Chapter 16: Meddling in Other People's Business

Chapter 16: A Dog Catching Mice

*Phew, finally passed the Seer stage...*

Klein exhaled a breath of turbid air, turned around slowly, and began to stroll toward the apartment entrance, enjoying the tranquility of the night and the refreshing cool breeze.

He pulled out his keys, inserted them, and turned them gently, allowing the darkness tinged with crimson to expand along with a creaking sound.

Walking up the deserted stairs and breathing in the crisp air, Klein experienced a strange sensation, as if he had gained several extra hours of life, making his footsteps feel light.

*Click.* Maintaining a similar mindset, he opened his front door, but before he could step inside, he saw a figure sitting quietly in the darkness in front of the desk. With black hair tinged with red, bright brown eyes, and a delicate face, it was unmistakably Melissa Moretti!

"Klein, where have you been?" Melissa asked, her brow unfurling in confusion.

Without waiting for Klein to answer, she added a sentence, seemingly intent on explaining the cause, effect, and logic of the matter with absolute clarity: "I just got up to go to the washroom and found you weren't home."

Klein had extensive experience in deceiving parents. His mind raced, and he replied with a calm, bitter smile

"I woke up once and couldn't fall back asleep. I thought instead of wasting time, I might as well get some exercise, so I went out for a few laps. Look, I'm covered in sweat."

He took off his coat, turned halfway, and pointed to his back.

Melissa stood up, gave him a cursory glance, and after deliberating for a few seconds, said

"Klein, actually, you don't... you don't need to be under so much pressure. You'll definitely pass the interview at Tingen University. Even if you don't—um, I mean, if you don't—you can find something even better."

*I haven't even considered the interview yet...* Klein nodded.

"I understand."

He didn't mention that he had already received an "offer," because he hadn't decided whether to take it yet.

Melissa gave him a deep look, suddenly turned, and jogged into the inner room, bringing out an object shaped like a turtle, cobbled together from gears, rusted iron, springs, and wind-up mechanisms.

Quickly tightening the spring, Melissa placed the object on the desk.

*Click-clack, click-clack.* The "turtle" hopped and moved with a rhythmic cadence that involuntarily drew one's attention to it.

"When I feel troubled, watching it move like this makes me feel much better. I've been doing this often lately; it's very effective! Klein, you should try it," Melissa invited with bright eyes.

Klein did not refuse his sister's kindness. He leaned in to look at the "turtle" and waited until it stopped before smiling.

"Simplicity and regularity can indeed bring relaxation."

Before Melissa could say more, he pointed at the "turtle" and asked casually

"Did you make this yourself? When did you make it? How come I didn't know?"

"I made it using materials the school didn't want and things I picked up on the road. I finished it a couple of days ago." Melissa's expression remained normal, though the corners of her mouth curled up slightly.

"That's very impressive," Klein praised sincerely.

As a boy with poor manual dexterity regarding mechanics, he used to struggle immensely just to assemble a four-wheel-drive toy car when he was a child.

Melissa tilted her chin up slightly, her eyes curving gently, and replied in a flat tone

"It's alright, it's alright."

"Excessive modesty is a bad character trait," Klein chuckled. "This is a turtle, right?"

The atmosphere in the room suddenly grew heavy, and Melissa's voice rang out faintly, like a crimson veil

"It is a puppet."

*A puppet...*

...Klein gave an awkward laugh and forced an explanation

"It's a matter of materials; it's still too crude."

Immediately after, he changed the subject

"Why were you going to the washroom in the middle of the night? There's a toilet in there. Besides, aren't you usually the type to sleep straight through until dawn?"

Melissa froze for a moment. After a few seconds, she opened her mouth, preparing to explain.

Just then, a loud, violent gurgling sound of digestion erupted from her abdomen.

"I—I'm going back to sleep!"

*Bang!* She grabbed the turtle-shaped "puppet" and jogged back into the inner room, slamming the door shut.

*...Yesterday's dinner was too good, I ate too much, and my stomach couldn't handle it...* Klein shook his head with a smile. He walked slowly to the desk, sat silently in his chair, and, under the crimson moon emerging from behind the dark clouds, quietly contemplated Dunn Smith's invitation.

The disadvantages of being a clerical staff member for the Nighthawks were very obvious

As a transmigrator and the initiator of the mysterious gathering, "The Fool," he carried many secrets. Loitering long-term under the nose of the Church of the Evernight Goddess's team that specialized in handling Beyonder incidents carried significant risk;

As long as he joined Dunn Smith and the others, his goal would certainly be to become a Beyonder to mask the benefits obtained from the "gathering." Becoming a formal member would inevitably limit his freedom; just as clerical staff had to report whenever they left Tingen, he wouldn't be able to go wherever he wanted or do whatever he pleased, and he would miss many opportunities;

The Nighthawks were a strict organization. Once a mission was assigned, one could only wait for arrangements and accept orders, with no way to refuse;

Beyonders faced the risk of losing control;

...

