Cogitation, something truly special, isn't it?
A simple technique, yet as fundamental as Spirit Vision. Not only does it allow the Beyonder to calm down and regain control after intense emotions, thus safeguarding their lives against the danger of losing control, but it's also a useful technique in everyday life. How many times, caught up in emotion, can we make bad choices? Hasty choices that we'll regret later...
All this is because many humans are incapable of stopping for a moment to become objective, incapable of losing the emotional charge that guides them in their lives.
Be careful, this isn't to say that actions born from strong emotions are wrong or twisted by nature. Many tramps in the East Borough continue to live, hoping for a better life, chasing feelings and emotions they haven't felt in a long time.
Perhaps, in their case, if they stopped to reflect on their desperate situation, it would mean the end of their life, of their journey.
Personally, Andrew Locke valued objectivity and rationality, perhaps influenced by the Pathway he chose many years ago. Even though he was reckless and even hasty in many matters, the boy, in the midst of danger, always relied on Cogitation to assume the best possible emotional state.
And perhaps that's why it took him all these years to discover that second rule of his Acting Method.
But that's also an excuse, right? The truth is: even though he may call himself a young adult, a gentleman, or a true Beyonder, he's still human. A child.
Who refuses to think about unpleasant things that might hurt him, who refuses to think about his past not because it was unpleasant or horrible, but simply because of the bitterness he feels at the thought of its end.
The end of that woman he called Mom.
That's why he relied on logic, on Cogitation. As a means of escape, for not thinking about it, and for sleeping at night.
Unfortunately for him, not even Cogitation can keep him asleep in response to external stimuli.
Boom!
A loud sound resonated at the end of his bed, awakening him from his deep sleep.
Entering the desired Cogitation state, any mental malus brought on by drowsiness was canceled out in favor of cold calculations. Which led him to reach for a diamond-shaped object made of tin.
Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, it wasn't the enemy who had caused the noise, but instead, a familiar drunken Beyonder.
Resting his crossed arms at the end of the bed, he protruded with a lightly bearded face and a lazy smile, eyes filled with childish mischief. Standing up, he placed a hand on his knee and made a noise as if his back hurt.
The reason wasn't his age, but merely his usual drunken barroom posture with his back arched.
Luke Ross said in a cheerful tone, "Sup princess. Did ya enjoy the wake-up?"
Andrew gave the man a thoughtful look before covering his eyes with his hands as he sighed deeply.
"What. Is. Your. Problem?"
He didn't pay much attention to the man, who strangely didn't smell of beer, as he checked under his pillow.
The origami's still in good shape...
"Remember how ya woke me up at the bar? My mate this is only right to repay the debt, eh eh eh."
The reason Andrew wasn't so suspicious of the man was that they had known each other's homes for a long time. They never used them as a meeting point for safety and to avoid any possible surprise attacks from the other.
Not because they didn't trust each other, but just for common sense between Beyonders.
Getting out of bed, Andrew moved toward the living room, checking for the missing Demoness.
"Ya should take better care of your house; it's a real mess-"
"Have you seen a woman?"
"A woman? D-Don't tell me you brought a girl home!"
Dragging himself into the kitchen, Andrew grabbed a glass of water to quench his thirst but was stopped by the man who grabbed his shoulders.
"Ya've already become a man! Ya used a condom, right?! Don't want to become a father mate, trust me, and besides-"
Luke blurted out some nonsense but only received a firm look from the boy.
Slowly walking away, he looked at his hands for a second before speaking again.
"Tell me, maybe I'm wrong, but ya seem warmer than usual."
Without speaking, Andrew pointed to the pin attached to the collar of his pajamas.
It was a golden, spherical pin. If someone hadn't been paying attention, they wouldn't have noticed the various rays emanating from the center together with various symbols at the border. They gave the pin a royal sensation, as it recalled the pride of the Sun and all the various symbols associated with it, with the strongest connection to the God known as the Eternal Blazing Sun.
It was an amulet created by Andrew with the aim of always carrying a certain purifying aura with him. Useful against ghosts and similar monsters.
Luke nodded, understanding the object's meaning.
Then he stopped and regarded Andrew with an almost gentle, kind gaze.
"Bad night?"
His voice sounded surprisingly caring and sympathetic. Perhaps the caring of someone who had spent similar nights in the past.
Luke and Andrew had known each other for some time and, as a result, were aware of some of the other's quirks.
After a bad day, Luke was the type to dive straight into alcohol, while Andrew was the type to create even more distance from others.
While he would have maintained a cold, detached gentlemanly demeanor with strangers or people with whom he had a superficial relationship, with someone like Luke, toward whom he found such an attitude unnecessary, he simply assumed a silent air, uttering words only when necessary.
The man looked out the window before continuing.
"I have to leave Backlund for a couple of weeks. A family reunion or some bullshit like that. I stopped to drop something off."
Reaching out, he took a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Andrew.
Andrew took it hesitantly.
It can't be-!
Sequence 7: Detective
Main Ingredients:
The Liver of a six-armed Naga.The Ears from a Fox of Hunt.
Supplementary Ingredients:
100 ml of blood from a six-armed Naga.The tip of the tail from a Fox of Hunt.20g of Tranquil Flower incense.10 drops of red or black ink.
"Where did you find it?" Andrew asked, his voice clearly surprised.
He was expecting a lead, but not the entire formula! Who did he get it from? His family, perhaps?
Luke chuckled before opening his arms.
"Who do you think I am? You shouldn't be so surprised! I thought to myself, ' A detective who knows the Acting Method should be pretty famous, right? ' and so I looked up several investigators."
