Lord of Mysteries

Chapter 25 The Church

As Azik muttered to himself, he subconsciously glanced at Quentin Cohen, seemingly seeking a hint or inspiration.

With his sunken eyes and deep blue irises, Cohen shook his head without hesitation:

"I have no recollection of it at all."

"...Well, maybe it's just that the word roots are similar." Azik lowered his left hand and gave a self-deprecating laugh.

Klein was slightly disappointed with the result, but couldn't help adding:

"Mentor, Mr. Azik, as you know, I am very interested in exploring and reconstructing the history of the Quaternary period. If you recall anything or obtain any other information, could you please write to me?"

"No problem." Because of what happened today, Senior Associate Professor Cohen, with his silver hair, was quite satisfied with Klein.

Azik nodded in agreement.

"Is your address still the same as before?"

"For now, but we're moving soon, and I'll write to you then," Klein replied respectfully.

Senior Associate Professor Cohen shook his black cane and said:

"It's definitely time to move to a better environment."

At this moment, Klein glanced at the newspaper in Azik's hand and said carefully:

"Mentor, Mr. Azik, what did the newspapers say about Welch and Naya? I only knew a little bit from the police officer in charge of the investigation."

Just as Azik was about to answer, Cohen, the senior associate professor whose wrinkles weren't yet too pronounced, suddenly pulled out a pocket watch from the gold chain on his black tuxedo.

pat!

He pressed the button, looked at it, and tapped his cane forward:

"The meeting is about to begin, Azik. We can't delay. Give the newspaper to Moretti."

"Okay." Azik handed the newspaper he had finished reading to Klein. "We have to go upstairs now. Remember to write. Cohen and I haven't changed our address; it's still the History Department office at Hoy University, haha."

He smiled, turned around, and left the room with Cohen.

Klein removed his hat and bowed, watching the two gentlemen leave before bidding farewell to the office's owner, Harvin Stone, and slowly making his way down the corridor out of the gray three-story building.

Bathed in sunlight, he picked up his cane, unfolded the newspaper, and saw the heading:

"Tinggen Morning Post"

Tingen has quite a few newspapers and magazines... Morning Newspaper, Evening Newspaper, Candor Newspaper, Backlund Daily News, Tasok Newspaper, Family Magazine, Story Review... Klein casually recalled seven or eight names, some of which were not local, but came from the "distribution" based on steam trains.

With the industrialization of papermaking and printing becoming increasingly advanced, the price of a newspaper has dropped to one penny, and the population it covers is becoming wider and wider.

Klein didn't look at the other content carefully and quickly found the "Home Invasion and Murder" report in the "News" section;

"...According to the police department, Mr. Welch's house was in a terrible state, and all the gold, jewelry, and banknotes, as well as everything of value and easily portable, were missing. There was no even a penny left. There is reason to believe that this was a group of ruthless and vicious criminals who would not hesitate to kill innocent people who saw their faces, such as Mr. Welch and Ms. Naya."

"This is a trampling of the kingdom's laws! This is a provocation against public safety! No one wants to experience something like this! Of course, the good news is that the police have identified the culprit and arrested the main perpetrator. We will provide follow-up reports as soon as possible."

"The reporter is John Browning."

"They've done some work, covered it up..." Klein nodded almost imperceptibly as he walked along the tree-lined path.

He casually flipped through the newspaper, reading other news and serialized stories as he strolled along.

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of his head stood on end, as if tiny needles were sticking out of him.

Is someone watching me? Observing me? Spying on me?

A series of thoughts arose spontaneously, and Klein vaguely understood.

Back on Earth, he had also felt an invisible gaze before, and eventually discovered the source of the gaze, but never before had he reacted so clearly and reached such a definitive "conclusion"!

The same thing happened in the original owner's memory fragments!

Was it time travel, or did that strange "luck-changing ritual" enhance my "sixth sense"?

Klein resisted the urge to seek attention, and, like in the novels, movies, and TV series he had watched, slowly stopped, put away his newspaper, and gazed at the Hoy River.

He then turned his head slightly, looking around at the scenery, before turning around naturally to take in the surroundings.

Apart from the trees, the lawn, and the students passing by in the distance, there was no one else here.

However, Klein was certain that someone was still watching him!

This……

Klein's heart raced, and his blood gushed out with each violent thud.

He unfolded the newspaper, partially covering his face, afraid that someone would notice his unusual expression.

At the same time, he gripped his cane tightly, ready to draw his gun.

One step, two steps, three steps, Klein moved forward slowly, just as before.

He still felt being watched and scrutinized, but no danger suddenly erupted.

He walked along the tree-lined path, his body slightly stiff, until he reached the waiting point for the public carriages. Luckily, one was just coming.

"Iron...Zot...No, Champagne Street." Klein repeatedly denied his own thoughts.

He initially planned to go straight home, but then worried that he might attract the attention of the unknown spy to his apartment. He then considered going to Zotland Street to ask the "night watchmen" or his colleagues for help, but he was concerned that they might alert him and expose him. So, he just picked a random location.

"Six pence," the toll collector answered familiarly.

Klein didn't bring any gold pounds with him today, leaving them in his usual hiding place. He only took two soles in banknotes, having spent the same amount when he came before. He had exactly one sole and six pence left, so he took out all his coins and gave them to the cashier.

