physical, psychological or physiological effects. It wasn’t until the war that the newspapers were also warning about Beyonder-related items and incidents by framing them in a narrative of public safety.
So far, the involvement by Angels and demigods seems to be relatively limited. Angels and demigods seem to be in a supporting role for now. The moment any one of them acts, the risk of an escalation involving high-level Beyonder powers cannot be underestimated. The most prominent Beyonder incident is still the assassination I orchestrated one week ago. Although… I have some doubts over the military resupply that encountered some inexplicable trouble just outside of Sivellaus County… It’s only a matter of time until it becomes clear who the responsible parties are likely to be.
The front lines of the conflict in the Northern Continent are clearly defined. This is due to the strength of our defensive lines in the mountains around the edge of the Loen Kingdom, and Constant City’s stockpiles and measures. For now, the strength of both sides can still be considered ‘equal’. Aside from the initial air raid launched by Feysac on October 13, there haven’t been any further attempts to make a hard push and fully gain control of the land.
In the worst scenario, the front line will reach Backlund. The war might even escalate into a conflict where the Gods themselves would fight…
The areas in Backlund which had their gas and water disrupted during the initial air raid still don’t have those services fully restored. People have noticed that nobles and upper-classes started preparing contingencies a long time ago; some people in the middle class are only beginning to make and act on plans now… there should be plenty of people who would like to, but don’t have the means or methods either…
From what I remember, back home in my own world, it shouldn’t be long until it becomes normal for individuals to follow the official organisations and also use the assassination and the war as reasons to justify their actions.
It’s very different from the atmosphere in Backlund immediately after the air raid. At that time, the city seemed to restore its peace in a few short days.
It’s only been a week since Intis troops were spotted in the Hornacis mountain range… it’s inevitable that people will produce opinions shaped by a desire for continued survival.
Klein thanked the assistant, then looked around.
“Is Detective Kaslana here?” asked Klein.
“Miss Kaslana is out,” Kaslana’s assistant responded professionally.
With a nod, Klein turned to leave. At the same time, he saw Kaslana’s assistant wrinkling her nose when she thought he could no longer see her.
Outwardly, Klein left in one piece.
The same could not be said for his dignity.
Do I smell? He flipped a coin, and the result was ‘No.’
Klein sighed.
My clothes picked up some smell…
I want a long bath.
The thought came and went.
After Amon found him, and unsure if the Churches would come after him, he did as he’d done when he first revived from the dead in Tingen, or when the Red Angel evil spirit was aware that Dwayne Dantès was equal to Gehrman Sparrow: he unrooted himself, and went someplace new. Before the assassination he’d hinted the upcoming Tarot Club would be cancelled. In the immediate aftermath, he’d sent a message to the Tarot Club confirming the cancellation on Sunday morning. As for the reason, Mr. Fool wished to make some preparations. His prepared answer for any further questions involved a suggestive reference to ‘changing times.’
Klein spent a few more days setting up some new bases to work out of, collect more information, and supplied small amounts of help to people that was trivial for him as a Sequence 3 Beyonder.
He transported Fors to her next location.
As for the other prayers, he ended up telling them that the Tarot Club would discuss it the week after, which was today.
Klein had changed his clothes since meeting with Kaslana’s assistant Lydia. He finished going through his newspapers, placed them down, and checked the time.
28 minutes to 3 PM.
He didn’t enter the grey fog just yet.
He sat on a chair, closed his eyes, and drifted.
…
In the last week, it was impossible to go outside without seeing direct evidence that the world had changed, or ignore the tension and anxiety permeating thickly through the air. The uncertainty was a psychological weight, its own kind of Backlund smog. It was by going out himself that he could see people dithering as they made purchases—the cost of food was rising. It was because he’d been looking to rent that he was subjected to deeper scrutiny—people were getting stricter on seeing identification. There were less men, not only among vagrants, but because once the war escalated and the military promised food rations, enlistment was looking like an option for more and more of the ordinary population.
These were all things he noticed that were not reported in the newspapers. The weight of the war pressed on everyone. Nothing would remain the same.
Sure—there were plenty of ways that Klein could have a bath, while he continued to do other tasks. His marionette range was also 5 kilometres. However, moving his consciousness around defeated the point of soaking. Further, there were some things that even marionettes shouldn’t see! It didn’t sit well to him, imagining himself putting other bodies to work while leaving his real body naked.
After dealing with Ince Zangwill, he’d found the ultimate culprits of the Great Smog of Backlund, and he dealt with them on behalf of all of those who couldn’t…
He could finish digesting the Scholar of Yore potion, but in becoming a Scholar of Yore, he’d had to come to terms with understanding that he was separated from his time for at least 300 years.
Even if he continued to advance in mysticism, would it make any difference?
The days where he thought that attaining more power and knowledge would improve his chances of going home were gone.
…
At a nudge by his spiritual intuition, which was an incredibly effective timer, Klein rose out of the thin wooden chair inside a small attic, glanced briefly out of a tiny window embedded in the ceiling, and made his decision.