"Sivellaus Yard?" Andrew asked, immediately thinking of the Backlund police station.
But what would he have exchanged for it from an officer?
Wait, don't tell me-
"You traded some of your family's secrets?"
Luke Ross had already expressed annoyance with his family. Could he have exchanged some of their secrets for the formula?
"Correct! He couldn't resist! He gave me a nice discount, heh."
Finally, he put his hands up in supplication.
"Could I get my reward? Since I got a discount, I'll give you one too! From £950 to £850! Don't need to praise me."
Ignoring the man's proud smile, Andrew quietly returned to the room to get the correct amount of money- eighty- five £10 notes each.
Aside from the inconvenience of only having £10 notes, Andrew mentally noted down the remaining savings for the ingredients.
About £100, definitely not enough for the rest of the ingredients.
Mentally sighing, Andrew completed his end of the bargain before offering the man a cup of coffee.
It was the least he could do.
He made two cups of coffee, accompanied by slices of bread with some of the jam bought a few days ago.
Breakfast was fairly quiet. He certainly wasn't in the mood to open a new topic.
He'd thought about testing Luke, to see if he knew the concept of Beyonder Characteristics. However, if he didn't, the situation could end badly.
Luke Ross shared one thing with Michael Lionheart: being extremely direct. If Melissa had silently jotted down his suggestion without asking too many questions for now, Luke would push for an answer.
An answer that would raise a new question.
How did Andrew Locke possess this knowledge?
So it was best to avoid it.
After sipping his coffee a little too loudly, Luke smacked his lips before making a new proposal.
"Do you want me to try and approach the Demigod of the Church of the Fool? I can't promise results. That old bastard will be there, so I might not even be able to say hello."
Ah
Andrew began to tap his fingers rhythmically on the table. He wanted to simulate an aura of reflection when, in reality, he already knew how to respond.
That's because in the few days between their last meeting and today, Andrew had already joined the ranks of that prodigious organization. As interesting as it might be, trying to contact what could be another Major Arcana, Andrew deduced from the Sequence, could cause problems.
His Major Arcana was Mr. Star, after all. The fact that he had already met Ms. Justice was abnormal in many ways.
"...No, thanks. But if you can find any information, or even their Holy Scriptures, please let me know."
That's because, despite everything, Andrew still didn't understand how he could know the Fool's Honorific Name. And if he was to believe the words of Mr. Fortune and Ms. Justice, then there were two possibilities.
1) Someone outside the Church wanted to push him into their ranks for some reason.
2) Someone higher up within the Church gave him this information.
In the end, it seems that even the Tarot Club was unable to contact the Angels of the powerful Mr. Fool. So there was a possibility that one of them, perhaps unbeknownst to Mr. Fortune, had decided to contact him. Or...
Andrew quickly shook his head with some force, much to the surprise of his companion.
What I'm thinking about?, he thought with a certain bitterness.
He had had a thought that could almost be described as blasphemous.
What if... what if Mr. Fool himself had mobilized for the human Andrew Locke?
Obviously, it was ridiculous. Although Andrew considered himself a promising Beyonder, certainly more so than his peers in age or Sequence (a bit arrogant, isn't he?), it was absurd to think he had so much potential to be noticed by a deity.
If that were the case, wouldn't the Primordial Demoness have acted since he was just a little chicken?
Having finished the offered food, Luke stretched his arms before smiling at the boy.
"Thanks for everything. Unfortunately, I have to go now... good luck!"
Receiving a simple wave, the man approached the door but stopped before reaching for the handle. Very slowly, he turned to Andrew with a smile.
Eventually, his body became transparent, as if that human being had been an illusion all along. This illusion passed through the door as if it were made of pure gas, or as if the door hadn't even been there in the first place.
Finally, the same figure, now corporeal and physical, appeared outside the window. Raising his hand, Luke waved at the young man and finally began to walk away.
Andrew remained silent for a moment, only to then begin to chuckle.
"What a braggart! Did he at least check for anyone else? What an idiot!"
Perhaps it was because his emotional state wasn't exactly perfect, but he found the whole situation absurd.
After a few seconds, Andrew suddenly stopped and began taking deep breaths.
The traces of his smile disappeared completely, and a neutral expression appeared on his face.
He had entered Cogitation!
He feared that if he continued like this, he would reach the point of no return.
Enough. If I let myself be so influenced every time I remember the past, I'll end up losing control. Maybe I should look for a Spectator...
Obviously, the first person who came to mind was Ms. Justice, but seeking direct therapy from a Major Arcana would certainly be expensive -something he couldn't afford.
But perhaps he could use the Tarot Club in another way.
Remembering to put on his glasses, Andrew took out some ink and paper and thus began writing a letter.
Dear Mr. Hawk,
I humbly apologize. I would have preferred not to ask for your precious assistance so soon, but I find myself compelled to do so.
I am pleased to report that I have managed to digest my potion and have already found the formula for Sequence 7 Detective. Unfortunately, I am having great financial difficulty purchasing the main ingredients.
Please help me find the main ingredient mentioned at the bottom right. Once I have made progress, I will be even more capable of completing the task entrusted to me.
Of course, I know this is merely an excuse and that it will not be enough to receive your kind assistance. For this very reason, I am ready to entrust into your hands the Reader Pathway formulas in my possession.
I humbly apologize for any inconvenience my letter may cause you, and I hope you have a delightful day.
Humbly, Mr. Swords.
After taking his clock, Andrew repeated the phrase, "It is safe to send this letter to Mr. Star," seven times, receiving a positive response. In the end, he decided to ask for only one of the two ingredients as a way to sweeten the pill.