Once inside the carriage and seated, as the doors closed, Klein felt the unease of being watched finally disappear!

He exhaled slowly, feeling his hands and feet trembling slightly.

What should I do?

What should we do next?

Klein stared out the carriage window, racking his brains for a solution.

Without knowing the spy's purpose, assume it's malicious!

One idea after another emerged, only to be rejected by Klein one by one. Having never experienced anything like this before, it took him several minutes to find a solution.

The "night watchmen" must be notified; only they can truly resolve this problem!

But we can't just go straight there; that would expose us, and perhaps that's exactly what they want...

Following this line of thought, Klein roughly drafted one plan after another, and his ideas gradually became clearer.

call!

He exhaled a breath of stale air, regaining his basic composure, and intently watched the scenery rushing past the window.

Nothing unexpected happened until the carriage arrived at Champagne Street, but as soon as Klein got out of the carriage, he immediately felt that uneasy feeling of being stared at and watched again!

He pretended not to notice anything, picked up the newspaper, grabbed his cane, and slowly walked toward Zotland Street.

However, he did not enter that street, but instead went around to the back of Red Moon Street, where there was a beautiful white square and a cathedral with a pointed roof!

St. Serena's Church!

The headquarters of the Church of the Goddess of Night in Tingen!

As a believer, it is not strange at all for someone to attend Mass and pray on a day of rest.

The cathedral has a distinct earthy Gothic style, with an overall black color scheme and a tall, weathered bell tower on the front facade. It sits atop a massive central buttress between red and blue lattice windows, piercing the clouds.

Klein entered the church and walked along the aisle toward the main prayer hall. Along the way, rays of light, tinged with color, shone through the narrow, tall windows inlaid with delicate blue and red patterns. The blue was almost black, and the red was like the moon, making the surroundings appear unusually dark.

The feeling of being watched disappeared again. Klein remained calm, showing no joy, and walked step by step to the outside of the open prayer hall.

There are no tall windows here; deep darkness takes center stage. But behind the arched altar, on the wall directly opposite the entrance, a dozen or twenty fist-sized round holes pierce through to the outside, allowing the brilliant, pure sunlight to shine in, condensed and luminous.

It's like a pedestrian in the dark suddenly looking up and seeing the starry sky, seeing countless brilliant stars—so sublime, so pure, so sacred.

Even though he had always believed that gods could be studied and understood, Klein couldn't help but lower his head.

As the bishop's deep, gentle sermon rang out, he walked quietly down the aisle separating the seats, found a secluded spot near the passageway, and slowly sat down.

Leaning his cane against the back of the chair in front of him, Klein took off his top hat and placed it on his lap along with the newspaper. Then he clasped his hands together and pressed them against his drooping forehead.

He did the whole process slowly and methodically, just like he was really praying.

Klein closed his eyes, listening quietly to the bishop's voice in the darkness:

"They were naked, without clothes or food, and completely exposed to the cold."

"They were soaked by the heavy rain, and having nowhere to take shelter, they clung tightly to the rock."

"They are mothers whose children have been taken away, orphans who have lost all hope, and poor people who have been forced off the right path."

"The night did not abandon them; it showed them favor."

... (Note 1)

The echoes piled up, each sound reaching his ears, plunging Klein into darkness, his soul feeling as if it had been cleansed.

He calmly absorbed these thoughts until the bishop finished his sermon and ended the Mass.

The bishop opened the door to the confessional next door, and a line of gentlemen and ladies formed.

Klein opened his eyes, put on his top hat, picked up his cane and newspaper, and stood up to join the orderly queue.

After more than twenty minutes, it was finally his turn.

He stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and darkness fell upon Klein once more.

"Child, what do you want to say?" The bishop's voice came from behind the wooden partition.

Klein took the badge of "Special Operations Department Seventh Group" out of his pocket and handed it to the bishop through the gap.

"Someone is following me. I want to find Dunn Smith." As if shrouded in darkness, his tone softened.

The bishop took the badge, remained silent for a few seconds, and then said:

"Turn right at the entrance to the confessional, and you'll reach the end of the alley. There's a hidden door next to it; once inside, someone will guide you."

As he spoke, he pulled a rope in the room, making a bell ring in the ear of a priest.

Klein took back the badge, took off his top hat, pressed it to his chest, bowed slightly, then turned around and pushed open the door to leave.

After confirming that the feeling of being watched had disappeared, he put his black top hat back on, his face expressionless, picked up his cane, turned right, and walked all the way to the arched altar.

He found the hidden door on the wall to the side, opened it silently, and slipped inside.

The hidden door closed silently, and a middle-aged man in a black priest's robe appeared in the gaslight, right before Klein's eyes.

"What is it?" the middle-aged pastor asked briefly.

Klein showed the badge and repeated what he had just said to the bishop.

The middle-aged pastor asked no more questions, turned around, and walked away in silence.

Klein nodded, adjusted his top hat, picked up his black cane, and quietly followed behind the other person.

Rosanne said that the Church of St. Serena is to the left of the intersection leading to the "Charnes Gate".

Note 1: Adapted from Chapter 24 of the Book of Job in the Old Testament.

(End of this chapter)