After listing the disadvantages in his mind, Klein turned to consider the necessity and the benefits

Judging from encounters like the "Luck Transfer Ritual," he would not be one of the eighty percent of lucky people Dunn spoke of. Strange events would inevitably fall upon him, filled with danger. Only by becoming a Beyonder or joining the Nighthawks would he possess the ability to contend with them;

If he wanted to become a Beyonder, he couldn't do it through the "gathering" alone. The issue of potion formulas wasn't great, but where to find the corresponding materials, how to obtain them, how to concoct them, and the common knowledge of daily Beyonder cultivation were all serious obstacles. It was impossible to ask "Justice" and "The Hanged Man" about everything or trade for every single item; this would not only damage "The Fool's" image and cause suspicion, but there also wasn't enough time to communicate such trivial matters. Similarly, he couldn't offer much that they would find interesting;

Additionally, more material exchanges would leave traces of his real identity. If "online disputes" turned into "offline conflicts," it would be a huge problem;

By joining the "Nighthawks," he would inevitably come into contact with the common knowledge of the mysterious world and relevant channels. By accumulating enough connections, he could use them as a fulcrum to leverage the "gathering" and obtain maximum benefits from "Justice" and "The Hanged Man." This, in turn, would improve his real-world status and allow him to obtain more resources, forming a virtuous cycle;

Of course, he could also look for and join organizations like the "Psychology Alchemists" mentioned by Dunn, which were suppressed and hunted by the major churches. But becoming a member of them would also mean losing freedom and living in constant fear. A more important problem was that he had no idea where to find them. Even if he managed to extract information from "The Hanged Man," a reckless attempt at contact would be life-threatening;

Becoming a clerical staff member offered a buffer and a chance to exit;

Small hermits hide in the wild, middle hermits hide in the city, and great hermits hide in the imperial court. The identity of a Nighthawk might be a better protective color;

In the future, when he becomes a high-ranking official in the Tribunal, who would suspect that he is a heretic and the mastermind behind a secret organization?

...

As the dawn broke and the crimson faded, gazing at the golden horizon, Klein made his decision.

Today, he would go find Dunn Smith and become a clerical staff member of the Nighthawks!

"You're not asleep?" At this moment, Melissa got up again and pushed the door open, looking surprised to see her brother stretching ungracefully.

"Just thinking about some things." Klein revealed a smile, looking completely relaxed.

Melissa pondered for a moment and said

"When I encounter troubles, I list the pros and cons one by one. After listing them, I compare them, and then I get a 'hint' of what I should do."

"A good habit. That's what I do too," Klein replied with a smile.

Melissa's expression relaxed, and she said no more, taking some yellowed large sheets of paper and toiletries to the public washroom.

After breakfast and after his sister had left, Klein didn't rush out. Feeling in a good mood, he caught up on some sleep, because as far as he knew, almost all pubs were closed in the morning.

At two in the afternoon, he used a small brush and a handkerchief to smooth out the wrinkles of his top hat and remove the dirt, restoring its neatness. Then, dressed in formal attire, he went out as if going to an interview.

Besic Street was a bit far. Fearing he might miss the Nighthawks' "working hours," Klein did not walk there but instead waited at the entrance of Iron Cross Street for a public carriage.

In the Kingdom of Loen, public carriages were divided into two types: trackless and tracked. The former was pulled by two horses and could seat about twenty people, including the top of the carriage. It followed only approximate routes without specific stops, operating flexibly and stopping upon request unless full.

The latter was operated by the Rail Carriage Company. They first laid devices similar to iron rails on major streets, with the horses walking on the inside and the wheels turning on top. This was easy and effortless, allowing them to pull larger double-decker carriages that could carry nearly fifty passengers. The only problem was that the routes and stops were fixed, meaning many places could not be reached, making it somewhat rigid.

After about ten minutes, the sound of wheels hitting the rails approached from a distance, and a double-decker carriage stopped at the station in Iron Cross Street.

"To Besic Street," Klein said to the driver.

"You'll have to transfer at Champagne Street, but once you get there, it's only about a ten-minute walk to Besic Street," the driver explained the route.

"Then to Champagne Street," Klein nodded in agreement.

"It's over 4 kilometers, 4 pence," a fair-faced young man beside the driver said, holding out his hand.

He was the staff member responsible for collecting money.

"Alright." Klein pulled four copper pence from his pocket and handed them to the man.

He stepped onto the carriage and found that there weren't many passengers; even on the first floor, there were several empty seats.

*I only have 3 pence left on me. I'll have to walk back...* Klein pressed down his hat and sat down firmly.