It didn't matter if he was part of their organization or a student of the great Mr. Fortune; he always had to show respect to his superiors. Even more so if they were high-sequence Beyonders... a moment; all it takes is a moment to knock him out.
A damn moment...
Sighing, Andrew sealed the letter in an envelope, writing on the back the address of the bar known as the Midnight Cat.
He changed into suitable clothes, including a coat that had enough pockets for all items. Naturally, he took the Sun Domain Amulet with him, which he placed on the knot of his tie.
He had to mail the letter before leaving for university.
He was about to take his bike with him, but-
"Maybe you shouldn't take it with you everywhere."
Finding some sense in the Savant's words, he decided to avoid it for the day.
He left the house and walked briskly.
On the street, he found a mailbox for the letter and later stopped for a moment to look at a shop window.
He didn't focus much on the interior but rather on the walking sticks they were selling. If it hadn't been for his current monetary crisis, he might have bought one...
A walking stick is an essential part of every gentleman's wardrobe!
As are monocles, for that matter. Looking at some monocles on sale, Andrew began to imagine himself wearing one.
Goodbye glasses, welcome monocle on the right-
Suddenly, he felt sweat dripping down the back of his head. His hand spasmed for a moment, opening and closing. His eyes blurred for a moment.
Rubbing his neck, Andrew returned to think of that mental image.
Yes, I think I'd look poorly...
Returning his gaze to the window, his eyes stopped for a moment on a corner of the shop-no, the glass...
He started walking again.
He immediately entered Cogitation, but this time not to avoid strong emotions, but rather to focus on the surrounding sounds.
Aep/!)He?ì#[
The noise of people's chatter, their footsteps, and their canes blended together in a chaotic song. Whether it was the sound of steam coming out of the pipes or the footsteps of a horse, everything was a part of it.
Yet Andrew began to filter all of these, or rather, to put them into the background in favor of a single sound.
Tap, tap, tap
A rhythmic sound of footsteps, light, about five meters behind him.
When he turned a corner, the footsteps did the same. When he stopped to admire a part of the city of Backlund, the footsteps also stopped.
How annoying...
A pursuer, really? What a terrible day it was for the Reader Beyonder!
Andrew pretended to ignore the individual as he continued on his way. He wanted to see if he dared enter the school building!
From what I saw, he appears to be an adult. He certainly can't enter without suspicion...
Furthermore, even if this was the Savant who had sent his creatures to attack him, it was important to remember that the school was under the watchful eye of a Sequence 6 Judge! Even if he were crazy enough to ignore the possibility of hurting some innocent, he certainly couldn't ignore such a formidable opponent.
Fortunately, the pursuer made no sudden move, continuing to follow him in silence.
As Andrew began to walk toward the school building, he heard the man's footsteps slowly slowing until they stopped completely.
As he had predicted, the man seemed to have given up.
Allowing himself a moment of satisfaction, he continued walking inside the building, still remaining in the state of Cogitation - just in case.
Finally, precisely because of this, he heard a familiar female voice.
It was Melissa Moretti with what appeared to be a friend of hers. They were about to pass Andrew and head off to their classes.
The Savant was carrying several books stacked in a tall tower. Yet she somehow managed to carry them relatively easily.
The moment Andrew noticed her, she did the same. A spark of recognition appeared in her eyes for a moment and also a spark of mischief? No, it wasn't mischief. It was the same look Andrew himself had when he was formulating a plan he was proud of.
Very gently, Melissa's hand pushed one of the books to the top - a light push, not enough to move most things, but certainly enough to knock a book over in this situation.
The book fell to the floor near Andrew's foot with a clearly audible thud.
Melissa's friend said something to the girl, something about being more careful. A reminder, in short. She moved to pick up the fallen book, but a hand reached the leather cover before her.
Andrew Locke's hand.
Andrew took the book and let his gaze wander over the title of the academic book.
Even though these two were now allies in the vast world of the Beyonders, they barely knew each other in the world of the "normals." This made their public interactions more difficult.
Melissa, in short, was looking for an excuse. An excuse for why the two might be seen together in the future.
Mentally preparing for the new social interaction, Andrew sighed while preparing the most natural smile he would probably have all day.
"Excuse me, you dropped this... Do you need help?" he asked after a second's hesitation, pretending to observe the girl's situation.
Melissa's hand moved slowly and unsteadily, blinded by the myriads of books in her hand.
For a moment, she mistakenly grabbed his hand before correcting herself and taking the book.
"No, no, you don't have to, but thank you... you're Andrew Locke, right?"
"That's right, you're Melissa Moretti if I'm not mistaken. Word about your mechanical skills has spread far and wide throughout the entire university."
"..."
The words seemed to die in the girl's throat. A slight blush on her cheeks and a twitch in her right eye showed quite clearly.
...What's that reaction? You asked for this...
"See, Melissa! You're famous!"
Her friend said, nudging her with her elbow, clearly enjoying the Savant reaction.
Puff
Unfortunately for her, the motionless Melissa did nothing to repel the force applied by the girl, clearly violating Roselle's Third Law of Motion and causing the rest of the books to fall.
...
A silence permeated the entire corridor, a silence formed not only by the students witnessing this situation but also by the various students passing by, who seemed unsure whether to intervene or not.
Finally, a chuckle found its way out of Andrew's mouth as he bent down to take a good portion of the books.
"May I go against your wishes? I really think you need my help."
"...Thank you."
So, following the duo, Andrew carried the books to their classroom, only to then say goodbye and return to his own.
He spent the rest of the class in silence, but with a much lighter spirit than before.
-----------------
"Ugh! I don't understand anything about this stuff!"
