That afternoon, beneath St. Selena's Cathedral, in the guard room outside Chanis Gate.
After receiving ritual magic treatment, Leonard's injuries had greatly improved, but his complexion remained poor—pale as if from blood loss.
The Nighthawk sat with his head lowered in a chair, eyes vacant, not daring to look ahead.
Across from him, Daly Simone, who had rushed over, looked even worse—like she'd applied whitening makeup, bloodless, lips pale.
She'd originally received notification from the Holy Cathedral to help solve the "continuously strengthening bomb." She never imagined the first news upon arriving in Tingen would be of Dunn and the others' deaths.
The lady didn't shout or cry, didn't show anger or weep—which made Leonard even more worried.
Occasional suppressed discussion emerged from behind Chanis Gate—powerhouses from the Holy Cathedral were deliberating how to handle Tingen City's sealed artifacts. Having lost the saint's relic's suppression, even with renewed seals, they remained restless.
Opinions split two ways. Some believed they should quickly bring new holy relics to reinforce the seal's power. Others felt this unnecessary—they could simply lower the Tingen team's rank, transfer sealed artifacts with living characteristics to other dioceses, keeping only the easily sealed portions.
Leonard outside the door paid no attention to the debate within. He only wanted to be alone in some empty corner, or frankly wished he'd died that morning in Heart Park. At least then he wouldn't need to face others' gazes or his own inner judgment.
Daly sat expressionless, eyes locked on the wooden box on the table. Inside lay a mass of purple-red gelatinous substance—the only Beyonder characteristic left by three sacrificed Nighthawks, a contaminated Witch characteristic.
Only now did Daly learn that the girl who'd faint when she lit gas lamps had become a Sequence 7 Beyonder.
What puzzled her was why Ince Zangwill had taken Dunn and Klein's Beyonder characteristics but left Angel's behind.
But none of that mattered. Once she caught that traitorous Archbishop, once she'd used every torture method she knew on him, he would surely reveal everything.
Approaching footsteps sounded, then the guard room door opened. Black-haired, blue-eyed Royale Reideen entered carrying a stack of files, blood still seeping from the wound on her forehead.
She'd gone to police headquarters to review files that morning. By the time she returned, Dunn had already taken the other two to Heart Park. While the Nighthawks tried to save Tingen City, this Sleepless had assisted Siga Teon inside Chanis Gate and the internal guardian against activated sealed artifacts. Fortunately, Holy Cathedral support arrived in time, or they too might not have survived the battle.
"Leonard, these are the files I found this morning. A newly registered construction company was hired by Councilman Maynard to renovate Heart Park. They had permits to use explosives. I believe following this company's trail should lead to more clues."
What's the point of investigating now...
Leonard raised his head, wanting to respond with sharp, biting words, but stopped himself at the last moment.
The deaths of the captain, Angel, and Klein weren't her fault.
It was all Ince Zangwill's fault—that traitor who fled with sealed artifact 0-08!
Moving his lips, he spoke his long-considered decision:
"Royale, I'm planning to leave the Tingen team and apply to join the Red Gloves."
Daly, sitting across from him, shifted her gaze from the tabletop to him.
"Red Gloves require at minimum Sequence 7, and they face far greater dangers than ordinary Nighthawks. Even if you join them, you might not participate in operations to capture Ince Zangwill."
Her tone lacked its usual sharpness, carrying instead a trace of concern.
"I can advance now."
Leonard's lips twitched as if attempting a carefree smile, but the effort failed.
What danger could be worse than today?
If I can catch Ince Zangwill, I'll face any danger!
He thought bitterly, teeth clenched in hatred.
Watching their varying expressions, Royale sighed, turning to leave the oppressive guard room. She collided with Koenley, who had rushed over.
"Sorry, Royale." The muscular, brown-haired Koenley quickly steadied himself, then turned to Leonard. "Leonard, there are two visitors upstairs—a middle-aged man named Benson Moretti and a girl named Melissa Moretti."
Hearing Koenley's words, Leonard's gaze snapped toward him, eyes showing a trace of panic.
"They say they're looking for Klein."
...
