Klein sits at his desk, meticulously carving two protective charms—one for Benson, one for Melissa. As his hands work, his mind drifts to the package his brother received earlier.
A letter and two bottles of wine, courtesy of that "generous Mr. Abraham," as Benson put it. In the letter, Adrian Abraham explained he's staying in Backlund for business and sent the wine—produced by his family's winery—for Benson's import-export company to negotiate pricing. Notably, one bottle was a personal gift for Benson.
When Klein first heard this, he thought Adrian was simply wealthy and generous. But now, reflecting on his own meager savings, he feels a pang of envy. Finishing the charms, he rises and tucks them carefully into his coat.
After tidying up, Klein steps out of the clerical office to submit scrapped materials when Captain Dunn approaches, clad in his black trench coat.
Dunn's deep gray eyes scan him, a faint smile curling his lips. "Klein, the Church has approved—you're officially a Nighthawk. His Excellency, the Sword of the Goddess, confirmed you're free of contamination. Alas, Old Neil won't be back anytime soon… but thankfully, under the Church's care, he's unlikely to lose control again."
"…Sigh." Despite becoming a full-fledged Nighthawk, Klein's mood sours. Dunn, mistaking his gloom for lingering trauma, nods. "You can claim this week's salary of 3 pounds now. It'll rise to 4.5 pounds weekly until your advance is repaid."
"The Church will keep investigating the source of Old Neil's contamination, which may involve a clash between the True Creator and the Hidden Sage. Take a few days to rest, Klein. I'll notify you if any tasks arise."
Yes! Klein clenches his fist, the salary news lifting some of his gloom. Old Neil's survival means there's still hope. Yet, confusion lingers. Old Neil's accident was a stroke of luck in its own way, but why… why did three distinct gods appear above him? Why didn't Dunn mention the third, eye-like spirit?
Forget it… Klein shakes his head, burying the question. From his recent occult studies, the oddity stands out: why would an ordinary Secret Peeper like Old Neil attract the attention of three great existences?
Unable to puzzle it out, Klein decides to end the day's work and head home for dinner with his siblings. Benson mentioned Selena's family invited them for her birthday dinner tomorrow night. No matter how many mysteries linger, life goes on.
"Benson, that outfit looks sharp on you today," Klein says, tossing his coat aside and grinning. Benson rubs his receding hairline, chuckling. "Thanks to that gentleman from last time. A true gentleman—rich, generous, and so considerate. Though, he's oddly keen on pushing learning… ugh, those grammar books he recommended are giving me a headache."
"No, Benson," Klein says, turning serious. "I think Mr. Abraham's a thoughtful man. Knowledge is wealth. Look at me—even without a university interview, my skills got me hired… Oh, and my salary went up today."
Though not the kind of knowledge you're thinking… Klein muses bitterly, recalling Old Neil's plight. At Melissa's urging, the siblings tidy up, leave the house, and board a trackless public carriage to Selena's home on Fania Street in the North District.
Stepping off the carriage, Klein senses a prying gaze from his left. Frowning, he looks but sees only a plain wall. The sensation vanishes. Shaking his head, he inspects the wall—nothing unusual. Filing the incident away, he resolves to report it to Dunn after the dinner, staying quietly vigilant.
"You were seen by him," the True Creator's deafening voice booms, scattering the flesh beneath His feet. I, the High-Dimensional Overseer, hold a piece of amber-encased flesh, carefully placing it into a spherical container. Ignoring Him, I adjust the device. After a long pause, I stop and address the True Creator.
"Klein's connection to the Sefirah Castle is deeper than we thought. When I breached reality, I glimpsed the Safirah Castle. I suspect Klein saw my true form then."
"Sefirah Castle…" the True Creator mutters. "It's always hovered above the spirit world, but lately, it's been… stirring."
"Klein can access the Safirah Castle. Let's hope he doesn't think he's the era's protagonist like Roselle did," I say casually. This isn't mere speculation—it's a "future" I've glimpsed behind the veil. The path to inheriting the Safirah Castle and defeating the Celestial Worthy is fraught with traps. One misstep could plunge Klein into an abyss of possession.
If Klein veers toward that fate, my task shifts from stabilizing his mind to eliminating his revival tokens and fleeing with the "Door" pathway. My favor toward him stems from shared memories of our pre-transmigration lives, a kinship from similar eras, and aligned interests.
The universe is vast; I don't need to favor Earth. My human memories are a mere drop in the ocean of my existence.
Setting the spherical container on the ground, I watch as vein-like tendrils writhe across its "eggshell," nurturing a peculiar lifeform. The True Creator eyes it, curious yet wary. "What is this?"
"A vessel for your divine descent," I reply, admiring the pristine eggshell beneath its fleshy veneer. "It'll separate your madness and sustain your true god status." In my unique vision, this isn't a mere sphere—its unmanifested parts in higher dimensions faintly form a humanoid shape.
Silence stretches, long and heavy. The True Creator seems lost in chaotic ravings, yet the surrounding darkness remains stable. I wait patiently, curious about His intentions. Finally, He opens His blood-red eyes. "What do you want?"
"The White Tower."
"…You've tainted the Hidden Sage, and now you seek more pathways?" He accuses. I scoff. Another long silence passes before He speaks. "I can't give you more pathways. Even with your Ancient human soul… no, I can't even confirm you're truly our 'kin.'"
"I must ensure 'God Almighty' doesn't rise, dear True Creator," I say, my voice echoing from all directions. "You know I loathe that dull entity—more than I've ever crossed the Celestial Worthy. If Adam weren't your half, I'd crave the 'Visionary' characteristic. Honestly, why doesn't He become the High-Dimensional Overseerr? I bet He'd digest my source matter instantly…"
"…" The True Creator pauses, then says, "I can leave Herrabergen to you… but first, you must help me reclaim the 'Sun.' Swear under the Ancient Sun God's authority not to harm Earth."
"Deal," I say lightly. "I don't care."
How far will you go, True Creator? The Hidden Sage's secrets are nearly mine, and the White Tower will enhance my vision's splendor. I muse, gazing at the True Creator, Amanises, and all the world's beings.
I'm indifferent to being bound, unafraid of constraints. I am high-dimensional, born of higher realms, yet trapped by my lofty perspective. As a "human," I crave only what defies my imagination, watching improbable worlds unfold. I follow my source matter's instincts and my human ones.
Stubbornly, I seek eternal existence, forever watching lives that spark my joy.
"…I see him," I say, turning to a tiny "nightmare" at my feet. My avatar's lips split into a grin as I "gaze" at the gray-haired man stumbling into this dream, laughing wildly in the Forsaken Land of the Gods.
"Daring to 'arrange' me? Ince Zangwill, no wonder Amanises picked you, you fool!"
'Now, 0-08 is fish on the cutting board!'
(End of Chapter)