A few hours after their separation, Melissa and her friend reached their mechanics classes. A classic routine for them.
This, too, was part of the routine, with Melissa, who completed her assignment admirably, and the other who had more difficulty.
Melissa obviously helped and offered advice, but she would never fully explain what the girl was doing wrong.
Today, however, something changed. Melissa approached the girl and began to explain.
She paused several times, not out of doubt about her theoretical knowledge but simply about the ethics of her actions. Was it right to explain everything to her? Without giving her time to reflect?
Eventually, however, she continued, crafting a particularly detailed speech, partly to force her friend to think, and partly to flaunt her own intellectual superiority.
This wasn't something that the girl known as Melissa Moretti was recognized for, yet today something had changed. The girl had decided to follow the advice offered by a certain boy.
Later that evening, the girl absentmindedly wrote a sentence in her notes, driven by the improvement in her status as a Beyonder.
Must a Savant Beyonder lead and enlighten others, while at the same time making them reflect and demonstrate their own knowledge?
-----------------
"What was that?"
"What was what?" Andrew asked lightly, knowing exactly what the girl was referring to. Yet he was still interested to see her reaction.
He hadn't expected her to be so weak to compliments.
"That scene earlier! That story about my fame or something."
"It's all true, you really are very famous. Besides, you started it."
"...Maybe."
They'd met after school just outside the gate, pretending it was by chance, and started talking openly. If they continued like this, they'd reach the point where it wouldn't be strange for the two of them to meet as friends anymore.
"...Never mind, here, take it with you."
Melissa pulled out a rectangular wooden box from her backpack.
" Does it contain-?" Andrew asked without finishing his sentence. He wanted to confirm if it was the object he would transform into a Mystical Item.
Melissa nodded before continuing, "I want something powerful."
"Your wish is my command," Andrew replied, placing the box back in his backpack.
Since the girl had done the same, it meant it wasn't anything too fragile.
"May I ask about your afternoon appointments?"
Melissa's expression shifted, resembling a pout.
"I'm going for a walk with some relatives. I was supposed to study, but they forced me..."
Do you need it as a Savant?
Andrew raised an eyebrow at her words; after all, he had practically abandoned studying in the most traditional sense of the word. As a Reader Beyonder, a single reading was all he needed, and he was pretty sure the girl did the same.
Was it out of habit, or perhaps a self-imposed duty, that she continued? Maybe she just liked it.
Suddenly, not far from them, just enough space not to crush them, a standard private carriage stopped. Opening the door was a young man in his late twenties with black hair and brown eyes. And-
Oh, by The Fool. That hairline
...There were no kind words to describe it, so we'll avoid it. However, it was enough to worry Andrew himself.
To say that at home he began to check his own is an understatement.
...If I ever get to that point, I'll have to use Ritualistic Magic...
The man smiled at Melissa, who seemed frozen in place, and seemed to be watching the boy carefully from the corner of her eye.
"B-Benson! What are you doing here?"
The now-declared Benson smiled warmly.
"Of course I came to get you; I was afraid you'd run off to the library!"
"That's not true-! Er-"
The Savant's words stopped abruptly under the man's hard gaze.
It conveyed one thing, "We both know you would."
Under that gaze, Melissa could only look away, perhaps embarrassed by the treatment. She was no longer a child after all.
Turning his face toward the Reader, Benson smiled briefly as he asked in a single breath, " Who is he?"
"He's, er-a student like me; his name is Andrew Locke. Andrew, this is my brother Benson."
"It's a pleasure to meet you; your sister has spoken a lot about you."
She didn't, but it was out of politeness. The same politeness that made him extend his hand.
Benson Moretti looked surprised for a moment before accepting his handshake.
Rough, was Andrew's first thought.
It was different from the kind of rough someone like Melissa might have. Not born from a passion for mechanical gadgets and their construction, but from actual physical labor that had been done for a long time.
Usually, it would have been present from someone of the working class, but both he and Melissa were dressed as members of the middle class.
Maybe they moved up recently? Or maybe a few years ago... even a decade is possible
But if that work condemned his hands to an eternity of wounds and calluses, at least he gave something in return: great strength.
Perhaps too much, Andrew noted.
"It's a pleasure for me too. I'd like to say the same, but you know how shy she is."
He concluded with an honest laugh.
"I completely agree. She can be quite stubborn, too."
"You're right!"
Finding herself among her new bullies, Melissa could only think of one logical solution.
Run away.
"Benson, come on! We have to go."
The petite girl tried to push her brother toward the carriage as if he were a huge boulder. Tried, yes, that's the right word.
One must imagine Roselle happy.
"Hi, Andrew!"
"Melissa, s- slow down ! I-It was a pleasure."
"I can say the same."
Andrew watched as the man was pushed into the box that served as the transport. He almost fell to the ground.
Immediately afterward, the coachman gave a quick push, and the horses, now accustomed and experienced, took off at once.
Andrew stood still, a little out of sorts and still unsure of what to do.
He had originally planned to speak to Portman and reveal his identity as a Beyonder, with the aim of getting closer to him and, consequently, to Melissa. It would also be useful for the future and for the school matter in general.
However, he feared that if he did it the day after their alliance was formed, Melissa would misunderstand, perhaps thinking he was trying to get closer to her teacher by using their alliance as an excuse. As a result, Melissa might act colder or more distant.
I'll do it tomorrow
Now the most important thing was money. His savings were certainly plenty for a normal person, but for a Beyonder? Oh dear, no.
He could have bought the supplementary ingredients, yes. But the main ingredients were too expensive; even if Mr. Star decided to give one away, he wouldn't have enough money for the second.
