Klein looked around in confusion. In the night's cold wind, surrounded by old and new headstones, his numb mind gradually began working again, recognizing this as Raphael Cemetery where he often patrolled.
"Cemetery... I died, then came back to life?"
He raised his earth-covered hands, observing carefully in the crimson moonlight, only now noticing his originally severed left forearm had returned to his body.
Using his right hand to touch his left elbow through his clothes, the severed location still ached slightly.
Did they sew the severed arm back on after collecting my body?
What about my chest?
Reacting, he brushed earth from his chest, unbuttoned his shirt, pulled open his clothes, and looked at his left breast.
The fist-sized gruesome wound and the missing heart within were writhing, gradually healing.
Just like when he'd first awakened in Tingen City, seeing the gunshot wound at his temple rapidly recovering in the mirror. The only difference was this healing was slower, more difficult.
"As expected, the original 'Klein's' suicide did succeed. Only after my transmigration was his body restored by this power."
"But this recovery is much slower. Perhaps one more time, two at most, and this power won't be able to 'resurrect' me again."
Standing bare-chested for several minutes in the slightly cold night wind like a statue, Klein finally sighed, buttoning his shirt and tailcoat to conceal the nearly healed wound.
Then he turned back to look at his headstone, which bore his black-and-white photograph and three lines of epitaph.
"Klein Moretti. The best big brother. The best younger brother. The best colleague... Heh, that last line was definitely Leonard's doing."
Silently reading others' evaluations of him, Klein smiled bitterly, then worked to restore the coffin lid and grave pit, finally replacing the stone slab—as if burying another version of himself.
"If this slab were heavier, maybe I couldn't have gotten out. Next time I should remind them..."
Surprised by his own sense of humor in this moment, Klein forced out a smile uglier than crying. His eyes inadvertently glanced at the adjacent headstone.
Angel Granger.
The memories he'd been unwilling to touch finally flooded his mind.
"So you're right beside me..."
Slowly approaching Angel's headstone, he sat directly on the nearby grass, damp with dew and loose earth, stroking the black-and-white photograph on the stone.
"I'd been thinking about whether to give up searching for a way home and just keep living in this world. There are new family members here, new friends and colleagues, and there's you... Our sequences aren't high. We could stop advancing, even find an opportunity to transfer to clerical work and retire early."
"Then, with our savings, we'd go to the warm and pleasant Desi Bay and buy a big house with a garden overlooking the sea. We'd make new friends, but it wouldn't matter if we didn't. Benson and Melissa would visit often, but it wouldn't matter if they didn't. The most important thing is, you'd be there..."
His voice caught. He wiped his eyes with his earth-stained hand, causing tears to stream down and blur his vision.
"I don't even know what I am now, or why I could crawl out of the coffin again... Maybe this is an opportunity, a chance for revenge..."
Murmuring, he rose from the grass and felt through his tailcoat pockets, finding the copper whistle he'd discovered while burying the grave, along with the amethyst pendant that had been in his pocket all along.
Placing the pendant with its gold chain before the headstone, Klein stepped back two paces, then felt it wasn't right. He approached again and picked up the pendant.
Leaving it here, it probably won't last 24 hours before someone takes it...
Wrapping the pendant heavily around his left wrist and pulling down his sleeve, he said solemnly:
"I will find him."
After speaking these words, Klein's body filled with strength again. As if afraid to disturb Angel, he stepped back lightly until he'd passed several headstones, then took four steps counterclockwise and entered the gray fog space.
He would use divination above the gray fog to find the true culprit hidden behind the scenes—the one who manipulated everything and ultimately killed him and Angel.
Previously, with insufficient information, he could only divine the red chimney house. But this time the mastermind had acted personally, even appearing before him. Having obtained enough information and with the help of the mystical gray fog, he could surely divine more.
Sitting in his position at the bronze table—the seat belonging to "The Fool"—Klein materialized parchment and a fountain pen, preparing to write a divination statement. But his gaze involuntarily rose toward the depths of the gray fog.
Only three stars still flickered with crimson light, maintaining mystical connections with him.
His heart ached as if experiencing that day's death again. Klein gritted his teeth and wrote the divination statement:
"The person who killed Angel."
"Who killed Klein?"
"I'm sorry, that's not for me to answer."
The person before her had short golden-brown hair and moss-green eyes filled with sincerity and apology. It was the senior deacon she'd met once before, who had helped conceal her premature advancement—"Sword of the Goddess" Crestet Cesima.
Having removed his red gloves, his calloused hands gently stroked the wooden table surface. With his coat collar lowered, revealing lips and chin, semi-illusory, semi-transparent faces seemed to emerge from between his teeth as he spoke.