I’ll take a bath after this week’s Tarot Club.
With that thought, he set up a wall of spirituality, entered the grey fog, and checked that everything was in order.
Dark red starlight shot through the space, forming figures on either side of a long bronze table.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Fool~”
Thus commenced the first Tarot Club after George III’s assassination.
After the introductory parts, The Hermit Cattleya was quick to ask the question that many of the Tarot Club’s members had been stewing over for more than a week.
“Honourable Mr. Fool, what is the truth behind George III’s death?”
The Tarot Club steadily learned about the incident:
An apotheosis ritual that the seven deities tacitly approved of, which failed because Mr. Fool didn’t agree to it.
They were awed and aghast and filled with many degrees of emotions as the background played out, as they heard Mr. Fool tell this fantastical narrative, a skirmish at a level they couldn’t yet perceive.
Throughout it all, the gloomy Mr. World at the other end of the long bronze table remained completely silent.
More than one person started observing The World, wondering what role this Blessed of Mr. Fool had played in this series of events. Enough time had passed for them to understand that The World always tended to be involved in whatever new crisis shook the secret Beyonder world.
But Mr. World said nothing, and it was Mr. Fool who kept the storyteller’s spotlight.
The members of the Tarot Club didn’t think too much of it. It was one of the rare times that Mr. Fool expressed ‘His’ own interests, as was a deity’s right, and they each were intimidated to varying degrees as they listened to ‘Him’. Only the earliest members of the Tarot Club, Justice Audrey and The Hanged Man Alger, had the experience to remember that, before Mr. World joined their meetings officially, it had always been Mr. Fool speaking ‘His’ thoughts to them.
(Alger did try to wonder briefly if Mr. Fool speaking aloud corresponded to explorations of ‘His’ own level of strength. Then he remembered how he’d thought of ‘testing’ Mr. Fool several days ago, and quickly expelled that train of thought from his mind altogether.)
As for the truth, it wasn’t too complicated.
Klein had done something different for this meeting.
When he’d arrived in Sefirah Castle before the meeting, he’d stared over the length of the long bronze table, and then he stood up. An idea had crossed his mind.
He walked to the other end, and in Mr. Fool’s seat, he conjured a puppet.
At the head of the table, the puppet sat, a representation of ‘the beginning’ of Klein’s journey.
In this moment, Klein was sitting at ‘the end’ of the table, in the seat of The World.
Miss Justice and Mr. Hanged Man were sitting the furthest away from him now, which was a novel experience. This put Mr. Star and Miss Judgement closest.
When the story ended, and a small lull fell, Justice Audrey asked:
“Mr. World, what will you be doing next?”
Everyone was paying clear attention to the end of the table now.
The real Klein chuckled hoarsely. He lifted both of his hands from beneath his cloak and made an expressive shrugging motion.
“For now, I’m available,” said Klein. “All of you know what I can do, so… If I can be of use, you can pray to Mr. Fool.”
Some time later, the Tarot Club meeting ended.
After he’d said he’d be free to help, the others’ expressions had all been hesitant or confused. Klein stayed in the grey fog, waiting a few moments, and wasn’t surprised that nobody prayed to ask after him.
Ah. Klein suddenly realised something. I haven’t had a chance to reveal to the Tarot Club that I’ve reached Sequence 3.
He wondered if it would change their perceptions. He’d reached Sequence 4 in June, and now it was currently December.
The World Gehrman Sparrow was known to have done amazing things before—they might simply think that Sequence 3 was just another one of his many feats.
He left the grey fog and saw that the skies outside were still light.
While he prepared to go to a bathhouse in Cherwood Borough, he abruptly discovered that he was currently wearing his last set of clean clothing.
It’s because I’m out of clean clothes that that other set of clothes smelled. Klein convinced himself of this.
He reconsidered his plan to visit the bathhouse. Now the idea looked like this: go to the bathhouse, have a good soak, temporarily summon a set of clean clothes from the Historical Void, then make a swift escape by Travelling with Creeping Hunger before his clothes could disappear.
This was necessary because A) he did not have his own bath, and B) he was out of clean clothes.
…
Klein gave it some thought and ended up with horrible nightmare scenarios like Amon finding him after his bath and before he could get a set of real clothes again.
Guess I’ll sort the laundry matter first, and I’ll take a bath after…
He went outside after flipping a coin and putting his laundry together. The cool air of Backlund in December hit the back of his ears and neck and hands.
Travelling quickly, he saw worried faces in the streets. The crowds of people walking around were hurried, keeping distance from people they didn’t know. Some people with their scarves pulled up were being given an additional glance or two.