As I should have expected from ingredients with Sequence 7 Beyonder Characteristics...
Now that he thought about it, did the requirement of two main ingredients for becoming a Detective imply that the respective Beyonder Characteristic was split into two perfect halves, or that perhaps it was present in different ratios? Like 1/3 and 2/3? Or 1/5 and 4/5?
Well, let's forget about it for now
He could earn a few pounds by selling charms and mystical items. That was for sure, but it wasn't a stable source. Not everyone needed these items. However, finding a fool to sell a charm to for triple the price wouldn't have been bad...
He could check how things were going with his investment, pay that old man a visit, and then make a few trips to markets or meetings.
That man lived in East Borough, the poorest part of the entire city. A true hell within the city of hope and opportunity that is Backlund.
A place where crime and illegality went hand in hand. A place where the eyes of the law are closed.
Where one more corpse doesn't change anything.
A place where flushing out a certain rat would be easier.
Waiting for a public carriage to arrive, Andrew moved toward this hell.
-----------------
Andrew looked unimpressed at the building in front of him. It was the building called Unit 13 on Bacardi Street.
It was a small, almost square, single-story house, with classic yellow walls, a black door secured with at least three different locks, and only one window-the others had been blocked with wooden planks following various burglary attempts-and a dark blue, almost black, roof.
At a certain point, the roof seemed to be slanting inward. He had been told the roof had once nearly collapsed, and now relied on only a few wooden planks.
A chimney that once stood proudly above the house was now barricaded with the same wooden planks. Unwanted and abandoned. After all, with Backlund's typically rainy weather and these kinds of houses, the risk of drowning was not low.
Andrew took a few steps forward while continuing to survey the surrounding area.
Aside from two people sleeping on nearby benches, there were no vagrants, and his stalker had not yet approached.
However, his steps were no longer rhythmic; sometimes they grew faster, perhaps encouraged by the absence of law, and sometimes slower, perhaps due to insecurity born from the fear of being attacked in such a place.
Knock, knock
Andrew knocked twice and then waited for about a minute and a half.
Inside the house, various noises could be heard: footsteps, curses from a rather rude voice, and the sound of objects falling to the floor.
Click, click, click
Three sounds repeated behind the door, and finally, the door opened slightly, just enough to observe who had knocked.
From inside, a red, bruised hand grabbed the side of the door, and a face appeared from the darkness.
A long nose with a red tip, long, greasy white hair, and deep-set dark eyes.
He looked to be in his sixties.
"Andrew? Is that you? Shit, you scared me; get your ass in here."
The man's voice had always been accompanied by an intrinsic annoyance. Sometimes, and only sometimes, annoyance would mix with another emotion in his voice, like sadness or joy.
In this case, besides the annoyance, there was something like a pleasant surprise.
Entering the dark house, the man wasted no time in closing the door behind him.
The house consisted of literally just one room, where the man ate and slept. Fortunately, there seemed to be a small closet for his needs, but that was all.
Despite this, the house, for the brief look he could give, was strangely clean and even seemed tidy.
In this single room, there was a small, low, round table, a bed on the left, and a stove on the right.
The stove looked old and rusty; it wouldn't have been strange to think that perhaps the man was forced to create sparks by himself to light it.
There was also a bedside table near the door. It probably contained clothes and was also used as a place to put things, be they a book, a hat, or something else.
"How was your day, Mr. Charles?"
Charles snorted through his nose as his mouth opened into a thirty-two-tooth grin-no, twenty-seven?
"A real dogshit, but what can we expect from a shitty old bricklayer like me, huh? Lucky to be a student Andrew; remember that."
"I will. Now, shall we talk about business?"
Andrew tried to get straight to the point, and Charles simply looked at him for a moment. Then a smirk grew on his face.
"Bad day right? Seeing you unhappy makes me less miserable."
"…Alright? Can we talk about business now?"
"Is that the only thing you can say kid?"
Sensing a slight irritation, Andrew took the only chair at the table and sat down, leaving the poor old man standing. The man's action certainly didn't help his emotional state.
If he's going to act like that, then to hell with politeness
"Really now? What a child you are."
Charles moved slightly to pick up a piece of paper from the bedside table before handing it to the boy. It was the list of investors!
Andrew gladly accepted it, but he raised an eyebrow anyway, and the old man, seeing him, gave a response bordering on pure annoyance.
"What? I have nothing to offer you, no coffee, no tea, no bullshit like that. I don't think you want water from any fountains in this neighborhood, do you?"
"...Fair enough," he admitted quietly.
The list contained about 50 names, next to which was indeed the amount of money "donated" to be part of the project.
Andrew Lock, blah, blah, Glaint, blah, Henry, blah, blah...
As Andrew read the list quickly, he realized the number of nobles gradually appearing increased.
Up to about ten people, the investments were at a maximum of only 6 soli, with the sole exception of Andrew, who invested a full 1£. By giving so much in the early stages, when the minimum threshold was very low, he acquired approximately 15% of the shares, while 60% was undoubtedly owned by Charles himself, the original creator of the idea.
Later, when the idea became popular, many minor nobles wanted to participate. However, the more famous a project became and of interest to the upper classes, the more the minimum investment required to obtain a percentage of the ownership increased.
In fact, today, doing what Andrew did is no longer possible. It is no longer possible to give £1 to receive 15% of the ownership.
Nodding with satisfaction, Andrew looked at Charles before speaking.
"These are excellent results. Can you tell me when the first prototype will be created?"
Charles spoke in a much livelier tone this time. "In about two weeks. I've already found someone suitable to realize my idea. I've already given all my information."
Yes, this was because people weren't donating just because they believed in or found the idea interesting but also because there was a basis - knowledge that Charles, the bricklayer, somehow had.