"Then what can you answer?"
Angel frowned. After several consecutive questions had been politely refused, she was growing impatient. But the other party was a high-ranking Church official and a Beyonder approaching demigod status—she didn't show these emotions.
"Whatever I can answer."
He smiled slightly.
"Let me change the question. Where is this?"
Looking at the surrounding stone walls, Angel asked again.
She guessed this was an ancient building—perhaps a castle or monastery. But with the simple room's doors and windows tightly closed, she couldn't obtain more information.
When Angel had awakened again, she'd already appeared in this room of barely ten square meters. There was a bed, a table and chairs, an oil lamp—but nothing else. It was worse than the cheapest inn.
Oh yes, there was also this senior deacon who'd been sitting across from her—one of the Red Gloves' three pillars, Crestet Cesima.
"I can answer that. You're now in Tranquility Church in Winter County. Or you can call it by another name—the Holy Cathedral."
Crestet answered in a flat tone, like a teacher reading from a textbook.
Holy Cathedral?
Angel recalled descriptions from internal Church texts. The headquarters of the Church of the Evernight Goddess, the Church's power center, the Red Gloves' training base, the storage location for most dangerous sealed artifacts...
But how had she come here, and how had she ended up sitting in the same room with this "Sword of the Goddess"?
Most importantly—wasn't she dead?
Looking at her right arm, its skin pale and showing no signs of being burned by "Thirst's" explosion, Angel had the illusion that she'd already died at the scene of the evil god's descent in Tingen City, then transmigrated and possessed another identical person.
Evil god... Megose...
Thinking of what happened that day, Angel inevitably recalled Klein dying before her eyes, Captain Dunn she'd failed to save with "Damage Transfer," and the countless severed limbs in Heart Park...
"When can I leave here?"
Withdrawing her gaze from her right arm and looking again at Crestet across from her, Angel asked a new question.
Since this guy won't talk, then I'll investigate myself and get revenge!
"I'm sorry, that's not for me to—"
He showed that friendly but distant smile again.
"Then who should answer?"
Disregarding the senior deacon's status, Angel interrupted Crestet's tiresome refrain.
"I will answer you, Miss Angel."
Another voice appeared beside her ear, carrying an atmosphere that calmed the heart and soothed her agitated emotions.
The faint smile vanished from Crestet's face, replaced by solemnity. He stood respectfully, facing a corner of the room, and greeted with a trace of respect:
"Lady Arianna."
Angel's pupils contracted slightly.
As a Nighthawk, this name was unavoidable common knowledge in religious and mystical studies.
First among the thirteen archbishops, dean of the Abbey of Evernight, very likely to succeed as Pope in the future...
Any one of these identities was thunderous within the Church of Evernight.
And from Crestet's attitude toward her, the other party was very likely a high-sequence Beyonder.
Looking toward where the voice came from, in Angel's dark vision, a black-haired woman with extremely ordinary features, wearing a simple linen robe and bark belt, had appeared at some point in the corner.
Her bare feet, covered in dust and scars, crossed the stone floor as she slowly approached. Crestet quickly stepped aside, yielding one of the room's two chairs to this noble lady.
"Thank you, Crestet. Now please leave—the person I brought needs your help."
Arianna sat casually, turning her head to address Crestet. He had been standing at attention beside her. Hearing her instruction, he nodded lightly, strode to the door, opened it and left the room, gently closing it behind him like a well-trained butler.
Only then did Angel realize Arianna hadn't opened the door when entering.
She glanced at the window on the wall—also still tightly closed.
"Miss Angel, now let's discuss the questions you're interested in."
That voice carrying tranquility and peace spoke again, making Angel withdraw her gaze to look at Arianna sitting across the table.
She suddenly noticed several items had appeared on the table at some point, as if they'd always been there and she simply hadn't noticed.
A brass pocket watch engraved with the holy symbol of the "God of Steam and Machinery," a blood-stained dagger, a black short staff, a cracked topaz pendant, a maple leaf-shaped accessory...
Seeing these, she again recalled that Heart Park in Tingen's North Borough, recalled Klein and the Captain dying before her eyes.
"Miss Angel."
Arianna called out softly. Her voice wasn't beautiful, but the power within it easily pulled Angel from her grief.
"Thank you, Lady Arianna."
This form of address showed respect for an angel walking the earth, and gratitude for her recent action.
"Just call me Lady Arianna like Crestet does, or call me directly by name." The black-haired woman in the simple robe smiled slightly. "You should have many questions to ask, so let's begin quickly."
END OF VOLUME 1Knight and Assassin,