. Neil—" Klein began, but stopped when he saw the clear disapproval in Old Neil's eyes. The Transmigrator fought a smile, and coughed lightly. "Ahem—Old Neil," he corrected.
"Earlier, you mentioned that I'm an exceedingly rare case. What exactly does that mean?" he asked with curious eyes.
Old Neil gave a low, contemplative hum, studying Klein with the air of someone patiently anticipating a question he already knew would follow.
Still, ever the diligent student, Klein pressed on. "How likely is it for someone to become a Beyonder through an ancient artifact?"
Old Neil stroked his chin, deep in thought, before breaking into a warm, hearty laugh. "Oh, not at all, my boy. I'd say it's quite impossible if it weren't for you," he adds.
"In all my years dabbling in the mystic arts, I've never come across a case even remotely like yours."
So it's that rare... Klein felt a knot of anxiety tighten in his chest. Uneasy, he answers, "... I see. Then—if I may—being such an exception... I'm honestly curious, though I can't deny a bit of worry as well."
If Klein Moretti's case was already unprecedented... what, then, did that make Zhou Mingrui?
To Transmigrate so conveniently—so precisely—felt less like coincidence and more like being nudged onto a stage in someone else's play, forced into a role he didn't understand.
Old Neil's smile softened with sympathy. "Naturally, young lad." He paused, humming in a musing sort of way. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you fell into an entire cauldron of Seer Potion..."
But then his expression hardened, turning solemn. "Dangerous," he warned. "Consider yourself fortunate, to survive and transform into an extraordinary being unharmed... for the alternative was equally likely..."
"... What kind of alternative?" Klein asked.
Old Neil smiles ruefully. "You could have easily been blown apart into a tangle of limbs and unidentifiable substance."
"Becoming a Beyonder is no trivial matter... certainly not as easily as you did," Old Neil finished, his tone resolute.
A cold sweat ran down Klein's back. He could vividly picture himself exploding into a gruesome heap... and even the thought made his stomach churn.
"... Then," Klein swallowed, his voice tight, "what explanation makes the most sense for my situation, Old Neil? There has to be something comparable, right?"
"A comparison, you say, hm." Old Neil stroked his chin, humming as he pondered. "Keep in mind, this is merely my personal hypothesis..."
"But Divine Beings, whose existences lies beyond our understanding, are believed to possess the power to bestow blessings upon mortals, granting them the opportunity to become an extraordinary one."
Old Neil paused, releasing a quiet sigh. "Even so, what little we know is vague at best. Matters of that caliber lie well beyond our reach."
Bestow blessings...? Klein echoes. Not quite right... yet uncomfortably close. Not accurate... but undeniably adjacent. Benefit. Favors.
(... not quite, not quite... it's more like—)
"Like a boon?" Klein ventured.
"... Perhaps," Old Neil murmured. He neither confirmed nor denied. "It could be possible. But I doubt any God would so casually hand power to mere mortals."
Is that so?
"Hm," Old Neil hummed, eyes wandering, as if lost in thought while speaking to himself. "... That notebook, however, has shaped you this way... could it be that Sealed Artifacts have the power to alter a person's physique... and become an existence close to it?"
Seeing this, Klein took the moment to gather his own thoughts.
What kind of God would bestow blessings?
And then—almost as if something brushed against his Spirituality—his thoughts drifted, unbidden, to The Fool.
The Being that the real Klein had met.
The one who granted him the name The World.
The mysterious existence who convened mortals above the boundless sea of Gray Fog.
Who else could it be?
Klein—no, Zhou Mingrui—felt a faint tingling in his hand, a subtle tremor crawling through his fingers.
Perhaps...
Perhaps it was time to return to that place once more.
(... The Gray Fog...)
," Old Neil sighed, pulling Klein back to the present. "Let's set aside those weighty questions for now, and turn to something more pressing."
Hm?
Klein followed his gesture to the silver tin can etched with intricate floral patterns. "Care for a cup of freshly hand-ground coffee?"
"... You don't seem like the coffee-drinking type," Klein remarked, noticing that Old Neil's porcelain cup held nothing but clear water.