It was this knowledge that had pushed Andrew and many others to trust and invest.
The mere fact that he didn't use a single pound to improve the house is extraordinary
Did that mean the project meant a lot to him? Or was it a well-planned scam?
Andrew, overcome with curiosity, couldn't help but ask the man, and once he did, Charles's face took on a hint of discomfort.
Taking a cigarette from his pocket-without a container or anything else-he brought it to his mouth and lit it with a match.
Taking a few drags of the sweet tobacco, which Andrew was forced to endure, Charles spoke with a resigned expression.
"I'm old, Andrew."
"?"
At the boy's confused face, the man couldn't help but chuckle. Perhaps in his adult eyes, even this Beyonder was inexperienced in his presence -a child to be pitied, ignorant of the dangers of the outside world.
Obviously, Charles's perception of Andrew wasn't entirely correct.
"I'm an old, smoking-addicted man living in the fucking East Borough of fucking Backlund. If that's not a great combination for disaster, I don't know what is it, ha ha!"
Laughing heartily, the old man began to cough, having clearly inhaled the smoke poorly.
Putting his hands on his knees and taking a breath, he finally continued, "Let's not kid ourselves. I won't be around much longer."
"You can't know that."
Andrew's words escaped almost immediately, ready to defend something he didn't even know what it was.
"I can! It's my body, and I know when my time is near! You know I've already died once?"
Feeling the man clearly going into a psychic delirium, Andrew jumped up, ready to do anything. He'd heard that a couple of slaps were great for waking up drunk people or bringing someone back to their senses.
However, it seemed to be of no use, because the old man's cave-like eyes suddenly seemed to acquire a clarity they had previously lacked. From his trembling lips, a sentence escaped, perhaps intended for himself.
"I want to create something that reminds me of home. That's all..."
Home? Which home?, Andrew thought, confused.
He had always believed the old man was born and raised in Backlund, or at least in the Loen Kingdom. But how could a new type of camera, innovative in its use of color, be nostalgic for him?
He wanted to continue asking, but a cold, firm voice entered the room, overwhelming the walls.
"Mr. Charles, are you home?"
Suddenly, Charles's eyes returned to their former state, a frown creeping across his face. Moving toward the door, he let out a few rather annoyed grunts. His foot hit the legs of the coffee table, making him jump.
They were the same sounds he had made before! In other situations, Andrew would have wondered if this was just a bad habit of the old man, but now his mind was on something else.
Could he suffer from multiple personalities? He seems to have changed attitude too quickly...
The door opened, revealing not one, but two figures! To be more precise, a man and a woman.
The man was taller than Andrew and around twenty-three or twenty-four years old, wearing a gentleman's suit and a top hat. A short gray scarf wrapped around his neck, almost covering his mouth.
The gentleman's skin was slightly dark; just looking at him, one would immediately think of a cross between someone from the Northern Continent and the Southern Continent, and perhaps that was indeed the case. He also had broad shoulders.
Curly black hair at the top of his head and deep gray eyes that were the icing on his stoic, impassive face.
The other person was a slightly younger woman, around twenty-one. She had short, wheat-gold hair that reached her shoulders. She wore a white shirt covered by dark overalls. Both garments were stained with dirt and sweat.
She had blue eyes, freckles, and slightly dark skin like the man. But compared to him, it looked like a tan - like someone who had worked under the sun for a long time...
It didn't take a genius to figure it out: if the man was an elegant gentleman, then the woman was a peasant farmworker.
Precisely for this reason, she had broad shoulders like the man, perhaps even more muscular in some ways, but... unfortunately, it was hard to ignore the lack of a right index finger... Oh, and also, at her waist, there was a brooch that seemed made of bronze. It had a thread of wheat engraved on it, and perhaps - it was quite difficult to see - a bundle that Andrew thought represented a child.
The man took a step forward after greeting Charles courteously, who was forced to accept it by the man himself, and after observing the house for a moment, he dropped his hair into his hand while bowing.
"Good afternoon, Andrew. I didn't know you were coming by today."
Andrew showed the necessary respect by attempting to bow his head even lower to make up for the lack of a hat.
"...Good afternoon to you too, Mr. Henry. I'm sorry to butt in, but I wanted to check on the progress. Oh, good afternoon to you too, Ms. Evelyn."
"There's no need to be so tense. I fully understand your actions, and there's no reason to apologize. In fact, I should-"
"Are you stupid? He'll never understand if you behave the same way..."
Andrew knew the two; they were, in fact, important acquaintances of the old man named Charles.
The man's name was Henry Jones, and he worked as a private lawyer. He could handle various cases, but above all, for Andrew, he was Charles's advocate and his representative in court in case of problems. He seemed to have many connections and to be quite competent.
Perhaps a good number of the people on that list had been referred by him.
Furthermore, he had a gentlemanly demeanor that Andrew couldn't help but appreciate. Perhaps when he tried to act in a gentlemanly way, Henry's mannerisms combined with those of a particular pirate hunter appeared in his mind.
His tone was always composed, and despite his elegant attitude, he seemed to hate high-society chatter. He tended to get straight to the point and tell the truth without mincing words. Andrew believed that the man undoubtedly had a certain reputation among the noble girls poisoned by all those romantic books.
Instead, the woman was Evelyn, a farmer from a farm not that distant from Backlund. She lived there and grew some basic necessities for the city. She often came in, not only for work but also to visit the old man here.
And to visit the only Earth Mother church in the city called the Harvest Church.
Her way of speaking was very similar to good old Charles, but she lacked that ever-present annoyance of the old man. She also tended to be a chatterbox like that boy, Michael.