"I'm very sorry. Klein died at the hands of vicious criminals while protecting Tingen City. He was a hero, a true hero."
In the Blackthorn Security Company's second-floor reception hall, Leonard kept his head lowered, tone somber.
He dared not face Melissa sitting motionless on the sofa like a puppet, or Benson with pressed lips and reddened eyes.
"You probably already know his work related to the police department. They've promised certain compensation for the family, plus Blackthorn Security Company's pension—about 6,000 pounds total..." His gaze fixed on Benson's legs across from him as he spoke incoherently.
Damn it, what am I even saying?
Leonard had just felt capable of joining the Red Gloves and facing any danger. Now, before Klein's brother and sister, he felt like an underage child.
"What about Angel? Why isn't she here? She said, she said Klein would..."
The girl's tearful interrogation interrupted his thoughts.
"I'm sorry. Angel also... also died at the same criminal's hands." Leonard answered softly, raising his head to look at the stunned, tearful Melissa across from him.
Benson, sitting beside her, opened his mouth as if to speak but ultimately closed it.
Leonard lowered his head again, avoiding the silent man's gaze. He only hoped someone else would enter the reception hall soon—anyone—to release him from this torment.
After a long while, Benson's hoarse voice sounded:
"Where are their bodies? When can we see them?"
"The bodies... are in the company. I can take you to them right now."
Recalling Klein and Angel's body conditions in his mind, Leonard wanted to suggest Melissa stay in the reception hall. But seeing her unfocused eyes, the refusal never left his lips.
"All right, thank you."
Benson rubbed his eyes, already too red to conceal, and pulled Melissa to her feet. Her movements were stiff, lifeless.
...
In a corner of Raphael Cemetery in the North Borough.
After two consecutive funerals had ended, the crowd gathered beside a new grave pit.
The headstone bore Angel's black-and-white photograph—her internal file photo from when she'd just joined the Nighthawks. In the picture, the young woman seemed somewhat shy, her gaze avoiding the camera.
Her only registered relative was a cousin studying in Backlund. The Church had tried to locate her, but with insufficient information, these few days had yielded no results.
The Holy Cathedral demanded funerals be held quickly for the several sacrificed Beyonders—standard procedure.
Though the Tingen City Nighthawk team expressed dissatisfaction with the Holy Cathedral's impersonal decision, they could only bury Angel without family present.
For the third time today, Leonard carried a coffin with his teammates. He stared numbly at Melissa and Rosanne sobbing beside the grave pit, at Benson barely maintaining some dignity, at Trommie gazing blankly into the pit, at Daly with her complex, conflicted expression—and felt his own eyes growing moist.
After lowering the coffin into the grave pit, following the pastor's eulogy and individual prayers, several men shoveled earth beside the pit, burying the black coffin.
"You big liar!"
Melissa suddenly cried out, her legs buckling. Rosanne quickly supported her.
Leonard's shoveling motion froze abruptly, then accelerated as if this could calm his agitated heart.
After filling the grave, everyone stood before the headstone for final farewells.
Adjacent to Angel's grave was the just-buried other casualty—Klein Moretti.
I hope she won't object to our arrangement...
Withdrawing his gaze from Klein's headstone, Leonard thought darkly. He suddenly sensed a gaze from behind, turned around puzzled, scanned various parts of the cemetery—but found nothing.
...
On a hillside beside Raphael Cemetery, a man and woman gazed toward the distant funeral.
"How do you feel about your own funeral?"
One of them asked.
The other shook their head numbly, expression wooden, as if just waking from sleep.
"Then let's go. We still need to get to Tranquility Church."
Taking one last look at the grief-stricken crowd, the two figures quickly vanished, leaving no trace.
...
The sun set, moonlight shone. After the day's bustle, Raphael Cemetery now seemed even quieter, more desolate.
On a brand-new headstone, three lines of epitaph were carved:
"The best big brother; The best younger brother;
The best colleague."
Suddenly, the stone slab over the grave was pushed aside. A slightly pale hand emerged from the earth.
It pushed open the coffin lid, dug through the soil above, creating a gap large enough for passage. Then Klein Moretti climbed out, gazing around in confusion.