Most of the gentlemen and ladies on this floor were sitting upright in formal attire, though some were in work clothes or leisurely reading newspapers. However, almost no one was talking; it was quite quiet.

Klein closed his eyes to conserve his energy, ignoring the passing passengers around him.

Stop after stop, he finally heard the words "Champagne Street."

After getting off the carriage and asking for directions, he soon arrived at Besic Street and saw the pub marked with the symbol of a brown-yellow hound.

Klein extended his right hand and pushed hard. The heavy door slowly opened, and a clamor of noise and a restless wave of heat surged toward him.

Although it was still afternoon, there were already many customers in the pub. Some were temporary workers looking for opportunities and waiting to be hired, while others were idle, using alcohol to numb themselves.

The interior of the pub was quite dim. In the center stood two large iron cages, with the bottom third embedded into the ground without any gaps. People held wooden tankards and gathered around them, sometimes discussing loudly, sometimes cursing or laughing.

Klein took a curious glance and discovered that two dogs were locked inside: one was black and white, resembling an Earthly Husky, and the other was pitch black with shiny fur, looking strong and fierce.

"Want to place a bet? Doug has won eight rounds in a row lately!" A short man wearing a brown soft cap approached, pointing at the black dog.

*A bet?* Klein was stunned at first, then realized

"Dog fighting?"

Back at Hoy University, those aristocratic students and children of wealthy families would always ask him with contempt and curiosity whether rude workers or unemployed ruffians liked participating in boxing and gambling in pubs. Besides boxing and cards, did gambling also include cruel and bloody activities like cockfighting and dog fighting?

The short man sneered

"Sir, we are civilized people; we wouldn't do such unseemly things."

At this point, he muttered in a low voice, "Besides, laws were passed last year to prohibit such things..."

"Then what are you betting on?" Klein asked out of curiosity.

"To see who is the better 'hunter'." Just as the short man finished speaking, a commotion broke out in the arena.

He turned his head to look, waved his hand excitedly, and said

"This round has started; you can't place bets anymore. Wait for the next one."

Hearing this, Klein stood on his tiptoes and craned his neck to look. He saw two burly men each dragging a sack toward the iron cage. They opened the "cage door" and poured the contents inside.

They were gray, disgusting animals!

Klein looked closely and realized they were actually rats—dozens, perhaps even hundreds of rats!

Because the bottom of the iron cage was embedded in the ground with no gaps, the rats scurried everywhere but could not escape.

At that moment, as the cage door closed, the iron chains of the two dogs were released.

"Woof!" The black dog lunged forward and bit a rat to death in one snap.

The black-and-white dog was initially bewildered, but then it began to play excitedly with the rats.

The surrounding people either held up their tankards, staring intently, or shouted loudly

"Bite it! Kill it!"

"Doug! Doug!"

...*God, it's a dog catching mice...* Klein realized, his mouth twitching uncontrollably.

The gambling item here was actually betting on which dog would catch more rats...

Perhaps one could even bet on the specific number...

No wonder people in Iron Cross Street were always buying live rats...

It really is unique...

Klein shook his head, stepped back with a wry smile, and bypassed the crowded patrons at the edge to reach the front of the bar.

"New face?" The bartender looked up while wiping a glass. "Rye beer is 1 penny a glass, Emmat beer is 2 pence, Southwell beer is 4 pence, or would you like a glass of malt-brewed Lonzi?"

"I'm looking for Mr. Wright," Klein said directly.

The bartender whistled and shouted to the side

"Old man, someone's looking for you."

"Ugh, who is it..." A muddled voice emerged, and a drunken old man stood up from behind the bar.

He rubbed his eyes and looked at Klein.

"Young man, you're looking for me?"

"Mr. Wright, I want to hire a mercenary squad for a mission," Klein replied, following Dunn's instructions.

"A mercenary squad? Do you live in an adventure story? That kind of thing hasn't existed for a long time!" the bartender interjected with a laugh.

Wright fell silent for a few seconds before saying

"Who told you to come here to find them?"

"Dunn. Dunn Smith," Klein answered truthfully.

Wright immediately let out a chuckle.

"I see. Actually... mercenary squads still exist, they've just changed form, taking a name that is closer to modern society. You can find one on the second floor of No. 36 Zotlan Street."

"Thank you," Klein said sincerely, turned, and squeezed out of the pub.

Just before he left the door, the gathered patrons suddenly fell silent, leaving only a murmur of whispers

"Doug actually lost..."

"Lost..."

Klein shook his head amusedly and walked away quickly, asking for directions until he reached the nearby Zotlan Street.

"30, 32, 34... here." He counted the house numbers and walked into the stairwell.

Rounding the corner and heading up step by step, he saw a vertical sign. He saw the current name of the so-called mercenary squad

"Black Thorn Security Company."