She talked a lot - really a lot.
She acted somewhat tomboyish. Not that it was necessarily a bad thing, but it was ironic that she was almost always accompanied by a man like Henry in town.
Henry turned slightly toward her before quickly replying.
"I hope you understand the impossibility of what you're asking, Eve. In my position, I must always behave this way, with all my employees-"
"No, I don't. He's not even your employer!"
At the farmer's equally abrupt response, the jurist raised a hand to his forehead before sighing with some disappointment. But even then, his shoulders remained perfectly straight.
"Eve, didn't they teach you basic etiquette at the Harvest Church? May the Goddess have mercy on you."
With that, he moved his hand toward his chest, forming a moon.
Evelyn's face turned red with anger as she pointed a finger at the taller man.
"Oi! Just because you wear cute dresses, you think you can insult me and the great Earth?! Come and fight me if you're so desperate to prove your superiority!"
The woman reached for Henry's collar, which he seemed ready to dodge. However-
Slam!
A loud noise resounded from the center of the room. A red hand had met the table. Eyes full of annoyance were displayed before everyone.
"Listen..." The sound came out more like a growl than a word.
"Fuck Evernight Goddess, fuck Lord of the Storms, fuck God of Steam and Machinery, fuck Eternal Blazing Sun, fuck God of Knowledge and Wisdom, fuck God of Combat, and fuck Earth Mother. If you want to fight about bullshit like that, get out of my house and don't come back until you've cleared your mouths of their names, got it?"
The words left everyone stunned, not only for the blasphemy contained within them but also for the way they were spoken.
Usually, if you heard something like that from a drunk, you wouldn't pay much attention; after all, he's a poor fool who doesn't know what he's saying.
But what the man had said was on another level. Each sacred name had been pronounced with incredible precision and care. The tone was perfect and appropriate for each part, and the man had acquired a different accent for each name. Usually, the accent of the region or kingdom where these Gods, these Higher Beings, are worshiped.
It left everyone speechless, including Andrew.
If... if he had insulted The Fool, should I have done something? Like teach him to respect His name? ...Should I have punished him? How does that work?!
Evelyn was the first to break the silence.
"You're right. We shouldn't be speaking the names of the Gods in this dump. They're certainly ashamed to hear Their names in this house."
"I couldn't agree more."
"You fucking children! My house is a fricking temple!"
Andrew gave Henry a look of discomfort, who offered a nod in return. Using that as a sign, the two males began to leave the house, leaving the farmer, Evelyn, to deal with old Charles.
Once outside, Henry sighed once again, but there was a certain amusement.
"I apologize for the unpleasant words Mr. Charles said. I hope this will not lead to a worsening of your relationship."
Andrew shook his head slowly but decisively, all to demonstrate his position.
"Don't worry, Mr. Henry, I think I've grasped Mr. Charles's character."
"I'm glad..."
The adult man's words faded into an uncertain silence. His face was as steady as usual, but a thousand thoughts seemed to be manifesting in his eyes.
Taking the opportunity, Andrew decided to ask a question.
"...Mr. Henry, I don't want to be indiscreet. But I have to - no, I apologize; I want to ask a question. Is there something wrong with Mr. Charles's health?"
The man, hearing the Beyonder's words, showed no outward reaction. However, he seemed to be observing the boy carefully, perhaps to understand the weight of the words he had spoken.
Glancing quickly at the still-open door and inside, his voice came out low enough to be unheard by the old man and the woman.
"Like any man of his age and condition, his health is far from perfect. However, there has been no deterioration or alteration in his well-being. But...but for a few days, even weeks, Mr. Charles has been behaving in an unusual manner."
"Is the desire to create this camera part of this behavior?"
"Precisely. One day he came to me asking for help; I don't even know where he got the idea. If I'm honest, Eve and I are brimming with concern for Mr. Charles."
"I completely understand."
He didn't know all the details, but it was clear that the two adults cared about the old man. There was something that connected them deeply.
Seeing his presence no longer necessary, Andrew decided to leave.
"Thank you for answering my question, Mr. Henry. I will pray for Mr. Charles."
"I can't thank you enough Andrew. I hope the rest of your day is enjoyable."
"As much."
The two began walking in opposite directions, but when Andrew heard the door closing, he stopped and turned his face slightly.
From inside the house, the sounds of voices resonated, perhaps a testament to their respective high tones. Or a testament to the thinness of the walls.
But the house was undoubtedly full of life.
A trace of melancholy passed across Andrew's face before fading.
Regaining his composure, Andrew continued walking, paying attention to his surroundings. And to the sound of footsteps.
Tap, tap, tap
Hearing the sound of familiar footsteps, Andrew felt a growing sense of uneasiness. Perhaps it was the bad mood he had cultivated during the rest of the day, but now he really wanted to grab this rat by the throat.
At school, he had gone to the bathroom just to divine the individual's dangerousness, and the response was very low.
He walked for a while until he found himself in an empty alley. It was still daylight, so the homeless were still looking for work or begging for food.
Andrew bent slightly, pretending to tie his shoelaces. However, the goal was quite different.
Using a part of his Spirituality, Andrew created a thin thread that stuck to the two opposite walls. This was one of the abilities belonging to the Demoness Insignia!
Carefully, Andrew continued walking forward, waiting for the right moment.
Tap, tap, tap.
Tap, tap, tap.
Tap, tap, tap.
Tap, tap-
The rhythmic sound suddenly stopped, or rather, it was late. This could only mean one thing.
The rat has tripped
Turning around quickly, Andrew sprinted with his best skills, using his enemy's off-balance moment to his advantage.