Old Neil chuckled lightly. "That's just my habit. I steer clear of coffee after three in the afternoon."
"Why?" Klein asked, the question slipping out almost automatically, as though he'd asked it once already.
Old Neil restrained a smile as he met Klein's gaze. "I'm afraid it would disturb my sleep. Coffee after three makes me hear the murmurings of unknown existences."
...
Klein blinked. "And what would you do if an unknown existence appeared?"
Old Neil looked momentarily taken aback, as if the question had caught him off-guard.
Two can play at this game, Klein thought, a small twitch curling his lips. He wasn't used to having his emotions laid bare. It felt strange—like a banana peeled and left on the ground, only to have him stumble over his own skin when he least expected it.
Old Neil sighed, shaking his head in mock disappointment, though a playful glint softened the blow. "Looks like it's back to the lesson, then."
He clapped his hands. "Alright, time for another crucial lesson: The Dangers Posed by Hidden Existences."
Klein remained silent, eyes betraying nothing.
"Firstly, Little Klein—"
Klein blinked. Wait, what?
"—if you ever suspect someone is being tainted by an unknown existence, you must report it to the proper authorities who are qualified to handle such corruption—"
Noted, sure?
Klein thought, both bewildered and embarrassed. No one had ever called him 'little' in that kind of context before. Certainly not as Klein Moretti now, and certainly not as... that one other instance either.
"Mr. Neil—" cough.
Klein blanked before he continued.
"... Old Neil, which documents and books should I study?"
Klein asked, his eyes scanning the dozens of books neatly arranged along the sidelines.
His gaze lingered on a few, but to his disappointment, most of the ones that had caught his attention because of their intricate deigns had no titles on their spines.
"Anything related to history, or material that is complicated or incomplete... To be honest, I have always tried to study it, but all I manage is a rudimentary grasp..."
Klein listened quietly, his senior's voice soothing his nerves. It had been a while, that was all.
Hm.
Been a while?
Again? Klein wondered if he had some unresolved parental issues. But ah, Zhou Mingrui did miss his parents.
"... The other sources... people's diaries, contemporary books, epitaphs, and the like... are just too troublesome," Old Neil lamented.
Could it be Klein then?
Losing both parents would undoubtedly leave a deep, lasting mark on any child... even for a Transmigrator who inherited his memories.
"... For example," Old Neil continues, "the things I have here would require far more detailed historical records to determine their exact content."
Distracted, Klein automatically asks, "why?" as a small gesture to show he is still listening, even though his mind is wandering.
Old Neil pointed to a few yellowed pages in front of him. "These come from Roselle Gustav's lost diary, written before his death."
Ah, that eccentric man again?
Klein blinked.
"To keep his records secret, he used a set of strange symbols of his own invention," Old Neil finished.
Emperor Roselle. That Transmigration Senior, yes.
Klein was taken aback, yet immediately focused his attention. Probably just a bunch of nonsense—after all, why would an Emperor keep a diary?
But then again, it could be useful. Klein wondered if, by collecting all the pages, he might finally have something to tease that irritating, plagiarizing man.
"Many people believe that he did not truly die, but instead became a hidden God," Old Neil explained.
Klein was secretly amused. A human becoming a God? That was the sort of blasphemy few would dare to imagine. Of course, there must have been countless sacrifices.
At this thought, Klein fell into deep contemplation.
"... Therefore, cults that revere him have always held various rituals in an attempt to gain power," Old Neil continued.
People. Klein thought. Always so foolish and easily swayed. But what could one do in a world filled with human-made Gods?
There must have been a True God at some point, though perhaps 'He' had long since abandoned 'His' creations.
Why else would the world be so mad, so insane? Perhaps Earth has always been the greatest Forsaken Land of the Gods. It certainly fits, doesn't it?
"... We occasionally encounter such incidents and obtain a few original or duplicated copies of the diary," Old Neil explained, shaking his head.
"To this day, no one has been able to decipher the true meaning of the special symbols... Therefore, the Holy Cathedral has allowed us to keep copies for research, hoping that someday they might yield a pleasant surprise."