On the matter of laundry, a dislike for laundry was common in this world. Doing laundry involved gathering large amounts of water. That water was hauled, and clothes had to be scrubbed by hand across a ribbed wooden board. Fortunately, Roselle had standardised concepts of ‘soap’ and ‘detergent’ that resembled what Zhou Mingrui was familiar with, otherwise people might have used unspeakable materials as cleaning agents. Human history tended to have things like that…
Zhou Mingrui once possessed the magical device called a washing machine, and so he lived decades of not having a strong opinion about laundry. Compared to him, the original Klein Moretti absolutely loathed it. That Klein was the kind of person who liked smoothing sheets; that was why it had been very easy to get used to ironing clothes and steaming wrinkles after getting a job where he could afford clothes that rewarded such habits with a sharp, well-dressed appearance.
Zhou Mingrui hadn’t had much time to hate laundry early in his transmigrated life. As Klein, his income had let them hire a maid fairly quickly after his transmigration. Sherlock… had a situation. Gehrman Sparrow bullied Danitz. Sinbad Voluntier… uh… Klein was fine not thinking about Sinbad Voluntier.
Sinbad Voluntier was what they called sacrifices to build character, or something.
After experiencing close to true luxury as Dwayne Dantès at 160 Böklund Street, with servants that took care of cooking and cleaning and clothing, Zhou Mingrui could say with full confidence that he went from having no strong opinion about laundry to agreeing with the original Klein, because what was a 21st century citizen if not someone who could be tempted to spend money in exchange for being lazy?
Long story short: sometime after their memories and personalities had combined together, Klein could no longer bear to do his own clothes washing.
He dropped his laundry off with a professional washerwoman, known to be strong and reliable and having reasonable prices, and stepped back onto the street.
He stood there briefly, taking in the shape of the clouds. A bunch of scattered, wispy clouds layered on top of one another, like a fleece blanket. A shelf-like cloud with speckles of white.
The members of the Tarot Club were persisting in their potion digestion. Some had asked for updates on ingredients, and others exuded silent determination.
Somehow, I’ve surrounded myself with people obsessed with getting stronger. Through the cloudy sky, Klein could faintly see the outline of the sun. My ‘Scholar of Yore’ is still around 80% digested… I should confirm the materials for the ‘Miracle Invoker’ potion too.
He’d long planned how to get the formula. As a Scholar of Yore, he could simply summon the historical projection of the Antigonus notebook, and make indirect divinations around it.
As for why he hadn’t done so yet, he hadn’t had the inclination or the motivation.
There always seemed something more immediate and relevant.
Klein, with nothing urgent, no immediate enemies to plan for, and no particular schedule to maintain, suddenly had the time to reflect on his current situation as he waited on his laundry.
He was very well-aware that, just because he’d managed to run away from Zaratul, it didn’t mean that Zaratul had stopped looking for him. That was why he divined his own safety regularly.
Then again, Zaratul definitely also knew that Klein was divining his own safety, and was likely taking measures that should get around Klein’s divinations.
In turn, Klein understood Zaratul in ways that Zaratul was surely well-aware of, too. Only someone who was at minimum a Marionettist would have been able to help Zaratul recover the piece of his soul trapped in the Foggy Town. Zaratul had set a trap to deal with whoever helped him, giving Klein a specific symbol that should have eliminated Klein as it had eliminated Mr. A and Lady Despair Panatiya, but it hadn’t. That it hadn’t killed Klein should have been what notified Zaratul that Gehrman Sparrow was an unknown that needed evaluation.
Zaratul did not try to act alone in Backlund. ‘He’ looked for alliances of mutual benefit—with the Rose School of Thought, and George Augustus III.
In the distant past, Zaratul had also commissioned Roselle to steal the Antigonus notebook rather than doing it himself… When ‘He’ led the Secret Order, Zaratul’s governance was what led to its reputation as the least known secret organisation… Klein knew all of these indirect details about Zaratul.
Klein also knew that Zaratul should have sensed Sefirah Castle when it appeared upon Klein’s Sequence 3 advancement. Klein had Roselle’s diary entries that detailed the Emperor’s assessment of Zaratul, too.
All in all, Zaratul seemed to exercise some amount of caution when it came to ‘His’ goal of hunting Gehrman Sparrow.
On Klein’s part, he was equally as cautious when it came to Zaratul. For example, Zaratul had revealed that ‘He’ was able to attack Klein within the Historical Void. Thus, Klein had stopped with hiding his true body in the Historical Void for the time being.
Overall, it was a strange stalemate that led back to:
I need to finish digesting the Scholar of Yore potion.
For that, he’d already thought it though when he advanced. There were bits and pieces within the Historical Void that were not lit up to him. Dark Angel Sasirir. The Cataclysm. He needed to connect together all the disparate details he held regarding the Fourth Epoch. He also had to take the time to go over things that he knew in bits and pieces, like the rise and fall of the Antigonus family, to find anything he was missing, and interpret it as a whole.
If I could take some more Fourth Epoch grandpas out for meals and get answers out from them, would that be too easy? …
Klein had started walking. He didn’t have any particular destination in mind; he simply didn’t want to stay in one place, and absently let his spirituality guide him.
At this point in time, his spirituality nudged him to stop.
He looked around. An ordinary street of high-end terrace houses, a somewhat ancient and dark-looking building in front of him…
He knew this house.