Raising his arm, Andrew pushed the rat 's neck and, using his free hand, shoved its body sideways with a good push. The rat 's body hit the nearby wall and was once again stopped by the boy's arm around its neck.
"Wha-"
His words died in his throat as Andrew placed the gun against the soft flesh of his stalker's torso.
"Wait-!"
"Who are you? What do you want?"
Andrew said firmly. He didn't even stop to look at the man's face; he didn't care that much. He was just a common bastard from these streets.
"I-I was sent, yes! To watch you and see your routine!"
"By who? Why?"
"I-I don't k-know! He didn't tell me why or your name! Only the p-payment..."
The man was shrinking, and Andrew purposefully applied more pressure with the gun. A sinister smile grew on his face.
The man remained frozen, paralyzed with fear. However, a brief shiver of happiness ran through his entire body when he no longer felt the cold iron of the gun on his torso.
This happiness didn't last long when he felt the cold on his forehead.
Keeping his smile, Andrew now held the tip of the gun against the man's forehead, playing with the trigger - caressing it and touching it.
All to make the man more nervous.
"If you want to live, you'll do as I say."
-----------------
After some visit at various markets and gathering Andrew managed to find Tranquil Flower incense and some black ink, all for some soli.
After some rest Andrew grabbed ink (for writing) and paper as he began writing with full concentration. He thought it would be useful to reflect on what he knew.
The mechanical puppets are almost certainly created by a Savant Beyonder. This theory is supported by the presence of the Clock of Fate on the one that attacked me. If it wasn't a Savant, it would mean someone managed to get their hands on a Beyonder Weapon with a Savant Beyonder Characteristic and one with a Monster Beyonder Characteristic casually created by a Savant.
In any case, it would mean the enemy is using weapons from the Corpse Collector Pathway to do something at school; it seems like the simplest option.
However, if instead of a weapon, the enemy actually has an alliance with a Corpse Collector Beyonder, then things get complicated.
I don't know how many organizations possess this Pathway, but the Church of the Evernight Goddess must certainly have some of it.
Savant... could it be an alliance between the Church of the God of Steam and Machinery and the Church of the Evernight Goddess?
Is the loser of the War demanding some lost possession from the winner and, in exchange, must do something? But what...
There's a member of MI9 at the school. Could this be an alliance requested by the Goddess to put a spoke in the government's wheels? But that wouldn't make sense! Plus, it's just one man... I still have to confirm the identity of the Rat's employer, but that will at least be answered tomorrow.
Furthermore, the school doesn't have any new "wounds"... does that mean that Trevor Lioneahert is doing a great job, or that perhaps the enemy is taking a break?
Tomorrow I'll also have to approach Chancellor Portland Moment; it'll be a good way to learn more about the Savant Pathway in general.
As he finished writing, Andrew reached out and slowly caressed the wooden container next to the papers. After a moment's observation, Andrew began opening the box with some trepidation.
Inside, he immediately noticed the silver color, then the gold.
It was a revolver!
Picking up the gun, Andrew immediately felt the comfort of the handle, extraordinarily useful for someone unfamiliar with firearms.
The entire weapon seemed to be created from a fusion of gold and silver. The gold handle then merged into the rest of the silver body, culminating in a gold muzzle. It also had a trigger and some gold decorations, perhaps floral.
Six shots...
Getting up from his chair, Andrew began to assume various positions, playing with the gun.
He pointed it at the door, gripping the gun with both hands. He also pointed it at the sheet of paper on the table, holding the gun downward with just one hand.
Hmm, I think it's been modified. Not only that, but could it have been created by her? Obviously, the materials were probably provided by the Chancellor, but she could have assembled it from those. Either way, not bad
I definitely need to make a good impression! What could I do...
Knock, knock!
Andrew hastily put Melissa's gun away before crumpling up the paper.
Waiting a second, he noticed the sound repeating; they seemed to be quite in panic...
Approaching the door, Andrew used the peephole, bringing his spirits down considerably.
With some exasperation, he opened the door, revealing a young blond man holding a bag.
"Good evening, Michael, what brings you to my humble abode?"
Most importantly, when are you planning to leave?
Michael Lionheart drummed his fingers on the bag before offering a smile.
The boy looked overall quite embarrassed and perhaps even anxious.
"Andrew, you're a Beyonder, right?"
"...Excuse me?"
In a second, his hand reached for the handle of the gun in his coat.
-----------------
Notes:
Hello everyone! Thanks for reading this far!
Sorry for the delay, but I had a hard time writing this chapter. I hope it doesn't show in the writing.
I already mentioned in the comments that we'd have a fight, but I'm sorry to say it's been postponed to the next chapter. Sorry.
Let's start the bet on who is the Rat employer!
I admit that two new ideas came to mind while writing. I probably won't write them, because writing one LOTM fic is already difficult, let alone two!
1) It takes place during the events of Book 1, where there's a transmigrator in the body of a Lamud Village resident. The body is one of the descendants of Azik's children. He's supposed to join the Nightawks and become a Corpse Collector Beyonder. (Which in my mind would later go to the Warrior Pathway.)
2) This idea is about a revenge story about someone who becomes a Maraunder Pathway Beyonder, either during the first or second book. I had something in mind like OC x Xio or something else.
Again, these are just ideas I wanted to share with you; if you want to take them and write them, you're free to do so.
Also, we're done with OCs for now! Drums roll!
...I've always been drawn to the sad idea of a transmigrator receiving a body that's already done its journey. Think about it, you wake up in the body of a decaying old man in another world that can't do anything...
Btw I know nothing about investment so I'm sorry if I got something wrong.