For a moment, Klein was tempted to speak. 'It's Chinese,' he thought. 'Would I get compensated if I translated it all for the masses? I'd say you'd all be pleasantly surprised.'
"... I've already figured out that some symbols are numbers," Old Neil said, smug. "Look—this is actually a diary!"
Klein hid a smile. A diary, indeed.
"... I plan to compare its entries with historical records, especially events about the Emperor, to try and decode more symbols."
"That's the mind of a genius, isn't it?" Klein teased, offering praise to the old gentleman with white hair and deep wrinkles, whose bright eyes met his.
Once again, a quiet sorrow settled deep in Klein's bones.
Ugh.
"Yes, indeed." Old Neil laughs. "You can take a look at it too," he offers. "Tomorrow, you'll have to help me with this diary."
And with that, Old Neil pushed a few yellowed pages into Klein's hands. There were more than he remembered from his first encounter.
At the front, the first of many, was the unmistakable scrawl of the Emperor. But among the notes was something he had never seen before.
[ Chinese! Simplified Chinese! ]
Zhou Mingrui read in astonishment.
[ I knew I wasn't the only one! There was someone before me. They must have been long gone. These ancient texts could be hundreds, maybe even a thousand years old. ]
[ Clay... it's clay. Like clay tablets. Cleverly hidden, or thrown haphazardly all around like simple garbage. Rumors say they appeared out nowhere. But how could that be? ]
[ There are no adequate records, and everyone thought I had invented a new language, when clearly! There's already one that existed long before me. ]
[ Why? ]
Zhou Mingrui's eyes trembled.
'... There... was another... another Chinese Transmigrator?'
It is as shocking as it looked. There wasn't supposed to be another.
Why is that?
No matter how confused Zhou Mingrui was—there wasn't supposed to be another.
So why?
Klein?" Old Neils's voice carried a note of curiosity.
Ah.
Klein jolted at the sound of Old Neil's voice, suddenly realizing he had been staring at the pages for far longer than he had realized.
"I—" he stammered, caught between embarrassment and the quiet, unnerving shock of discovering another Transmigrator he had never known existed.
Klein couldn't stop staring at the papers.
For preservation and research, the backs of each page had been left blank—but even so, reading the diary stirred a sudden upheaval of emotions within him.
At the very least, he felt a measure of relief, for having discovered a secret that was truly priceless.
'As annoying as he is, Huang Tao is truly the source of discoveries,' Klein thought, begrudgingly grateful to the Emperor for recording them.
... As for how he himself knew these things, Klein had long grown desensitized to the uncanny amount of knowledge he kept acquiring unconsciously, knowledge he had no memory of ever learning.
Was this the side effect of being a Seer? Had he been unknowingly wielding Beyonder powers all along? The thought unsettled him. He felt relieved that, despite his carelessness, he had not accidentally harmed Melissa.
Questions bubbled in Klein's mind, making him eager to gather all of Emperor Roselle's diaries and read them from cover to cover!
"Klein?" Old Neil asked again. "My boy?"
Klein snapped awake, hastily masking his surprise with a laugh. "I'm sorry," he apologized with a wry smile.
"I thought I'd stand out as the most special one... and somehow be able to make sense of it all," he reasoned.
"Oh?" a voice mused. "You thought you could pass as the Protagonist of the Era too?"
Klein's smile vanished immediately. Him, again?
Lamenting his situation, the Transmigrator slowly turned toward the door and was immediately assaulted with the sight of one Leonard Mitchell smirking at him.
Leaning casually against the doorframe, Mr. Mitchell's eyes held a glint that could almost be mistaken for amusement if they weren't so sharp and clinically precise.
Between two self-proclaimed Protagonists of the Era, Klein figured he would have chosen Roselle Gustav over this one.
Simply because Leonard Mitchell looked so flamboyant with that distinctively seductive air that always seemed to follow him everywhere.
The Transmigrator forced a smile so hard it became a grimace. "... Mr. Mitchell," he said, "good day."
Mr. Mitchell's smile widened. "Good day to you as well," he greeted smoothly. "I trust you're settling in nicely?"
Perhaps it was the surprisingly lukewarm welcome from the Nighthawks that made Klein relax without realizing it.
'Must be,' Klein shrugged.
Despite their initial wariness and difficulty, they had been remarkably accommodating to their youngest member.
Klein nodded. "As well settled as one could be," he said, his smooth tone matching the warm smile slipping onto his lips. "Everyone's been very kind, and without their hospitality, I'd have been bewildered for who knows how long."
He wasn't lying. Had they not given him the chance to become an Official Beyonder, he would have been completely lost, and wandering without direction everywhere.
"Good to hear," Mr. Mitchell said with a nod. He then pulled a familiar notebook from under his right armpit, shifting his weight on the doorframe and forcing himself to straighten up to avoid looking foolish.
Klein blinked. "Is that... my diary?" he asked, puzzled.
"Correct," Mr. Mitchell said, grinning boyishly with a certain glint on his eye. "The Captain asked me to return it."
"Just like that?" Klein asked. "I thought there'd be more procedures..."
"Certainly," Mr. Mitchell agreed. "Normally, it would take days for the results to come in, but this one is as ordinary as it looks."
Klein blinked, his expression falling into disbelief, an unconscious grimace tugging at his lips. 'Is he jabbing me again?'
"Of course, we had professionals take care of it personally," he went on, his winning smile only serving to fray Klein's nerves.
Mr. Mitchell let out a small sigh, as if saddened by the outcome. "Unfortunately, it ended in a dead end, and all we can do now is turn our attention elsewhere."
"Ah," Old Neil finally chimed in, a small smile on his face. "I did my best."
The old gentleman shook his head. "But it seems a very sturdy wall blocked my view," he admitted. "Still, it was only basic divination, so I didn't expect much from the start."
"Indeed," Mr. Mitchell agreed wholeheartedly. "It holds no value for the investigation, and since it's someone else's prized possession, we decided it's best to return it to its rightful owner."
'That's someone's diary...' Klein thought, gloom settling over him. 'Please stop describing it as nothing special.'
He let out a sigh, irritation pricking at him. "... Alright then," he said, his voice tinged with helplessness.
"I'd like it back please, thank you."
'Ah, it's really unfortunate that the Nighthawks only have so few pages of Roselle's diary,' Klein lamented as soon as Leonard Mitchell left to resume his duties.
It was rather strange talking to that man. Klein had expected him to be more flamboyant, given his nature, but perhaps Old Neil's presence had compelled him to behave respectfully.
Even an overbearing, insufferable poet could act properly in the watchful eye of a distinguished gentleman, he supposed.
Klein flipped through the four pages in his hand, and after confirming he hadn't missed anything, he handed them back to Old Neil and asked without much thought, "do we only have these few pages?"
'I really, really want to see more of Emperor Roselle's diary...'
"Did you think there would be many?" Old Neil scoffed, his wrinkles deepening as he gently caressed the pages.
"There aren't many incidents each year that involve Beyonders or true mysteries... The main reason," Old Neil sighed, putting away the papers to a nearby table, "... is the gradual extinction of extraordinary species across the Northern Continent."
"Without them, there aren't enough potion materials, and the number of Beyonders has been shrinking over time."
Absentmindedly, Klein let the words go in one ear and out the other.
Old Neil let out another sigh. "Over the past few centuries... dragons, giants, and elves have become nothing more than entries in books. Even the seafolk no longer appear near the coastal waters..."
With a flicker of amusement, Klein couldn't help the private jab. 'There's a low-quality elf standing right in front of you. What would you do if you knew? Probably just stare at me like I've gone mad.'
Klein sighed. "Clearly, the only logical next step is to establish a Dragons and Giants Protection Association."
Old Neil chuckled at his words. "You're quite humorous, young man. Why stop at dragons and giants? Let's call it the Fantastic Beasts Protection Association."
"No, no, no..." Klein disagrees with a smile. "How could we forget those poor plants?"
Old Neil flicked his fingers with a slight glint in his eye, and Klein watched with indulgent amusement.
"Fantastic Organisms Protection Association!" the old gentleman concludes.
They laughed quietly, like old friends reunited at last. In the corner, an eyelash-less eye watched them, like a ghost from the past looming ever closer.